Story: With an Angel on My Left Side and a Devil on My Right
Summary: Sequel to "They Tell Me Time Is Precious". Woody gets into some trouble and bad things ensure. Side stories w/ other cast members. This story is longer than TTMTIP.
Chapter: New Memories
[A/N] I've been looking and I saw that Woody (appears to) not be in the next two episodes. I think I'm gonna cry. Hope you like this; I do have definite plots so never fear. I didn't bother to spend too much time editing this, but it is okay.
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Haley was finally gone. It seemed like they had sat in Woody's office for days talking about the Boston Killer. It was really about two hours. Macy, Jordan, and Woody were standing in the elevator.
"Tomorrow's your day off, Jordan. Rest, do something productive," Macy told her.
"Thanks, Macy. I'm going to need it," she admitted.
"I thought you were used to be sleep deprived?" Woody asked.
"I am." There was a short pause, "It's just that I'm sleep deprived on a sofa, in the middle of a morgue."
"Well, that does sound more comfortable."
When they got to the front doors Macy turned back.
"You'll find a place to stay, won't you Jordan?" he asked. She nodded.
After Macy had left Woody held her by her shoulder's, with a firm grip. For some reason he was worried that she would run away.
"I'll drive you home," he said. She nodded again and they exited the building. In the car nothing was said. Home was, of course, Woody's apartment. Jordan could not return to her home because of the investigation.
Woody walked Jordan to the apartment door. He unlocked it and she went in.
"You're not coming in?" Jordan asked. Her obvious exhaustion and fear were showing.
Woody had always known that deep down; Jordan was scared; scared of life, scared of her job, of her friends and her family. Even though he had known he could not possibly imagine it. This Jordan was so different: so vulnerable.
Her eyes were almost pleading with him now. She really was terrified through and through.
"I'm just checking my mail," Woody said, walking into the apartment.
The layout of Woody's apartment was much the same as in Jordan's. The kitchen tiles struck her at once for some reason. They were a red and white pattern. Her eyes found the cabinet under the sink, and her finger pricked; as if she had just been poked with one of those dreadful knives all over again. Not just the knives under the sink, but the knives of the world, trying to slice her down to size. Jordan's head hung.
She sat down on the midnight blue sofa that was just inside the door. Woody came over and sat by her, placing his arm around her shoulders and hugging her to him.
"Jordan that man won't get out. Don't worry. There's nothing to hurt you tonight," Woody told her. In her mind she knew that the Boston Killer wouldn't hurt her, but a part of her was saying that the man sitting next to her would. She fought the feeling off.
"I think you should go to bed. I'll sleep on the sofa," Jordan said.
"Of course not, you're the guest here, and I should try sleeping on a couch for once." Woody replied.
They sat in silence now Woody became aware that Jordan had fallen asleep. He lifted her up and carried her to his bedroom. He walked back out of the room, into the bathroom, and started brushing his teeth.
There was suddenly a hitting of some thing; it was just outside one of his apartment windows. A piece of metal was being hit against the building and windows.
Then he heard Jordan. She had shrieked, but not loudly. He ran into find her pawing at the closet door.
"What are you doing?" he asked when he had come to stand by her.
"I thought that was the door, or something," she said. "Who is trying to get in?"
"No one is trying to get in; it's just the storm blowing stuff around. You go back to sleep, I'll just be in the living room." With that he steered her towards the bed and she lay down; tiredness showing under her eyes.
"Don't leave," she said, "Just lay here next to me." He did so, silently.
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Jordan woke up at around noon with a clear head and no thoughts except that she really did want to sleep longer. However just when she was about to fall back asleep she turned over. There was Woody, white tee-shirt and jeans, his arms up, over his head; he looked content. He was a sleep; she was there; what had she done? What had she said? Had she spoken her heart and poured out everything she'd dreamed of?
No. She hadn't. There was time to escape, so she smoothly got off the bed and headed to the door of the room.
Woody was too quick. As soon as Jordan had moved a few inches he stirred. It had been that way all night and he had not gotten much sleep. By the time Jordan was to the door he was wide awake.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
Jordan paused, and then turned around to look at him, slouching slightly. "Bathroom," she said groggily.
Woody saw through it. "No, you weren't. You were leaving."
"Woody. . ." But she couldn't find the words. She thought she could leave any man, especially if there was potential attachment to be had.
"This was not a one night thing for me, Jordan. I thought you had felt something four months ago, but couldn't handle it then, but that you really felt something now. And I need to know; I feel something. Do you?" he asked, standing up. They were now across the room diagonal from each other.
Jordan looked at him for a minute; then she looked down. After that she turned, opened the door and walked out. Woody heard the lock on the apartment door clicking open, then the shutting of it.
"Why don't you?" Woody asked the thin air around him.
