Tarnished Haven
Chapter Ten: All Unraveled
Rating: PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think...No, I lied.)
Word Count: 2,953
Disclaimer: I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.
Summary: Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

Author's Note: Yes, there are loose ends. No, I did not tie them in a pretty bow. They just wouldn't let me. Yes, I know there was supposed to be resolution of certain... issues. That also wouldn't cooperate with me. This is what happened. I like it. And I intend to leave it this way until I fix it with the third one.

All Unraveled

"Hello, Woody."

The shaking wracking the other man's body made the gun unsteady and even more dangerous. Damn. He was on whatever this mystery drug was. Given that, it was surprising that he'd managed to recognize Woody at all. But then, there were somethings that you just couldn't forget, ties that couldn't be broken, no matter how hard he tried.

He licked his lips, struggling against his dry throat. "Why?"

"The bird has flown the proverbial coup."

Seely choked on his coffee and turned back to face Nigel. Townsend. It figured. He had just sat down at the counter. Wasn't bad enough that he was here in Podunk hell, that he hadn't eaten in hours, that he was working with Cavanaugh again, but now he had Townsend on his butt as well. He set down the coffee and turned to face the Brit.

"What do you mean?" Seely demanded. Why had he even come? Walcott. Walcott and Cavanaugh. No, this was Cavanaugh's fault. He was willing to believe that, with every fiber of his being. He wanted it to be her fault.

"I mean," Townsend repeated slowly. "The bird has flown the coup."

Seely frowned and grabbed Townsend's jacket, pulling him down to ear level. He lowered his voice, knowing that no one would hear him over the loud noises from the kitchen. He could not believe this. "You mean Hoyt is gone?"

"Yes," Townsend agreed, pulling away from Seely's hold. "Now, if you're done, let's go. Quickly. Where's Jordan?"

"Cavanaugh was going to pick up some files and meet me here," Seely said. He shrugged. "Maybe it took her a bit longer than she planned. Weren't you supposed to be watching our little bird? How did he happen to escape?"

"You're not the only one who gets hungry, Detective," Townsend said. He folded his arms over his chest, and looked at his feet, then over at the bed and breakfast. "I wanted to feed the birds."

Seely was getting sick of all this code talk. "Let's go get Cavanaugh. I can't imagine our bird has gotten far, clipped wings and all."

"I hope not," Townsend agreed as Seely put money on the counter for a meal that he would never get to eat. He grunted as he put his wallet back away and left with the Brit. They walked down to the sheriff's office and stepped inside.

The place was empty. No one was in sight. Seely looked at Townsend. Townsend looked at him. Seely took out his side arm and raised it, thumbing off the safety. He edged into the back office, looking at the bare walls and empty seats. He looked back at Townsend, who shrugged. He shook his head and came back out, checking the empty cells quickly.

"This isn't good," Seely said.

"No, really," Townsend muttered under his breath.

The laugh was familiar. It hurt. How had they come to this? How had it all gone so wrong? He thought of his words to Jordan. If there's a great cosmic destiny, then I got screwed. But he hadn't been the only one affected by what happened. He hadn't been alone. Maybe the circumstances were different, but that didn't mean that he was the only one who suffered.

"You and your reasons, Woody. Do they even make sense to you?"

"Are you one of them?"

Her voice caught in her throat. She stared at the sheriff for a minute. He smiled at her, looking as hometown and benign as ever. He laughed. "My dear doctor, I didn't think you were that stupid."

"Is that a yes?" she asked.

He opened his desk drawer and took out the bullets, dropping them on the desk. He started to load them into his sidearm, still smiling. "What do you think?"

"I think that you have a gun," she said.

"Very good, doctor. But all sheriffs have weapons," he shrugged. "What you have to ask yourself is whether I am a good man or a bad man?"

"I think that depends on what you plan to do with the gun," she told him honestly. She was still smiling, and she didn't know why. She should be scared or angry, but she was neither. She was probably borderline hysterical, because she felt like laughing. And none of this was funny.

"I'm preparing to track down a lead," he answered. "I believe that someone is misusing our Haven House program to traffic drugs, just like you do. But, being local, I have a better idea where those drugs are being made. I'm issuing a request for you to accompany me. You are free to come or not as you please."

"Where are we going?" Jordan asked, unsure if she was better off playing along with Matters' "amiable" act, or trying to fight him. He did have a gun. And she wasn't armed. All she could do was go along with him. If she refused, maybe... Maybe he'd let her go.

And maybe she'd get a bullet.

"The Andrews place. It's a big one, pretty secluded. And it's the one where Clyde Sommers was working when he died," Matters supplied. He holstered his gun and took her by the arm, guiding her out of the sheriff's office. Of course he wouldn't be so overt. He had to act like there was nothing wrong in the quaint rural hamlet of Haven.

