Part nine:

The flight into Chicago was turbulent. It had been a weird winter and random eddies of snow and ice were still blowing out of Canada, out to the Atlantic coast – and it was nearly March. Penelope was fairly certain that if she didn't die from the cancer, she'd die from the cold – her joints weren't what they used to be. So she'd packed a heavy coat, just in case.

All of her preparation hadn't prepared her for the turbulence – or sharing the seat row with an overly enthusiastic, flirty businessman with halitosis and no ability to understand the phrase, "Don't touch me!"

As she staggered off the plane with her coat and carry-on bag, she decided that if she was going to have to travel more in her last few months, she was going to splurge and buy a fucking private jet. The kids could sell it off when she died. Anything to get away from the crazy people.

She got to the hotel and checked in, glad to be able to make someone else take her bags. The valet was kind and attentive, making sure she was unpacked and ready for the rest of her stay before he left. His tip was definitely much more than Dave would've given him – she knew enough to know her limits, and the young man had performed above and beyond her expectations.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. She had finally settled into a routine after everyone went home from the funeral. And she fended for herself with very little help – which surprised her. It just took effort and gritting her teeth through the pain, reminding herself that it wasn't going to last forever. In fact, if she had her way, it would be sooner rather than later.

The house was too big and empty without her husband. Luca was there, but still – it just wasn't the same. It was too much for one person to handle. Mansions weren't meant for a fairly solitary existence, especially when you couldn't scrub your own damn toilet easily. If she wasn't invested in preserving the house for the kids, she would already have looked into selling it. But her best memories were all there – family meals and birthday parties and making love in front of the fireplace…

Penelope sighed and closed her eyes, laying back on the pillows. She only meant to take a quick nap, but the next thing she knew, her phone alarm was screaming for her to get up and take her pills. She got up robotically and took them, knowing that she'd already built up a tolerance to them – or that the breakthrough pain really was that bad. Either way, she was grinding her teeth down, day by day.

She paced around the suite, feeling a little bit like a caged animal. She had nowhere to be till the next day, and she didn't want to bother Christina. It wasn't fair to put her out just because she was in town for an appointment. And tests. And… a few days of hell waiting for the results of the tests. And the inevitable –

She'd already updated her will with Hotch, making allowances for everything she'd just inherited from her husband and everything that she'd never gotten around to. She wanted to be prepared for the worst possible news from the doctors – and Penelope already knew that the news couldn't possibly be good. She just knew.

She glanced at the clock. Noon. Well, okay, then. No pressure or anything to find something to do for the rest of the day. She was sick do death of doing nothing. She'd been happy to retire early when Dave was all, "We can spend our days together and be as naughty as we like," but now that she was on her own, all she did was read erotica on a tablet and pray that the cancer took her before she could sink her claws into some of these idiot writers.

She hesitated a moment, then reached for her phone. She dialed the number Derek had programmed into her contacts and waited. It wasn't long before she was rewarded with a sleepy mumble of, "If this is Principal Haskins, I know that my kid's a pain in the ass. If not, call back in a couple hours."

Penelope chuckled. "Sounds like you're having a bad day, Morgan," she murmured.

He immediately sounded more alert, and slightly surprised. "Penelope?"

"Yeah, it's me," she said with a tiny smile. "Sorry I haven't called – I had some things to take care of. How are you and the kids?"

"Well, I'm just coming off six months of the night shift," he replied with a weary sigh, "and I've got three days off to switch my internal clock back to days – it's not going very well."

"I can imagine not," she said, wincing a little. "I… I don't even know where you're working."

"I'm with the CPD," he said, yawning. "So – how are you?"

"That's a loaded question," she replied. "My appointment is tomorrow – they'll do an initial scan, then biopsies, blood tests, and everything else that needs doing. It could stretch out over a couple of days, so I just planned for two weeks."

He yawned again and groaned. "I'm sorry – I'm –"

"No, no, it's lunchtime on a Tuesday – I should've thought before I called," she said. "I can call back later."

"No, I'm up," he said. The toilet flushed in the background, and she stifled a chuckle. "You worried about tomorrow?"