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When Jordan walked into the chief ME's office, at around 1:30 that afternoon, Macy was a little concerned; to say the least. He took in the sight of her: same clothes as the night before, tangled hair, and a drawn out look on her face.
"How did you get here," Macy asked. She did not look like someone who he wanted driving, or like someone who had even tried to drive. She looked slightly harassed and bored.
"Subway," she muttered.
"So what's wrong? Bad hotel?" he questioned, a gleam in his eyes.
"You know damn well that I didn't sleep in a hotel. You left me there to go home with Woody," Jordan said, exasperated.
"That was a bad thing? You two were awfully cozy in the wall. . ." Macy held back a smile.
"It was a wall."
". . . And in Woody's office. Don't try and tell me that you weren't making sweet to him," Macy said. "You've been holding it back for a good while now. About half a year; but when something happens you run away. That's what you did, isn't it? You ran away."
Lily walked in during Macy and Jordan's silent pause.
"Hello Jordan, Doctor Macy," Lily said. Her clip board was, as usual, in her arms. It had case files on families that needed counseling. "Detective Hoyt is on the phone, asking for you Jordan. He thought you were here even though I told him it was your day off. I picked up the phone on my way to your office, so I told him I'd check."
"I'm not here," Jordan said in a firm voice. But while she was looking at Lily the red haired woman looked past her and saw Garrett Macy nod 'yes'.
"Alright then," Lily said leaving. All Macy needed to do now was stall until Woody got here.
"Really Macy. . . Woody and I don't have anything, and it's best to leave it at that," Jordan said.
"I see," Garrett answered swiftly.
She took another approach, "I don't need anything messing up my life right now."
"Except your own emotional denial and feeling of lose," it was not a question.
"It is not denial! I am the one that recognizes that nothing is there for us. He doesn't; I do. He should understand that," Jordan said, trying to convince her self.
"I always want you to be okay. Usually okay for you, Jordan is where ever you are at that moment. But okay for the rest of your kife is not running anymore. Maybe you have to go after things, even more dangerous things that murders that are out to get you or your family. The heart is a precious thing, if it gets broken it isn't fatal, but Tylenol doesn't relieve the pain."
"Thanks for the pep talk," mumbled Jordan.
"So you're going to try?" Macy prayed.
"No." There was a pause, Macy knew she was thinking, and that could be a very good or very bad thing. "No, I don't see how I can. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to lock myself up somewhere. Yeah, I saw you nod to Lily in the window's reflection." She hadn't needed to see it, though. She had known all along Macy would help Woody . . . try to help her.
Jordan left Macy's office and hurried into her own. She grabbed a case file for one of the far autopsy rooms and hurried down that way. When show got to the room, however, she did not start the procedure. She sunk down in a corner and thought about things.
Down the hall Woody entered the offices in a hurry. He bumped into Bug, who seemed to read his mind, and said, "She went that way."
Peering through the glass he looked for a sign of Jordan. He saw her and entered the room, proceeding to cross to where she was and look down with concern in his eyes.
"You're going to freeze," he said.
"Never have before," Jordan answered coolly.
"You're coming with me," Woody stated more sternly than she had ever heard him use (when speaking to her).
Woody hoisted Jordan up and steered her all the way to his car, which was parked in front of the building in Jordan's parking space.
"I could have refused to come out here," she told him, inside the car.
"Sure," he didn't look like the old caring Woody.
"I wanted to talk to you though," she said.
"About what?" he retorted, but she refused to say anything else after that. They went to a coffee shop near by, he was sure Jordan would have something to say if he took her to a restaurant with her hair like that. They sat across from each other and he ordered their food.
She began suddenly. "Thank you for always being there, Woody. Thank you for always wanting me to be myself, but be the best I could be. You sacrificed things for me, I know that. That shows that you care, I see that." He looked at her blankly. "But you can't see that I care. Caring for me was when I went back into that burning building for you, about a month ago."
"You told me you would do that for anyone, when I asked," Woody stated. His heart was beating hard and fast, but he did not show it.
"Yeah, I would have. But I did it for you," Jordan said, looking straight into his eyes.
"Caring for me is when I step in front of a person to save their life from a gun shot wound, not knocking them down. Do you remember that?"
"Of course I remember. One of the stupidest things that you've ever done, stepping in front of me and taking the blow right in the shoulder."
"I didn't feel it at the time. I did feel that you were alright, though. That was what counted."
"So doing stupid things is how you show what you feel?" he inquired.
"Protecting people I love the quickest way possible: that's how I show that I care," Jordan said and looked up. Woody was going to speak when their food was served (coffee and some sandwiches).
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"Garrett!" Lily called down the hallway. Dr. Macy turned and she walked forward. "Glad I caught you. The parents of . . ." she looked down at her files, ". . . Jacob Miller are here. He was the 31 year old that died in the hospital for un-known reasons. I'm going to talk to them now, and I'm guessing your going to handle the autopsy?"
