Title: Out of sight, Out of mind
Note: Its kind of confusing right now, with the flashbacks, and I think there is even a flashback in a flashback in here somewhere! But I promise I will fill everything in as we go along.
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"Jordan! Jordan No, wait, Jordan! No!" Nigel blocked her entrance into the elevator, the door shut with a cheerless chime.
"Nige, what the hell are you doing?! Let me through?!" she tried to push past his arm but it held tight and didn't budge. His face looked set; she slumped a little and waited to hear his opinion.
"Love, you are a professional…" he started, she rolled her eyes dramatically, shoveling her toe into the floor. He shot her a look and she straightened up. "You can handle this, it has been seven years since he left." She tried to roll her eyes but he glared at her. "Repeat after me… I Jordan Cavanaugh…" when she didn't responded he gave her an small kick to the shoe.
"I Jordan Cavanaugh…" she muttered with a roll of her eyes.
"Am a professional." He finished with a cheery tone. "And I can work with the homicide detective from hell."
"Am a professional." She finished dully giving him a kiss on the cheek, turning around and swallowing the continually growing lump in her throat.
"good, Now Love," he said with a laugh. "Go get him." She backed up against Nigel, with a little push he started her off.
That was the longest walk of her life. But once she got to Garrets office, she found, she wasn't as scared as she thought. Then she saw him. God he looks so different she thought to herself, he didn't have the sunny, can-do attitude he used to, she noticed the wicked looking scar that cut a small path above his eyebrow, it was small, in fact most wouldn't have noticed it. She notice the way he held himself, taller, he looked much taller, his hair had grown out a bit, in places it stuck out.
Seeing him, made him real. For a long time after he left she struggled to forget him, his eyes, his face, he left messages on her answering machine, emails flooded her in-box. Once he even left a message with Emmy, but she didn't answer, hoping that out of sight really was out of mind. She remembered the night he left, so cold and rainy.
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Seven years earlier… 3 pm
"Woody, are you there, pick up the damned phone!" she had left message after message, standing at the pay phone, her jeans damp and muddy, her waterproof windbreaker stained with rain.
"Damn it Woody, where are you… Listen I'm sorry, but I know that Sarah Sealer did not kill her husband, I'm gonna prove it!" She slammed the phone down on the cradle with force, so hard it echoed threw the deserted parking lot. She sat down on the wet pavement to think about the days events, go over the evidence in her brain.
Sarah Sealer, 37, found husband murdered at 6:37 am, called police two minutes later, her prints were on the murder weapon but she couldn't have been strong enough to shovel the knife into her husbands chest, he was six foot five, two hundred pounds, she was five eleven and one hundred and five pounds. Something didn't feel right, she pushed a muddy hair back from her hazel eyes and leaned against the brick building, the smell of wet asphalt and mud fresh in her nostrils. It was so cold…
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Present day
He looked at her with equal astonishment, she looked softer some how more subtle than she had before he had left, he had to wonder if she was still living with her ghosts or if she had finally moved on. He hadn't stuck around to find out.
He sighed, "Jordan." He muttered formally, she leaned back into Nigel for support, he rubbed her shoulders ruefully.
"Woody." She responded in the same formal tone. Everyone could feel the ice in the room, that chill that seemed to seep into the office.
"I take it you two know each other." Shiloh bit out after an discomfited moment.
Jordan nodded slowly, "you could say that…"
Woody seemed to snap out of a dream like state. "Where the hell are my manners? Detective Shiloh Tanner, this is Doctor Jordan Cavanaugh." The two shook hands uneasily.
"Your manners must have disappeared Detective Hoyt, maybe they're with your ethics." Jordan snapped, Woody nodded towards the door and the group seemed to follow the feuding detective and medical examiner out the door, Woody turned and gave them a sharp look, stopping them in their tracks. Once they were out of ear shot, Woody turned to Jordan, looking her in her eyes.
