She nearly lost him this time. For good. Permanently.

She came so close she not only knew it, she could feel the emptiness in her soul as Garret revealed the consequences of the heroine smuggling case.

She, Woody, and Garret were sitting in the diner, eating dinner, when she innocently asked how their day had been. She had been in autopsy all day…and hadn't gotten Woody's homicide calls. Woody hung his head at the question, not ready to reveal to her what happened.

Garret told her. He knew she would want to know, because Garret knew exactly what her feeling were for the Wisconsin detective – she had fallen in love with him. She had fought it for at least two years, but now, she had given up the battle and had allowed her heart to lead her.

She could have lost him forever to an accidental heroine overdose. Garret said he had flat lined. Her breath caught at the horror. Woody was still looking at the top of the diner table as if his life depended on it, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Well, I need to go," Garret finally said, putting the money for his meal on top of the table, and giving Jordan a knowing look. Herealized the couple needed time alone. "I heard what a day you and Bug had in autopsy. If you need to take the morning off, go ahead….I think I probably will, too." Jordan knew what that meant. Take care of Woody and make sure he was okay before she came in. She nodded in understanding. Woody still was keeping his eyes trained on the table top. When Garret had exited the restaurant, she reached out and took his hand.

"Are you okay, Woody?"

He met her eyes then. "I've never taken drugs, Jordan. I don't even like to take over-the-counter cold medicine, much less anything illegal."

"It was an accident…who would have remotely figured that heroine could be smuggled into this country in sweaters, for God's sake."

"You don't understand. I feel….dirty…used…like I've done something horribly wrong that I can never make right."

"Woody…you didn't do it on purpose."

He shook his head. "I know. I do know. It's just….I hate drugs, Jordan. Hate them. I hate the people that make them, I hate the people that sell them…I hate the dealers that trap people into taking them. And I'll be honest…..I have a hard time with users who won't think enough of themselves to get some help. And now I've taken drugs…unknowingly, unwittingly….but I've done it."

"But you didn't mean to. And no one is going to blame you."

He sighed and closed his eyes. His face was still blotchy from where he had handled the heroine-laced sweaters and then touched his eyes. Garret had said the dose was lethal and if Nigel had not been with Woody to get him immediate medical attention….well, Jordan didn't let her mind go there …. What could have happened.

"Woody," she said again, this time a little more sharply. "How are you feeling – physically?"

He opened his eyes then and read the clear concern in hers. "Not so good….not bad enough to go back to the hospital, but weak…sick…"

"Let me take you home."

"No…I'll be…..oh hell, who am I kidding? You're a doctor. You know how bad I feel. Do you mind?"

"Heavens, no." She rose and put money on the table for hers and Woody's meal and helped him up. "Seems like I remember you taking me home a time or two…" He swayed just a bit as he got to his feet. "Okay. Lean on me if you have to….I won't fall." She slipped her arm around him and helped him to her car." He was looking paler by the minute. "I think I need to get you back to the hospital, Woody."

"No….I'm feeling better…I think I just need to go to bed."

She nodded. He didn't look well at all and her concern level had more than doubled for him in the past fifteen minutes. They had been through so much together during the past couple of years…Malden. Her father leaving. James. And he had always been there for her. It had only been after she nearly lost him the first time that she realized just how much she cared for Woody.

Ah. The first time. That time she almost lost him to another woman – Devan. She had no idea that they had been seeing each other. In her selfish pandering, she had never fathomed that Woody would get tired of waiting on her and find someone else. But he had.

And when Devan's plane had crashed into that mountain, Jordan had been wracked with guilt….for her feelings and actions toward the young ME, and should she feel remotely relieved that now Woody could possibly be all hers again?

She had given him space and time to grieve, but then worked hard to regain his affections again. He had caught on pretty early to what she was doing….she had let her hair go curly, the way he liked it. She had worn clothes with a little more feminine edge to them, to catch his eye.

And when she disagreed with him, she did it in the most agreeable manner she could muster. No more snide comments. No more angry, sarcastic remarks. She couched her comments with respect for his opinion. Until one day, while they were in Trace, alone, he had finally laughed at her.

"What's that for?" she had asked.

"You… are trying so hard…"

She had played dumb. "What do you mean?" she had asked as she snapped off her gloves and tried to leave the room.

"Jordan," he said. "Come here."

She looked at him for a beat, then walked back over to where he was standing. "Jo…it's okay. I don't dislike you. I'm not sure how I feel about you anymore….I need some time to figure this thing out again. I thought I knew…but now I'm not sure."

So she gave him time and space until recently when a string of events beyond either of their control had thrown them together. Los Angeles, Faye, and the One-Armed Man. Not that she was complaining. They had freed an innocent woman together. They both had let down their guard around each other.

And he had said he wanted to hold her tighter. A pleasant shiver went up her spine at the memory.

Unfortunately, as soon as they returned to Boston, their lives got busy again and she hadn't had a chance to reclaim the kiss the had been interrupted...and to tell him that yes, she wanted him to hold her tighter...but just him and only him.

But she was worried about her Farm Boy now. He didn't look well. "Woody…" she cautiously approached, "would you feel better if I camped out on your couch tonight? Just to make sure you're really okay?"

"Help me make it through the night?" he crooned, mimicking an old song. Then suddenly serious he said, "Yeah. I would. I don't know what this stuff could do to me. I don't think I want to."

"I think I'd rest easier if I were there….let's swing by my apartment and let me grab a bag."