Chapter Thirteen

The end of the week...Jordan had to go back to the morgue...back to work...back to a certain level of normalcy in her life. But what to do with Woody....that was a concern. She finally came up with an idea. If she couldn't find anyone to stay with him, he would stay with her...at the morgue. And if she was lucky, really lucky, maybe Annie, Eddie, or Lois would take him to the police station and at least let him hang out with them, if they weren't too busy.

That was the idea. Getting it past Garrett was another thing altogether.

"I don't think this will work, Jordan," Garrett had said.

"I don't know of anything else to do...he doesn't want his parents or Cal to know right now...at least until if he knows if this is permanent or not. None of them are in a position they can leave Wisconsin and come to Boston. And I don't want Woody in Wisconsin."

"Why not? It's not such a bad idea."

"No."

"It wouldn't be but for a couple of weeks."

"And if he doesn't get his sight back, he may stay longer."

Garrett paused for moment, looking at his favorite ME. Woody's blindness had proffered as big a change in Jordan as it did in the detective. "That would really bother you, wouldn't it?"

Jordan nodded. "More than anything. I can take care of him, Garrett. I want to...I just need some time to get all my bases covered."

"Okay. As long as he doesn't get in the way and it doesn't interfere with your work..."

"Thanks. He won't."

"And Jordan," Garrett called out as she turned to go, "Be careful."

She have him quizzical look.

"I mean it. He could still get better and decide to go back to Devan, or not get better and decide to go home."

Jordan didn't reply. Those were two options she kept pushing from her mind.

She broke the news to Woody that night over dinner. "You know I have to go back to work tomorrow."

He nodded, still trying to maneuver his fork around his plate. Jordan had given him silverware two days earlier, moving him away from finger foods. It had been tough to learn how to eat off a plate without being able to see. She had had the patience of a saint. Never losing her cool...never arguing back at him when he lost his. He was grateful to her...but was beginning to feel like he owed her a debt he could never repay.

"How do you feel about going in with me?"

"To work? What would I do?"

"Well, to begin with there's several cold cases we could try to solve together. Play Dad's role playing game...Then when I'm busy doing pick ups or autopsy, you could hang out with Bug or Nigel or Garrett. If some of your detective friends aren't too busy, maybe you could even go to your office. Eddie's agreeable to it. What do you say?"

Jordan had been somewhat hesitant to approach him with this idea. She wasn't sure what his reaction would be...would he think he would no longer fit in, or would he be glad that at least part of his life had gotten back to normal? To her great relief, he agreed.

So Woody began to go in with her to the morgue. She would still always wake up before he did, pull herself away from him and get ready. Then lay out his clothes and get him up. He was becoming self-sufficient enough that he could take his own shower and dress. She would never know how much he appreciated her efforts...her patience...her compassion. He was well aware he could be a real bastard. He kept wavering between his old feelings for her, which had always bubbled right below the surface, or the overbearing need he was beginning to feel that he needed to get out...that he had inconvenienced her enough for too long. That she needed to get on with her life...without the handicap of a blind detective that had also broken her heart.

Other than the compassion, and well, grace, she showed him through his accident, Jordan had not touched him, although she had never made a move to pull out of his arms at night. She would let him hold her just as closely as he desired, but in the morning, she would always remove herself from his arms carefully, without trying to wake him. She never turned over and held him...like he had hoped she would do....but he couldn't expect that from her now...not after everything...not after Devan. He sighed. The knee-jerk reactions he had resulted in some bad decisions that he was still feeing aftershocks over. He didn't know when the earth under his psychological feet would quit moving.

Fortunately, working with the cases with Jordan at the morgue did give him the footing that he needed. While his sight had been taken, his other senses grew sharper...keener...more acute. Evidence that he may have initially passed over now took on more meaning...had greater potential. Within two weeks, he had solved three cold cases. Eddie and Garrett had been impressed. Jordan was thrilled. The work gave him purpose. The somewhat sullen, moody man she was taking care of, disappeared. In his place, more of the old Woody returned – the easy-going, focused, professional detective she had fell in love with, was back

By the end of the next week, Jordan felt so much better about the way things were going both at the morgue and at home, she asked him if he would like to go with her to the Pogue on Friday. Max was back running the bar again, but needed a night off. Jordan had agreed to play bar wench. "It would just mean sitting at the bar, drinking Guinness until I close. The beer is on me."

"Do I have a limit?"

"Not if you're a good boy."

He had grinned and agreed. It would be good to get his social life semi-normal again, too.

So Friday night, after going back home after work and changing, he and Jordan went to the Pogue. He took his usual barstool and she busied herself with work. He made small talk with friends and generally just hung out until he heard her ring the bell to close. The bar patrons gradually made their way out into the cold Boston night and he knew she was closing up .... Counting the money, setting the chairs on the tables, hanging the "closed" sign in the window. When it was finally all done, she went over to him to lead him out the door and take him home.

"No...not yet," he whispered. "Remember what we used to do on the nights you closed?"

Jordan did...they would dance. One of them would find the slowest song on the jukebox they could and they'd dance...sometimes for an hour. Just barely moving across the floor...holding each other. She swallowed hard. "Yes," she said softly.

"Do you think we could do it again? One more dance for old time's sake?"

He felt her nod. Digging his hands through his pockets, he produced two quarters. "Number 22, Jordan. Play number 22."

She left him there at the bar and inserted the money and punched in the numbers. By the time she got back over to Woody, the strains of Rod Stewart's Have I Told You Lately That I Love You? were wafting through the air. Woody gently took her in his arms. "I think blind men can dance..." he joked.

Jordan never really ever remembered the dance. She simply closed her eyes and just enjoyed being held by him again...it seemed so much time had passed...too much time. Devan...his accident....the blindness all seemed to just melt away...fade into a nonexistent universe while they were there together. For her the song ended all too quickly.

And when it was over, he didn't release her. He lifted his hand and gently traced down her face...from her forehead, over the bridge of her nose...her cheek, down her neck to her shoulder...seeing her with his fingertips. He gently threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair and his other tightened on her waist as his lips tentatively met hers.

And her world stood still. Time just stopped as he kissed her.. again, and again. Finally, pulling away, he just held her, until her heart stopped racing.

"Jordan?" he asked softly, "I need to tell you something."