Part eleven:

He wasn't as strong as he used to be, but he carried her up the stairs into his bedroom without flinching or breathing too heavily. Derek kissed her very gently as he set her down and said, "Okay, so – let me clean up a little or –"

Penelope smiled and shook her head. "I don't care if you have underwear on the floor or if the bed isn't made," she murmured.

"I wasn't expecting company when you woke me up," he said, running around quickly and picking things up while she watched with amusement. His bed was smaller than she might have expected – just a full size – and covered in simple black sheets, white blankets, and a plaid comforter in shades of black, white, and red. He didn't have a headboard, so the bed was butted right up against the wall. He had one bedside table with reading glasses, a book, an alarm clock and a lamp on it, but the true star of the room was the huge flat panel television on the wall opposite the bed, sitting between the two windows. He stopped kicking things under the bed and sighed. "Shit – I guess all that killed what mood we had going, didn't it?"

She shook her head and smiled. "I told you I don't care what your room looks like," she said softly. "I'm not here for the room – I'm here because I love you, stupid."

He exhaled shakily, nervously – since when was Derek Morgan nervous about having a girl in his bedroom? – and said, "I can tell you things will be better if we get back together, but it would be a lie, wouldn't it? You're still sick, I'm still over my head with the kids and work and the mortgage –"

She came over and gave him a lingering, delicious kiss that made her shiver. "I could tell you that I've always loved you – which is true – and that this wouldn't affect anything – which is a lie," she whispered. "Because I just… I want to be happy while I'm here. And we're… starting over, aren't we?" She leaned into his shoulder and closed her eyes. "We've both made mistakes, haven't we? I don't think this is, though."

He looked at her with such naked longing that she reached out to stroke his cheek. "I'm probably supposed to feel guilty," she said, "but I don't. So shut up and kiss me."

Her phone alarm blared, demanding attention. She blinked awake, feeling deliciously warm and comfortable, with Derek's breath hot in her face. They were still tangled together and it took a little work to get free. She shut off the alarm and looked around for her clothes in the dark. She found her panties and bra, but heaven only knows where the rest had gone. She put her glasses on and managed to find a t-shirt that Derek had missed kicking under the bed, tugging it on and inhaling his scent deeply. She went into the hallway and crept downstairs in the dark to find her purse in the kitchen.

Munchkin got up from her bed by the front door and waffled softly before she nudged Penelope. "Hi, there," Penelope whispered. "Shhh – don't wake anyone up, okay?" The dog followed her obediently into the kitchen and Penelope took her pills quickly before she looked around for a treat for the dog. She finally found the box of treats on top of the fridge and she took one of the large bone-shaped biscuits out. Munchkin's tail wagged with enthusiasm and she came up and almost knocked Penelope down with her eagerness to get at the treat. "Oh, goodness!" Penelope laughed softly as the dog's front paws went over her shoulders and down her back and she got a hot face full of happy doggy drool. "Okay, okay – SIT," she said firmly. The dog backed off and sat down, looking mollified. "Good girl – here you go," Penelope murmured, giving her the treat and rubbing her behind the ears. "Good girl," she assured the dog.

Penelope thought briefly that maybe she should catch a cab and go back to the hotel before the kids realized she was there. Oh lord – what on earth would they think?

She ended up not really caring much because the linoleum floor was damn cold and so was she. She raced back up the stairs and dove back into bed with him. "Hey," he mumbled, "where'd you go?"

"Pills," she whispered.

"Mmm," he acknowledged tiredly. "Did the kids let Munchkin in?"

"Mmmhmm," Penelope replied, curling up in his arms and closing her eyes. She missed sleeping with someone – curled up and comfortable, warm and intimate, needed and wanted. And Derek was entirely too enthusiastic about keeping her tucked up close. His hand roamed over her lower back, settling on her ass, pulling her hips flush against his.

"Love you," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

"Love you, too," she murmured, going back to sleep.

She woke up soaked in icy sweat, a horrified cry on her lips. Derek was there, holding her, whispering that it was okay – it was all right… It had been so long since she'd had a nightmare that she'd forgotten how disturbing they were. She was shaking and holding him like she was afraid he wasn't real. Maybe he wasn't – maybe –

"No, no, don't," he whispered when she tried to push him away. "It's okay, Baby Girl… it's okay, really. I promise."

Her only response was to kiss him, begging him to take it all away for a moment. Each kiss was hungrier than the last, desperate and full of things they'd both been denied for so long. Their coupling was rough, quick, and took her breath away.

She should feel guilty – Dave had only been dead for 12 days, and she was fucking Derek Morgan like a cat in heat. But she didn't feel plagued with guilt. She loved him desperately – how could it be wrong now? She was finally telling herself the truth: that as much as she'd loved Dave, Derek was the one that made her whole again.

But how could he really love her now? After all that she'd done, she was hard-pressed to even like herself. Her life was a litany of choices that she'd made under duress, and this was the only choice that felt right. Being with him felt… she couldn't even describe it. But she knew he was holding back things that he wanted to say because she was sick and probably dying and he didn't want to hurt her more. She wanted the truth, though – how could he love her?

The idea of him nursing her through the cancer treatments made her feel sick – he deserved so much better than her. She would only hold him back. She didn't want to –

"Derek, I should go back to the hotel," she whispered in the dark. "I – I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have just disrupted your day like I did and I –"

"What are you babbling about?" he mumbled. "Close your eyes and sleep."

