AN: Thank you for the reviews...Sorry I haven't had a chance to answer and I am a bit late posting...DH took me on a surprise camping trip before I start a new job tomorrow...Wish me luck; I'm nervous!

Chapter 10

Derek was working on reports for Hotch, as he had been for the past hour. It was taking him forever to finish the work he was doing. His head was not in the game—he couldn't focus, no matter how hard he tried. That was driving him crazy. Giving up on that endeavor, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander exactly where it wanted to go: to Penelope and the sonnet he'd written for her. Each word—and the truth behind those words—was forever imprinted on his brain.

On the one hand, he'd found it incredibly easy to write that sonnet, to let all the barely suppressed feelings he'd had in his heart spill out onto paper. There was so much positive, so much wonderful about her. Even her faults were endearing to him—not really faults, but cute character quirks. He wasn't done listing the unique qualities that made her who she was. He could've written a book about her, if he'd had the time, and still need to write more as time went by.

It had also been indescribably hard, writing that sonnet and what she meant to him. She was his everything, and writing it brought it home to him solid and clear how very much in love he was with her. He'd known he loved her, but the extent in which he loved her...

She was his soul mate.

That was the cursed part. The words he'd written had been beautiful and true and from his heart...and she'd never know they came from him. Instead, Kevin the schmuck would get her hugs, her kisses…and her love. His stomach churned, and his heart was so battered and sore, it was like it had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

He couldn't do this anymore. He needed to stop thinking about it.

He glared at the paper on his desk, as the words swirled and danced in front of him, making no sense at all. This report wasn't going to get written, no matter what. He'd been on paragraph one for the whole time. In frustration, he tossed his pencil aside with a growl.

"Poor pencil."

Penelope stepped into his office and was smiling at him, which automatically made him smile, too. She did that to him; her smile was infectious.

"Baby Girl," he said, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. "Come on in."

Her smile increased to a big grin. "Like I'd ever need an invite, Hot Stuff."

He chuckled. "That you don't, sugar."

He watched as she sat and crossed those curvy legs he loved so much. She had such beautiful legs, curvy calves and slightly plump thighs, usually wrapped in some sort of colorful tights, or sometimes fishnet stockings that made him want to touch the little squares of skin they revealed.

He cleared his throat and brought his gaze up to her eyes again. "So, what has you in such a cheerful mood?"

"I had a beautiful sonnet written for me."

Hearing those words was pleasure and pain. Like a big drum in a marching band, his heart pounded in his chest. At the same time, that organ constricted painfully, so much so, he was certain he jolted in his chair. He was losing the battle; he couldn't balance the emotion he was feeling.

Praying that he didn't show how he felt, he gave her a grin and asked, "Oh? That's something, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, a serene little smile on her face. "It was perfect. Really wonderful. Like someone looked into my heart and read the words my soul was singing."

Again, his beleaguered heart gave a twang of regret. "Sounds great," he said huskily, unable to control the sound of his voice.

"It was," she gushed in response. "It was written with obvious love, and such passion." She paused for a second and held his gaze directly. "I never thought anyone would feel like that about me."

He frowned for a second. Was she doubting her appeal, even after that sonnet? What in the hell had Lynch done wrong to cause that?

He was going to remedy this now. He stood and walked to the other side of his desk to be near her, and then lowered himself to one knee, just below eye level with her. "Anyone would be lucky to feel like that about you, angel."

She tilted her head to the side, looking a touch confused. "Why is that?"

"Sweetheart, you are so beautiful," he began, holding her hand in his, "and not just on the outside—which you are; trust me—but on the inside, too. You're caring, loving, kind, and giving."

"Thank you."

"It takes only a minute of being with you, girl, for people to know that," he added. "It's a forgone conclusion."

She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "Always my champion, hmmm?"

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. There was no doubting that; there was no one else for him. He tasted the bittersweet tang of truth in his words as he replied, "Every day of my life."

"Thank you, Baby Boy."

Unable to help himself, he cupped her cheek in his palm. He craved touching her, holding her, feeling her warmth and energy. "Anytime."

"You know…I really loved that sonnet."

He removed his hand, cursing his foolish heart for jumping off the fucking ledge yet again. Of course, she wasn't thinking about him. She was thinking about "Lynch's" sonnet again. He was ridiculous, being jealous of himself, but he couldn't help it.

He stood and said more gruffly than he'd intended, "Yeah...I know."

She frowned, looking somewhat confused. "I only have one problem..."

He arched a brow at her. "What?"

"It doesn't sound like Kevin," she said flatly. "In fact, none of the things he's done lately were very Kevin-like."

His gut churned. "Really."

"Yes," she said. "Kevin has never said romantic words like that to me before in his life. He never thought about what I wanted or offered to do things that wouldn't appeal to him." She grinned. "He's selfish that way, but it's him…and I was kind of used to it."

"It's wrong," he growled, getting more upset with Kevin by the second.

"But you do those kind of things for me all the time."

A warning bell went off in his head. "I do?"

"Opening my door, giving me little gifts, walks in the park...making me smile when I didn't think I could..."

As she stood and levered her eyes at him, he almost gasped. Understanding hit him; he felt his heart hit the floor, and he began to back peddle. "Baby, I can explain—"

"In fact," she interrupted in a tone that brooked no argument, "I would say that each of those things Kevin did were direct reflections of you. Each compliment and new understanding he had seemed like you." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And every word of that sonnet was you, Derek Morgan."

"Penelope—"

"Did you really think I would read something like that, something so beautiful and heartfelt, and not know it was my best friend writing it?" she asked rhetorically. "Apparently, you don't know me as well as you thought."

"No, baby, it—"

"What I want to know is this," she said, silencing him, "and I want the truth."

He stared at her. He wasn't going to argue what he'd done or what he'd said. He was wrong in helping Kevin—and in deceiving her. She deserved better. He'd never meant to hurt her. He'd wanted her to be happy.

So he remained silent, waiting to hear what she had to say.

She raised her chin slightly and met his gaze squarely, as she asked, "Derek, when you wrote that sonnet, were you writing as Kevin in love with me…or are you the one in love with me?"