As Tears Roll By

Disclaimer: If I said that I owned the rights to "Crossing Jordan" would you believe me anyway? Didn't think so. Also, the title is stolen from the title of a Daniel Lanois song that really has nothing to do with the story, but beautiful song/title nonetheless. I highly recommend his work.

Summary: After so many years, she fell back into his world. She needs him to save her, he needed to put it all past him.

Pairing: Eventually W/J, but it's mostly a Woody-centric fic.

Rating: PG13,for possible abuse later on in the fic (don't want to spoil, but I also want to give fair warning for those not comfortable).

AN: Okay, this fic has been nagging at my brain for quite some time now. After tearing it up (not literally of course, 'cause it was all written on the comp) and rewriting pretty much everything save the first few paragraphs, I think I may have stumbled onto what I wanted. Now, just before I finished this up I chanced upon "The Long Way Home" by Sweetrush37, just want to let you know that this fic will be completely different even though the summary may sound kind of similar. (Awesome fic, by the way! Hee, loving every second of it!)

On a sort of off-topic AN I posted a "Fanfic Challenge" at the fanfiction portion of the CJ Coffeeroom boards.Just a heads up if you're interested in it! (The web address isn't showing up, but I'm sure most of you know where to find it :wink:)

Onto the story…enjoy! (Any/all comments and feedback welcome. Constructive or otherwise)

Woodrow Hoyt walked through the large doors of the Boston Police Department. He was boyishly handsome, with dark brown hair and blue eyes that, at the moment, seemed extremely tired. He rubbed a hand over his face and stifled a yawn. He'd pulled an all nighter working on a case. Woody had called it quits sometime around five in the morning. Just long enough to drive home, shower, shave and do it all over again. It had been one of those weeks and from the look of the overcast sky that he'd left when he entered the building, the old expression "when it rains, it pours" was about to become quite literal.

"Morning Hoyt," a voice acknowledged from behind a stack of paperwork and file folders.

"Hey Flynn," Woody gave a solemn nod to the uniformed cop.

"You have a visitor," he wagged his blond brows and jerked his head in the direction of the interrogation room.

"Huh?" Woody unintelligently asked. Who could have came to see him in the hour that he had been gone from work?

"Yeah," Flynn replied, once again motioning to the interrogation room. "She's in there."

"Oh?" Now it was Woody's eyebrows that shot up. "She?"

"You deaf Hoyt?" Flynn grunted. "She. Good looking broad too. Brunette, great legs, you know the drill."

Woody smiled. He definitely knew someone that fit that description. He suspected Jordan Cavanaugh, a medical examiner that he'd befriended over the years. He and Jordan were easing into a relationship that was on the verge of being a bit more than platonic. And if she had coffee with her, Woody was ready to throw that platonic garbage out the window and plant a big ol' kiss on her lips.

He stood and straightened out his tie. Still smiling, Woody opened the door to the room and tried not to let it slap with a loud bang behind him, as it usually did. There was a woman looking through the two-way mirror, her back to the door, her reflection barely visible in the wavy glass. Her heeled foot was tapping wildly against the cement floor and only stopped when she turned around and saw his face.

"Woody," she breathed a sigh of relief.

Woody, however, held his breath in. That was not Jordan. That was Annie West. His ex-fiancée that he had left back in Kewaunee, Wisconsin when he had moved to Boston. It had been years since he had seen her and somehow he had forgotten just how pretty she was. She had brown hair that fell smoothly to her shoulders, a little longer than he remembered, and a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. But her green eyes were saddened and her lower lip had a deep cut that was beginning to heal, although it probably still needed stitches.

"Annie?" he asked, unsure if he was perhaps imagining things.

"Woody," she repeated, her voice now wavering.

Tears sprung to her eyes so fast that Woody wondered if they were always lingering beneath the surface. She swiped at them quickly, never giving them a chance fall down her cheeks. Her hands now wrapped protectively around her stomach; Annie made an attempt to advance towards him, but stopped when Woody pulled away. She took a few steps back and removed her hands from her middle letting her arms drop limply. Woody shook his head, as if he was trying to clear the image in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, biting his tongue upon hearing how harsh his tone sounded.

"I need you," Annie said, with a sad shrug. She swallowed the hard lump that had appeared in her throat. It landed like a brick in her stomach.

Needed him? For what? Annie hadn't needed anything from him in years. In fact, Woody wasn't completely positive that she even needed anything from him then either. She was fiercely independent. There was no way that he was buying that explanation. And surely she wouldn't come all the way to Boston with the intent of starting a relationship that had been so clearly over for such a long time.

"I…I," she began, unable to stand the silence. But she couldn't exactly choke out the sentence. In fact she couldn't get past that one word. Her eyes filled with tears once more, but this time her hands remained at her side.

