He stood there in his robe, blinking at her stupidly from the other side of the doorway. "I don't...Penny, I don't understand."

He didn't understand?

Or he didn't want to understand.

"Here," Penny said, her voice starting to rise. "Take it. Take it back." She unzipped the front of the sweatshirt with a jerk and tore it off from around her shoulders. Then she threw it in a ball at his feet. "I don't want it! Do you understand that? I don't want anything from you!"

She watched his eyes travel down to the sweatshirt and back up the length of her body, not quite making it to her face. A flush of color stained his neck and crept upward as he stared at her chest.

Men, she thought disgustedly. Didn't matter how smart they were or how much money they made. Show them a girl in a bathing suit, and they were all the same. Greg. David. All of them. She couldn't believe she'd been so blind before. She actually thought that David was different. And the whole time, he'd been laughing it up with his friends about her behind her back. And then he had the nerve to give her shit about quitting. As if she owed him something. As if she hadn't already given him so much more than he deserved.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Powers," she said, spitting the words at him. "Was I not supposed to quit? Was that inconvenient for you? Did it make you look bad in front of all your little drinking buddies when the temp with the nice rack didn't give you two weeks' notice?"

"What-here, just come inside. It's the middle of the night." He reached for her arm, but she pulled it away with a jerk.

"Always, David? Always? Did you really think I was never going to figure it out?"

"Figure what out?" he stammered. "What are you - are you drunk?"

"No, I'm not drunk!"

The door of the next apartment slitted open. A middle-aged woman in pajamas peeked out at them. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Peterson," David said to her over Penny's shoulder. "This is under control."

"Do I need to call the doorman?" the woman responded. Her eyebrows lifted meaningfully as she took in Penny's wardrobe. "Or the police?"

"No-it's not what it looks like. I'm so sorry. We'll be quiet, I promise."

The woman shook her head as she pulled the door closed. Penny couldn't quite make out what she was muttering under her breath. Something about "bachelors" and "a different one every week."

The neighbor's door clicked closed, and David pulled his apartment door further open. "Get in here!" he ordered. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Penny only shook her head and spun away, turning toward the elevators.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"I'm going," she said. "I'm gone. Wouldn't want to make a scene."

"No!" He lurched behind her and grabbed her by the upper arm. Penny struggled to wrench her arm from his grasp, but he held her firmly and dragged her backward through the doorway of his apartment.

"Ow! Let go of me!"

"You are not going outside like that," he hissed as he yanked her inside. He shut the door behind himself and stood squarely in front of it, blocking her exit.

"Like what?" Penny put her hands on her hips and stuck her chest out to give him a better view. "You don't like what you see? 'Cause those guys from the Chicago desk sure seemed to think so."

He picked the discarded sweatshirt up from the ground and walked a few paces toward her, keeping his eyes averted as he held it out it her. "Put this back on, please."

"No." She shook her head. "Get out of my way. I'm leaving."

"Over my dead body."

"What do you care?"

"I'm not going to let you run around in the middle of the night with no clothes on! No!"

"You're not going to let me? You don't get to tell me what to do! You're not my boss anymore! Remember?"

"Goddammit, Penny! There are bad people out there! Evil people. With guns. Who will hurt you." She saw his face draining of color as he spoke, and he struggled to bring his voice under control. "Please. I know I'm not your boss. You can do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. Just please-please be safe. I need you to be safe."

She met his eyes, and she saw the look in them that she'd seen before. That haunted look he used to get in the months after the shooting, whenever he was startled by a loud noise or woke up from a bad dream. Big, round, frightened eyes - like a scared little boy, afraid of the bogeyman. He was genuinely scared. For her. On her behalf. She might almost have thought he actually cared about her, seeing that look on his face just now. Almost... if she didn't know better.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest protectively and retreated farther into his living room. The rush of hot anger had started to abate, and she became aware of the goosebumps prickling the bare skin of her arms. She sank onto the couch behind her and picked up a throw blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders to warm herself.

"What is this about, Penny? Why are you-"

"Like you care," she muttered.

"I do care." He came toward her and took a seat in the chair across from the couch. "Of course I care."

"I was there, David," she said.

He looked at her blankly. "You were... where? Exactly?"

"I was there. That night. At Purgatory."

David squinted at her, leaning forward. "Purgator-I mean, I wouldn't exactly call Dewitt Hathaway heaven on Earth, but-"

"The bar!" she interrupted, her voice rising again in irritation.

He shook his head, still not following. She watched his forehead crinkle in confusion. Then, he raked his hand upward through the hair at the crown of his head. She recognized the gesture. She'd seen him do it a million times before, staring at some spreadsheet on his computer screen, lost in thought. It always made his hair stand up on top of his head. Her fingers twitched to smooth it back down - just as they always did. Every time. Every time he did that, ever since the very first night she'd offered to work late. She jerked her hands beneath herself now and sat on them to keep them still.

"What bar?" he said.

"Purgatory. You know, that speakeasy place on Reade Street. It's called Purgatory."

"Oh!"

She watched his face as the comprehension dawned. It was almost comical, the way his every thought played across his features as he mentally reviewed the night in question. The bad date.... Then heading to the bar with those futures traders.... Then-

There. He just got it. She saw his eyes widen in alarm as he remembered that drunken conversation. "Shit! Penny, you heard that?"

She nodded, looking down. Her anger had all but evaporated now. She didn't want to look at him. Why had she even come here? It was a mistake. She was pretty sure she might actually start to cry now if she looked at him. She dug her fingernails into her palms to distract herself.

"That's why you quit?" he gasped. "It was that night, wasn't it? You emailed me that same night."

She bit the inside of her cheek, and her response came out barely above a whisper. "I did so much for you. I did everything for you. Everything you ever needed. Everything you ever asked. Even the things you didn't ask. You don't even know. I put my whole life on hold. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs. And you-you just- you were just laughing- "

"It wasn't me!" he exclaimed. "Those guys were saying things about you, but I shut that down!" He stood up from the chair and took a step toward her, his voice rising in agitation. "Penny, I wasn't! I wouldn't-"

"It doesn't matter," she cut him off.

"Penny-"

She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. This conversation had seemed so important before. She'd found that card in her pocket in that empty subway car, and it had all seemed so important to tell him off. So urgent. So vital. And now, for the life of her, she couldn't remember why. Now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball somewhere and die.

"I'm so tired," she whispered from behind her hands.

She felt the couch cushions shift beneath her as he sat down beside her on the couch. He placed a tentative arm around her shoulders. "Penny, why don't you sleep? It's really late. Sleep here tonight. I'll get you some sheets. We can talk about this in the morning."

She let out a sigh. He rubbed her shoulder through the blanket, gingerly at first, and then more firmly. She didn't resist. Sleep, she thought. Sleep sounded nice. She needed sleep.

She let her eyes drift closed as he gently pulled her toward him, and she rested her head against his chest.