Part twelve:

Christina didn't mean to run her mother off – just… it was weird. Mama was usually so talkative and full of energy, and there wasn't any of that at dinner. And then she just got up and bolted. It was enough to make her worry that things were worse than her mother had let on. Which was probably the case.

She sighed and spread her books out again, trying her best to get ready for her Advanced Physiology quiz in the morning. She was already tired of skeletal disorders. She wanted to move on to the parts that mattered – carcinomas and disgusting parasitic diseases and…

Before she knew it, she was most of the way through a bottle of wine – and she was no closer to understanding scoliosis than she had been an hour before. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, sighing. "Ugh," she muttered.

The doorbell rang, and she jumped about ten feet straight in the air, sloshing wine over the edge of her glass and all over her books. "Shit," she muttered, looking at the clock. Maybe Mama was coming back to talk? "I'll be right there!" she yelled, wiping up the splash of wine with the edge of her sweatshirt. What did it matter? It was an old, grungy shirt Jack had left behind – eventually, it was going to the trash anyway.

She bolted for the door as the bell rang through the house again, almost tripping over Sylvester, her black tuxedo cat. "Shoo," she hissed, and the cat took cover in the bookshelf beneath the stairs. She didn't even look out the peephole, just threw the door open. "Hi –"

Her words deserted her completely.

"Hey," Jack said quietly.

Christina just stared at him, eyes wide.

"Aren't you going to say something?" he asked.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she finally managed to say.

"I… uh, well – they're opening a branch of the gallery here in Chicago, and asked me to supervise the first few installations…"

"No, here, on my doorstep," she said. "I could give a damn what you're doing in town – I want to know why you think you can just show up uninvited to my house –"

"It was my house, too," Jack said.

"Well, you know what? It was my dad's and now it's mine. So, I'll ask you again – what the hell are you doing here?" She crossed her arms defensively over the old, grubby NYU sweatshirt, suddenly worried about her fluffy slippers and Hello Kitty pajama pants. "You have five seconds and then I'm calling the police –"

"I'm worried about you," he finally said. "You didn't look so good at the funeral –"

"Well, yeah, because my dad died," she muttered. "And I'm touched by your concern. Really. But I need you to leave now. Because you can't just show up here and be all 'oh, I'm worried about you' when we've been divorced for a year and a half. It doesn't work that way, Jack. We're not together anymore, okay? And that's all there is to it."

"That's why I'm here," Jack said, his voice low and serious. "I want to talk –"

She was almost shaking with the cold night air and her sudden aversion to talking. "I don't."

"Look, what I did was stupid –"

"You think?" she hissed, the sarcasm rolling off her tongue with a bitterness that she didn't expect.

"Okay, I deserved that –"

"Yeah, you do," she muttered, shifting her weight and glaring at him. "After what you did, you deserve whatever the fuck you get, Jack Hotchner."

He sighed and rubbed his face, looking small and tired, like a little boy. "I did some stupid shit because I was hurting, okay? I got drunk and we fought and I hit you –"

"I know, I was there," she growled. "But the part where you lied to everyone and said that I went off the rails? Oh, that's the part where I really, really wanted to take you out."

"Look, you came out looking like roses in the courts –"

"All I wanted was a fast divorce – we didn't really have any money involved, the house wasn't ours, we each had our own cars… Why now?" she asked. "Why the hell do you want to talk about this now, Jack? We were only married for six months, for god's sake –"

"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you hadn't lost the baby?" he asked suddenly.

"No," she said sullenly. "Because there's no point in hypothetical scenarios after the fact. I lost the baby, we got divorced, end of story."

He stared at her for a long moment – so long that she began to shut the door. But then he blurted, "Chrissy, I don't want it to be the end of the story." And she stopped.

"What?" she whispered.

"I made a mistake – a lot of mistakes," he amended. "And I know I can't make up for them, but –"

"No, stop it," she said. "You don't even know what you did, Jack – you destroyed my mother and your father's friendship because of your lies! You hurt me, both physically and emotionally and you just want us to pretend that none of it ever happened?"

"Look, I – maybe this was a mistake," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're so damn stubborn –"

"Yeah, just like I always have been," she replied. "Did you think I'd just bend over and let you walk all over me again? Because you have another thing coming, Jack. I've grown up. I'm not the little girl you used to push around anymore."

"I'm still in love with you," he confessed, looking taken aback that the words had left his lips.