"Yes, I was headed that way now. I'm not sure if you should talk to them yet, we're not sure of anything, and we don't want them led on." Macy told her.
"Well no. But they've come a long way, and I'm at least going to speak with them." Lily answered his statement with her own flare.
"Alright, but don't presume to tell them anything. It may end up false later," he said.
"You think this is more than complications from something small?" she asked with interest.
"I have no reason to believe so," he said, walking down the hall away from her, and she just barely caught: "But I do."
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"So now you love me?" he asked.
"Is that what it sounded like?" Jordan pushed.
Woody blushed slightly, showing emotion for the first time in their conversation, which was just what she wanted: for him to squirm a bit. "Yes," he muttered.
Jordan smiled, "Good. That's what it was supposed to sound like." There was a pause, they looked into each other's eyes and understanding came into both of their hearts, "Now is when we're supposed to kiss," Jordan whispered, "But since we're so far apart, want to play footsie or something?"
Woody laughed. If he had to be in love with someone then this was defiantly the girl.
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"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Miller," Lily greeted the two people in the conference room. They were both in their late 60's and looked slightly lost. "You can call me Lily. We're sorry about your son. He passed away in the hospital two days ago, and the Chief ME will be carrying out the autopsy soon. I can't tell you more about his death until that is over with, but I would like to talk to you about the Grieving Process."
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"Nigel, I want every bit of this body photographed. There's something wrong with this scenario." Macy snapped at Nigel.
"Alright, hold on, hold on," he said.
"A thirty-one year old man goes into the hospital. It appears that he has a strong bout of pneumonia, but he's on medications and getting better quickly. Then suddenly his heart stops. Why? There are no signs of smothering or food poisoning and his blood seems clean. The only marks on him are the puncture wounds from the needles (all of which are accounted for. He bruised easily; it appears; so the injection spots show up." Macy explained.
"We should go to the hospital and talk to some people. Maybe someone knew him personally there?" Nigel suggested.
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"Jordan," Woody whispered. She was sipping her coffee contently across from him.
"Yeah?" she questioned.
"You need to prove your self to me," and his blue eyes shone with what looked like fear. He did not want her getting mad now, just when he had her.
"What?!"
"You need to prove that you're not just playing me. This isn't just a few days for me; it's more. I know what you said, and it seems convincing, but I need to know you're not going to back out for no reason." Woody told her. For a moment he thought that she might leave, but she didn't move a muscle.
"What can I do?" Jordan asked.
"That's up to you."
"Let's leave," she said.
Woody paid and they got in his car. Driving back to his apartment was tense, and it was stressed inside his residence when they got in the door.
"You can borrow some sort of shirt," he told her, digging in a drawer. "Here's one," he held up a dark blue shirt with short sleeves and fairly small, "Been in the dryer too many times."
Jordan went into the bathroom and changed. When she sat down in the living room next to Woody he watched her. He thought she looked good in his shirt; she blended right in with the rest of his apartment.
Jordan grasped her hands together and lowered her head. "I'm ready to open up. Last night . . . Last night you told me I could tell the people that know me well enough things. So here it goes . . ."
She stopped, but Woody gave her time. He knew it was coming, in some unlikely way. "When I was little I used to sing. I remember my mother saying that, if I wanted to, I could make up my own songs. I'd sing about pretty things: trinkets of my mother's, stars . . . fairy tales. My mother was murdered; no one knows what it's like when your ten years old and you walk in to find your mother like that. She was murdered. I remember that I stopped singing when I was eight or nine; but I sang after my mother died.
"I sung about the pretty lands she was off to. Somehow I knew, though, that she had always been off in her own 'pretty lands'. I can remember when I was about five, she would tell me stories about gelatins and the little birds," Jordan wondered off in her imagination, tilting her head somewhat. She was no longer aware of Woody's presence. She was staring off for a few minutes before she started talking again. "My mother was insane. Sometimes I wonder if it runs in the family. My half-brother, after all, is quite out of it. What if I get close to someone . . . What if I start my life up with a family and suddenly the madness kicks in.
"I don't want to be like my mother. Sure- most daughters say that at some point in their life. But if I'm like her all the insanity will be passed along. I would try to drown my kids, cut their shoulders with my sharp nails," at this point she pressed one pointed nail into another finger, ". . . it would be a nightmare, and I'd be the monster. How could anyone ask me to do that?"
Jordan now stared into space. Woody lean over and pulled her towards him. He kissed the side of her head and felt her silky hair against his lips and chin. He had known about her mother's condition, of course, but not in so much detail, not about all of her fear.
She was thinking of a family, though. He told himself that she was just thinking towards the future, with who ever she may marry, but his heart tugged.
They sat in silence for a long time; over an hour. Both thinking something different, yet both coming to the same conclusion: she had proved her self, and nothing else needed to be said. She had gone beyond what she needed to do and it had been for Woody; what a strange thought.