"No, don't you dare mollycoddle me and tell me to go back to sleep," she said firmly, getting up and turning on the light. She found her underwear tangled in the sheets and yanked it on before she moved around the room, coming up with other articles of clothing till she was dressed and looking for her boots. "I need to go back to the hotel – this was…" She stopped herself from saying it was a mistake. "This is wrong, Derek."

"You're the one that fucking told me that it wasn't wrong!" he yelped, getting out of bed and grabbing her by the shoulders. She winced and he pulled back. "Damn it, Penelope –"

"Stop," she pleaded. "Don't try to make me feel better. Please. Just – just take me back to the hotel."

"No," he said, crossing his arms stubbornly. "You're going to fucking tell me how you just do that – do a total about-face because you think you're better than me. Just fucking tell me why you're here; tell me why you're in my bed and then we'll decide together if it's as bad as you think."

"No," she denied. "I have to go. My appointment is in five hours. Please just take me back to the hotel." Please don't ask me to tell you how much this is killing me –

He finally went to the dresser and grabbed clothes. He dressed without a word, but as soon as he'd pulled his sweater on, he muttered, "Fine. But we're talking about this tonight –"

"I'm having dinner with Christina."

"Oh, no," he said, looking over at her with a mixture of predatory anger and lust in his gaze, "we are going to talk about this tonight. Preferably as we're fucking somewhere in that overpriced room of yours, but I'm open to other suggestions – like over a bottle of champagne as we sit in the tub after we've gone a couple rounds…"

"Derek – this was a mistake," she said, her voice low and quiet. "God knows I've made enough of them in my life to know when one's smacked me between the eyes. I kissed you because I was feeling nostalgic and lonely. And the sex – the sex was just an extension of that."

He took two purposeful steps and grabbed her chin. "Don't lie to me," he hissed. "Don't you ever fucking lie to me again, Penelope. You've done enough of that, don't you think?"

She declined to favor him with an answer, though she was inwardly screaming, YES, GOD YES, I HAVE!

He shook his head angrily and said, "Get your shit and we'll go."

"So," Christina said, setting down bowls of soup on the table, "how did it go?"

"We did the body scan today and they took about half of the blood they need," Penelope said, tucking into the soup. She hadn't eaten all day and she was dying for something heavier than soup. Oh well – that's what room service is for, right? "Tomorrow, they'll take more blood and do more localized scans."

"Right," Christina said, "but how did it go?"

Penelope sighed. "Not very well."

Christina fell silent. Dinner was awkwardly quiet, and Penelope didn't really feel like piping up and saying much because that sad look on her daughter's face would only magnify. Once they were done, she called a cab and rode back to the hotel.

She didn't want to tell her daughter that in the 6 weeks since her diagnosis, the cancer had spread. In May, she had been fine. In February, she was dying. It was a harsh, painful kick to the gut. Dr. Wilton had already advised that they remove her breast implants and scrape what tumors they could from her ribcage and what breast tissue she had left, but she'd been stubborn and said she'd wait for the final results.

She'd ignored all of Derek's texts and voicemails and the messages at the front desk, and was content with just taking a long bath and going to bed. Anything to feel normal and not miserable.

She was just finished toweling off when her phone rang for what seemed the thousandth time – and she finally picked it up. "Hello," she said, her voice devoid of everything.

"I thought you'd gone and jumped off the Sears Tower or something," Derek said, his tone beyond anxious. "Why didn't you call or text or something –"

"Because I don't owe you an explanation for anything," she huffed. "I had a miserable, shitty day and a bullshit dinner and I'm tired and frustrated and I have to do it again tomorrow because one day of misery isn't enough! No, let's suck her dry of blood and send her through another machine that will tell everyone that, yes, I have fucking stage four breast cancer and even if I did start treatment right now, I only have a tiny shot of living more than a few months!" She hung up the phone and threw it across the room, feeling sick to her stomach. You told him and now he's going to try to talk you out of doing something 'stupid'. He's going to hurt himself to hold onto you and it's not fair to him. Not after everything you've done, Penelope. Just walk away. Run. Run away. Run like hell. Don't give in and don't let him see that if he just – if he loved you just so very much – if he loved you anywhere near as much as you love him – you would do anything to stay here with him. Never show him that.

Her dark and dismal thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. She got up and moved toward it, unsurprised to see him standing there. But she was surprised by the massive bouquet of roses in his arms. Red roses – dark, almost burgundy, roses, each one perfect.

"I'm sorry you had such a bad day," Derek said very softly. "I'm sorry I yelled at you last night. I'm sorry, Baby Girl, for everything."

Her hand flew to her lips and she closed her eyes. Don't show him – don't show him any sign of weakness or - She opened her eyes and he was still there, waiting for her to say something. "Oh, Derek," she whispered.

"Can I come in or…"

She nodded and let him walk past her to find a vase for the bounty of flowers. "You didn't have to –"

"I get that you're scared and upset," he said, "especially now. But I'm not just going to let you push me away, Penelope." He came out of the bathroom after finally dropping the roses into the second sink when he couldn't find a vase. "Okay? I don't want you to die, but if you've decided that you really don't want to even try… the least I can do is be here to support you. Because I love you and that's not going to go away."

"I love you, too," she echoed softly, feeling her heart beating faster as he leaned in and kissed her gently. "I just don't want –"

"Stop it," he whispered. "Just stop. I'm a big boy. I know that you're trying to be noble and spare everyone the pain of seeing you go downhill. I get it. But you need to know that I don't fucking care. So, whatever your decision, I will stand by you and support you, and god, Penelope, I will love you."

Her words deserted her, and all she had left was a tiny voice in her head telling her that if she only had a short time left, shouldn't she fight back so she could spend it with him?

The tiny voice was getting louder.