"Listen Jo, it's been a really long time… okay, so, can we just put the past behind us until we solve this case and thenyou can go back to hating each me." She gave him a deathly cold smile, patting his arm in fake comfort…
"I don't have a clue what your talking about Detective… oh, and its Doctor Cavanaugh if you don't mind." She turned and walked away, a satisfied look on her face.
"It's Doctor Cavanaugh if you don't mind." Woody mimicked to himself bitterly. Jordan shot around.
"What was that?" she asked in a mocking sweetness. He shrugged his shoulders, pretending not to know what she was talking about.
"Nothing."
She nodded knowingly "That's what I thought." She muttered, slamming her office door with a boot clad foot.
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Present day
Woody stood in his uptown apartment, admiring the view of the skyline from his window. His apartment was cold, unfriendly, much like how he had turned in the past seven years. He had dated, all meaningless to him, around the office he had gotten his fair share of hate mail from woman cops and the like… the truth was, he had his heart broken, even if wouldn't admit it to anyone, including himself.
He sighed, walking in a lopsided circle, seeing Jordan had conjured up too many memories, more than he'dcare to remember. She looked different, softer, less on edge than she had, like she had made peace with her driving ambitions and had, end the endmade a peace with herself.
He walked to his hall closet and pulled the string that triggered the light bulb to flash on. He ducked and pulled out a box, a box filled with everything he had left of her… some things she had left at his house before he moved. A old office party picture, he had folded it so it only showed her at first, he had taped it to his mirror, then he had unfolded it, then stuffed it into the box, hoping out of sight would truly be out of mind.
A old shirt, tattered and worn, spitfire was written across the front of the navy colored material, it made him smile, if any word could describe Jordan Cavanaugh, it would be spitfire.
But things had changed, he hoped that somehow she hadn't changed too much, he had always liked her the way she was… even if it meant it was his ass on the line, or he was constantly bailing her out of trouble. He tossed the cotton tee-shirt aside and pulled out his most treasured item, the tapes of the messages she had left the night he drove home to Wisconsin, slowly he got up and slipped the first one, the one he most frequently listened to, into his cassette player.
"Hey Wood, it's me, Jordan… Listen, Sarah Sealer did kill her husband, she hired their gardener to do it… you were right.. so um, you can come home anytime…please... come home." He shut off the tape before he could hear her beg more. Her voice had sounded so strained, like she was fighting to keep from crying. He sighed, she moved on, and he hadn't.
It brought back a flood of memories all he could do was blink.
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Seven years earlier…2 am, Woody Apartment
Stuffing his clothes into a bag quickly he ignored the flashing red 12 on his answering machine. She had hit a raw nerve, he had to leave, go away, go somewhere where he could get his thoughts in order, without Jordan Cavanaugh breathing down his neck. He couldn't believe they asked for his badge and gun, his job, the only thing he had left… she could jeopardize his life, his sanity, but damned if he would let her take his job.
Rain tapped at the window, he could hear people downstairs talking and laughing. He stuffed more frantically, he knew she would be home soon… it all played out like a bad movie…
Detective Hoyt did you give Jordan Cavanaugh that file on Sarah Sealer. The captain had snapped, Woody had been studying a file at his desk calmly he looked up at the man that loomed over his desk, Woody was tired and cross, he propped his feet up against his desk and looked at the captain coldly.
"What if I did?" he hissed, the captain looked at him, his pudgy face turning crimson with each breath.
"IF you did, I would have to ask for your badge and gun detective… you can't jeopardize the case because you have itthe hotsfor the lead ME." At that moment Woody snapped, standing up, removing his gun and badge, slammed them down on the desk with such force that people turned and gaped at him as he shook his head in disgusted and stormed out of the precinct.
As he packed he remembered something Jordan had told him, so long ago, her voice seemed a distant memory.
Home is right behind you.
Those words often leaked into his memories, memories he was determined to shut out forever.
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Present Day
Woody could feel his chin tremble; now, he had no idea where home was.