All right, friends, another trip down story lane. This ended up going in a totally different direction than I planned, but I like it better this way. As interesting as the psyche of Jordan is, I like to explore Woody a bit to give him more of a reason for being the way he is. I think he is a surface character on the show, and I want the damn surface to be scratched! I'll try to balance the two, though. Ok, 'nough chatter…story! Go!
…right after the Disclaimer: …you know what I was thinking? How funny would it be if I actually did own Crossing Jordan? Sitting here, trying out story lines on the fanfiction readers. Lol. Good joke, right? Ahhh, that would be cool. But I don't. So I lay claim to none of the creations, nor the other copyrighted material that I may choose to use from here on out.
R&R and above all ENJOY!
Elevators Are Awkward
Three months.
It had been three months since that awful day when a bullet had found its way through the Kevlar and ripped through his body. Three months of surgeries, medication, and painful physical therapy. Three months in which the best friend he had in the world was the evening shift nurse, Eden. The middle-aged woman had taken it upon herself to make sure he did not retreat into a surly, helpless individual. She recognized the signs of a person who was giving up on life, who felt like they had nowhere else to turn. She told him she had seen plenty of cases like him go through the hospital. She wasn't about to let him be her first failure.
Eden had succeeded for the most part in her quest to get him back on track. She was with him all through his recovery, an unfailing pillar of support. He may have acted cranky to the rest of the staff, but he was at least close to his old self when she came around. He was not allowed to give up. It was as simple as that as far as Eden was concerned. Especially since the surgeries and the therapy had given him the use of his legs back. No matter that the process was excruciating.
Other than Eden, he really did not have too many other people to talk to on a friendly level. His precinct buddies tried to drop by once a week at least. But if there were an unusually high number of cases, he was often a last priority for them. He told himself he understood. Santana and Sealy kept him updated on the goings on in the homicide department. He made it through several weeks without hearing the one name he knew would come up eventually. On one visit, Santana had slipped and started talking about a case she was working on with Jordan. The moment the name was spoken, she froze and looked apologetically at Woody.
"Whatever," he had grumbled. "We're homicide, she's an ME. It crosses paths."
He didn't hear the name again for weeks from anybody.
Two weeks out of the hospital, Woody had not even crossed the morgue's path yet, let alone Jordan's. Then again, he hadn't been given much chance. Expecting to be placed at a desk once he returned, he was surprised to be met with a promotion. His duties were more along the lines of supervising, which still involved more deskwork than he was used to, but at least he was involved on cases. It was pretty obvious they didn't want him on the streets, though.
Woody accepted his new position sitting down. That's how he had been handling most things since the shooting. He called it a new perception of reality. Santana called him a lethargic dumbass.
He knew she was right. He just didn't care.
He didn't really care about a lot of things these days. When news got around that he could walk again, most people were shocked to find that he wasn't overjoyed. They couldn't understand why he would be so apathetic about being given another chance at life. The truth was, he had pushed away his last remaining reason for living. Which was why he had been grateful to avoid the morgue. To avoid her. Until now.
Woody tried to make the short walk from the precinct to the morgue as long as possible. He had some paperwork he needed to discuss with Garret, but the ME was swamped and told Woody if he needed to talk then he better haul his ass over to the morgue for once. Garret could not leave his work unattended, seeing as how he was under scrutiny since being given his job back. Most of the morgue staff had visited Woody briefly in the hospital. He guessed their lack of visits was partly Jordan's doing. He gathered enough to catch onto the fact that she was being extremely possessive of them and not condoning their visits at all. Not that he minded. It was one less thing to remind him of her.
Seeing Jordan again was something he had been dreading for reasons beyond what most people guessed. Word of their fallout had spread like wildfire. Some of his friends sided with him, trying to bolster his spirits by agreeing that Jordan was, and always had been, a tease, that she had strung him along for too long. Everyone figured the obvious: that he was too angry to see her. But, to be honest, Woody felt embarrassed to a certain extent. In his self-pitying state, he was almost looking forward to proving that he was right when the doctors would diagnose him as a cripple. He looked forward to rubbing it in her face, making her feel guilty. Making her hurt, just like he had been hurt so many times. He longed to see the pity and remorse in her face, proving that her words had only been said because she felt sorry for him.
Only now there was a tiny glitch in his glorious plan – he was walking.
Woody arrived at the morgue building much sooner than he would have liked. He hesitated for just a moment before setting his jaw and pushing the door open. He walked quickly through the lobby and straight onto an empty elevator, punching the floor of the morgue. The doors were about to close when he heard someone call out.
"Hold the door!"
Sticking his hand between the doors, he heard the footsteps outside slow from a run. The doors slid open again, and Woody found himself face to face with Jordan. She froze in place, her eyes widening slightly. He could see her debating on whether or not to acknowledge his existence.
"You know what, I…I'll wait for the next one," she said evenly after a few seconds.
"Don't be ridiculous," he said, his tone low. He was seriously considering letting her wait, but reminded himself that they could not avoid each other forever. "Get in."
Her eyes flashed at him, angered at his choice of words. They were just a little too close to the last words she had heard him say to her. He continued to hold the elevator, waiting for her to make a decision. Finally, she stepped forward and stood as far as possible from him inside the elevator. The doors slid shut, effectively trapping them. Woody snuck a glance at Jordan when he was sure she wasn't looking. She looked good. He didn't really know what he was expecting to see when he saw her again. Tired eyes, no make up, messy hair, baggy clothes? As sadistic as it sounded, it would have satisfied him to see her fall apart over losing him. No such luck.
Jordan looked like Jordan. Maybe even better. Buttercup yellow tank top with a plunging v-neck, stylish jeans, high heeled boots. Her hair looked like it had grown, spilling down her back in soft waves and curls. Was it his imagination, or did she have a tan?
The elevator ride was a silent one, giving him time to muddle over her seemingly perfect appearance. Jordan stared firmly ahead of her, still as stone. Woody began to feel like he should say something just to break the silence. Fortunately, the bell dinged, announcing their arrival at the morgue. As the doors opened onto the busy floor, Jordan glanced at him.
"Glad you're okay," she said quietly, bolting out of the elevator the second the words were out of her mouth.
Woody watched her go, unable to render a thank you.
"Well that couldn't have been more awkward," he muttered to himself before heading over to Garret's office.