When it was getting late in the evening Woody got up. He apparently made a phone call and was satisfied with whatever answer he had been given.
"Let's go over to your apartment so you can get some clothes," he suggested.
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They ducked under the police tape and entered Jordan's apartment. When they went into her bedroom, Jordan said, "Open up the closet and throw me a gym bag or something." He did so and she started to fill it with things from her dresser. "Be back in a minute," she told him.
Woody was standing by the door when she came back to the room. In his hands was a black and red dress on a hanger. The dress was a solid black with lines of red intertwining all over. The shoulders were cut so that they dipped off the shoulders with ties. Mid-length and flared at the bottom; the dress was very flattering on Jordan.
"Here, change into this," Woody said.
"Why," she looked suspicious.
"Well, would you like to go out?" he looked polite. "I already made the reservations at an Italian place."
Jordan leaned up and lightly kissed him, "I'd love to go out."
They returned to Woody's place where Jordan got cleaned up and changed. When Woody stepped out of the room he was in a suit in tie, but not his work wear.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Good."
"Are my teeth white?"
"Uh-huh."
"Can I get a kiss?" He did.
"One last question- Do you like this tie?"
"No."
"Okay, I'll get a new one." With that he changed his tie. (The first had been a pale blue with triangles, this one was a simple black tie. Much improved.)
"Honestly, Woody," Jordan said looking him over. "You're far too vain."
Woody and Jordan spent a nice evening together, talking mainly about the first time they had met and somewhat about Woody's growing up in Wisconsin.
"The cheese really didn't make up for the lack of . . . everything . . . in our area," he told Jordan.
As they were leaving the restaurant Woody saw someone he knew (who was also leaving) and they talked for a while in the lobby.
"Hello, Senator Mc Rutherford, Mrs. Mc Rutherford," Woody said, leading Jordan over to the two people. Jordan's left arm was looped through Woody's right, but she extended her right hand when he said, "I'd like you to met Jordan Cavanaugh. I met the Senator and his wife a few weeks ago when we were working on the Routh case by the capital building."
Jordan felt oddly out of place, which did not happen often. She said a polite "hello", as did they, but the Senator's wife seemed to be avoiding her.
"We heard all about your run in with the Boston Killer, Detective Hoyt. Very brave of you," the Mrs. was saying.
"It was nothing on my part. Jordan saved my life; not for the first time either," Woody told them, he gave Jordan an adoring smile, which she returned (rather shyly in front of the two other people near at hand). Mrs. Mc Rutherford grimaced.
"You're an ME, correct?" questions the Senator. She nodded. "Assistant Chief Medical Examiner, if I remember correctly from the paper this morning. Well, how did you get mixed up in this all?"
"I often work with the FBI and police to solve things," Jordan said politely, if she went further she was sure that her tongue would slip and she would say something she should not have.
"Oh, Haley and I sort of forgot to tell you-with everything going on-"he gave her a slight nod, "you were the official Assistant Profiler," Woody told Jordan.
Mrs. Mc Rutherford still seemed to have an issue with Jordan, but what it was Jordan could not guess.
"We best be off," said the Senator after a few more minutes of polite discussion, "We're shooting a few ads tomorrow, early- too early. Have a nice weekend. Good-bye Detective and nice meeting you Miss Cavanaugh."
The two couples left for their respective cars. After Jordan and Woody were on track on the main streets back towards his apartment Jordan started.
"Well that was nice, is she always a bitch?" Jordan asked.
"Jordan," Woody gave her a stern look. "She's just . . . highly up tight. Cleanest record you could imagine. Ted is a nice guy; she's a bit controlling though. I've heard he only married her because he needed support from a well-known family to win the elections."
Jordan listened intently.
"You handled it very nicely. Ted wanted to talk to you more, I suspect, but she was there."
"Humph." They had reached Woody's usual parking space by the apartment building. He leaved over and kissed her softly.
"Don't worry about it," he assured her, "Her opinion doesn't count for as much as she would like it to."
They went inside and Woody checked his answering machine. There were a few non-shallot things: an old friend, boss saying he'd get a call about a new case, hang-up; and then there was Garrett's voice.
"Hey! Pick up. I don't care what you two are doing, pick up!" [Pause] "Fine, both of you are coming in tomorrow. We've got a new case."
"Oh, that was nice," Woody said, "What if you mother had checked the answering machine."
Jordan looked around, "Why would she?"
"I haven't got a clue. She lives in small house by Lake Erie. She's not going to come down anytime soon."
"Well, that's good," Jordan said.
They looked at each other for a minute or two, and then Woody did something he had wanted to do all day (and Jordan had been hoping, but not pushing for).
Woody swooped down on Jordan and kissed her passionately. So passionately, in fact, they moved onto the bedroom. What they did there is their own business and is not to be told in stories, however it can be said that a lot of sexual tension was let out.
