Work Text:
"I'm not that girl."
The words haunt him for a long time. Hell, he's not sure he'll ever be free of them. Not that girl. Right. Not kind of girl that stops a man in his tracks and makes him fall on his knees and thank Jesus that she exists.
"Not that girl," she'd said. She'd meant it, but that's not the worst part. Not the part that cuts him down to the core. That's in how she said it.
No anger. No bitterness. Quiet acceptance and, worse, a smile.
A goddamn smile to go with a dismissal.
He carries that smile for months. Lets it stew in the back of his mind, kept prisoner with every other godawful memory of those days. He laughs, he jokes, he flirts, but he never ever forgets it. He can't. He can't forget, but he can't act either. Not with the shooting and that bastard's shadow still looming in her eyes.
So, he waits. He's got plenty of practice there. Always has. It's not something he's known for, he knows that, but Derek's got some time in with waiting. He just needs a goal and waiting for that moment when he can finally, finally say it. The moment when he doesn't try to voice the words only to freeze, caught with the memory of Penelope, wan and pale against the stark white of her hospital bed. The place his stupid mouth put her.
He can't make the same mistake twice, not with her. Not ever again. He reminds himself to shut up and wait, to be patient, and he is. He is for a while. Right up until the day he isn't anymore.
He can't even remember what it was she said. The words slip right on by him, but their import hits dead on target. He closes his eyes, breathes deep, and all he can hear is those words all over again.
"Baby girl, let's get one thing straight, okay?" Tucking a finger beneath her chin, thumb brushing that silky soft skin because he just can't help it when he's this close. "You? You might not be that girl, but not because you can't stop a man cold."
Her eyes widen and he's sure his have gone dark. Fear as much as want. If she ever figures out, really figures out, just how much hers he really is, well, he's not sure what he'll do about it, but the idea of it's scarier than anything else he's ever seen.
"You're so far beyond that girl that it scares the living hell out of me," he says, making himself smile with the words. "And don't you forget it for a second, you hear me?"
She catches his hand in hers, squeezing with a ferocity that belies the sweetness of her smile. "How could I? I've got my very own personal Prince Charming to remind me."
"Baby girl, I'm no Prince Charming," he says, squeezing back. "Prince Charming'd get this shit right."
Penelope grins, real and honest this time, then tugs him forward. He goes with it, lets her curl her free hand into his shirt, pulling him down the rest of the distance between them. He knows it's coming, but the feeling of her lips on his is still a shock. Best kind of shock though and it's easy to go with it, let her manhandle him where she wants him, how she wants him, and, damn, she's good at this. Good enough that his head'd be swimming even if this weren't Garcia, his Garcia, but it is. It is and he's so, so far gone.
So far that it takes a minute or so for his brain to catch up, realize she's not kissing him anymore, she's just looking up at him with smeared lipstick and a smile. "Definitely not Prince Charming," she says, "Better."
He opens his mouth, ready to start talking again, but she stops him with the light touch of a finger. "No big speeches, no fancy words, okay?"
Derek nods. No words. He can do that. He kisses her again instead.