Woody bridged the extensive gap between them, placing a comforting arm around her slumped shoulders. He wasn't quite sure if it was out of habit, guilt, or just the fact that ever since his mother, it made him ache to see a woman cry. Annie, not seeming to care the reason for his sudden comfort, fell into him. Her small hands grabbed at his suit, her body almost convulsing with sobs. Woody felt his arms instinctively wrap around her, rocking her slowly. His hands found their way to her hair, her back, settling upon her waist.

As if suddenly aware and embarrassed of her actions, Annie stepped out of the embrace. She wiped her face, using the sleeve of her sweater, like a young child would. Woody's face twisted in confusion.

"Annie, what is going on?" he demanded. "Why are you here? What's wrong?"

The tips of his fingers brushed away the remaining tears on her cheeks and her chin. Annie reached out and smoothed the wrinkles on his shirt, the fabric crumpled from her fists. He stopped her roving hands with his own and held them hard.

"Tell me what you're doing here Annie," Woody stated firmly. "What's going on?"

"I need you," she told him feebly.

Woody shook his head again. This was not the Annie he remembered; she seemed so vulnerable and broken.

"Why Annie?" he stressed.

"I had to go somewhere safe," Annie said. "And I always felt safe with you."

"Had to go somewhere safe?" Woody echoed, releasing her hands from his grip. "What do you mean? Are you in some kind of trouble Annie?"

He watched as she jerked her head back and forth quickly. Shrugging her slim shoulders, Annie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and then shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans. She looked so small and helpless. Woody didn't know what to tell her. He had never seen her this shaken before, this weak. And he couldn't just let her feel that way. No one should ever have to feel that way. She had come to him. Why, he couldn't quite understand yet.

"If you need me, for whatever reason, to help you, to feel safe," Woody said. "Then I'll be here for you."

"Thank you," she whispered with a nod.

Woody's face melted into a sort of soft smile. His hand reached out to cup her face, his thumb passing over her lips. When it gently grazed over the swollen and bruised gash, Annie winced and pulled away from his touch. Realization hit Woody hard and he cursed himself for being so stupid, for not seeing it the moment he stepped foot in the room.

"Is that why you're here?" he inquired quietly, an almost horrified edge to his question.

"Woody, please," her eyes pleaded.

"Please what? Jesus Annie, what the hell is going on here?" he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"It's not like that, I promise," Annie countered.

"Then what's it like? You have to tell me what's wrong. Annie…"

A loud rapping at the door interrupted what was sure to become a very heated conversation between the former flames. The door swung open and a blond head appeared.

"Detective Hoyt, dispatch is on the line," Flynn informed him.

"Get someone else on it," Woody ordered.

Flynn bobbed his head, familiar with no nonsense tone in Woody's voice, and removed himself from the doorway.

Woody stared at Annie, his hands set on his hips and his mouth drawn in a tight line. Her face fell slightly, her lips pulling into a frown. She could feel hot tears stinging behind her eyes under his intense gaze. Annie's hands began to tremble and she clasped them together as if to will them to stop shaking.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, blinking back tears. "I shouldn't have come. I had no right…"

"Annie," Woody sighed, his head falling back as he blew out a large puff of air.

"I just didn't know where to turn," Annie whimpered. "I thought of you first."

"Don't be sorry," he walked over to her placing an arm around her waist and a light kiss upon her temple. "C'mon."

It took a small push to get her legs moving towards the door, but soon Annie followed him. She grabbed her brown, leather purse that sat on the table, the only thing that she had brought with her and leaned into Woody, her quivering hands and tears seeming to subside. Stopping by his desk, Woody plucked a few files from a rather messy pile and dropped his cell phone into the pocket of his pants.

"Flynn I'm heading out," Woody notified the mildly confused officer. "Reach me on my cell."

"Sure thing Detective," Flynn replied, his mouth agape at the fact that Hoyt was leaving with the brunette.

Woody shot him a look that Flynn knew just as well as that tone in his voice, promptly closed his mouth and watched the two exit the building.

It was indeed raining. Pouring. The drops fell heavy, splashing to the ground. As Woody hurried to his old, beat up car, he noticed that Annie walked behind him slowly, her fingers gently touching her swollen lip. She was thoroughly soaked when she sat down in the passenger seat.

"Trying to catch your death?" he asked somewhat hotly.

"Hmm?" Annie answered, distracted.

Woody flipped on the heat and handed her his suit jacket. She slipped into the garment and pulled it close around her. Woody couldn't help but notice how tiny she looked with it on, almost as if she was drowning in enormous coat.

"I'll take you to my apartment," he told her, pulling out of his parking space and onto the streets of downtown Boston. "We'll get you cleaned up and then you and I are going to have one hell of talk."

Annie merely nodded, a faint smile coming to her lips as she snuggled further into the jacket. And although it had been so long since Woody had seen her smile, this one broke his heart.