Mixed Signals

Bathed in silent darkness she floated, gradually becoming aware of the low, sporadic rumble. How it would stop. How it would begin again. How this continued for a while before it dawned on her that the rumble was actually a voice… speaking words… that she heard but didn't quite understand, "What's going on with you, Cavanaugh?"

The familiar voice was calm, pleasant, alluring… and she was eventually able, with effort, to center her attention on the sound of the voice… that then led to the words… that finally led to him.

And in the back of her mind – well, somewhere floating around in her mind – she knew… knew that there was something not quite right with him being here… in her apartment. In fact, there was something very wrong with this… But for the life of her – the fogginess of her brain she had at first feared… and now began to anticipate… had settled in again and – she was having trouble straightening out the myriad strands of overlapping thought. Though she knew there was a very good reason he should not… no, that he could not… be here now. That him being here was impossible. Jordan searched her addled mind for the proper question – the one that would clear this all up. How did he get in? No, that wasn't it. What was he doing here? No, that wasn't quite it either.

His voice managed to catch her attention again so she left the tangent reasoning of why he was here and did her best to concentrate once more on his voice… on him… to pull herself out of her quagmire of slushy thought.

"What, Cavanaugh, is going on with you?"

Focusing her vision took even greater effort than she had expended to concentrate on the sound. And as she eventually succeeded, she surmised she had been in a daze… zoned out… again. This time when her sight cleared, she found herself looking up into his eyes, twinkling merrily. He was clearly enjoying this.

And as if it wasn't bad enough trying to move through her brain's viscous swamp toward his voice… the sight of him suddenly liquefied her surroundings into a turbulent sea in which she found herself immersed along with an abundance of sundry emotions. Some of these emotions, she found, had very sharp edges, which were now battering up against her poor, befuddled mind.

Again the voice… that she needed to answer.

"JD. It's good… It's been a while… I think… if I'm not mistaken," she finally managed when she gained a semblance of control the situation and of her voice.

He watched her, his thoughts veiled from her. She could tell that her response was not one he had anticipated.

"It has, you're right," he conceded and she got the feeling he was playing along with her. "What's going on with you, Cavanaugh?"

"Nothing. I'm fine… really. I'm good." He was totally unconvinced, so she defensively threw out, "Why?"

"This is not like you – what's wrong?" The concern was evident in his voice. He watched her eyes and detected the upcoming denial, so he continued before she could voice it. "It's me you're talking to, Jordan. You have one of the quickest minds of anyone I know. And now this? What gives?"

She shrugged in attempted nonchalance, "And now I forget things sometimes..."

"So," he repeated calmly, moving to sit beside her on the couch, "what is going on?"

Jordan watched him closely as she found herself opening up to him. She explained about the tumor and the toll it was taking on her life, confided her fears and indecision, and she realized that none of it was news to him… "You already knew all this?"

He nodded.

"Then why…?"

"You needed practice, love," he smiled at her warmly. "Now you need to tell the people in your life who care about you, the ones who will be there to help you."

Her answer was a deep sigh.

"Dr. Macy is worried about you. He wants you to have the operation."

"He's being bullheaded and conniving."

"Really? Just because he took you out of rotation… because he was no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the implications… to what could happen if…"

She waved her hand at him in surrender. "All right. I get it."

"Do you?"

She looked at him sharply.

"Dr. Macy wants to help you. And you have other friends who would be there for you if you let them."

She raised her eyebrows to indicate her incredulity.

"Come on, Cavanaugh… You have Bug, Nigel, Hoyt." He almost spat out the last name. "You don't make it easy. You won't answer questions straight. You block them out…"

"For their own good," she countered smoothly.

"That's your opinion. I have a feeling they'd see it differently."

"They'd feel obligated," she shrugged.

"I hardly think caring about you is an obligation. I never thought of it that way. And they'd want to do what is best for you… to be there for you."

"It would be too much," she answered.

"Au contraire… The alternative would be more than too much… and they may never be able to forgive you if you don't give them a chance to at least try." He let his words sink in a bit before he continued, "You can't let your disappointment get in the way. You know Hoyt's always had limitations when it comes to you."

Her eyebrows knitted down and reflected her surprise and confusion at the implication of his words.

"Yeah, I know. He said the same about me when I was…" the look on her face slowed him down. "Look, I know he's said the same about me… that you're a complicated girl, Jordan, and not everybody gets you… But things are clearer for me now."

"Why? How?" Her voice betrayed her disbelief.

He waved away her inquiries and continued, "Hoyt cares about you but he doesn't always know the best way to help you understand that. And he's a little afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?"

"You. Moving out of the comfort of being friends. Being rejected… again. The possibility of ruining what you have together." She remained silent and he took this as an invitation to continue. "Just out of curiosity – what is making you doubt that he cares about you?"

