Thank you very much to my readers, as always, and particularly to Cittykat17 and Tracey for your kind reviews.
Chapter 9
Jordan leaned back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves. It had been about five hours since he'd been admitted to the ICU, but Woody was still unconscious. She knew it would take a while for his body to recover, and she kept telling herself it was just a matter of time. Just a little bit longer. He'd be fine. And yet that nagging fear that she might be on the cusp of losing him again refused to leave her mind. She blinked, keeping her eyes focused on his calm face.
The EMTs had immediately started him on a round of activated charcoal to absorb the toxins from his blood as soon as he was secured in the ambulance. While charcoal was typically used in cases of ingested poisons, it worked pretty well in emergencies like this - and it had done its job exceptionally. The doctor at the hospital had run blood work every hour since Woody's arrival, and the tranquilizer was slowly being phased out, no transfusions or other steps necessary. Karen was being treated in the same way; she was also doing very well.
Holly had been taken into custody but, at Jordan's adamant request, she had been brought to the hospital's mental health ward rather than being booked directly into the women's detention center. She'd have to be transferred to a state prison at some point, but she would be admitted to their mental health ward, just like here at the public hospital. She'd finally be getting the medical help she so desperately needed. And, if Jordan had her way with the prosecutor, no criminal charges would be brought against her. None of this was Holly's fault.
Not long after Holly was brought here, Jordan had gotten a call from Officer Stone saying that they'd put out an APB on Holly's doctor. The search of his home and office had yielded little so far, but their CSU had recovered a computer that they were currently scouring. She had bit back a scathing, "told you so!", and politely asked to be updated when the doctor was brought in for questioning. Stone had grudgingly agreed.
And now here she was, five hours later, still at Woody's bedside.
All of her anger with him was gone. She was still a little hurt - but she knew he had only gone behind her back like that because he was scared. She could give him that, just this once. They would have to talk about it, definitely. But she also knew that he would never do it again and, despite her misgivings earlier, she still trusted him with every fiber of her being. Guess that's what it means to be in love, she mused absently, toying with the fringe of the blanket wrapped over her shoulders.
She couldn't help but remember the last time he had been in the hospital like this, after he had been shot. When he had venomously demanded that she leave and never speak to him again. It was a memory she tried so hard to hide away; they'd been through so much together since that horrible period, and neither one of them was the same person they had been then. But through it all...the love had never dwindled. It may have been forced into dormancy for a while as a method of self-defense, but it had never truly disappeared - even when he had been treating her worse than the dirt on his shoes. Losing him now, after they had survived all that life could throw at them, was not an option.
Love. It was still a strange concept to her, and one she was still a bit afraid of. At least he believed me this time around, right? Plenty of time to work through it. With him.
The door to Woody's room opened and a nurse came inside. "How's he doing?"
"No change yet," Jordan said, her eyes not leaving his face. She had made it clear within the first few minutes of his admission that she was a doctor, and so far the staff had been very accommodating in keeping her up to date. "His BP came up some about thirty minutes ago, though. Almost back to normal."
"Good!" The nurse - Betsy, her name tag read - gave her a wide smile as she checked his chart. "We're still waiting on the most recent blood tests, but we should have those soon." Betsy paused as she replaced the file in the metal sling at the foot of his bed, her grin faltering. "I'm sorry to have to ask this, Doctor, but are you family? Visiting hours were over a while ago. Unless you're related to him, you're going to have to leave until Detective Hoyt can be moved to the standard recovery unit."
"Family?" she repeated quietly.
She had known this was coming; only close relatives of patients were allowed in the ICU. That they had let her stay this long without question was actually pretty surprising. But, more than anything else, she did not want to leave him. And besides, neither of them had much family to speak of. All they had was each other. So, not much louder than a whisper, she said, "Yes. I'm family."
Betsy let out a genuine sigh of relief. "I'm glad. It would be awful, for him to be here all alone." Not pushing for any more information - and possibly knowing that the medical examiner was expanding the truth - she adjusted the dosage on the charcoal and IV drips. "Our cafeteria is on the ground floor. The food isn't half bad, if you get hungry enough to eat."
"Thank you." Jordan gave her a weak but sincere smile. "I really appreciate your help."
The nurse left, and Jordan settled in for a long, sleepless night.
xXx
At some point after midnight had come and gone, she had moved the chair closer to Woody's bed so that she could rest her crossed arms and head on the mattress next to him. It had been comfortable enough for her to doze and, in that weird half-awake half-asleep state, she only just noticed when a warm hand lightly touched her hair.
"Jo?"
She blinked and blearily raised her head, forgetting for a moment where she was. And then her eyes met Woody's foggy blue ones, and she jerked upward in elation. "You're awake!" Before he could so much as grab her hand, Jordan had jumped to her feet, checking monitors and fluid levels and hitting the call button for a nurse. "Thank God, you're finally awake."
Woody watched her, confused, as she bustled around him. "You're here."
