Author's Note: I'm having a really hard time figuring out what to do this story (the show has been less than helpful in providing any inspiration for any happiness between Jordan and Woody . . . grumbles and wishes that I owned the show and actors). Let me know what you think -- I really appreciate constructive criticism!

"Jordan, I've always told you to be nice, but this time I guess it really bit us in the ass," I kidded as Jordan and I gently swayed to the melody.

"That's what you get for teaching me good manners and good work ethic," Jordan replied as she gestured towards the blonde, "I didn't think she would actually show up . . . with him."

"Jordan, did you ever talk to him about last weekend? He can't possibly know that you are mad at him . . . well, I'm sure he knows. Did you just want to leave and go somewhere else?" I asked. I looked into her eyes; they looked so lost. There was so much pain that Jordan tried to cover up by suddenly becoming the 'good girl.' She told me of the failed communications with Max; the funeral service for James. Nigel and I were the only ones invited in on these little secrets. Jordan was so careful with her feelings towards Woody; she felt so betrayed by him. She worked carefully and quietly to rebuild the relationship. I guess being stood up for his award ceremony and then being told that the robbery was all a figment of her imagination was enough to crumble whatever she hoped for.

"I want to stay here; I am going to prove that I can be the adult. Garrett, I can't run from him forever. I'll see him at crime scenes . . . at the Pogue. It's just time to move on, but you should already know that . . . you told me that so many times," Jordan rambled. Her hand wandered up my neck to the back of my head. She gently kneaded out some of the knots. I didn't dare tell her that most of my stress was caused by watching her suffer at the hands of that blonde and the dimwit.

"Jordan, are you sure? I don't think I can spend my free time with either of them . . . Devan . . . I wish you didn't feel like being the adult tonight," I said. She laughed. It drew her body closer to mine; I liked the sound of her laugh. I had always thought of Jordan as a little sister; I thought of her as fragile and lost, but that was all changing so quickly. Jordan had been forced to mature; she ran the Pogue seamlessly, she picked up Peter's cases, and she became my person psychiatrist this afternoon. She wasn't the lost little girl she used to be. Sometimes, I missed the impulsive girl.

"Let's get our stuff to go . . . we could go to my place . . . your place . . . we could go to the morgue if it meant they wouldn't be there," Jordan replied. I smiled; I was glad that she could shed her adult persona at the appropriate times.

"My place; I have a table . . . I seem to remember your apartment being a little more Bohemian than I think I could handle," I replied as we walked from the dance floor back to the table. I waved down the waiter and told him our request; I handed him my credit card. Jordan momentarily fought me, but she agreed to let me pay this time.

"Jordan and I need to get going," I said as we sat back down at the table. I prayed that they wouldn't ask why; I was having a hard time thinking of a good, believable excuse.

"That's too bad. You get called out?" Devan asked. I hated the sound of her voice. It oozed with this false caring . . . insincerity.

"No, I'm just not feeling well. Maybe I'm just over-tired . . . overtime," Jordan said. I knew that they knew she was lying. Jordan was one of the worst liars that I had ever seen; her eyes gave her away every time.

"We'll have to double date some time. It would be so nice to have another couple to go out with," Devan replied. Jordan looked at me shocked . . . she seemed to flush a little. I wasn't even sure what the expression on my face was like.

"Oh, we aren't a couple . . . are we, Garrett?" Jordan said sweetly. I was proud of Jordan for not strangling her, but I didn't want to be put on the spot.

"That would be a little premature to ask, wouldn't it Dr. McGuire," I said putting emphasis on the fact that she was wrong.

"Oh, you two just look too cute together," Devan gushed. I wanted so badly to strangle her myself . . . she was making me lose my appetite. I was thankful that our meals came packaged to go; I quickly put away the credit card.

"Jordan, let's go," I said without even acknowledging Devan or Woody. I didn't feel the need to reward them for ruining our dinner. Jordan had agreed to go out to dinner with me so we could talk. I had embraced Jordan's new form of self-therapy. I would have done anything to keep her healthy. I wanted her to know that I was there, especially after being robbed last week . . . I watched her grow fearful. I didn't want to watch her hurt anymore. I didn't want to watch her mental health deteriorate as it did during the spring.

"Yeh, let's go," Jordan replied as she stood up. Smiled at me; flashed a less than sincere smile at Woody and Devan. I don't remember if she even said good-bye. She took my hand as we walked out of the restaurant. I joked that we only had to tolerate Devan for two more weeks; it made Jordan smile. It made her laugh; that was all that mattered. Jordan needed to laugh; she needed to stop suffering at the hands of others.