Even if all of the townspeople were in on it, even if they were all in collusion, he would not act out, not on the off chance that Seely or Nigel would see them. Matters was playing this out to the very end. She forced a nervous smile, looking back at the diner. Matters was leading her away from there, away from the inn. She could only hope that this would prevent him from finding Woody, that it would keep him safe.

"How far is the Andrews place from here?" she looked around, trying for something, anything to give her a hint as to Matters' intentions.

"It's a hike," Matters admitted. "But cutting through the woods actually saves us about half-an-hour. Road's aren't very direct to that place, and we want the outbuildings anyway."

"I thought you wanted professional help with this, Sheriff," Jordan glanced at the woods and wondered how far from town they'd have to be before the shot was ignored. She and Woody hadn't been that far out on their "picnic," and she'd never heard the shot. "Shouldn't we get Detective Seely? And a warrant?"

"For what? I've got no proof, and neither do you," Matters shrugged. "Look at it this way, Doctor. If we find something, we get a warrant. If not, I'm just a friendly neighbor checking up on things. No need to involve the detective if things don't pan out. Wouldn't want him getting in trouble for a bad guess, now would we?"

In a way, his logic made sense. In another, it scared her to death. It was all so perfect. Matters didn't have anything but suspicion, and she was known for going on her instincts, the consequences be damned. If something happened, in the woods or on the farm, he was covered. He hadn't wanted to risk Seely's involvement if there wasn't proof, and he didn't have a warrant. He could do some fast talking if he needed to get out of the trespassing charge, but if Seely was along, it would be almost official.

She was caught, trapped, and she knew it as well as he did. This was no Barney Fife, no happy sitcom. She was in over her head—like always—only this time, she didn't have Woody to back her up. She couldn't count on Nigel or Seely noticing her absence for a while yet.

She had to disarm Matters somehow. She stepped into the woods, twigs snapping under her boot. She looked back at Matters.

And a shot rang out.

"More than yours do to you," Woody answered. He shook his head. "You've never known what was up or down, you've never even tried. All you ever did was run, try to escape your problems."

"Better than pretending that there weren't any."

"Maybe," Woody agreed. Then he watched another seizure pass over the other man, and the gun went off, the bullet burying itself in the tree. "Maybe not."

At the sound of the gunshot, Nigel looked at Seely, who wasted no time in running down the street, towards the woods. For once, the ever presentable detective gave no thought to his expensive clothes or shoes. He was going on instinct. Nigel admired him for it, especially since Jordan and Woody's lives were at stake.

Nigel was aware of the townspeople coming out of their dwellings, looking around in confusion. They acted their parts so well, lost and confused, innocent as the American pie image they tried to project. Sadly, they were probably just surprised to hear the shot happen so close to town. None of the other incidents—Clyde's murder, Hank's death, Morehead's murder, or Woody's shooting, had been noticed in the town. One could almost believe that they were ignorant of the charade, but he sincerely doubted it.

Seely reached the edge of the wood and stopped, gun aimed into the trees as he studied the area. Nigel caught up to him, panting a bit. He'd done a little too much sitting at the computer lately. "I think it came from that direction, mate."

"Yeah, maybe," Seely agreed reluctantly. He stepped into the woods, leaves and branches snapping and crackling as he did. For a moment, Nigel was reminded of an absurd commercial for a cereal, and he shoved the thought out of his head. Jordan and Woody were more than likely out here, maybe not together, but they were here. He knew it.

"You can stop right there, gentlemen," Matters called out from the trees in front of him. "No need to shoot."

Seely didn't lower his weapon. "Where's Dr. Cavanaugh?"

"Right here," Matters said, pulling Jordan into view. She was the same as she'd been when she left with Seely, with a few more hairs loose than before and some red in her cheeks due to the chill. "She's safe and unharmed, aren't you, Doctor?"

Jordan nodded slowly, looking at Matters. Nigel couldn't see a gun from here, but that didn't mean that there wasn't one behind her back. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Nigel disagreed immediately. He didn't know for sure what was going on, but one thing was for sure. Jordan was not fine.

"Did you fire that shot?" Seely demanded, causing Nigel to look back at him. He'd almost forgotten that the detective was there. Amazing, given the man in question.

Matters shook his head. He was putting on one hell of a show for them, and Nigel almost wanted to buy it. But Jordan's wary glances towards the sheriff stopped him. "Nope. But I think I know who did. And why."

"Please," Nigel said, folding his arms over his chest. "Enlighten us."

"Well, if your theory about Haven House is correct, and it has become a front for a drug smuggling operation, well, then... The most likely place for processing is the Andrews farm. Clyde used to work there. And Hank loved them cows of theirs. Swore they had the best milk," Matters explained. Nigel looked at Seely. The detective held his gun steady. "And if Haven House people are involved, Clyde wasn't the only one who failed to rehabilitate with the program."

"Oh?" Nigel asked, watching Jordan carefully. Something was off about the way she was just... standing there. She should be talking, making demands, doing something, anything but just accepting this. "Who else failed the program, Sheriff?"

