They sat in a booth across from each other at a diner around the corner from Woody's apartment.
"I think you should call him," Jordan said with a gentle firmness. "I think you should make an appointment."
Woody looked down at the phone number on the piece of paper that Jordan had just handed him. "Thanks. I will," he muttered and tucked the paper quickly in his wallet.
"Both Dr. Stiles and Dr. Brady recommended him."
Woody didn't respond. They both silently sipped at their coffee.
It felt so impersonal sitting here like this in a diner, but she had been determined to get him out of the house. He had taken a voluntary leave of absence from the force, and she knew that he had been sitting brooding at home, unshaven and unshowered.
He had walked into the police department after Kevin Weems had been arrested, set his badge and revolver on the captain's desk and walked silently away.
Publicly, he had been given much of the credit for bringing in a killer, and he deserved it. Privately, there where whispers around the department that the case had sent the kid from Wisconsin ever-so-slightly around the bend.
The truth wasn't quite that bad, but Jordan was proud of him for recognizing that he needed some time to step back.
She had always thought of him as being an ever-cheerful, happy-go-lucky type. She had been stunned that he had contained so much anger, and she could only wonder at its source. Perhaps someday, he could tell her. She hoped so.
"It might help to talk to someone, Woody," she finally added.
He threw up his hands with a resigned laugh. "Okay! Okay! I'll call him, Jordan. I promise."
She paused while the waitress refilled her cup. "Good. I'm glad. I don't want there to be this thing between us."
He looked up at her with earnest eyes. "This doesn't change how I feel about you, Jordan. Not a chance. I told you that," he said quickly.
She found herself blushing. She thought it was the one thing that had been taken from her forever: the ability to feel desirable again. But it was coming back - slowly.
He reached his fingers across the table but stopped inches from where hers rested, unsure of whether or not the touch of his hand would be welcome. She picked it up and placed it against her cheek. His touch was warm and gentle, and she let it linger.
"I couldn't save my mother," he began in a small voice. "I couldn't save my father. No matter how good or smart or strong I was, I couldn't save them. And I couldn't save you. I should have walked you inside your apartment. I was just on the other side of the door when that animal was in there with you. I should have..." He stopped and looked away.
She squeezed his hand. "You can't always save the people you love," she said gently.
"I know." His voice broke. He had finally learned the hard and bitter lesson. He looked into her eyes with a small smile. They were two broken souls right now, but there was hope in that smile.
She was reluctant to break the spell of the moment. "Well...I've got somewhere I've got to be..." she said quietly.
"Yeah. I'm gonna finish my coffee, and then I guess I've got a phone call to make." He smiled weakly.
She rose from the booth and turned to go with a small wave. Then, impulsively, she slid into the booth next to him and kissed him once on the mouth, softly and quickly.
He smiled and brushed her cheek again with his fingertips. It was a small thing, but it was a beginning, and it would have to do. For now.
XXXXXX
"Well, this cold weather certainly agrees with you." Stiles smiled up at her. She took a seat and decided not to tell him that her healthy glow and flushed cheeks were from her meeting with Woody and not the brisk autumn air.
"Thanks," she said. "So, I guess you're here to decide whether or not I'm in danger of impaling one of my co-workers with the office supplies."
"And do you think you are?"
"Only if I haven't had my coffee yet." She smiled. "No, really. I'm...okay. Better than okay. I don't sleep with the lights blazing all night anymore." She rolled her eyes a bit. "I know. It sounds so insignificant."
"Not at all. What you went through certainly wasn't insignificant. Why should the steps toward recovery be considered insignificant? I think you should be proud of every step you take."
She smiled to herself. "Yeah. I am. I'm still seeing Dr. Brady. Man, I never thought I'd say this...but she referred me to a support group for victims of sexual assault, and it's been really helpful."
"Survivors, Jordan. The term these days is survivors, not victims. The goal was to survive, and you did."
"Yeah, I guess I did." A slow smile spread across her face. She looked down at the small scar on her hand that had never quite healed.
My battle wound, she thought to herself. It would be a badge of honor, a constant reminder of what she was.
A survivor.