A/N: To our lovely French readers: In order to paint the tone we need for this part of the story, we need to make France look rather inhospitable. This is because it is being seen through the eyes of the broken-hearted. This has nothing to do with a reflection on your fair country or city! (Fairgirl, please note!) Nous vous remercions de votre compréhension, mes amis. Avec un affection, Kricket (Le Grillon… hee hee- my French is very rusty!)

A/N II: I'd like to issue a big, massive tissue warning for this chapter. You'll need it trust me - Naidoo

The plane touched down without incident in Paris, France; however, their gate was blocked due to some maintenance issues with the previous plane. They were sitting, waiting on the tarmac for thirty minutes, while everyone grumbled around them.

Penelope remained silent. She just wanted to get away from Derek. Even seeing the lights of the city when the plane touched down didn't help her mood at all. Morgan remained silent, also. He'd never even looked in her direction. He'd stared stoically, like he was right now, at the front of the plane.

Finally, they were allowed to disembark. There was an orderly rush to the front of the plane, as everyone made their way out the gangway to the gate. Penelope and Derek went through customs without any issue, then made their way to baggage claim.

Derek reached for her bags, but Penelope insisted on carrying her own. She didn't want to be indebted to him for anything. She locked her luggage together, found a baggage cart, and piled the rest on it.

Derek locked his two cases he had, and tossed his carry-on over his shoulder, and began to stride forward. As usual, even after that horrible wait on the tarmac, Derek looked like he could grace GQ.

He sucked.

Pen started to push her luggage cart, when one box from the top fell off. She was pretty sure it was Italian crystal she'd bought. Her cart was so heavy it had its own forward momentum. Even though she dug her heels in, she rolled over the top of it. She gasped when she heard the glass crackling.

When she finally stopped the overloaded cart, two more boxes fell off the top, along with her heavy suitcase. She groaned; looking up, Derek was rolling along ahead of her, quite a distance away.

With tears in her eyes, she tossed the top box away in the nearest garbage receptacle, then started loading the cart again. A moment later, she saw familiar brown hands assisting, moving luggage around to make a more stable base, and settling things together.

"I got it," she grumbled.

"Let me help," he murmured gently.

"I don't want your help," she retorted. Some of the hair from her ponytail came loose and was dangling obnoxiously, tickling her nose. She growled, looked up at him from her crouched position, and blew the hair from in front of her face in a huff.

He narrowed his eyes at her and said, "I'm doing this for myself, then. I want to get out of here, and you're holding me up."

She didn't say anything else at that point. She continued to load the cart, trying to hold back a pout. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her pouting, although she really felt like doing it!

Her heart was breaking very slowly. Paris was not turning out at all like she'd thought it would be.

Finally they made it out the front door to the taxi stand. Derek watched as Penelope struck up a conversation in French with the stand operator. The man looked impressed with her words and nodded appreciatively. Derek noted he seemed to be impressed with her cleavage, also; his eyes kept drifting south while his smirk lingered on his face.

What was it with European men and Penelope? He didn't have these problems back in Quantico, keeping her safe and out of harm's way.

He sighed and grumbled, sitting on the bench, waiting for the taxi, and for Pen to stop flirting. She was right. It wasn't his job to protect her from male attention everywhere. He wished she understood; he just didn't want to see her get hurt. Cosimo was not a good guy, in spite of what Pen thought. He heard that from his sister's point of view.

Well...Derek balked. Not really. She'd just said Cosimo was a "player" with a string of broken hearts. Derek didn't want to see Pen's name added to that string.

Anyway, she'd made her point. She was an adult, she could do what she wanted to do. Like he could do what he wanted, too. With whomever he wanted to do it with.

A wash of guilt rolled over him when he thought about Luca. He didn't like feeling like he needed to explain his relationship with Luca to Penelope. She really was just a friend now; or at least that was what Derek thought before they arrived in Italy.

They'd had a rather steamy affair years ago that ended amicably. Neither of them had wanted a long term relationship when they were twenty. They'd just started corresponding again via email a couple years back. They had good conversations; he'd thought visiting would be fun.

It wasn't until the first night on the dance floor that Derek had realized she wanted to resume their previous affair, and the second night he'd realized she'd wanted even more than that. He'd tried to show he wasn't interested, without being rude to her, since she did house him and Penelope. He'd thought traveling with a woman would turn Luca off, too, in case she had those feeling.

But then Penelope and Cosimo became an item, Luca noticed and became even more forward, and Derek had to come straight out and tell her he wasn't interested. That brought the tears and the emotions before they left.

He was also called a bastardo. That word anyone could understand.

As a taxi pulled up, Penelope came to stand by him. Her brilliant smile she had a moment ago left when she faced him. "It's here."

Derek felt a pang in his chest. He missed her smile. It had only been a few hours, but he actually longed for it. He longed for the warmth they had for each other in England, and their last night in Italy.