Jordan stopped moving and turned to stare down at him, suddenly at a loss as she was thrown back to that other hospital room in Boston - just before he had kicked her out. It was happening all over again, wasn't it? Trying her best not to show the fear that was suddenly making her heart pound, she grinned. "Of course I'm here."
"She hasn't left your side once since you were admitted, Detective." It was Betsy, answering the assistance call Jordan had made and overhearing the small conversation. "Glad to have you back with us!"
Jordan backed against the wall, not wanting to interfere as Betsy pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and manually took his pulse. Woody looked over at her, his gaze pleading, but she was unable to move while the nurse continued to check him over. Her heart had gone from pounding to thudding painfully in her chest, terrified now that her anger from before had driven an irreparable wedge between them. She crossed her arms over her middle, watching silently as Betsy worked.
After a few minutes, the nurse drew a last vial of blood, marked something in his chart, and turned to the medical examiner. "Everything looks great," she said, clearly enough for Woody to hear as well. "Just need to test this blood here to make sure the tranquilizer has been purged, and then you'll be free to go into the care of your lovely lady friend."
"And Karen?" Jordan asked for them both, not commenting on the 'lady friend' bit.
Betsy smiled kindly. "She's already been taken home by her husband. Now get some more rest, Mister Hoyt, and you'll be right as rain before you know it." She patted his hand, then Jordan's shoulder, and left the room.
"Woody-"
"Jordan-"
They both tried to speak at the same time, and then both stopped abruptly. Jordan scuffed her foot against the tiled floor, swallowing harshly and not sure what she was even going to say. Woody was the first to break the pregnant silence.
"I'm sorry, Jo," he whispered, reaching out for her with a desperation that made her heart melt and all her fears disappear. "I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I-I should have just..."
"Oh, Woody," she murmured as she went back to his bedside, taking his searching hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I know you were just worried." She brought their clasped hands up to her lips, gently pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers. "Just...don't go behind my back like that again, okay?"
"Scout's honor," he told her with as much of a charming smile as he could muster. "So, um...what happened?"
"From what I gathered at the time," she began slowly, sitting back in the chair, "you went to Karen's house to help Holly. She surprised you, I guess - you said before you passed out that she injected something into your leg. Do you remember?"
Woody's eyebrows knitted as he tried to recall the incident. "Vaguely. I fell in the kitchen...trying to get to Karen."
"That's where I found you," she confirmed with a slight nod.
"And Holly? Oh, God, Jordan - did she hurt you? Are you okay?"
Jordan chuckled and lowered her eyes from his intense gaze. "I'm fine, Woody. She was so frightened by the time I got there, she was unable to even take the safety off your gun. I kept her talking until the police arrived, then the ambulance came, and now here we are."
"She got my gun?" He shook his head, slightly ashamed. "Man, I should never have gone. I knew something felt off. What's wrong with her?"
"Paranoid schizophrenia," she explained softly. "It wasn't her fault, though. For reasons I have yet to figure, her doctor took her off her meds - and then waited to make sure she had a psychotic break before supplying her with syringes filled with deadly amounts of xylazine. Stone is tracking him down for questioning and an arrest, but I haven't heard from him yet."
Woody nodded, his eyes starting to close in exhaustion. But then he smiled slyly and peered up at her as something clicked in his still-foggy mind. "Are you telling me that you, the notorious Jordan Cavanaugh, resisted the temptation of a manhunt to stay at my bedside?"
"Yeah, I guess I am. What's it to ya?" She returned his smirk and leaned her elbows on the mattress beside him. "I'm glad you're okay," she added in a more subdued tone. "For a while there I thought I was going to lose you. It was...scary."
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, turning his head toward her and meeting her gaze with more focus than he'd had just a few minutes ago.
"I know." She reached out and pressed a cool hand to his cheek. "All is forgiven. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see what I can do about bustin' you outta here."
xXx
It took until seven o'clock that morning, but Woody was finally released into Jordan's care.
She helped him out of the hospital shuttle van and up the stairs to the bedroom they had been sharing. "You should be feeling back to normal by this evening," she told him softly, not even bothering to turn on the overhead light as she lowered him into bed. Sunlight was streaming into the room, and she walked over to pull the curtains closed. "You just stay here. I'll make us both some breakfast."
Woody nodded and pressed his head back into the pillows. She had made it halfway across the room, but stopped and quickly walked back to the bed. "I'll be right back," she whispered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his forehead.
As she was about to pull away, he reached out and grabbed her hand. "I love you, Jordan," he said, staring up into her startled brown eyes without backing down. "Never forget that."
"I won't." The words came out so softly that she almost wondered if she had even spoken them aloud. But he gave her a heartwarming smile that made his dimples appear and let go of her hand. She blinked, trying to think of something else to say, before giving up and leaving the room. A fresh wave of tears pooled in her eyes as she made her way back down the stairs to the kitchen. He's too good for me, she thought, shaking her head.
She hadn't even had time to put bread into the toaster when her cell phone rang. Hastily dropping the loaf to the counter, she fished around in her pocket and answered without checking the caller ID.
"Cavanaugh."
