Part ten:
It had been a good day – quiet, just walking around and talking and eating things here and there. They'd wandered around Lincoln Park till it got too cold for her, then they'd gone to a mall and he'd treated her to the best ice cream sundae she'd ever had in her life.
She'd taken her meds at the appropriate times and he watched her like a hawk as she did. Only once had he asked her a question about how she was feeling – and that was when she'd been jostled in a crowd. He'd been attentive and careful, checking her for any lingering damage beyond the frown on her lips.
They ate a quiet dinner in a little restaurant and talked like calm, rational adults about Christina and everything that had happened since they'd split up. He talked about meeting Terri and getting married and being scared shitless when Wanda was born. She told him about "dating" Dave and how they came to stumble into marriage. He had laughed about the team coming back from a case and finding her about to give birth in her office because she'd been too scared to go to the hospital by herself – despite having her bag packed and right there in the office. In retrospect, it was hysterical, but at the time, she'd been terrified.
She'd started getting droopy and worn out by the time dinner was over, so he bundled her up in the car, turned the heater up, and drove. She nodded off, but startled awake when the car stopped. "Where are we?" Penelope mumbled.
"Home sweet home," Derek replied cheerfully.
She looked out the window at the house. It seemed nice enough – small, a little shabby, but nice enough – two stories with white siding and black shutters, a two-car garage, his beat-up old SUV on the left side of the driveway and a white sedan on the right (the sedan having a very large dent in the back bumper), and so on. Typical suburban landscape with a typical suburban family.
But she felt badly that it wasn't just a little bit nicer – Derek and his family deserved nice things, too. She internally slapped herself for looking down her nose at the little house, and had a sudden flash of what life would've been like if it had been the two of them together. Probably exactly the same as it was here and now.
"Come on," he said, "let's go inside and have dessert – I've got some cookie dough in the fridge."
She laughed and let him lead her out of the car and up the walk to the front door. As soon as the key was in the lock, she heard a large, deep bark. Derek opened the door and she almost fainted – that dog was enormous! The top of its head came well past her waist and almost to her breastbone. "Down, girl," Derek scolded softly when the huge dog moved toward Penelope. "C'mere, Munchkin," he insisted. The dog barked and moved toward him, brushing against him and almost knocking him down. "Okay, okay – you wanna go outside, girl? C'mon – outside time."
Once the dog was outside, he came back and helped her out of her coat. "Sorry about Munchkin," he said. "I forget how unnerving she can be."
"She's just so big!" Penelope said.
"Yeah, she's a Burmese Mountain Dog," Derek said. "She was abused as a puppy and was rescued and I fell in love with her cute little face." He grinned at her. "I promise, that dog won't bite you – she knows better."
"I'm not worried about that," Penelope admitted. "I'm more worried she's going to knock me down and smother me with love."
He laughed. "You should see her wrestle with Mick." Derek paused a second, then said, "Do you want to come with me while I make the cookies, or would you rather sit down and rest?"
"Can't I do both?" she asked. "I can sit and watch you make cookies."
He smiled and said, "Well, then – here's the penny tour. The kitchen is over here." They walked in comfortable silence and she pulled up a chair from the dinette set while he rooted around for a cookie sheet.
She glanced around, taking in the sparse décor – the dinette was pretty straightforward, just cherry wood and glass, the pots and pans were hanging from ceiling racks over the kitchen island, and dishes and glasses were in glass-fronted cherry cabinets. It looked like every suburban kitchen in America, and she felt suddenly guilty for being so proud of her marble countertops and Royal Dalton collections.
"You're awfully quiet all of a sudden," Derek commented as he broke apart chunks of cookie dough. "You okay?"
She nodded and murmured, "Just… feeling out of place."
"How so?" he asked, brow furrowing in concentration and concern as he filled the baking tray.
"Well, this is your home," Penelope tried to explain, "and it's wonderful. And I'm sitting here, feeling guilty because I have nice things in my home and you have nice things, but not – god, I'm not explaining this very well…"
"You feel guilty because you can feel that the chair you're sitting on needs a new leg," he said, "and the cabinets need refinishing and we have plastic cups instead of crystal. Right?"
