Disclaimer: Okay, so they're not mine I'm not making any money off of them.
Summary: What happens when Jordan's actions have repercussions? How will she react and what will she do? I though the story was a but one sided and I was vilifying Woody so here are his thought on the matter sorry if it sucks.
Note: To those of you who have responded thanks I really appreciate the time you take to send me a note, and to those of you who haven't yet please do. Parker
Woody's POV
My day, the day that changed everything had proceeded, much like my week had in the constant tedium that occasionally falls upon a police unit, and even one is as large and chaotic as Boston's. Upon finally receiving a case with enough meat to sink my teeth into I had made the judgmental error to go to the morgue and check on one Mr. Adam Smith who had been found outside the courthouse.
Arriving at around one thirty I wondered, for some unknown reason, except maybe I have a sick and twisted streak that enjoys pain, if perhaps Jordan hadn't had lunch and if she would care to eat with me. After I had met with Bug and discussed the cause of death, I ran across Lily and asked when the last time she had seen Jordan was.
"She left around one, I think," Lily told me an odd expression passing over her readable features. "She's been acting kinda, off lately."
Slightly disappointed and unnerved by the revelation I made my way almost out of the morgue when I ran head first into my conquest and nearly knocking her to the floor.
"Jordan, are you okay?" I asked grabbing her arms with the duel purpose of keeping her upright and getting to touch her, a feat I am pained to say I don't get to do often enough.
Much to my surprise she broke down into tears and ran out of the morgue leaving me standing stunned in the hallway.
'Jordan never cries,' I told myself as I watched her figure disappear into the distance. 'At least not in front of me.'
I followed her; I was truly worried when the column of strength I had watched for years crumbled before me. I had seen the scars the years had marred her psyche with but even through all she had been through her core of strength remained, but there were visible cracks in the foundation and it worried me.
I arrived at the Pogue I would imagine a good ten minutes behind her, the one thing I don't think I'll ever get used to is Boston traffic. She appeared to be in deep conversation with Max, and from the looks he was sending in her general direction the topic was one that hedged just that side of uncomfortable.
"Jordan, are you alright?" I asked hurrying quickly to the bar when I saw the emotional storm that roiled in her eyes. "What's wrong?"
I could all but see the wheels turning in her sharp mind, trying to figure out just how much she could share and still remain safe, "Nothing."
She thinks she can, and I wont tell her otherwise but no matter how well she thinks she can lie it falls just shy seeing as how her eyes un unable to commit to the untruth she tells. "Jordan," I warn her knowing patience will get me nowhere for the time being.
"She's pregnant," Max tells me in a tone I never want to hear again.
I stood in shocked funny the words registering merely as the sick humor of a twisted soul. "Jordan?" I ask seeking denial of what Max has just shared. "That's not funny."
"You're telling me," she responds irritated.
"Who's the f-" I asked as a truth began to bloom in the back of my mind. "But how- oh my God."
I sat down heavily on a stool and stared blankly at the drink Max must have set in front of me before giving me the look most father's get once you've knocked up their daughters, okay the practical ones that don't have a gun or anything else that could be used as a weapon on them.
"Hey, it could be worse," Jordan, told me, attempting to comfort the both of us. When I merely looked at her she rambled, "I don't know how but it could be."
"You know Jordan, you're not a lot of help right now. I find out that in a few months I'm going to be a father and I don't even remember getting you pregnant," I lie, how could I forget. The panic of the moment got to me I suppose and I lashed out at the one person I care the most about, "am I really the father or just the only guy you think will take credit for this?"
"Bastard," she responded calmly, well if you ignored the sparks of anger that were all but glistening on her flesh, before dumping the full contents of her glass on me and walked out.
"Well now you've done it," Max told me in a tone that I could tell was gearing up for a lecture. "Do you know how scared she is? God, Woody, you're one of the few people she even half heartedly believes she can trust and you beat her back when she needs you most."
"I've got to go talk to her," I responded not quite able to meet the eyes of the man who had been a father figure to me since I left Wisconsin.
