Chapter Two

Oops. I forgot to disclaim you in Chapter One. I don't anything to do with Crossing Jordan, it all belongs to NBC and Tim Kring. Wish I did. I would have either had Jordan's cell phone NOT ring when it did and FINALLY have she and Woody kiss, or she would have gone to Miami with him. Alas, I don't have control and the writers haven't consulted me.

I don't know about you, but I have a feeling, if Woody's half the man I think he is…he got a kiss before he went to Miami. Somehow…someway…he held her tighter.

Autopsy done on the victim, Jordan picked up the phone to call Woody. " 'Lo," he responded to the ring, his voice husky and his nose stuffy.

"Are you still at the office?" she asked, barely hiding her irritation at his stubbornness.

"Yeah, for about 45 more minutes."

Jordan sighed. Men. They never wanted to admit they were sick. "I'm faxing my reports over to you now. Then will you please go home?"

"Let me look them over and see if there's anything else I need to do."

Jordan held her breath and counted to ten. "What if I promise I will follow you home and bring you dinner and medicine?"

"Will you stay for a while?"

"Of course." If bribery was what it took to get him to go home and get some rest, she'd offer it. On a silver platter.

"Deal."

She hung up and faxed over the report. Then grabbing her jacket and pocketbook, she headed for the grocery store, stocking up on Nyquil, Tylenol, Kleenex, tea, honey, and the makings for a chicken soup. Then she stopped by the drug store for a humidifier and a thermometer. Something told her Woody had neither in his studio apartment. An hour later, she was knocking at his door. "Come in. It's open," came his voice from inside.

"So, how are you feeling, Farm Boy?"

"Bad."

"Let's see how bad." She took the thermometer out of its box and popped it in his mouth before he had a chance to protest. His forehead was still hot. After a few minutes, the digital thermometer beeped. "One hundred and two point six," she report. "Yup. You're sick." Woody was probably the victim of poorly recycled air on the plane and then worsened his condition by going from the mild weather of Miami to the frosty conditions of a Boston winter.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Cold or flu. Time will tell. Now," she continued, leaning over him and suggestively stroking his face, "Go take off your clothes…" Woody's eyes lit up. "and get a warm bath. You'll feel better."

"Take one with me?"

"Nope. Not this time. But I will run your bathwater. Hope you like it hot."

"Yeah. That's not the only thing I like hot, Jordan," he said, making a playful grab for her rear.

"You're a sick man. Wait until you get better." She ran his bathwater as hot as she thought he could stand it. The steam would get his sinuses loosened as well as make him relax and take any chills he had off of him. While he emerged himself in the bath, she fixed him a light supper .. tomato soup and grilled cheese. She had it waiting on him when he emerged forty-five minutes later, having donned sweat pants and a t-shirt.

"Thanks," he said, sipping the soup. "But I'm really not too hungry."

Jordan took his hand. "I know…but you need to eat something before you take the Nyquil, or it will make you nauseous." She watched as he ate most of the soup before setting the Nyquil in front of him, stifling a grin when he downed it and made a face. "Now…bed, young man," she said in a playfully stern voice, half-way expecting a fight out of him.

"I think I will," he said. "I'm tired…and I don't feel good. Will you come to bed with me? Just to sleep. I'm afraid that I don't even feel like….and even if I did, I don't have…" his voice sleepily trailed off, somewhat embarrassed at his seemingly less-than-manly admission.

"I'll tuck you in now, Woody. Then when I clean up the kitchen, I'll sleep with you. Remember, you agreed to hold me tighter…I'm making you keep your promise." He gave her a grin before he shuffled off to bed.

Jordan sighed and went back to the dishes. It was quiet in his apartment and she had time to think. Funny, in all their years together, Woody had never been sick. Not once. Now that he was, it frightened her a little….to see him vulnerable. Even though it was only a cold, she had been afraid to leave him alone. She had packed a few of her things to bring with her. Her pajamas. Clothes for work tomorrow. Things for the upcoming weekend. She hung her dishcloth on the stove handle, grabbed her suitcase and headed for Woody's bathroom. She changed into her pajamas, washed her face and began brushing her teeth, not noticing that the door between the bathroom and Woody's bedroom was partially open, giving him a half-way glimpse of her changing.

He had swallowed hard. Thankfully, it wasn't a complete view…he didn't know how he would react if it was. All he saw was part of her legs and thighs, an arm …. And the sweet curve of her bottom. Oh Jesus. If only he wasn't sick. If it wasn't cell phones, it was viruses. Now the woman of his dreams was climbing in the bed with him…and there wasn't a damn thing he felt like doing. There was nothing he could do, as the Nyquil caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep, feeling her arms come around him, holding on to him tightly as he slept.

Jordan reached over and shut off the alarm on her cell phone, praying it didn't wake Woody up. No such luck. He was looking at her with one eye barely open, his hair sticking out in a million directions, and his face still flushed. His arm was still firmly planted around her waist.

"You know, that damn thing is annoying in more ways than one," he said, making a grab for it.

She pulled it away from his grip and sat it on the night stand. "Sorry. I need to get ready to go to work."

"Do you have to?"

She smiled a little at his voice. He sounded like a little boy who didn't want his mother to leave home. "Yes, I do." she said, pushing away from him and rolling out of bed. "You on the other hand, are quarantined here. You still have a fever."

"Jordan, I've never missed a day of work, other than vacation."

"Well, there's a first time for everything and this is it for you. Believe me, they'll be glad you stayed home. They don't want your germs. Do you want me to call Santana or do you want to?"

"I'll call. If you call, I'll have a million questions to answer." He made the call while Jordan went into his bathroom and got ready. This time the door wasn't left open at all. He was disappointed. He finished his call to Santana, who admonished him to "not show your face until you are completely well." Then he lay back on his pillows and waited for Jordan to come out of the bathroom. A few minutes later, she did.

"I'll call you at break and at lunch," she said, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Promise me one thing."

"Okay…what?"

"That you'll get up and try to eat something and take some more Tylenol. I'll be back home from work as soon as I can. Okay?"

He readjusted his head on the pillows. Her ways of thinking were changing. She had just called his apartment home. He grinned to himself. "I promise. Now go to work and don't worry about me. Okay?"

She blew him kiss on the way out. "Yeah. Right. See you soon."