All of her righteous indignation and fury choked her, but the little voice in her head said, Isn't that what you really wanted? For him to realize what a fucking asshole he's been and come groveling back to you? She inhaled sharply and said, "And what if I'm still in love with you? Does that mean we're just going to throw everything to the wind and rush back to where we left off? Because that's not going to happen. You're going out with some girl –"

"I broke it off," Jack interjected. "I saw you at your dad's funeral and I just – you were so upset and had no one to comfort you… because I fucked up."

"You did," she whispered. "You fucked up big time."

"And what if I spent every day of my life trying to make it up to you?" he asked.

"You'd better live a damn long time," she snapped.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked suddenly.

"No," she lied, "I'm pissed. Not exactly the same thing."

"You're shaking –" He took a step toward her and she edged back toward the inside of the house where the air was warm and she had wine and - "Chrissy, I'm sorry," he said. "I know you aren't going to believe me, but… it's the truth. Everything I've said tonight is the truth."

You wanted this – this whole damn time, all you wanted was for him to come back and sweep you off your feet… "Jack –" Her protest was swallowed by his lips on hers, kissing her with all the sweetness he'd ever shown her… the sweetness that had swept her off her feet in the first place. Damn him.

She rocked her hips against his, taking him deeper inside her, moaning and accepting another hot, greedy kiss from him. Derek's hands roamed over her water-slicked back, finally settling on her ass, copping a feel as she moved with his little thrusts.

The bubblebath was doing some seriously dangerous things to her libido – the sensual fragrances of jasmine, sandalwood and sorrel combined into a heady mix that made Penelope feel deliciously wanton and needy. Ever since he'd shown up with those damn roses, she'd been lost – and when he'd suggested a bath for her, she'd demanded that he join her.

Which is how they came to be fucking in the bathtub, her straddling him with all of the control in the world. Each kiss was delicious, delirious, naughty, each moan or groan an exercise in restraint – or lack thereof. And each thrust created a wave in the tub, making the scent that was driving them wild even stronger.

It was a heady experience, to give and take love so freely after such great sorrow – it was full of benediction and release, a catharsis of a kind. It would be difficult to give him up … but until she had to, she had him in every way she had always wanted him. Heart, mind, body, soul…

He came first, a guttural cry exploding from his lips as her hand slid between them to tease herself into submission. She looked up at him, and let her dirty, dirty mind do the rest. "Mmm," she moaned contentedly, leaning into his shoulder and trying to catch her breath.

"You like the roses, then?" he teased.

She poked him in the ribs. "Shut up about the roses," she whispered, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around him. "If I could, I'd stay here with your forever – but I've already got prune toes. And your ass has to hurt from sitting on that ledge while I just… molested you."

He laughed. "If I wasn't an old fart, I'd show you a thing or two, Mrs. Rossi," he whispered, his voice low and full of promise. "But you're wearing me out – I haven't had this much sex since I was married."

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

Derek sighed. "Yeah, I know, the great Derek Morgan – not having sex."

"How long –"

"Oh, I've had a couple of dates here and there," he said, "and one that led to actual fucking… but that was about five years ago."

"Oh, honey," she said sadly.

"Hey, it's okay – I've got a sock and my hand," he said, holding it up. "Yeah, I'm pruney, too – let's get out of this tub and go cuddle."

"What about the kids?" she asked.

"I tucked them in before I left," he said. "So… don't make a big deal about it."

"I'm not," she murmured.

"I left them alone every night while I was working the night shift," he said.

"I know, but –" She sighed. "Dave and I always tried to be there, either one or both of us, at night in case something happened, y'know? But you're all by yourself with them, so I mean, it's a totally different thing and if they're used to it –"

"Am I going to have to kiss you to get you to stop talking?" he asked, smirking as she stood up and water rushed down her body. He held her there for a moment, his hands steady on her thighs, and he leaned in and placed a kiss on her mons, making her shiver.

"Damn you," she said less than threateningly.

He chuckled and watched her with those lazy, lustful eyes as she climbed out of the tub and reached for a towel. "You know why I didn't date?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Because I'd already had the two most perfect women in the world," he commented dryly. "Why compete with perfection?" He pulled the plug, letting the bathwater escape down the drain.

He stood up and she immediately came over and wrapped a towel low around his hips, smirking as she did. "Nice to know someone thinks I'm perfect," she teased, kissing his chest before she walked away and started drying off. She could feel him watching her and she knew he was taking in all the ways she'd changed since they'd been together – and all the ways she was still the same. And it suddenly hit her between the eyes that she could be oh so happy with him for the rest of her life – if she wanted it. He was offering her open season and she just had to bag him.

She made a decision in that moment, and prayed that it wasn't too late.