Amaranthine

Title: Amaranthine

Author: Kara

Classification: D, A, R (J/W)

Feedback: Yes, please. It hurt not to have her, but it hurt more to allow her to push him away.

Disclaimer: Crossing Jordan belongs to Tim Kring and Tailwind Productions and NBC. Quote from Gone with the Wind belongs to Margaret Mitchell. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Sorry for mischaracterizations. I hope you like it. Sorry for the depressing tone. I am just all about the angst.

It wasn't that he didn't love her. To the very contrary. He loved her to the unfathomable depths of his heart and to the very epitome of his soul. She wasn't one to be in touch with her feelings. She was always one to push and run. She would push him away before running away. It happened before and he thought about it. Lord, did he think about leaving her! He thought of her feelings before his own and it amazed him to no end how much he truly sacrificed for her.

He took another sip of the bitter, amber liquid and it burned as it went down his throat. Did she really bring this on herself or am I just impatient? he thought. How could he be doing this? How could he be having second thoughts? The woman had gracefully rejected his heart several times and it could not stand the wear and tear anymore. He wasn't that strong. She was intelligent, calm, collected—the perfect person to commit a murder. He was intelligent, sure, but he—he knew she contained emotions, feelings, bottled somewhere inside there. Inside her cold shell, was a little vulnerable girl who just wanted love but had been hurt far too many times. Fool that he was, he actually thought he could change her. He believed that he could get her to trust, even to love. And fool as he was, he thought that maybe they would have a happy ending.

What a stupid, naïve fool you were. Happy endings were for fairy tales and novels and children's books. He doubted that they would ever have an ending. The Neverending Story. It would just go on and on and on. Old habits die hard, they said. Give her some time. She'll warm up to you. He should have never left Wisconsin. He should have stayed there and lived out his life instead of coming to Boston and living a complicated life. He should have known better than to hand his heart to someone who would step on it.

He could barely contain his anger. He barely recalled the details of the night. He had gone somewhere, stocked his refrigerator full of liquor, came home, and in the futility of the situation and all of his frustration, he downed the liquid like water. One after another. Just continuous. He had even bought more. He grasped the neck of an empty bottle and flung it against the wall and he heard it shatter. Like my heart. He was going to do it this time. He was going to!

He knocked on the door sharply. Knock. Knock. Knock. Maybe she wasn't home. The lock clicked noisily as it was being unlocked and she opened the door. "Woody."

"Jordan." His heart felt heavy thumping noisily against his ribcage. She looked so beautiful, so angelic. She's anything but an angel, Hoyt. Don't fall for her tricks.

"Woody, why are you here?" she asked.

"I needed to give you something." He handed her an envelope. His fingers were slick and his heart thudded dull and slow as if he was experiencing the affects of a heart disease. He walked a step closer and intruded into her personal space. She suddenly felt threatened and claustrophobic. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Whether she wanted it or not, his tongue swirled inside and gave her the most thrilling kiss from him. "I have to go now." He turned on his heel and left. She didn't see the tears of sorrow drip onto his cheeks. He had to leave.

She closed the door, a quizzical look poised on her face. She slid her slender finger underneath the triangular fold of the envelope and she opened it. She began to read a letter.

"'Dear Jordan,

I'm so sorry to have to do this to you but I can't do this anymore. I'll cut right to the chase, Jordan. I love you. Plain and simple. Strings attached and all. I remember when I couldn't live without you. Hell, I still can't. I don't know what I'd do without seeing your face for a few weeks. Unfortunately, that's the point of this letter. I love you, but I can't do this anymore. I can't chase after you every time you get a little commitment or relationship-phobic. I'm tired of chasing as you probably are tired of running. Hell, who am I kidding? You'd run and I would probably chase you, but I have to admit, Jordan, I'm tired of this cat-and-mouse game. I was a naïve fool, Jordan. I thought that you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen the first day I met you. But you were so cold and professional. When we became friends, I harbored feelings for you and I hoped that maybe I could break through that shell and get you to trust me. Maybe even get you to love me like I loved you. I see now that it was all hopeless.

Love,

Woody." She felt the tears silently drip onto her cheeks. Anger began to flush through her veins. How dare he do this to her? Who are you kidding? You brought this upon yourself, you cruel bitch. Her mind was a little harsh, but she knew her mind was honest. How was she supposed to go on without him? She loved him with every fiber of her being. She would have to go back to being professional and…she watched as something fell from the envelope. She picked it up from the floor and opened the folded piece of paper.

"Letter of Resignation:

I, Woodrow Hoyt, have decided to withdraw from the Boston Police Department and I hereby withdraw my badge and my firearm to be sent back. I am relocating and will not be residing in the city of Boston nor the state of Massachusetts any longer. I thank you for the opportunity to work with such a talented work force and I hope to see you all again.

Woodrow Hoyt"

She saw his signature underneath. Her tears fell harder and faster and colder. She tasted the salty misery that was her emotions and she threw the envelope and the letters on the table. She headed for her bedroom where she cried herself to sleep.

The next day, she didn't let her distraught and distressed emotions peek through her cool and cold exterior as she worked at the Morgue. Garret came in and asked for volunteers since there was an apparent car accident on the freeway. There were a few casualties. Someone would have to go and help recover the bodies while the rest would do autopsies. Peter quickly volunteered. Anything to get away from the horrible stench of formaldehyde. They left, leaving Jordan alone with Nigel, Lily, Bug, and her mutinous thoughts.

Later, they returned with some of the casualties. There was some rapid murmuring and she headed for the hallway. "What's going on?" she asked, watching Garret and Peter talking vividly.

"Nothing. Jordan, go in your office and finish up your paperwork, alright?" Garret gruffly barked out. She huffed and headed for her office. They pushed the gurney into an autopsy room. "What are we supposed to tell Jordan?"

"I don't know."

Jordan's door opened a crack and as soon as she heard her name, she stepped out boldly. "Tell Jordan what?" She brushed past them to take a look at the body on the gurney. She gasped softly, but they heard it. They quickly shut the autopsy room doors.

"Get Lily, Peter! Go!"

Jordan hurriedly skulked into the autopsy room. "I--is that…is--?" she stuttered. She couldn't even fathom the thought, much less convey it through speech.

"Yes, Jordan. It's Woody."

Lily hurriedly entered the room. "What the hell are you pushing me--oh. Oh. Jordan?" Her eye had fallen upon the corpse on the gurney. It was Woody. His entire left side was bloody and somewhat scarred, but his face was still identifiable. "Jordan, are you okay? Jordan?"

Jordan wasn't listening. She was off in another world. Had she really brought this upon Woody? Had she caused him so much sadness by running when his advances approached that he would drop her and leave in such a rush that he would go and get himself in a car accident?

Later, at his funeral, she laid blood red roses on the shiny mahogany casket. This wasn't right. They didn't have their chance. God had cheated her out of her mother and now God had cheated her out of love? It didn't seem fair. She stood by the casket, although many had left and she pressed a light kiss to his cold lips. Perhaps it was a futile attempt to try and force her life upon his death. No one knew why. She didn't know. She just wanted another chance with him, but she had wasted it.