I caught up with her about a block from the Pogue. "Jordan," I called taking hold of her hand and realizing just how small but capable that hand was. As she tried to remove the slender slip I tightened my grip, knowing it was the only way I could make her listen, "I'm sorry, it's just-"
But having finally succeeded in extracting her hand she left me mid explanation starring after her as she lost herself in the Boston pedestrian traffic.
Walking back to my car I drove home and called my supervisor, claiming to have caught the flu bug that had just begun it's annual trek around Boston I sat on my bed. I couldn't believe that I was going to be a father. Lying back I closed my eyes and let my mind flutter back to the night that had sparked this chain of events.
It had been a bad case, they usually are but this one had involved the slaughter of half a dozen children and neither Jordan nor I were coping well. I had invited her to my place, to talk, only to talk but as the night lengthened the amount of alcohol that had once been quite plentiful decreased until almost all of what had lain before us had entered our systems through the enjoyable oral consumption.
Jordan, at the best of times can be some what unpredictable but a completely smashed Jordan has even less control of her emotions than a sober one, so I, in my inebriated state was given a rare glimpse of her many feelings evolving from the sobbing, child like creature who, much to her dismay now, relayed the whole story of her mother's death and the sad tale of the brother she never knew. This story, which although explaining a lot is not how we got to this state of almost unresurrectable animosity, but the wanton, seductress Jordan is. I remember most of this part of the evening in fuzzy details although I wish I could remember more of them clearly. I do recall, through the blistering hangover, the disappointment I felt the following morning with only her scent still clinging to my pillow and no other traces of her having been there to comfort me.
So here I stand, staring into her office, too afraid to enter. Even though she agreed to dinner I had the sneaking suspicion she would run, far and fast as she has done every other time a roadblock has side swiped her. She realizes I'm here, I can tell by the way she shifts uncomfortably and her spine straightens in automatic defense, this is not a good sign.
"I thought you might forget," I say in way of explanation, as she makes no movement to turn around and face me. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" she asks cautiously still not having moved and keeping a tight reign on her formidable temper.
"My place, we need to talk."
Summary: What happens when Jordan's actions have repercussions? How will she react and what will she do? I though the story was a but one sided and I was vilifying Woody so here are his thought on the matter sorry if it sucks.
Note: To those of you who have responded thanks I really appreciate the time you take to send me a note, and to those of you who haven't yet please do. Parker
Woody's POV
My day, the day that changed everything had proceeded, much like my week had in the constant tedium that occasionally falls upon a police unit, and even one is as large and chaotic as Boston's. Upon finally receiving a case with enough meat to sink my teeth into I had made the judgmental error to go to the morgue and check on one Mr. Adam Smith who had been found outside the courthouse.
Arriving at around one thirty I wondered, for some unknown reason, except maybe I have a sick and twisted streak that enjoys pain, if perhaps Jordan hadn't had lunch and if she would care to eat with me. After I had met with Bug and discussed the cause of death, I ran across Lily and asked when the last time she had seen Jordan was.
"She left around one, I think," Lily told me an odd expression passing over her readable features. "She's been acting kinda, off lately."
Slightly disappointed and unnerved by the revelation I made my way almost out of the morgue when I ran head first into my conquest and nearly knocking her to the floor.
"Jordan, are you okay?" I asked grabbing her arms with the duel purpose of keeping her upright and getting to touch her, a feat I am pained to say I don't get to do often enough.
Much to my surprise she broke down into tears and ran out of the morgue leaving me standing stunned in the hallway.
'Jordan never cries,' I told myself as I watched her figure disappear into the distance. 'At least not in front of me.'
I followed her; I was truly worried when the column of strength I had watched for years crumbled before me. I had seen the scars the years had marred her psyche with but even through all she had been through her core of strength remained, but there were visible cracks in the foundation and it worried me.
I arrived at the Pogue I would imagine a good ten minutes behind her, the one thing I don't think I'll ever get used to is Boston traffic. She appeared to be in deep conversation with Max, and from the looks he was sending in her general direction the topic was one that hedged just that side of uncomfortable.