"Doctor Cavanaugh, this is Doctor Skinner. I've just finished looking over your tests from last week. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
Jordan's breath caught in her throat and the room began to swim around her as an intense fear seared through her soul. This was it. She'd been so worried about Woody that she had nearly forgotten… She had to grasp the edge of the counter firmly to keep herself steady before she found the will to say something. "Yeah, sure. How…um, how does everything look?"
"Well," Skinner began, and she could hear papers being shuffled around on the other end of the line. Probably pulling up the scans. "There was some swelling around the frontal and occipital lobes, but both were minimal. I'd like you to come back for a comparative test as soon as you can, but these look like injuries sustained during the plane crash and should heal on their own. Some of the symptoms you described before could be explained by that swelling."
All she could do was nod, even knowing he couldn't see the motion. It took all her strength not to drop the phone as she began to shake uncontrollably. Her thoughts went to Woody, probably already sleeping, right upstairs. She wanted to call out for him, to feel him standing beside her as a pillar of strength when she had none left of her own. But she didn't call for him. Instead, she forced herself to ask through gritted teeth, "And the meningioma?"
"Again, I'd like you to come back for a few more tests to be sure, but it does not look like anything has changed. No new growth is showing up."
"No…no growth? Are you sure?" She leaned forward over the counter, heart fluttering at what could be very good news.
"From what I'm looking at right now, yes. Another scan should confirm that."
Jordan was silent for so long that Skinner had to ask if she had heard him. "Yeah – yes. I heard. Thank you." She swallowed back a sob and promised to make another appointment as soon as she returned to Boston.
The doctor hung up, and this time she let the phone fall from her grip and clatter to the floor. Swelling. It's just swelling. I'm not dying.
The tears she had been holding back for so long erupted to the surface and she was powerless to prevent them as they spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Desperately relived sobs tore through her until she had to use both hands to brace herself against the granite countertop to keep from falling, heaving as her lungs tried to breathe through it all. She knew she was being loud – knew that Woody could probably hear her – but she wasn't able to make it stop.
"Jordan?"
Yep, she thought, almost starting to laugh hysterically, he heard me. The swirling emotions just made her cry harder, though, and she heard him stumbling around upstairs. Trying to get to her.
"Jo, are you okay?" He was worried now, and somewhere at the top of the stairs. "Please answer me, Jordan!"
"Fine!" she finally forced herself to call out, voice wavering through her hitching throat. "I-I'm fine!" But then she spun around, coming back to the moment and remembering that he'd just been released from the hospital. "Don't come down those stairs, Woodrow Hoyt! I am not carrying you back up to bed!"
There was some grumbling, but then he fell quiet – likely realizing he was still dizzy. "Fine," he muttered just loudly enough for her to hear down the hallway. "Then you come to me!"
"In a minute."
"Damn it, Jordan, come here now!"
As though moving on their own, her feet shuffled across the floor through the kitchen and brought her to the bottom of the stairs. She looked up, and saw Woody's frightened face staring down at her. He reached out a hand, silently begging her to come closer since he was unable to get to her himself. She gave him a shaky smile and climbed the stairs. The moment she reached the top, Woody pulled her into his arms without stopping to ask what was wrong.
Jordan fell against him without restraint, letting him hold her as tears once again blurred her vision. "I just talked to my doctor," she breathed, turning her face into his chest.
He stiffened at that, and she could hear his heart start to pound. He was just as frightened as she had been. "What did he say?"
"There – there was some swelling," she explained softly, sucking in snagging gulps of air. "But it was from the crash. I…" A sob bubbled through her lungs, almost turning into another hysterical burst of laughter. "I'm fine, Woody. There was no change in the…the meningioma. It was all – all from that damned plan crash."
"But…swelling? What does that mean?"
She pulled back enough to meet his worried gaze. "It will go away on its own."
His hands flew up to her face, cupping her cheeks as he put his forehead against hers, too overcome for words and managing to put so much emotion behind the gesture. They both smiled, and this time Jordan did laugh – a light, throaty sound to ease both their fears. "I'm not dying, Woody. I'm not dying."
His fingers trailed over her skin and into her soft hair, nearly crying now himself. Still at a loss for something to say, he tilted her head upward and pressed his lips to hers. There was an urgency behind the kiss, and she responded immediately by wrapping her arms around him and opening her mouth to his tongue. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her tightly to him. She was just starting to tug at the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his warm skin, when he swayed backward into the nearby wall.
The kiss was reluctantly broken, and Woody sighed in frustration. Jordan just chuckled, wiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. "Go get back into bed," she admonished lightly, helping him back to his feet and shooing him down the hall. "I really will bring up breakfast this time."
"I don't want any food, Jordan," he told her breathlessly. "I just want you."
She regarded him silently for a moment, torn between giving in to her rising desire – as he was making clear he wanted to do – or looking after his health. Health won out. "We're both exhausted," she murmured, walking toward him and squeezing his hand. "Let's just sleep for a while."
Woody's face began to fall at her apparent dismissal, but she stepped close and added softly, "But who ever said we have to sleep with all of our clothes on?"