"Why do you want to know?" Jordan asked warily.

"For you, Cavanaugh. Not for him… you know farm boy has never been one of my favorite people. That hasn't changed." There was a tinge of bitterness in his tone.

"He told me I'm getting senile. He suggested writing notes and putting them in my pocket – like his grandpap."

"So he knows something is wrong. That's good."

She shrugged.

"But you're not enlightening him? Even though he's asked you several times if you're all right? Even though he's asked you if you knew you could talk to him?"

She shook her head slightly and looked at him with growing suspicion.

"Why can't you talk to him?"

"I don't think he can listen to me. He sees me a certain way… he knows something is wrong… he says he cares… and then he gets angry when I make a mistake…"

"Rightfully so," JD pointed out abruptly.

"Agreed… he has every right to get angry… and frustrated. But, JD – I don't make those kinds of mistakes."

"Ahhh, so… You're getting mixed signals? He says he cares and then you're left to wonder why he jumped down your throat…"

"Instead of trying to figure out why. He was mad… mad as hell. But he never asked how this could happen. Through his entire rant, he never asked me how I could have made…"

"Such an un-Jordan-like mistake?" he finished for her.

She stared at him… sometimes his sagacity could be disarming. "Yeah… Why I'm not myself. Does he even notice I'm not myself?" She glanced over at him sheepishly, and then continued, "I know he cares about me…"

"But now you're wondering if he really knows you?"

"Or if he cares more about the idea of me…"

"Bright, quick, witty – challenging…" JD laughed.

She nodded.

"Cavanaugh, you're not being honest with yourself. He's not only attracted to the idea of you. He's spent a night in your arms – and I speak from experience here… The idea of you doesn't hold a candle to the reality."

He saw the blush rise in her cheeks and reached out to rub his fingers against her face. She didn't feel anything… and a part of her mind wasn't surprised.

"Give him a chance, Jordan. Give them all a chance. After all," he glanced at her sideways, "Hoyt's not the only one conveniently overlooking evidence. Bug pulled your ringing cell phone out of your coat pocket when you failed to find it in your purse – that should have struck him as being a bit odd. And Nigel, well… he had his own rant at you for messing up the blood tests. And he didn't stop long enough to notice the tremor in your hand even though he was standing right in front of you."

She was silent… too silent. He pleaded with her, "Let them help you."

"I can take care of myself."

"That's obvious, Cavanaugh. But like I've said before… maybe it's time to let someone else take care of you a little."

"This could end up being a lot more than a little," she responded a bit petulantly. "I don't want anybody to be in that position… what if I ended up…" she turned to face him directly. "What if I ended up not being able to take care of myself? I wouldn't want anyone to feel obliged to take care of me."

"So, you'd rather risk dying." Disappointment was obvious in his voice.

"I'd rather think of it as living until I die," she defended.

"When the dying part could be unnecessary?"

"Or inevitable," she countered.

"Fatalistic much?" he chided.

She chuckled, "You always were more of an optimist than I am."

The rumbling was back… louder this time. And she could tell JD sensed it as well.

He smiled at her softly. "I know we've both wondered, since that last night we were together, what it would be like… if things had played out differently."

The look on her face revealed her confusion – and he was now certain of what he had guessed by her initial greeting. She did not really understand what it meant… him being here…

Leaning closer, he kissed her gently on the forehead.

"You have to go? So soon?" Her head was hurting again and she was back to trying to straighten out jumbled thoughts, chaotic memories…

Nodding, he whispered, "But you know I loved you, Cavanaugh."

Unable to answer, she settled for a nod.

And suddenly it hit her… what the fogginess of her brain hadn't allowed her to grasp until now. Her automatic use of the past tense… His use of the past tense – and it was glaringly clear… The question wasn't how did he get in? Nor what was he doing here? The question was… how could he be here?

"JD… You're dead."

"I know," he smiled at her faintly. "But that doesn't mean I've stopped caring about you."

"Does this mean…?"

"You? Nah. You still have choices to make. And if you make the right choices, Cavanaugh, you can have a long, healthy, happy life ahead of you."

"Then you're not here to…?

"Take you to your Maker?" He laughed at her startled, wide-eyed stare. "No. Just think of me as a figment of your overactive, unrestrained imagination come to give you a bit of advice."

"That's it?" she breathed out slowly.

He smiled at her relief. "If you want it to be…" he winked at her. "If it's more comfortable for you that way."

Her head ached and there was that incessant, intermittent rumbling… growing louder and louder… and demanding her attention more and more. Coupled now with something tenderly touching her face. She reached up to brush it away and her fingers came in contact with a strong, warm hand.

When she finally won the struggle to open her eyes JD was gone… she knew he would be. And she found herself staring into the blue depths of a pair of very familiar, very concerned eyes.