Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan, the characters, or the sets. Which is too bad, because the set for the morgue is supercool.
A/N: This chapter takes place during the conversation between Woody and Jordan at the end of Intruded. The writers had a great idea but less than perfect execution with this scene, so I fixed it for them. I've decided to pretend there's never been any hard evidence of a friendship between Devan and Woody, because I really don't like her. Also, I was cracked out on cold medicine when I saw this episode, so if I get any of the details wrong, I apologize in advance. I could swear that Woody returned Jordan's mother's locket to her during this conversation, but it might have been a part of my Nyquil-induced hallucination. If it was, then just pretend he gave it back to her.
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"You'll be okay here? Alone?"
"I'll be okay," I lie through my teeth. He gives me an assessing look, but nods in reluctant agreement.
"All right," he says slowly. "Then I guess I should…" He gestures toward the door.
"Oh. Yeah, sure."
He turns to leave, then hesitates.
"You'll call me? I mean, if you need anything?" he asks, turning back to me. I smile halfheartedly, nodding, and he heads for the door again. The nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach increases exponentially with every step he takes, and I find myself looking for an excuse to make him stay.
Suddenly I can hear Nigel's voice in my head, from the conversation we had last week. Try letting him in, love. He cares about you and he wants to be there for you, but he can't be unless you let him.
"Woody?"
I'm startled by how frantic I sound. He spins around to face me, instantly concerned.
"Jordan? What's wrong?"
I force myself to look him in the eye, but I can only stand it for a moment before my gaze falls to my scuffed-up Doc Martens.
"I lied," I whisper, blinking back tears.
"About what?" he asks, and I sniffle, completely overwhelmed.
"I'm not okay."
I hear him take three rapid steps on the wooden floor and then his arms are around me, pulling me tightly to him. I can't help but notice how strong his body is against mine; how solid and reliable. In an instant, I know I'm doing the right thing by stopping him from leaving. I've never been comfortable with being needy, but I need him now, comfortable or not. His embrace reassures me that he's going to be here for me, that I can lean on him for support. God knows I need someone to lean on before I completely lose my mind.
I glance up to find him watching me, and he brushes a kiss to my forehead before urging my head down to rest against his chest.
"It's okay, Jordan," he says softly. "I'm here for you. You're safe; I'm not going to let anybody hurt you. And hey, you've got your mom's locket back, right?"
"It wasn't just the locket," I whisper, hot tears streaming down my cheeks.
"You said nothing else was missing, Jo," he reminds me, his hand sliding down to rub my back as I tremble with barely-repressed sobs. "What else did he take?"
My throat constricts, my desire to unburden myself on his shoulders warring with my ingrained need to keep my own confidence. I want to trust him with this, want to share the mantle of responsibility for my wellbeing with the willing and able man who's holding me so tightly that I almost feel safe again, but the little part of my heart that doesn't trust anyone anymore is keeping the words firmly inside me.
"He didn't take anything else," I choke out finally, and Woody kisses the top of my head.
"It's okay, Jo," he repeats, his voice calm and steady. I cling to him, hoping some of that calm might rub off on me. "Is this about your hand? When he cut you?"
"He cut me after he –" My throat closes up again, and a shudder runs through me as I start to cry. Woody continues to rub my back, making soothing noises as my tears fall faster.
"Shh," he says gently. "Hey, don't cry, sweetheart. Come here."
He leads me over to the couch and we sink down onto the cushions. I sit practically in his lap, snuggling up to him and reveling in the feeling of security that his embrace gives me. He grabs my Patriots blanket from the back of the sofa, and I smile at his thoughtfulness as he drapes the blanket over us both, tucking it meticulously around me.
"Now, why don't you tell me what happened, Jo? From the beginning?"
"Okay," I whisper, closing my eyes so I don't have to see his reaction to my words. "When I came in that night, I found him going through my stuff. I said something – told him to stop, or something like that – and when he turned around, I realized he was wearing a ski mask. I was so angry that I wasn't scared…at least not at first. I yelled at him to get out. That's when he pulled the knife on me."
Woody squeezes me tighter, kissing my temple, and I continue haltingly.
"He made me take my clothes off. I thought he was going to kill me, Woody. I thought maybe if I just did what he said, he wouldn't hurt me, but then he…"
"God, Jordan," Woody breathes, tilting my face up so he can look at me. "Jordan, sweetheart, did he…did he rape you?"