Summary: Sequel to "They Tell Me Time Is Precious". Woody gets into some trouble and bad things ensure. Side stories w/ other cast members. This story is longer than TTMTIP.
Chapter: New Memories
[A/N] I've been looking and I saw that Woody (appears to) not be in the next two episodes. I think I'm gonna cry. Hope you like this; I do have definite plots so never fear. I didn't bother to spend too much time editing this, but it is okay.
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Haley was finally gone. It seemed like they had sat in Woody's office for days talking about the Boston Killer. It was really about two hours. Macy, Jordan, and Woody were standing in the elevator.
"Tomorrow's your day off, Jordan. Rest, do something productive," Macy told her.
"Thanks, Macy. I'm going to need it," she admitted.
"I thought you were used to be sleep deprived?" Woody asked.
"I am." There was a short pause, "It's just that I'm sleep deprived on a sofa, in the middle of a morgue."
"Well, that does sound more comfortable."
When they got to the front doors Macy turned back.
"You'll find a place to stay, won't you Jordan?" he asked. She nodded.
After Macy had left Woody held her by her shoulder's, with a firm grip. For some reason he was worried that she would run away.
"I'll drive you home," he said. She nodded again and they exited the building. In the car nothing was said. Home was, of course, Woody's apartment. Jordan could not return to her home because of the investigation.
Woody walked Jordan to the apartment door. He unlocked it and she went in.
"You're not coming in?" Jordan asked. Her obvious exhaustion and fear were showing.
Woody had always known that deep down; Jordan was scared; scared of life, scared of her job, of her friends and her family. Even though he had known he could not possibly imagine it. This Jordan was so different: so vulnerable.
Her eyes were almost pleading with him now. She really was terrified through and through.
"I'm just checking my mail," Woody said, walking into the apartment.
The layout of Woody's apartment was much the same as in Jordan's. The kitchen tiles struck her at once for some reason. They were a red and white pattern. Her eyes found the cabinet under the sink, and her finger pricked; as if she had just been poked with one of those dreadful knives all over again. Not just the knives under the sink, but the knives of the world, trying to slice her down to size. Jordan's head hung.
She sat down on the midnight blue sofa that was just inside the door. Woody came over and sat by her, placing his arm around her shoulders and hugging her to him.
"Jordan that man won't get out. Don't worry. There's nothing to hurt you tonight," Woody told her. In her mind she knew that the Boston Killer wouldn't hurt her, but a part of her was saying that the man sitting next to her would. She fought the feeling off.
"I think you should go to bed. I'll sleep on the sofa," Jordan said.
"Of course not, you're the guest here, and I should try sleeping on a couch for once." Woody replied.
They sat in silence now Woody became aware that Jordan had fallen asleep. He lifted her up and carried her to his bedroom. He walked back out of the room, into the bathroom, and started brushing his teeth.
There was suddenly a hitting of some thing; it was just outside one of his apartment windows. A piece of metal was being hit against the building and windows.
Then he heard Jordan. She had shrieked, but not loudly. He ran into find her pawing at the closet door.
"What are you doing?" he asked when he had come to stand by her.
"I thought that was the door, or something," she said. "Who is trying to get in?"
"No one is trying to get in; it's just the storm blowing stuff around. You go back to sleep, I'll just be in the living room." With that he steered her towards the bed and she lay down; tiredness showing under her eyes.
"Don't leave," she said, "Just lay here next to me." He did so, silently.
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Jordan woke up at around noon with a clear head and no thoughts except that she really did want to sleep longer. However just when she was about to fall back asleep she turned over. There was Woody, white tee-shirt and jeans, his arms up, over his head; he looked content. He was a sleep; she was there; what had she done? What had she said? Had she spoken her heart and poured out everything she'd dreamed of?
No. She hadn't. There was time to escape, so she smoothly got off the bed and headed to the door of the room.
Woody was too quick. As soon as Jordan had moved a few inches he stirred. It had been that way all night and he had not gotten much sleep. By the time Jordan was to the door he was wide awake.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
Jordan paused, and then turned around to look at him, slouching slightly. "Bathroom," she said groggily.
Woody saw through it. "No, you weren't. You were leaving."
"Woody. . ." But she couldn't find the words. She thought she could leave any man, especially if there was potential attachment to be had.
"This was not a one night thing for me, Jordan. I thought you had felt something four months ago, but couldn't handle it then, but that you really felt something now. And I need to know; I feel something. Do you?" he asked, standing up. They were now across the room diagonal from each other.
Jordan looked at him for a minute; then she looked down. After that she turned, opened the door and walked out. Woody heard the lock on the apartment door clicking open, then the shutting of it.
"Why don't you?" Woody asked the thin air around him.
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When Jordan walked into the chief ME's office, at around 1:30 that afternoon, Macy was a little concerned; to say the least. He took in the sight of her: same clothes as the night before, tangled hair, and a drawn out look on her face.
