A/N: Hey! This is my attempt at post-Jump Push Fall! It the most realistic thing I could think of…Woody not talking to her…uhm…I just wanna say thanks to Lioness-Rampant and squirtbug158 for reviewing "And Then There Were None"…it was great! Thanks tonnes! Anyway please review this people…I'm not all that confident about it…its not really very good…the cases are a big lame…but you know…I mainly did this so that I could write this other one that comes after this…anyway lets just get on with it. Oh Ive seen people get their heads bitten off for not writing a disclaimer so I'll take this opportunity to say that…all I own is a love for this show! None of the characters…you guys know the drill…I'm just another bleeding heart…a W/J shipper to the last…etc etc….

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Woody couldn't sleep. To tell the truth, he was nervous. First day back and all. Back at work, back doing what he loved, and he was nervous. Like a school kid. He was on call at the moment, in fact. His boss had made it so that if he didn't get called in he didn't have to come into the precinct. Woody didn't mind that arrangement, but hoped that he was called. He then threw that thought out the window, for him to be called someone would have to die. And he didn't want that.

Not that it wasn't bound to happen, he thought to himself, opening the fridge and staring at the contents. Milk, a half-eaten sponge cake, courtesy of Lily, a packet of mince he was trying to thaw out, a tub of garlic and a carton of eggs. He snorted. Gourmet ingredients.

He was saved trying to make something edible of all that by his cell ringing. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, and he automatically glanced at the clock. 4:07am. Perfect. Trying to remember who was on graveyard Tuesdays at the morgue, he flipped open his phone.

"Hoyt," he said, apprehensively, and listened. "Ok, I'm there."

He was just about to hang up when a thought struck him.

"Wait," he said quickly. "Who's the ME on call?"

His heart sunk when he heard the answer. He definatley did not need that.

"Not her," he said instantly, too quickly for him to withdraw it. Can I request someone else? Well wake him up. Severe conflict of interest happening. Thanks. No, don't say anything to him, just call him."

He felt guilt, but decided the best thing would be to sweep it under the rug and leave it there until he had the energy to deal with it.

He wondered when that would be.

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"Woody!" Bug's familiar voice called out, causing Woody to turn. They were in a large forest clearing, trees towering above them. The sun was just peeking over the hills to the east, casting its first feeble rays upon a battered, broken body lying purposefully on the forest floor. A track lay, looking very accidental, to her left, an abundance of trees to her right.

"Hey Bug!" Woody said brightly. "Look at me!" He spread his arms wide. Bug grinned indulgently.

"Lookin' good, Detective," he said, laughing. "I'm glad everything worked out."

"Oh definatley," Wody said, but Bug wasn't sure he meant it, and wondered at the strangeness of the reply. Then he remembered the question he was going to ask whichever Detective had shown up at the scene. Granted, he hadn't expected it to be Woody, but the question still remained. Maybe even intensified.

"Do you wanna tell me why I'm out of bed at this hour when Jordan's the ME on call?"

"Ah, no." Woody said. "Couldn't tell you if I wanted to. I'm not in charge of dispatch."

"Hm," Bug said, prepared to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. "They must have made a mistake."

"Must of," Woody agreed, and walked over to the body. "Deceased is Jessica Fallon," he told Bug. "Twenty-seven years old."

"Multiple stab wounds to the chest," Bug reported matter-of-factly. "Sustained significant injury to the right thigh, one stab wound, many scratches from what appears to be branches. Brusing around upper arms. TOD about 12-14 hours ago."

"Thanks, that helps," Woody said, jotting it down. "We got the boyfriend in custody. Blood on his shirt."

"Ok," Bug said. "We'll bag her and get her to the morgue huh?"

"Its good to be home," Woody grinned. Bug laughed.

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Jordan wasn't having any trouble sleeping. That is, until her cellphone started ringing in that stupid annoyin ringtone Lily had sent her, and vibrating until it nearly fell off the table. Still half-asleep, she answered.

"Cavanaugh," she said, slowly, lethargically. "Uh huh. Rightio, I'm there. No..." she said, awake, frowning slightly. The girl had asked if she wanted to request a detective, somewhat sarcastically.

"They seem to think thats our job," the girl said, annoyed. Jordan sympathised with her somewhat distractedly and hung up, shaking her head. They were all nuts.

That conviction was strenghtned when she saw a dad man lying in an alleyway.

"Looks like an OD," a man said, by way of greeting. Jordan merely looked at him.

"And you are..." she fished for a name, hoping she hadn't met the man before.

"Excuse my manners," he held out his hand, and Jordan took it slowly, amused. "I'm Detective John Ryan, drug squad."

"Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh," she replied, mimicking his pompous tone, which she suspected he was putting on, maybe for her sake, maybe for his. She didn't know, but found herself liking him for some unexplainable reason. She bent down next to the victim.

"So why all the extremes just for an OD?" she reffered to all the uniforms milling around.

"Suspected drug trafficker."

"Oh," she said. "Doesn't look like the trafficking type."

"And what does that look like, Dr. Cavanaugh?" he asked, though not with any hint of condescension. It came out as merely a question.

"Point taken," she conceded, and proceeded to tackle the external examination.

"Positive on that OD," she confirmed, and the detective nodded, scribbling it down in the book that seemed to be standard issue among the folk of the Boston PD. Jordan was contemplating that, not even flinching at the memory of Woody flipping that little book, referring to it...she was changing. Being less like a little schoolgirl and more like the responsible adult she was supposed to be.

Yeah, sure, she scoffed to herself, certain she would stuff up somewhere along the line. She hadn't seen him yet. There was stilltime for her to break.

The started as her golved hand met blood.

"Hello," she said under her breath, and peeled away layers of the man's clothes. There was what could only be interpreted as a peace sign carved into the man's belly. She shot a horrified glance at the detective, who was visibly shaken.

"Peace out," he said, staring.