Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan and I'm never taking down my Christmas decorations. So there.
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"You weren't in yesterday."
I turn around, my mouth full of bagel, to see Nigel smirking at me. Swallowing hurriedly, I take a sip of my coffee before responding.
"I needed a day off," I say, shrugging. "I was feeling a little under the weather. I spent the whole day in bed."
That doesn't seem to deter him. If anything, his smile grows wider.
"Well, I hope you had a good time," he snickers. I fold my arms across my chest, instantly suspicious.
"What?"
"What what?" he evades, winking at me.
"What do you mean, what? Whatare you laughing about? Why is that funny?" I demand, impatient. He doesn't answer immediately, reaching past me to grab a danish.
"We had a fairly uneventful day yesterday," he says finally, around a mouthful of pastry. "Although I did get called out to a homicide. Detective Capra was there."
"Good for her," I reply, willfully ignoring his insinuation.
"She said she was covering for Detective Hoyt, who was taking a personal day."
"Well, that was nice of her."
He gives me a knowing look. "Are you telling me the two of you weren't together yesterday? That there's some other reason you're practically glowing this morning?"
I sigh, leaning back against the counter. I'm tempted to lie to him, but this is Nigel I'm talking to. He'll know I'm lying, and then whatever wild story he's concocting in his head about what Woody and I were doing yesterday will spread across the morgue like wildfire. The only possible way for me to make him keep this quiet is to tell him the truth, make him feel guilty, and then swear him to secrecy.
"Fine," I tell him, resigned. "You really want to know? You're right. We were together. He came over two nights ago because he found my mother's locket. You know, the one that was stolen? He wanted to return it. So naturally I took the opportunity to have a raging Chernobyl-style emotional meltdown, because everything was just too much to handle and I didn't know how to deal with it anymore."
"Jordan?"
He sounds concerned. I look down at my hands as he slips an arm around my shoulders.
"He took care of me, Nige," I continue, feeling oddly vulnerable as the words leave my mouth. "He held me all night while I slept. Just – just held me, and told me everything would be okay. And when I woke up and I was still tired, he took the day off and stayed with me so that I'd feel safe enough to go back to sleep."
"Aw, Jo," he says softly, setting down his danish as he pulls me into a hug. "I'm sorry for teasing, love. I didn't know."
"It's okay. I just…you won't tell anybody, will you?"
He swallows it hook, line, and sinker. "Of course not, love," he promises, kissing my forehead. "Your secret's safe with me. Are you feeling any better today?"
"I'm fine now," I say, surprised to find that it doesn't feel like a lie. "I'd forgotten what it felt like to get a decent night's sleep, let alone twenty-four hours' worth. I feel like I could take on the world."
"Start smaller," he advises, ruffling my hair. "How about taking on the case in Autopsy Three? Man vs. city bus. We can tag team it."
"Give me five minutes," I reply, smiling up at him. I head for the door, but his tentative words stop me.
"Jordan…you know that if you're hurting…" He pauses, giving me his patented toothy grin. "Woodrow's not the only one who'd call in sick for you."
"I know that," I tell him, bounding back across the room and throwing my arms around him again. "You're the best friend a girl could ask for, Nige. Thank you."
He holds me tightly for a few moments, and then something occurs to me.
"I meant to thank you for something else, too."
"What, love?"
I grin up at him, kissing his cheek.
"You give good advice."
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Three hours later
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"Jordan?"
I look over at my office door, blushing a thoroughly un-Jordan-like shade of pink when I see Woody standing there. He looks effortlessly handsome in a navy blue suit, a white button-up shirt, and one of his usual god-awful ties.
"Hey, Woody." I start to raise a hand to fix my hair and then stop in mid-motion when I realize what I'm doing. Thankfully, he's oblivious to the nervous gesture as he steps cautiously into my office, pushing the door shut behind him.
"I was – uh, I mean, I just stopped by to –" He hesitates, looking awkward. "I wanted to make sure you were doing all right. I mean, after yesterday."
"I'm fine," I tell him, walking around my desk to stand in front of him. "I feel a lot better now."
"Good," he sighs, visibly relieved. He reaches up to tuck a stray curl of hair behind my ear, brushing his fingers gently against my cheek before he lowers his arm. "I was worried about you."
"I was worried about me, too," I admit. "You don't know how much I needed you last night. It's weird for me…I don't know if you'd noticed, but I'm not great at needing people. But I needed you, and you were there, and I…I really appreciate it."
The corners of his mouth curve upward in a slight smile, and he reaches out to pull me into his arms. I don't resist the motion, leaning willingly against him.
"You know you can count on me, Jo."
I smile against the oxford cloth of his shirt as his words sink in. It's funny; I never used to like being held. Things are different with Woody. He doesn't want anything from me but my happiness. Knowing that he doesn't have any ulterior motives allows me to let down my guard around him, and I'm starting to realize how nice it is not to have to be independent all the time.
"Jordan? What are you thinking about?"
"You," I answer honestly, making a spur-of-the-moment decision. "Are you free for lunch?"
"As long as it doesn't involve chimichangas," he replies, and we both laugh.
"There's a great Greek place on Westshore," I offer. He changes his grip on me in response, wrapping one arm around my waist as we walk to the door together. When we get there, he helps me put on my coat and I smile again, reveling in how special he makes me feel.
Woody steps in front of me to open the door, holding it for me as I walk into the hall. As I pass him, I capture his free hand with mine. He gives me a surprised look and I tighten my grip, interlacing our fingers.
A boyish grin spreads across his face, and he squeezes my hand. We're almost to the elevator when Nigel steps out of the door to Trace Evidence, catching sight of us.
"Jordan, Woodrow," he greets us, but stops short when he notices our clasped hands. His eyes light up at the new and varied teasing opportunities this is going to afford him, and then he visibly deflates when he remembers our conversation this morning. He's already promised to keep his mouth shut.
"Hey, Nige," I say gleefully. Holding Woody's hand is nice in and of itself, but thwarting Nigel's innate need to rib me is definitely a pleasant side benefit. "We're headed out for lunch. Cover for me, will you?"
"Oh, sure," he replies, raising an eyebrow at me. "Just remember that you owe me." He looks at our hands again, shaking his head in mock-despair. "You own me big time."