"How did you get here," Macy asked. She did not look like someone who he wanted driving, or like someone who had even tried to drive. She looked slightly harassed and bored.
"Subway," she muttered.
"So what's wrong? Bad hotel?" he questioned, a gleam in his eyes.
"You know damn well that I didn't sleep in a hotel. You left me there to go home with Woody," Jordan said, exasperated.
"That was a bad thing? You two were awfully cozy in the wall. . ." Macy held back a smile.
"It was a wall."
". . . And in Woody's office. Don't try and tell me that you weren't making sweet to him," Macy said. "You've been holding it back for a good while now. About half a year; but when something happens you run away. That's what you did, isn't it? You ran away."
Lily walked in during Macy and Jordan's silent pause.
"Hello Jordan, Doctor Macy," Lily said. Her clip board was, as usual, in her arms. It had case files on families that needed counseling. "Detective Hoyt is on the phone, asking for you Jordan. He thought you were here even though I told him it was your day off. I picked up the phone on my way to your office, so I told him I'd check."
"I'm not here," Jordan said in a firm voice. But while she was looking at Lily the red haired woman looked past her and saw Garrett Macy nod 'yes'.
"Alright then," Lily said leaving. All Macy needed to do now was stall until Woody got here.
"Really Macy. . . Woody and I don't have anything, and it's best to leave it at that," Jordan said.
"I see," Garrett answered swiftly.
She took another approach, "I don't need anything messing up my life right now."
"Except your own emotional denial and feeling of lose," it was not a question.
"It is not denial! I am the one that recognizes that nothing is there for us. He doesn't; I do. He should understand that," Jordan said, trying to convince her self.
"I always want you to be okay. Usually okay for you, Jordan is where ever you are at that moment. But okay for the rest of your kife is not running anymore. Maybe you have to go after things, even more dangerous things that murders that are out to get you or your family. The heart is a precious thing, if it gets broken it isn't fatal, but Tylenol doesn't relieve the pain."
"Thanks for the pep talk," mumbled Jordan.
"So you're going to try?" Macy prayed.
"No." There was a pause, Macy knew she was thinking, and that could be a very good or very bad thing. "No, I don't see how I can. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to lock myself up somewhere. Yeah, I saw you nod to Lily in the window's reflection." She hadn't needed to see it, though. She had known all along Macy would help Woody . . . try to help her.
Jordan left Macy's office and hurried into her own. She grabbed a case file for one of the far autopsy rooms and hurried down that way. When show got to the room, however, she did not start the procedure. She sunk down in a corner and thought about things.
Down the hall Woody entered the offices in a hurry. He bumped into Bug, who seemed to read his mind, and said, "She went that way."
Peering through the glass he looked for a sign of Jordan. He saw her and entered the room, proceeding to cross to where she was and look down with concern in his eyes.
"You're going to freeze," he said.
"Never have before," Jordan answered coolly.
"You're coming with me," Woody stated more sternly than she had ever heard him use (when speaking to her).
Woody hoisted Jordan up and steered her all the way to his car, which was parked in front of the building in Jordan's parking space.
"I could have refused to come out here," she told him, inside the car.
"Sure," he didn't look like the old caring Woody.
"I wanted to talk to you though," she said.
"About what?" he retorted, but she refused to say anything else after that. They went to a coffee shop near by, he was sure Jordan would have something to say if he took her to a restaurant with her hair like that. They sat across from each other and he ordered their food.
She began suddenly. "Thank you for always being there, Woody. Thank you for always wanting me to be myself, but be the best I could be. You sacrificed things for me, I know that. That shows that you care, I see that." He looked at her blankly. "But you can't see that I care. Caring for me was when I went back into that burning building for you, about a month ago."
"You told me you would do that for anyone, when I asked," Woody stated. His heart was beating hard and fast, but he did not show it.
"Yeah, I would have. But I did it for you," Jordan said, looking straight into his eyes.
"Caring for me is when I step in front of a person to save their life from a gun shot wound, not knocking them down. Do you remember that?"
"Of course I remember. One of the stupidest things that you've ever done, stepping in front of me and taking the blow right in the shoulder."
"I didn't feel it at the time. I did feel that you were alright, though. That was what counted."
"So doing stupid things is how you show what you feel?" he inquired.
"Protecting people I love the quickest way possible: that's how I show that I care," Jordan said and looked up. Woody was going to speak when their food was served (coffee and some sandwiches).
*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~*
"Garrett!" Lily called down the hallway. Dr. Macy turned and she walked forward. "Glad I caught you. The parents of . . ." she looked down at her files, ". . . Jacob Miller are here. He was the 31 year old that died in the hospital for un-known reasons. I'm going to talk to them now, and I'm guessing your going to handle the autopsy?"
"Yes, I was headed that way now. I'm not sure if you should talk to them yet, we're not sure of anything, and we don't want them led on." Macy told her.