"You going to be sanctimonious now?" The word shook as it came out, stumbling in his throat.

Woody shook his head. He was in no position to claim any sort of purity, of conscience, of body, of mind. He was flawed, broken, irrevocably altered and twisted by what had happened to him and what he had done. He would not assert his innocence—that was long gone—or his honor, which had also faded.

"I'm no saint. I never was," he said softly. "But I also never tried to kill my own brother."

Cal shuddered again from the drugs, and Woody thought he shook his head, but it was hard to tell under the circumstances. "You killed Dad. You killed our father."

"Listen to yourself, Cal," Woody said. "The drugs are messing with your head. Dad was killed in a convenience store robbery. He was shot in the back by punk looking for an easy score."

"No," Cal shouted. His finger twitched on the trigger, and Woody flinched involuntarily. "You killed him. You did."

"I didn't kill him," Woody insisted. "Even if that bastard deserved what he got, it wasn't me that did it. Cal, I held him in my arms while he died a slow, agonizing death. You're high. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do!" Cal's finger jerked, and another round hit the tree. Woody took a deep breath, fighting the adrenaline for control of his body. "I know you killed him! You did it! All those years with your pious little act. So noble, so wonderful. Woody never took drugs, never got in trouble... You did it."

Woody couldn't believe this. His brother was completely out of it. He didn't think he'd ever seen Cal this bad, not even when he'd dragged Cal to detox. "I didn't kill Dad. Cal, listen to me. Dad was a deputy. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time—"

"No, it was the right place," Cal snapped. "You made it the right place. You set it up to look like someone else did it."

Woody looked at his brother, unable to reach him. The hallucinogen that was mixed in there had probably caused Cal to see some twisted version of what happened back then, and now Cal was convinced that it was the truth. He wouldn't get through to his brother while he was like this, if he ever did again.

"You took away my father, Woody," Cal said. He tried to steady the gun. "We needed a father."

"We didn't need a drunk," Woody snapped, anger causing him to step forward. "We didn't need a bastard who beat us. And I sure as hell didn't need a son-of-a-bitch who raped me."

"You're lying!" Cal said. "You're making it all up! Dad didn't do that. You just used it as an excuse. That's what it is, an excuse!"

The sound of someone nearby had Cal whipping the gun in that direction, pointing it at Sheriff Matters. Matters had his gun raised, pointed at Cal, and so did Seely. Seely? When the hell had that happened? Nigel, Jordan, Seely... Guess the gang was all there. "Put it down, son."

"No, I'm not your son," Cal said angrily. "Don't tell me what to do. Everyone always tells me what to do. Especially you."

Cal looked over at Woody, but he kept the gun pointed at Matters. Woody swallowed hard. It was a standoff that Cal had no hope of winning, not in his state. But then again, that was exactly what Matters wanted. He wanted to tie up the loose end, and Cal was that loose end.

Matters held up his free hand. "All right, easy now. You're not my son. But put the gun down."

"No," Cal said coldly, eyes snapping back to Matters. Woody reached for Cal's gun as Cal pulled the trigger. Matters fired at the same time. The round would have been fatal, but Woody had pulled Cal sideways when he went for the gun, and it clipped his shoulder instead. Cal moaned, rolling around.

Woody freed the gun from Cal's lax hold and aimed it at Matters. "Now you put it down."

"That was self-defense!" Matters cried. "You all saw it. Drifter, don't do anything crazy now. I know, he's your brother, but he tried to kill me."

"He never would have hit you," Woody said coldly. "But I will."

"Woody," Jordan began, but Nigel put a hand on her arm.

"You thought you'd play the hero, didn't you?" Woody went on, watching Matters carefully. "Cal is a convenient scapegoat. And with him would go all the evidence against you, right? Only it won't work. You and your whole operation... are finished."

"Damn you, Drifter," Matters said.

Before he could fire again, Woody had already squeezed the trigger. Damn, the pain must have affected his aim, because that bullet was supposed to hit his heart. Matters dropped to the ground, holding his wounded shoulder, and Seely walked over, holding his gun on Matters as Nigel took away the sheriff's weapon.

Jordan rushed over to Cal, who was muttering to himself as he rocked back and forth, holding his shoulder. She checked the wound. "It's not bad. I'm more worried about whatever he's on."

Woody looked down at his brother and back at Matters. "And him?"

"He'll live," Nigel assured them.

Woody acknowledged that absently, his head in a fog, and then he stumbled over to the tree and vomited. His stomach was empty, but it wouldn't stop heaving. Cal's angry accusations rang in his ears. You killed him. Woody couldn't stop them. He rolled over and leaned his back against the tree, closing his eyes.

Jordan leaned down next to him, taking him into her arms as he shuddered. She touched his face, causing him to look up at her. "You're coming home with me."

He nodded weakly. It was enough for now.