They slid into the cab, and Penelope said, "L'hotel Napoleon, sil vous plait?"

"Oui, Madame," the cabbie replied.

"Non, m'sieur," she mentioned with a smile, "mademoiselle."

Even Derek, who couldn't speak a word of French, understood what that was all about.

"Oh, Ouais!" the cabbie said, smiling with his stained yellow teeth.

They cruised down the narrow, dark streets, past famous landmarks. Derek watched Penelope's face as she looked out the window. Although she wasn't smiling, he saw her eyes light up at some of the things he knew she wanted to see.

As they passed the Eiffel tower, Derek reached for her knee and squeezed lightly. "Do you want to see that tomorrow?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, I am going to see that," she said crisply, removing his hand. "You can do what you want to do."

"Come on, now, Baby Girl" he snapped, getting exasperated. He was travel weary, cranky, and so not in the mood to fight. "Grow up and let it go."

They pulled in front of their hotel, saving Penelope from having to answer him. She glared and stomped out of the cab, leaving him to pay the cabbie. He couldn't understand what the man was saying, so he gave him a bill from his wallet.

From the delighted expression on the cabbie's face, he obviously overpaid.

He waited for their bags; this time, Penelope didn't fight him with the baggage cart. He was glad, he was sick of having to fight for every little thing. Following P into the lobby, she stopped at the front desk and spoke in fluent French to the desk clerk.

Derek interrupted. "Excuse me, but is there someone who speaks English I could talk to?"

The clerk looked down his long, thin nose at him. "Oui, m'sieur, I speak English, and would be happy to assist."

This man reminded him of every swanky hotel concierge he'd ever encountered-arrogant without good reason. He smiled icily. "I just like to know what is going on."

"Oh, I am sorry, M'sieur," the clerk apologized, looking completely abashed.

Derek felt a little guilty for making an assumption. The poor man looked like he was ready to crawl under a rock.

Penelope stiffened, looking embarrassed. "That was uncalled for. I would've told you!"

His grin turned nasty again. He didn't need to be chastised by her. "I don't trust that you would right now. You seem rather petty to me."

Penelope's eyes grew large, and for a moment, he could see the hurt behind them, before her lips narrowed and pinched. She turned to the clerk. "M'sieur, can you change the adjoining rooms to single rooms on separate floors, please?"

He shook his head sadly. "Non, madame, I cannot."

"Don't worry, P," Derek said behind her. "I'll leave you alone."

"I'll lock my side anyway, thank you very much," she shot over her shoulder, sticking her nose in the air in a hoity-toity fashion.

"Go ahead, if you want to," he replied smoothly, "but believe me: There's nothing in your room that would interest me."

He saw her stiffen again, and for a moment, he felt his stomach plummet. He shouldn't have said that, but he couldn't stop himself. She should know he wouldn't attack her. Her reaction to this was out of line; she had to know that.

After that, it was silence. Even the clerk was quiet, saying nothing until he handed them the keys. "Enjoy your stay…" he said, but even he looked doubtful.

Heading up the elevator with the bellboy rolling the baggage in tow, they made it to their beautiful suite of rooms. It was a perfect room that would have inspired romance in anyone...but them. Decorated with classical furniture, floral colors with white accents and fresh French lavender, it was relaxing and gorgeous.

Derek turned to tip the Bellboy, who put the bags in the combined central room of the suite. It was an area to lounge and relax. When he turned, Penelope was already in her room. He heard the door lock turn.

Derek went into the bathroom to wash his face and hands, but couldn't get the cold, angry look Penelope had out of his mind. He needed to fix this, before nightfall. He wandered to her room and raised his hand to knock, but then listened.

She was sobbing.

The doors were thin, and he couldn't help but hear her. He felt like the world's biggest sonofabitch-and rightfully so.

"Garcia…" he called out. "Baby Gir-"

"Go...away." Each word took forever to get out, between the sobs.

"P, come on, sweetheart." He waited and heard no response. "Penelope…I'm...I don't want to say this to a door, but I'm sorry."

After five minutes of no response, he sat in one of the chairs. He sighed heavily, running his hands over his face. God, he didn't want this. He didn't want her miserable for their trip at all. This was all wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, Penelope came out of her room, wearing perfect makeup and a sexy little dress. Completing the look was a pair of sleek stiletto pumps. "Goodbye, Morgan."

He was surprised, rather shocked. "Wha… where…"

"I am going to take in the Parisian nightlife. Hopefully I will have as much fun as I did in Italy. Probably more… since I will be by myself." She gave him a pointed look. "I'm going to find someone who does find me interesting."

Derek stood and reached for her arm. "Garcia, I didn't mean-"

She shot him a look that would've made the hotel clerk proud. "I don't care how you meant it right now. I just know I need to get the hell away from you!"

With that, Derek let his hand drop, and she went out the door.