"Well no. But they've come a long way, and I'm at least going to speak with them." Lily answered his statement with her own flare.
"Alright, but don't presume to tell them anything. It may end up false later," he said.
"You think this is more than complications from something small?" she asked with interest.
"I have no reason to believe so," he said, walking down the hall away from her, and she just barely caught: "But I do."
*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~*
"So now you love me?" he asked.
"Is that what it sounded like?" Jordan pushed.
Woody blushed slightly, showing emotion for the first time in their conversation, which was just what she wanted: for him to squirm a bit. "Yes," he muttered.
Jordan smiled, "Good. That's what it was supposed to sound like." There was a pause, they looked into each other's eyes and understanding came into both of their hearts, "Now is when we're supposed to kiss," Jordan whispered, "But since we're so far apart, want to play footsie or something?"
Woody laughed. If he had to be in love with someone then this was defiantly the girl.
*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~*
"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Miller," Lily greeted the two people in the conference room. They were both in their late 60's and looked slightly lost. "You can call me Lily. We're sorry about your son. He passed away in the hospital two days ago, and the Chief ME will be carrying out the autopsy soon. I can't tell you more about his death until that is over with, but I would like to talk to you about the Grieving Process."
*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~*
"Nigel, I want every bit of this body photographed. There's something wrong with this scenario." Macy snapped at Nigel.
"Alright, hold on, hold on," he said.
"A thirty-one year old man goes into the hospital. It appears that he has a strong bout of pneumonia, but he's on medications and getting better quickly. Then suddenly his heart stops. Why? There are no signs of smothering or food poisoning and his blood seems clean. The only marks on him are the puncture wounds from the needles (all of which are accounted for. He bruised easily; it appears; so the injection spots show up." Macy explained.
"We should go to the hospital and talk to some people. Maybe someone knew him personally there?" Nigel suggested.
*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~*
"Jordan," Woody whispered. She was sipping her coffee contently across from him.
"Yeah?" she questioned.
"You need to prove your self to me," and his blue eyes shone with what looked like fear. He did not want her getting mad now, just when he had her.
"What?!"
"You need to prove that you're not just playing me. This isn't just a few days for me; it's more. I know what you said, and it seems convincing, but I need to know you're not going to back out for no reason." Woody told her. For a moment he thought that she might leave, but she didn't move a muscle.
"What can I do?" Jordan asked.
"That's up to you."
"Let's leave," she said.
Woody paid and they got in his car. Driving back to his apartment was tense, and it was stressed inside his residence when they got in the door.
"You can borrow some sort of shirt," he told her, digging in a drawer. "Here's one," he held up a dark blue shirt with short sleeves and fairly small, "Been in the dryer too many times."
Jordan went into the bathroom and changed. When she sat down in the living room next to Woody he watched her. He thought she looked good in his shirt; she blended right in with the rest of his apartment.
Jordan grasped her hands together and lowered her head. "I'm ready to open up. Last night . . . Last night you told me I could tell the people that know me well enough things. So here it goes . . ."
She stopped, but Woody gave her time. He knew it was coming, in some unlikely way. "When I was little I used to sing. I remember my mother saying that, if I wanted to, I could make up my own songs. I'd sing about pretty things: trinkets of my mother's, stars . . . fairy tales. My mother was murdered; no one knows what it's like when your ten years old and you walk in to find your mother like that. She was murdered. I remember that I stopped singing when I was eight or nine; but I sang after my mother died.
"I sung about the pretty lands she was off to. Somehow I knew, though, that she had always been off in her own 'pretty lands'. I can remember when I was about five, she would tell me stories about gelatins and the little birds," Jordan wondered off in her imagination, tilting her head somewhat. She was no longer aware of Woody's presence. She was staring off for a few minutes before she started talking again. "My mother was insane. Sometimes I wonder if it runs in the family. My half-brother, after all, is quite out of it. What if I get close to someone . . . What if I start my life up with a family and suddenly the madness kicks in.
"I don't want to be like my mother. Sure- most daughters say that at some point in their life. But if I'm like her all the insanity will be passed along. I would try to drown my kids, cut their shoulders with my sharp nails," at this point she pressed one pointed nail into another finger, ". . . it would be a nightmare, and I'd be the monster. How could anyone ask me to do that?"
Jordan now stared into space. Woody lean over and pulled her towards him. He kissed the side of her head and felt her silky hair against his lips and chin. He had known about her mother's condition, of course, but not in so much detail, not about all of her fear.
She was thinking of a family, though. He told himself that she was just thinking towards the future, with who ever she may marry, but his heart tugged.
They sat in silence for a long time; over an hour. Both thinking something different, yet both coming to the same conclusion: she had proved her self, and nothing else needed to be said. She had gone beyond what she needed to do and it had been for Woody; what a strange thought.