"Not really," she lied. "I just want it all to be over with so I know what I'm dealing with and how quickly it's going to be over."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "Well, you might not be worried – but I am."

She blushed a little. "So, um, since I woke you up and all – would you like to meet me somewhere for lunch or something? I mean, I'm in town for a while, so…"

He chuckled. "Well, we should probably hash some things out, shouldn't we?" he asked. "Why not? Where are you staying? With Christina?"

She hesitated a moment, then said, "Um, actually, I'm staying at the Drake."

There was a beat of silence. "Seriously? You have family in town and you're staying in a six-star hotel instead?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes, well, I didn't want to disrupt Chrissy's routine," Penelope said. "And it's always better when we have plenty of room apart to decompress. Too much time together can get a little hinky. She knows I'm here, though, and we're having dinner tomorrow –"

She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. "Well, okay, be waiting for me at the ground pickup area in about an hour, okay? The kids are having dinner with their grandparents tonight – like they do every Tuesday night, don't think I'm sending them off or something because you're here – so I'm going to take you out for a night on the town."

Penelope chuckled. "Just like old times, then?"

"Hey, if we have to make nice, there better at least be good food and not all that foofy French shit you love so much," he teased.

"Oh lord," she laughed.

"Hey, I know this much about you – Dave got you to at least eat a little meat. So lunch is definitely going to be something iconic – a hella good Chicago dog."

"Oh, honey, my heartburn –"

He laughed. "Yours and mine, both. When did we get old, Penelope?"

"A while ago," she murmured. "But that's the way of life, isn't it?"

"Meet me in an hour," he reminded her.

"Of course," she said. "I'll be there."

The valet looked concerned as he held open the door to Derek's beat-up old SUV. "Mrs. Rossi, are you sure you don't want me to call you a –"

Penelope smiled at the young man and passed him a $20 bill. "Thank you, but no – if anyone calls for me, please hold the messages at the front desk and I'll collect them when I return," she said. She hopped up into the SUV and smiled over at him. "I think we're going to be the talk of the hotel today."

"Why?" he asked, throwing it into gear and heading out.

"I get the feeling they aren't used to classic cars," she teased, making sure her seatbelt was fastened – if Derek was with the CPD, there was no way his driving skills had improved. In fact, it was a distinct probability that they had devolved into something horrific. In which case, she probably should be holding onto the 'oh shit' handle, as well.

"Are you nervous driving with me?" he asked, glancing over at her.

"No," she lied.

"Liar," he accused.

"Okay, I remember very well how you drive – like a maniac," she shot back, laughing nervously.

"Baby Girl, I swear – you've gotten boring in your old age," he teased, grinning.

"I have," she agreed, "but your driving has always scared me. Especially after New York." The tiny confession from so damn long ago didn't make her feel better: it made her feel worse.

His brow furrowed and he glanced over at her. "Penelope –"

"I broke my promise," she said. "To not stop talking to you."

"Baby Girl," he sighed, "life happened. It's okay."

"Not to me," she murmured, looking out the window as the buildings went by.

They drove in silence till he pulled into a parking lot and turned off the engine. "Penelope, if we're going to be friends, we need to lay down some ground rules," he said, turning to face her. "Number one? The past is past and we can't change it. But we can be honest with each other now, right?" She nodded. "Number two – what the hell coat are you wearing? It looks like some animal died for you to wear it –"

"It's fake fur trim," she said indignantly. "And I'm cold."

He laughed and waggled his eyebrows. "I can think of a couple of ways to change that."

She glanced away, blushing, ashamed that – to be brutally honest – she'd already thought of all of those ways, and a couple more. But she wasn't about to do anything to break their fragile trust. Or betray Dave's memory. Her heart clenched and she had to fight back the tears. WHY did she have to love two men, and each so deeply – and all at the same time? God, she wished she could go back to the day that she'd sat waiting for him to call her back and apologize for even thinking of ending them. She would tell her younger self to call him – call him, yell at him, scream at him, tell him that she was pregnant, MAKE THEM WORK.

She couldn't – just like she couldn't just build a new life right now when she was so close to the end. It wasn't fair to anyone.

But when he came around the car and opened the door, offering her his hand, she took it and gladly.