Chapter 9

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, folks. I was going to wait until midnight to post, but I'm too bushed to boop! So...here we go...

After only four days, the team solved the case and Derek was ready to head home. He was anxiously looking forward to getting back home; it felt like he'd been gone forever. He was really anticipating seeing Penelope again. He hadn't had a chance to phone her for more than a moment on the first day while he'd been gone. Then today, the last day, he'd called...and Lynch had answered instead. He shuddered in memory of that conversation!

He'd handed off all phone duties to Reid shortly thereafter.

Because the case was wrapping up, he hadn't had the time to call and ask what the problem was. Apparently, Pen had been out for the last two days. It was unlike Penelope not to be in the office, especially on the last day of a case. That was typically the day they'd needed to do the most paperwork collaboration, and no one gathered info faster than his Baby Girl. He knew something pretty awful must've happened to keep her away during wrap up...and really bad if she'd allow someone else near her computers!

So, putting it all together, he'd been worried most of the last few hours. Finally, on the plane ride home, he stepped to the back and called her.

A voice that sounded remotely like Penelope answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, sweetness."

Sniffle. "Hi, Hot Stup."

He held the phone away and looked at it, then asked the obvious question, "Baby, you sick?"

She chuckled, and then coughed at the same time. "Excellent powers of deduction, Borgan. Doh wonder you're a profiler," she quipped in the most nasal tone he'd ever heard.

"You sound miserable," he said. He had the urge to laugh a little at her mispronunciations, but he felt too badly for her to do that.

"Don't just sound, sweetie." She paused to blow her nose, loudly. "I look the part, too."

"Poor Baby Girl," he murmured sympathetically.

"I'b sorry," she said, sounding very apologetic. "I picked really fun positions to do, too."

"That's okay, sweetheart," he replied soothingly. "That's the last thing I'm thinking about right now. You need to get better. We don't need to rush."

"I don't think I could rush if I tried," she grumbled dejectedly. Then she yawned, along with a non-pleasure filled moan.

"Baby, go back to bed."

"That rotten place?" she groaned. "I don't wanna. I'b bored."

He chuckled. "You need sleep."

She sighed in defeat. "I do. I guess I'll climb in and dream of your sweet chocolate butt next to be."

"Silly girl. Goodnight."

"Dight."

Penelope woke a few hours later to a throbbing headache and the faint smell of chicken soup. She'd opened a can of Campbell's® before she'd gone to bed and hadn't eaten any of it, but this smelled better and more flavorful. Forcing herself to sit up, she lowered her legs to the side of her bed and put on her huge yellow fluffy slippers that looked like Big Bird's feet. Then she stood and wandered through the curtain, where she heard a voice, whispering.

"When do I add the noodles, momma?"

Derek was standing in her kitchen, facing her stove. He had a bag of egg noodles on the counter; he was resting his hand on them, like he was questioning picking them up. He must've gotten the a-okay from Mrs. Morgan, because he picked them up and opened the package.

"Tell your bother thank you for be," she said, coming up behind him.

He turned and shot her a grin. "Hey, baby. Feeling better?"

She shook her head, and immediately regretted it, as the world started to spin.

"Momma, I got to let you go," he said as he closed the phone and scooped her up in his arms.

"Hot Stup, I'b fine," she protested as he carried her back to her bed.

"You almost landed on your head in there, woman," he replied, scowling at her as he laid her down. "Don't you give me that I'm fine bullshit."

Her eyes watered. Being sick made her very sensitive. She looked like hell, she felt like hell, and now he was mad at her. Her chin quivered as she said, "You don't deed to yell at be."

He looked immediately contrite. "Baby, I'm sorry."

Against her normal judgment, she began to cry. She felt so miserable, and he was being so sweet; it all hit her very hard. A moment later, he was sliding in behind her, holding her close to him as he tucked the blanket around her.

"Shhhh...hush now," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "You're fine. I'm here, sweetheart."

"I'b sorry," she croaked out, still crying.

"You've been sleeping?"

"All the time." She groaned. Her bedroom was a mess, she had tissues overflowing the garbage, and the chocolate God of her dreams was here.

She mused to herself, One out of three ain't bad.

"Not sleeping well, though, I presume?"

She groaned in response.

"Did you eat?" he asked gently.

"Doh. I don' feel like it," she replied. She felt too tired to eat.

"You need to eat; keep your strength up." He released her and began to stand up. "Here, let me get you a cup of soup, and I'll hold you until you sleep."

"Derek, go home," she said, pouting. "You're going to get sick, too, and I'll deber forgibe byself."

"Then we can be in bed together." He tossed her a kleenex® and winked at her, a semi-lascivious grin on his face. "Besides, I'm healthy as a horse. I never get sick."

"Fabous last words," she retorted.

He walked out of her room, laughing...the ass.

Five minutes later, he came back in as she helped herself to sitting. She ate about half of the heaping bowl of soup, and remarkably did feel much better.

"Fran Morgan's famous chicken soup," he said, nodding and eating his own bowlful. "Did wonders when I was a kid."

She gave him a skeptical look. "I thought you neber got sick."

"I don't." He took her bowl and his. "Not as an adult. Lay down." He exited the room for the kitchen again.

Someday, she'd have to talk to him about his domineering ways. Right now, she felt so much better, she wasn't going to argue. She slid down in bed, reached for her remote, and flicked on the television.

He came back in and slid behind her, this time under the covers. He wrapped her in his warm arms, his cheek resting against her temple. "What are we watching?"

"Some old bovie with Cary Grant," she said, yawning.

"North by Northwest," he replied, recognizing the show. "Good flick."

"Mmm," she answered, and before she knew it, she was sleeping again.