"No," I whisper, as his gentle fingers brush my tears away. "He tried to touch me. When he reached for me I saw that he had the locket, and suddenly I realized that I had to do something. I couldn't just let myself be a victim. Not like –" Not like Mom, the voice in my head says, but I push it back. I want to open up to Woody, but that's just too much too fast. I'm not ready to talk about this in the context of my mother's murder.
"Anyway, I hit him," I continue finally. "I tried to get the knife away from him. That's when he cut my hand. He wasn't expecting me to fight back, and he ran."
"Oh, man, Jordan." He kisses my forehead again, tenderly, as he rubs my cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jo."
"It's not your fault," I sniffle, snuggling against his chest.
"If I hadn't dropped you at your door; if I'd just walked you inside…"
"It's not your fault," I repeat, my voice firmer this time. "Christ, Woody, I didn't even notice my door was unlocked. If you're going to blame anyone –"
"No, Jordan," he says sharply. "No way am I letting you blame yourself for this. The blame for this belongs with the bastard who hurt you. I'm going to catch him, Jo, and he's going to answer to me for what he did to you."
I smile to myself, picturing Woody beating the hell out of my attacker. I like it.
"I could almost feel sorry for him."
Woody smothers a laugh and I give him an odd look.
"Sorry," he chuckles. "I was just imagining this big scary guy, armed with a knife and running away from Jordan Cavanaugh, lightweight champion of the world. Although now that I think about it, you are pretty scary when you're angry," he adds, gently teasing.
I snicker despite myself. He does paint a pretty funny picture.
"I guess I didn't do so badly for myself, huh?" I say, startled to find that it's the truth. "I fought back."
"You did great, Jordan," Woody replies, taking my hand in his and lacing our fingers together. "You fought back and you won. You didn't let him make you into a victim."
"No," I say slowly, a smile creeping onto my face. It's the same thing that Dr. Stiles was telling me, but coming from Woody, it's somehow more real. "I didn't, did I? God, Woody, that – you don't know how good that makes me feel."
"That's my girl," he agrees fondly, smiling warmly at me. "I'm proud of you, Jo."
His praise makes me brave, and the words slip out of my mouth before I can catch them. "Would you…would you stay? Tonight?"
"Of course I will," he promises, kissing my cheek. "I'm here for you, Jordan. Whatever you need, whether it's company or someone to talk to or your own personal twenty-four-hour on-call police escort, I'll be here."
"Well, I'll sleep better knowing I've got one of Boston's finest watching my back," I reply, only half-kidding.
We spend a little longer sitting together on the couch, talking about inconsequential things. I'm too worn out to delve into another deep subject tonight and Woody seems to realize it. When my eyes start sliding shut of their own accord and my head feels too heavy to hold up anymore, he gets to his feet. Before I can muster the courage to ask him if he's forgotten that he promised to stay, his arms are sliding under me. He lifts me as though I'm weightless and carries me over to my bed.
"Woody?" I murmur, as he pulls back the covers and lays me down on the soft cotton sheet.
"Shh," he soothes me, tucking the blanket up to my chin. "Go to sleep, Jordan."
"You're staying?"
"I'm staying," he promises. "I'll be on the couch if you need me."
"Wait," I plead as he starts to straighten. "Can't you stay in here?"
He hesitates and I flinch. The problem with my being so fiercely independent most of the time is that now I don't know what's acceptable for me to ask of him and what isn't.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"
Woody presses a finger to my lips.
"Will it make you feel safer?"
"Yes," I admit freely. He kicks off his shoes in response. As he reaches up to loosen his tie, I smile to myself. He catches me watching him and blushes, and I swallow a laugh, rolling over obediently and turning my back to him as he undresses. When I feel a light tug at the sheets I turn my head and catch a quick glimpse of him, absurdly sexy in boxers and a plain white undershirt, before he slips under the covers.
He reaches for me and I move willingly into his embrace. As he enfolds me in his arms, his lips brushing against my forehead, I send a silent thank-you to Nigel for his remarkably sound advice. I wish now that I'd let Woody in a long time ago. Maybe I wouldn't have been so lonely for so long. I never thought that when I finally slept with Woody, it would be anything like this, but somehow it's better this way. I've never dated a guy who wasn't interested in sex first and me second. Woody cares enough about me to just hold me while I sleep because it's what I need right now.
"Goodnight, Jordan," he whispers in my ear, interrupting my reverie. I snuggle closer to him, resting my hand over his heart.
"Night, Woody…and thank you. For everything. You don't know how much it means to me."
"Anything for you, Jordan," he tells me, placing his hand on top of mine and squeezing it gently. "Anything for you."
I fall asleep with his words echoing in my ears.