Chapter Four: Walking

Right, left, right, left. JD felt that he would make a really good soldier by the time he was finished walking. He had no idea how far he had walked, and his feet were killing him. But his whole body hurt when he was stopped…the tension propelled him to keep moving. Standing still was torture.

As JD walked, he ran everything he had just learned through his mind. None of it made any sense…why would the FBI let an innocent person take the fall for a murder? Especially a murder that didn't even actually happen? He thought of as many scenarios he could, trying to find something logical. Nothing came—the whole situation was so screwed up, and Jordan had taken on all the burdens alone.

His feet pounded the pavement harder as JD was filled with renewed anger. He felt for Jordan…nothing should have happened to her. The Feds told him that no one would suffer. He was such a loaner anyway, there weren't many people to even deal with. They would fake his death, and he would just float away. At the time JD had thought them callous, but he never doubted that they would be able to neatly handle the situation. He couldn't have been more wrong.

He wanted to get the judge, the bodyguard, and the agents and give them exactly what they gave Jordan. It was no wonder she hadn't wanted to talk to him. And he knew that Jordan already had trouble with relationships—he could only imagine what the ordeal had done to her psyche now.

JD finally stopped walking and looked up. He had ended by the ocean. The waves were rolling gently and were set against a twilit sky. He knew the Jordan loved the ocean. So did he…because it reminded him of her. The ocean was unpredictable and beautiful, just like her. He knew that there was so much more to her, just beneath the surface. JD had wanted to be the one to discover all of that. Now, he didn't know if she would ever open up to anyone.

Sighing, JD turned away from the sea. He at least needed to tell Jordan that he wasn't involved—that he didn't know what had happened. He felt as if he at least owed her that much. Jordan would have to decide if she wanted to see him again. Resolutely, JD started in the direction of her apartment.

Halfway there, JD had made a slight detour back to the morgue to get his car. He figured he had a better chance of getting Jordan to at least hear him if he showed up sometime before midnight. Now he was standing just outside her door, his hand poised to knock.

He could hear Jordan moving around inside. Gathering all the courage he had, JD knocked softly on the door. Instantly all of the noise inside stopped. He waited for Jordan to come to the door, but she didn't. He rapped once more, but still nothing.

"Hey, Cavanaugh. I know you're in there," he said cajolingly.

When she still didn't open up, JD continued. "Okay…you don't want to see me. I get it, Jordan. I just wanted to let you know that…that I never knew about what you did. I didn't know that you were framed, or that the judge hurt you. The Feds never told me a thing. Garret just told me after you left. Jordan, I'm so sorry…I know that you're struggling…I'd like to help, even if you just want to talk."

There was still no response from Jordan.

"Jordan…what you did…it wasn't worthless. Not to me," JD said softly. Then he slid a piece of paper with his phone number under the door. "If you ever want to talk, I'll be there."

He waited a few more minutes, and then slowly turned and walked down the hallway.

Inside, Jordan remained still. She had heard his footsteps as he retreated down the hall. Sighing, she stared at the small paper lying on her floor. At the very least, JD hadn't known about her ordeal while it was going on. She had worried that she meant so little to him

that he didn't care—that he had known about it and done nothing. It was a small relief, but she clung to every tiny bit of hope she could find.

Slowly, she got up from her couch and picked up the paper. She felt so strange…she had wanted JD to 'come back from the dead' so very badly. Now that he really was alive, she couldn't bring herself to even talk to him. Her walls had gone up so high and so thick, no one could penetrate them.

She didn't want to talk to him. Not now. Thinking that she should just throw the number away, Jordan moved toward the trash can. When she got there, however, she couldn't do it. Jordan slammed her fist on the counter in frustration.

"What is wrong with me?" She yelled. Still unable to throw the paper away and give up completely, Jordan angrily stuffed it in her purse.

She got herself a beer, flopped down on her couch, and turned on the TV. There was no way she was going to sleep tonight, and she needed something to take her mind off things.