"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the unavoidable delay."

Penny rolled her eyes as a collective groan went up through the packed subway car. Here she was again, stuck somewhere beneath the East River, between the last stop in Manhattan and the first stop in Brooklyn. The train couldn't have moved more than ten feet in the past quarter of an hour. This would probably be her last trip ever on the New York City mass transit system, and it was turning into the subway ride from hell.

Penny knew she should be stressed. She actually had a plane to catch, unlike most of these impatient faces surrounding her. She should be the one tapping her foot and checking her watch every three seconds. But for some reason, she didn't really mind the delay. Maybe it felt like a fitting end to her time here in New York. Two years wasted. Two years standing in place, without an inch of forward progress to show for herself.

Or maybe she was just holding on to the secret hope, deep down, that she would miss her flight.

No.

No no no.

She couldn't think like that. Penny gave her head a little shake to clear away the thought. She was flying home to Minnesota today, and she knew it was the right decision: the first positive step forward she'd made in years. She had to catch this flight. She couldn't stay in New York. She had nowhere left to stay here, and she knew it. David had been generous enough to put her up for a week, but she could tell her continuing presence in his living room had begun to try his patience.

It was Thursday night - two days ago - when things had really started to go downhill. Not that he had said anything. Just the opposite really. He'd been uncharacteristically silent all evening. He'd barely even cracked a joke. Barely even smiled. He'd hardly even looked at her at all, for that matter. He'd come home from work and immediately turned on the television to avoid any possibility of a conversation. And then they'd just sat there together in awkward silence, counting down the minutes until 10 o'clock rolled around, so he could wish her a terse "goodnight" and go into his room and shut the door.

No, she couldn't go back to David's. Everything had changed. There was a wall up now that hadn't existed when she'd stayed in his apartment before. During the weeks and months after the shooting, she'd slept most nights in a chair beside his bed - holding his hand, soothing away the bad dreams. But that intimacy was long gone. A distant memory. He'd been careful this week to keep her at arm's length.

And Penny knew the reason why. She couldn't say she blamed him.

She hadn't retrieved her belongings from Greg's apartment until yesterday. All week long, she'd spent her days sitting around David's apartment while he was away at work. Eating his food. Playing his music. Reading his books. Pawing through his closet, running her fingers over the clothes, picturing him wearing them. She was just looking for something that would fit her until she had her own clothes back in her possession. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself.

David must have figured it out the real reason though. Or at least he must have suspected. It had been easier to hide her feelings from him when they worked together. There was always some convenient distraction - some spreadsheet to pretend to be working on, some file to pretend to be organizing. But there was no hiding it this week. He must have seen right through her, the moment he walked in Thursday night and found her cuddled up on his couch, engulfed in one of his old track suits.

The old David would have teased her for it. He would have smirked and said: "Nice outfit."

And she would have glowered back as she replied: "It's not my fault you own nothing but grey suits and workout clothes."

And then he would have smiled. Maybe even laughed.

But he hadn't laughed. He hadn't even spoken. He'd stood stock still for just a moment - his face expressionless as he took in the whole scene - and then he'd turned his back and clicked on the TV without a word. Without a single snide remark. Without another glance in her direction. Although, to be fair, it was probably for the best he hadn't looked at her just then. He would have seen her blushing to the roots of her hair.

No, she couldn't go back there. She never should have stayed there in the first place. Not when she felt the way she did about him. She needed to get away. Far, far away. Far enough that there would be no more chance encounters on street corners. Not even the remotest chance that she would ever lay eyes on him again. Minnesota seemed like a good place to start. Maybe she'd stick around and apply to med school at the U of M. Go Gophers.

The woman to Penny's left looked down nervously at her phone, and Penny snuck a sidelong glance at the digital display. 10:42 AM. She couldn't afford to miss this flight. She still had a little over an hour. It had seemed like more than enough time when she left David's apartment, half an hour earlier.

She'd been trying not to think about it - that final goodbye in the doorway of his apartment. She knew she'd think about it later, but she had hoped to avoid it here on the subway, packed in like a sardine with strangers pressing in on her from all sides. Maybe if the train had carried on moving forward, she could have kept the thoughts at bay. But now, as she stared out the subway car window into the inky blackness of the tunnel, all she could think about was the look on his face.

