Penelope was sitting on the bed in her hotel room by the time Derek walked in at 2 a.m. He'd traipsed around the city for a while, trying to clear his head. He knew he wanted her; knew it was time to lay it all out on the line. But his fear was that she'd cut and run, and no matter how many steps he took, he couldn't shake the thought. But the fact of the matter was…it was now or never.

She didn't acknowledge him as he sat down beside her on the bed.

"Penel—"

"Sssh!" she scolded, pointing to the television. "They're re-airing this week's episode of Hell's Kitchen and I didn't get to see it."

Derek kicked his boots off and moved fully onto the bed so he was sitting next to her. He'd never seen the show before, but had to admit it was quite entertaining to watch people argue over sea bass. When it finally went to commercial, she turned to him. "I've never been in a serious relationship before," she told him, cutting right to the chase.

"I'm not asking you to marry me," he said.

She nodded. "I know. You're asking for exclusivity."

Derek. "Yeah," he confirmed.

She sighed, grabbing the pillow behind her and placing it on her lap, her hands running slowly back and forth over it. Derek had to hold back a grin. She was trying to put space in between them, and she didn't even know it. "But you're asking me to be exclusive with a man who…has probably never even been exclusive with anyone in his whole entire life!"

He shrugged. "Oh, well. According to you, you've never been exclusive with anyone before. I'm willing to give it a go."

"But I'm not known for bringing home a different woman every weekend," she reminded him.

Derek grinned. "If that was the case, I don't think we'd be having this conversation," he teased.

"See? You can't even take this seriously," she pointed out.

"That is not true," he said. "I'm taking this conversation very seriously—"

"Sssh!" she commanded. "It's back on."

They sat there in silence again listening to the British dude cuss out the two teams. It seemed like forever before it finally went to commercial.

"You can't even stop grinning!" she continued.

"That's because I'm trying to put you at ease about this conversation. Believe it or not, Baby Girl—and I'm pretty sure you can—I'm not skilled on this topic. Has it occurred to you that I might be nervous?"

"Oh, really?" she asked, arching a brow. "An hour ago you were ready to marry me."

"No," he corrected. "I said I wasn't scared of the thought. I'm not ready to walk that plank yet."

"'Walk that plank?'" Penelope asked. "Wow. It's every woman's dream to have her boyfriend refer to marriage as 'walking the plank.'"

Derek grinned. She'd just referred to him as her boyfriend, but he didn't think this was the time to point it out. "I didn't mean it like that. But it's true—either way, you only get to do each of them once."

"Unless you end up divorce," she muttered.

"Uh-uh," Derek said. "Bite your damn tongue, Woman. I'll be getting married just the once."

"And if doesn't work out?" she insisted.

"It'll work out," he said.

"How do you know it'll work out?" she pressed.

He shrugged. "Because it has to."

"But—" When her program came back on, she picked up the remote and muted the television. A good sign. At least she was willing to listen to what he had to say.

"Don't you think that's a little naïve?" she asked. "Things will work out because 'they have to?'"

"If you met my family, Garcia, you'd understand. The Morgan's do not take marriage lightly."

"Derek—"

"My father had eleven brothers and sisters, Garcia. Do you know how many of them got married?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Every single one of them. Do you know how many got divorced?"

She sat there awaiting his answer.

"Not a one. The Morgan's don't do divorce, Garcia. We do marriage. Good times and bad. Rough and tough, we work through it," he said passionately.

Penelope couldn't help but think how telling his choice of words were. She was glad he hadn't phrased it as 'stick it out,' and she was both surprised and pleased by this candor she'd never witnessed from him before. Penelope Garcia had a feeling it was time to throw everything she thought she knew about Derek Morgan out the window.

"But I'll tell you one thing, Penelope," he went on. "I won't date you behind closed doors. You won't be my secret. How are you ever supposed to believe I'm serious about you if I agree to that?" With a sigh, he leaned forward on his knuckles and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "So…sleep on it and let me know what you decide." He moved to the edge of the mattress, retrieved his boots and headed for the door.

But she never let him make it that far. Maybe she was crazy, but she believed him. Maybe it was because she wanted so badly to believe him, but it didn't matter. She couldn't let him walk out of her hotel room. She caught his wrist and halted him, then moved to stand before him. She smiled tenderly at him. "I don't need to sleep on it," she said softly.

"OK," he said cautiously.

She grinned up at him, taking a step forward and resting her hands on his biceps. "But do you know what I do need?" she asked as she blinked, her fingertips stroking his skin.

"What?" he asked his voice thick.

She giggled. "To see who got cut from Hell's Kitchen this week!" She grabbed his hand and tugged him back to the bed.

"And then we can get cookin'?" he asked hopefully.

She grinned saucily at him. "Absolutely." There was a short pause. "Hey…how did you get into my room?" she asked as if she'd just realized it.

"I flashed my…" He grinned under her glare. "Badge, Baby Girl. I flashed my badge at the front desk clerk."

Penelope moved closer to him on the mattress, resting her head on his chest with a sigh. "I'm glad you flashed the front desk clerk."

"Me, too, Baby Girl," he returned as he tightened his hold on her.