"Jordan, are you alright?" I asked hurrying quickly to the bar when I saw the emotional storm that roiled in her eyes. "What's wrong?"
I could all but see the wheels turning in her sharp mind, trying to figure out just how much she could share and still remain safe, "Nothing."
She thinks she can, and I wont tell her otherwise but no matter how well she thinks she can lie it falls just shy seeing as how her eyes un unable to commit to the untruth she tells. "Jordan," I warn her knowing patience will get me nowhere for the time being.
"She's pregnant," Max tells me in a tone I never want to hear again.
I stood in shocked funny the words registering merely as the sick humor of a twisted soul. "Jordan?" I ask seeking denial of what Max has just shared. "That's not funny."
"You're telling me," she responds irritated.
"Who's the f-" I asked as a truth began to bloom in the back of my mind. "But how- oh my God."
I sat down heavily on a stool and stared blankly at the drink Max must have set in front of me before giving me the look most father's get once you've knocked up their daughters, okay the practical ones that don't have a gun or anything else that could be used as a weapon on them.
"Hey, it could be worse," Jordan, told me, attempting to comfort the both of us. When I merely looked at her she rambled, "I don't know how but it could be."
"You know Jordan, you're not a lot of help right now. I find out that in a few months I'm going to be a father and I don't even remember getting you pregnant," I lie, how could I forget. The panic of the moment got to me I suppose and I lashed out at the one person I care the most about, "am I really the father or just the only guy you think will take credit for this?"
"Bastard," she responded calmly, well if you ignored the sparks of anger that were all but glistening on her flesh, before dumping the full contents of her glass on me and walked out.
"Well now you've done it," Max told me in a tone that I could tell was gearing up for a lecture. "Do you know how scared she is? God, Woody, you're one of the few people she even half heartedly believes she can trust and you beat her back when she needs you most."
"I've got to go talk to her," I responded not quite able to meet the eyes of the man who had been a father figure to me since I left Wisconsin.
I caught up with her about a block from the Pogue. "Jordan," I called taking hold of her hand and realizing just how small but capable that hand was. As she tried to remove the slender slip I tightened my grip, knowing it was the only way I could make her listen, "I'm sorry, it's just-"
But having finally succeeded in extracting her hand she left me mid explanation starring after her as she lost herself in the Boston pedestrian traffic.
Walking back to my car I drove home and called my supervisor, claiming to have caught the flu bug that had just begun it's annual trek around Boston I sat on my bed. I couldn't believe that I was going to be a father. Lying back I closed my eyes and let my mind flutter back to the night that had sparked this chain of events.
It had been a bad case, they usually are but this one had involved the slaughter of half a dozen children and neither Jordan nor I were coping well. I had invited her to my place, to talk, only to talk but as the night lengthened the amount of alcohol that had once been quite plentiful decreased until almost all of what had lain before us had entered our systems through the enjoyable oral consumption.
Jordan, at the best of times can be some what unpredictable but a completely smashed Jordan has even less control of her emotions than a sober one, so I, in my inebriated state was given a rare glimpse of her many feelings evolving from the sobbing, child like creature who, much to her dismay now, relayed the whole story of her mother's death and the sad tale of the brother she never knew. This story, which although explaining a lot is not how we got to this state of almost unresurrectable animosity, but the wanton, seductress Jordan is. I remember most of this part of the evening in fuzzy details although I wish I could remember more of them clearly. I do recall, through the blistering hangover, the disappointment I felt the following morning with only her scent still clinging to my pillow and no other traces of her having been there to comfort me.
So here I stand, staring into her office, too afraid to enter. Even though she agreed to dinner I had the sneaking suspicion she would run, far and fast as she has done every other time a roadblock has side swiped her. She realizes I'm here, I can tell by the way she shifts uncomfortably and her spine straightens in automatic defense, this is not a good sign.
"I thought you might forget," I say in way of explanation, as she makes no movement to turn around and face me. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" she asks cautiously still not having moved and keeping a tight reign on her formidable temper.
"My place, we need to talk."