Somber. That was the word for it. She'd only seen him look that way once before. Last summer, around the middle of July, when he'd gotten that call from Connecticut. She'd recognized the name on the caller ID: Fairhaven Care Center. She'd addressed bouquets of flowers enough times by then to know. Yellow roses for birthdays. Tulips for Mother's Day. His mother's nursing home had never called him at work before, though. He'd been in a meeting at the time, but Penny had interrupted him to put the call through. She'd known he would want to take it. And she'd known what it meant ten minutes later, when he came out of his office and she saw that look on his face. Somber. The whites of his eyes just a shade pinker than usual. She knew, even before he handed her the card of the funeral home and told her to start making calls.

It was strange, seeing him look that way again today. She hadn't known what to make of it. Was he sad, after all? After that week of silence and awkwardness? It made no sense. He made no sense. Maybe she'd misread it, she thought now, as she tried again to picture his exact expression. Maybe it wasn't sadness. Maybe it was pity.

In any case, she'd stood in the doorway of his apartment and swallowed past the ache in her throat - forced her voice to sound natural - and they'd managed a semi-normal conversation as she'd turned to say goodbye.

"OK, I'm heading out."

"Already? What time is your flight?"

"Noon."

"Should I give you a ride to the airport?"

"No, it's fine," she'd shrugged. "I'll just take the subway."

"You're cutting it a little close, aren't you?"

"David, I'm not completely incompetent."

He'd winced at her words. Her voice had come out sharper than she'd intended, and she wished now that she hadn't said it. She hadn't meant it. She was just trying not to cry.

"I know you're not incompetent," he'd said after a moment. "I never thought you were incompetent."

"Sorry. Nevermind. Anyway, thanks for everything...."

She'd turned then and started to make her way through the door, but he'd told her to wait. He had his briefcase in his hand, and he'd reached inside it and fished out a plain white envelope. "This is for you," he 'd said.

"What is it?"

"Recommendation letter." His voice had sounded funny. He kept blinking and clearing his throat. "You know," he said. "For medical school. It's-whatever. There." He'd placed the letter in her hand. "See, I don't think you're incompetent. " He'd laughed then, but it sounded wrong. Not a real laugh. And the expression when she met his eyes had nothing to do with humor. What was that look on his face? Discomfort? Awkwardness? Was it pity?

Why did he have to do that? Letter of recommendation.... She certainly hadn't asked him for one. In fact, she wished now that she'd never told him about medical school in the first place. Just the memory of that whole conversation made her cringe. Why had she said all that to him? The fact that she'd deferred med school over him - she knew it just made her that much more pathetic in his eyes. Who did that? Who gave up a slot at Yale Medical School over a guy? Not even a boyfriend. Just her boss at work.

He'd looked at her like she must have lost her mind when she had told him. He'd looked utterly confused. Baffled. And still she hadn't quite understood.

"Really?" she had asked him. "You would have left? If you'd been in my place, you would've just gone to medical school? Even if it was someone you care about? Even if it was someone you-"

At least he'd interrupted her before she had a chance to say the words out loud - before she totally humiliated herself beyond redemption. He must have known what she was about to say. He'd cut her off and changed the subject. Thank God. Just the thought of it now made her cheeks flame with mortification.

Anyway, she knew what that letter really meant.She understood it now. She should probably be touched. It was a nice gesture. An act of kindness, letting her down easy like that. He'd probably had lots of practice, with all those women of his. He knew how to turn a girl down and still allow her to save face - to walk out of his life with her head held high.

That's what that letter really was. She got the message now, loud and clear. It made no difference what it said, or how strongly he had praised her. Those weren't the words that mattered. The real message lay between the lines, and she understood it as clearly now as if he had written it all out for her to read.

"I know your secret, Penny." That's what that letter really said. "I know why you didn't go to medical school two years ago. I know that you're in love with me, and I don't hold it against you. I respect you. Maybe I even like you. But it's time for you to go now. Get out of my life. Go get on with yours."

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