She sighed. "But it's not like – damn it – it's not like that. I'm just used to –"
"Penelope, it's okay," he assured her. "I'm content with what we have. I work hard for my paychecks, and everything we have is practical because it has to be. Well, except for the tv in my room. That's just because I could."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"
He smirked over at her as he threw the baking tray in the oven. "Don't beat yourself up over it – not all of us can sip champagne from satin slippers," he teased. "We do just fine. But the check your husband gave me will definitely be going toward remodeling the kids' bathroom and doing some landscaping in the front yard – after I put most of it into the kids' college funds."
"Listen, if you ever need –"
"Penelope," Derek said, his voice low and soft, "you can't just throw money at me because you feel guilty about my house lookin' a little ghetto. I'm a single dad with two teenagers and a dog that eat me out of house and home – my house and my cars are gonna be just a teeny bit ghetto."
"Yes, but –"
"And you can't throw money at me because you feel guilty about Christina," he said firmly. He leaned against the counter and sighed. "Okay? We already talked about this."
"Yes," she murmured. Her phone started beeping and she groaned. "It's pill time –"
He got down a plastic glass with the Batman logo on it and filled it up with iced tea from a jug in the fridge. "You need any help with –"
"Have I needed any help today?" she snapped. By the time the words left her mouth and her brain caught up with them, he was staring at her. "God – Derek, I'm sorry, I didn't –"
He held up his hand. "Stop apologizing," he said. "You have nothing to apologize for right now."
"But I –"
"Take your pills," he said. The timer beeped and he got the cookies out of the oven. By the time he turned around, her pills were down the hatch, as was half the glass of tea. He took off the hot mitts and took the three steps to reach her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I know you're hurting," he said, "and it's getting harder to hide it. You don't have to hide it from me."
"I don't want to be a burden," Penelope sighed, suddenly feeling very nervous – she was revealing a truth she hadn't wanted to share. "To you or to anyone. It's not that I don't want to cry because it hurts like hell," she whispered, "but I don't want you to worry because I'm in pain. You have so many other things to worry about."
"Now you just stop it right there," Derek said in a firm tone that booked no argument. "You are not a burden, Penelope. You are a strong, capable woman – too strong, maybe. And if you need to cry, you better cry. If you want to yell and scream and curse God for letting cancer get the better of you, you can do it. You're safe here and I'm not going to judge you. Okay?"
He was kneeling in front of her, looking so damn earnest and frightened and worried and – and she just crumbled. What strength she had left disappeared in a heartbeat and she lost her shit. She cried so hard she didn't know how she could still be breathing; and he just held her hand and held her as she wept.
"I'm a horrible person," she choked out. "That's why God's punishing me – that's why – it has to be why."
"Oh, sweetheart," Derek sighed. "You aren't horrible –"
"I kept Christina from you," she blubbered. "I pissed my husband off and he got sick and died. I had to sit next to a guy with bad breath on the plane and all I could think about when I got off the plane was that I should buy a jet! I was thinking horrible, awful things about your house because I'm a snob – I'm a bad person, Derek, and when I die, I'm not going to see Dave – I'm going straight to hell!" Her voice gave way to a miserable wail that he did his best to muffle against his shoulder.
She cried until she couldn't cry anymore, and then she just felt… small. Hollow. Tired.
When she pulled away from him and started trying to wipe her nose and eyes – because nothing said damsel in distress like a fucking snotty nose – Derek took her glasses off and gently used the pads of his thumbs to wipe her tears away. "There we go," he whispered, "good as new." He set her glasses back on her nose and waved a little. "Hi, Baby Girl – I was wondering where you went in that tough girl exterior. Welcome back."
She didn't know what he meant – had she really changed that much? Oh – oh god, she'd really screwed the pooch on this one… She'd been so wrapped up in everything that she'd forgotten what it was like to just let go and feel free.
On impulse, she grabbed his hand and pulled him close.
Before she could stop herself, she kissed him.
He tasted like hope and home and everything good in the world – everything she wanted and couldn't, shouldn't, have. All the things that she would have fought for if she had any fight left.
She pulled away and whispered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"
He shook his head, hurt in his eyes, but it disappeared in a flash. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her like she had never been kissed in her life. All the pain and longing and every emotion they'd ever shared was in that kiss – and she didn't want to fight it.
She wanted to drink it up greedily and beg for more.