All right because NCCJFAN was ABSOLUTELY RIGHT (thank you!) about the ending being too abrupt, I have decided to stretch it out another chapter. So...THIS is the next-to-last chapter. The last chapter is still to come!

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What am I doing here?

She stood under the awning in front of Dempsey's Pub and peered in the window. The inside was packed, mostly with people she didn't know. She doubted even Woody knew all of them, but what Boston cop could pass up an opportunity to come to an Irish pub to raise a few pints to a wounded brother?

He was due to start back at work on Monday, desk duty only, and some of the other homicide detectives had decided to throw him a welcome back party at the local cops' hangout. She was surprised when she heard an unfamiliar voice on her answering machine inviting her down to the party that weekend. It was probably a mistake, she had decided. Woody didn't want her here, did he?

But she had come anyway, despite the sense of unease building up inside her as she got ready. She felt driven, somehow, to see him again and try to make things right. Perhaps any feelings he had for her had died on the fateful ride home from the salsa club, but she had to at least try. She had to at least ask for forgiveness.

She stood for a long while before summoning the courage to enter and was immediately hit by the odor of beer and cigar smoke and the hot scent of too many big Irish cops packed into a tiny barroom.

Her heart fluttered in anticipation as she searched the room for him. Then the crowd parted for a moment, and she saw him. He was sitting on a barstool holding a beer mug. He still looked thin and weak, but his color was good, and she smiled to herself at the sight of him.

He turned then and saw her there standing anxiously inside the doorway. A looked played across his face, one she couldn't quite interpret. She thought for a moment that she should go, but then he smiled a full, warm smile and mouthed the word, "Hi."

She smiled back nervously and lifted her hand in a small wave. He slid off the bench and waded through the crowd to her.

"Well..." Her voice was suddenly dry and thin. "I'm here."

"Yeah." He smiled again. "It's good to see you."

"How are you?"

"Great. Fine." He said brightly, and then looked away. "Well, okay." She nodded in understanding. "I haven't slept through the night since it happened. But physically? I feel pretty good. And it's great to be out of the house."

"Good. Great. I'm glad, Woody. Where's Cal?"

"He left yesterday." Woody rolled his eyes. "I think he was getting a little tired of playing Florence Nightengale. I guess I'm not the best patient."

She opened her mouth to continue the light small talk, something about Cal and his bedside manner, but he spoke in a rush.

"The guys told me they had invited you. I wasn't sure you'd come, Jordan."

"I wasn't sure I'd come, either."

He stood in front of her, his eyes darting across her face. He finally spoke in a small voice. "We've really been through it, haven't we?"

He could have been talking about the past three years or the shooting. Either way, her response was the same. "Yeah." She nodded. "I'd give anything to go back and change things."

"Well, that's just it," he started sadly. "We can't change things. We just have to learn to make peace and move on." He was silent for a moment, and then she felt his hand slip into hers with an affectionate squeeze. "I'm glad you're here, Jordan. I wanted to talk to you."

She looked anxiously at the floor. "I wanted to talk to you, too, Woody." She shut her eyes tight so she would not have to see his reaction. "I've been thinking about things. About...us. About everything that's happened. I just want you to know..."

A booming voice came from behind her. "Woody! I'm taking off! Get over here. I've got someone I need you to meet!" Woody frowned and waved over Jordan's shoulder.

"Jordan, I..."

Jordan shrugged. "Go on. You are the man of the hour, after all." She reached up and quickly kissed him on the cheek. "Just be happy, okay? Be happy, Woody." She turned to go before he could see her cry.

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. "Wait, Jordan. Stay right here. Don't move, okay? I want to talk to you. Please, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." He made his way through the crowd, and she watched as he shook hands with a burly homicide detective's wife. He saw the pair out the door and tried to make his way back to Jordan but was stopped by some semi-sober detective and then another. It was like that for the next half hour. Each time he broke free of some drunken windbag, he would be pulled in another direction.

She stood awkwardly by the bar, watching as he made his way through the crowd. She nursed a glass of wine and tried to act as if she were enjoying herself.

It was no use, really. It was time to move on. Those were Woody's words, and she knew there was nothing she could say to change his mind. She caught his eye and pointed to her watch. It was late. She was on early shift the next day.

He shook his head and held up a finger to stop her. She hurried for the door even as she heard Woody call her name over the din. He watched as she opened the door and a blast of cold air swept into the sweltering barroom.

"Woody? You listening to me?" a homicide detective was leaning in with beery breath.

"Uh...yeah. Sure. Look, I'm fading fast. I really appreciate this shindig, but I'm going to have to call it a night." He smiled weakly and headed out before anyone else could stop him.

The street was empty. She was gone.

He stood in the chill for a moment before walking to his car, his cheek still tingling from where she had kissed him.