When it was getting late in the evening Woody got up. He apparently made a phone call and was satisfied with whatever answer he had been given.
"Let's go over to your apartment so you can get some clothes," he suggested.
*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~*
They ducked under the police tape and entered Jordan's apartment. When they went into her bedroom, Jordan said, "Open up the closet and throw me a gym bag or something." He did so and she started to fill it with things from her dresser. "Be back in a minute," she told him.
Woody was standing by the door when she came back to the room. In his hands was a black and red dress on a hanger. The dress was a solid black with lines of red intertwining all over. The shoulders were cut so that they dipped off the shoulders with ties. Mid-length and flared at the bottom; the dress was very flattering on Jordan.
"Here, change into this," Woody said.
"Why," she looked suspicious.
"Well, would you like to go out?" he looked polite. "I already made the reservations at an Italian place."
Jordan leaned up and lightly kissed him, "I'd love to go out."
They returned to Woody's place where Jordan got cleaned up and changed. When Woody stepped out of the room he was in a suit in tie, but not his work wear.
"How do I look?" he asked.
"Good."
"Are my teeth white?"
"Uh-huh."
"Can I get a kiss?" He did.
"One last question- Do you like this tie?"
"No."
"Okay, I'll get a new one." With that he changed his tie. (The first had been a pale blue with triangles, this one was a simple black tie. Much improved.)
"Honestly, Woody," Jordan said looking him over. "You're far too vain."
Woody and Jordan spent a nice evening together, talking mainly about the first time they had met and somewhat about Woody's growing up in Wisconsin.
"The cheese really didn't make up for the lack of . . . everything . . . in our area," he told Jordan.
As they were leaving the restaurant Woody saw someone he knew (who was also leaving) and they talked for a while in the lobby.
"Hello, Senator Mc Rutherford, Mrs. Mc Rutherford," Woody said, leading Jordan over to the two people. Jordan's left arm was looped through Woody's right, but she extended her right hand when he said, "I'd like you to met Jordan Cavanaugh. I met the Senator and his wife a few weeks ago when we were working on the Routh case by the capital building."
Jordan felt oddly out of place, which did not happen often. She said a polite "hello", as did they, but the Senator's wife seemed to be avoiding her.
"We heard all about your run in with the Boston Killer, Detective Hoyt. Very brave of you," the Mrs. was saying.
"It was nothing on my part. Jordan saved my life; not for the first time either," Woody told them, he gave Jordan an adoring smile, which she returned (rather shyly in front of the two other people near at hand). Mrs. Mc Rutherford grimaced.
"You're an ME, correct?" questions the Senator. She nodded. "Assistant Chief Medical Examiner, if I remember correctly from the paper this morning. Well, how did you get mixed up in this all?"
"I often work with the FBI and police to solve things," Jordan said politely, if she went further she was sure that her tongue would slip and she would say something she should not have.
"Oh, Haley and I sort of forgot to tell you-with everything going on-"he gave her a slight nod, "you were the official Assistant Profiler," Woody told Jordan.
Mrs. Mc Rutherford still seemed to have an issue with Jordan, but what it was Jordan could not guess.
"We best be off," said the Senator after a few more minutes of polite discussion, "We're shooting a few ads tomorrow, early- too early. Have a nice weekend. Good-bye Detective and nice meeting you Miss Cavanaugh."
The two couples left for their respective cars. After Jordan and Woody were on track on the main streets back towards his apartment Jordan started.
"Well that was nice, is she always a bitch?" Jordan asked.
"Jordan," Woody gave her a stern look. "She's just . . . highly up tight. Cleanest record you could imagine. Ted is a nice guy; she's a bit controlling though. I've heard he only married her because he needed support from a well-known family to win the elections."
Jordan listened intently.
"You handled it very nicely. Ted wanted to talk to you more, I suspect, but she was there."
"Humph." They had reached Woody's usual parking space by the apartment building. He leaved over and kissed her softly.
"Don't worry about it," he assured her, "Her opinion doesn't count for as much as she would like it to."
They went inside and Woody checked his answering machine. There were a few non-shallot things: an old friend, boss saying he'd get a call about a new case, hang-up; and then there was Garrett's voice.
"Hey! Pick up. I don't care what you two are doing, pick up!" [Pause] "Fine, both of you are coming in tomorrow. We've got a new case."
"Oh, that was nice," Woody said, "What if you mother had checked the answering machine."
Jordan looked around, "Why would she?"
"I haven't got a clue. She lives in small house by Lake Erie. She's not going to come down anytime soon."
"Well, that's good," Jordan said.
They looked at each other for a minute or two, and then Woody did something he had wanted to do all day (and Jordan had been hoping, but not pushing for).
Woody swooped down on Jordan and kissed her passionately. So passionately, in fact, they moved onto the bedroom. What they did there is their own business and is not to be told in stories, however it can be said that a lot of sexual tension was let out.