She left the hospital feeling ravenous and did a drive-thru at some greasy burger joint. She was more than 45 minutes late from her lunch hour, and there was another memo on her desk when she returned. Apparently, lengthy lunch hours were to come to an end, and all employees were to clock in and out when they left the building for any reason.

Lily passed by Jordan's door and stopped when she saw her there. "Jordan! Where have you been? Slocum's on the warpath!"

"I was at the hospital." Jordan held up the memo. "Looks like I've gone and ruined it for everyone."

"Don't worry about it." Lily rolled her eyes, but her face immediately lit up. She came inside and closed the door behind her. "You went back! How is he? Any news from the neurologist?"

Jordan sighed and collapsed in her chair. "They should know more by the end of the week when the swelling around the spinal cord stars to go down. If he is able to walk again, it will take months of rehabilitation. Even then, he might never regain full use of his legs."

"Oh, Jordan..." Lily's hand flew up to her heart. Her voice broke, and her eyes began to tear up.

"Now, don't do that, Lily. You're going to make me cry again." Jordan wiped at her eyes.

"How is he taking it?"

"Not well. Can you blame him?" Jordan shook her head. "He's just so angry with me right now."

"He's terrified. He doesn't want to be dependent on you. He doesn't want to become a burden, so he's pushing you away. You know that."

She nodded wearily. "I know. I just don't know how to make him stop pushing."

"Keep pushing in the opposite direction, Jordan."

Jordan smiled. "Just not on my lunch hour."

She crumpled the new memo into a ball and threw it into her waste paper basket, where it joined the one from earlier that morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

She went back to the hospital that day after work, and the next.

There was sort of a begrudging tolerance of her presence. She'd bring a book or her iPod and sit silently while he drifted in and out of sleep or, more usually, sat brooding in the semi-darkness.

Occasionally, he'd ask for a sip of water, and she'd refill his cup dutifully. Otherwise, there was thick silence between them. But he never asked her to go.

She dreaded the trip every day and the awkwardness of the room's stony silence. Several times, she almost turned around before reaching his door. What was the point? Their relationship seemed irrevocably shattered. Then, too, was the awful realization that this man she had fallen in love with might never be the same.

Several days after the surgery, he still hadn't regained any feeling in his legs, and the hopes of his walking again were beginning to fade. Woody had sunk even further into his gloominess.

It was the end of the week when she strolled in with a fresh stack of files she needed to review. She asked, as she did every day, how he was feeling, and he grunted in reply as she eased into the armchair.

"Are you in much pain?"

"Well, that's the great thing about being paralyzed, Jordan. Not a whole lot of pain. It's just as well. I don't want drugs."

She knew what he was thinking. "Have you heard from Cal?"

"His landlord says he skipped out on his rent. Moved in the middle of the night. The guys are trying to track him down."

"He'll turn up," she offered quietly.

His face twisted in a bitter smile. "He always does."

She debated whether or not to continue. "Is there any news from the neurologist?"

"Well, I'm still crippled, if that's what you mean."

Keep pushing, Jordan. She took a deep breath and went on. "I meant...are there plans to move you? Start rehab?"

"Rehab? That's a joke. Yeah, they're moving me to the rehab wing so I can learn how to be a good cripple."

"Woody, you don't know for sure..."

"It's been almost a week, Jordan. I still can't feel anything. Let's face it. This is my life. Stuck in a wheelchair."

"I'm sure Officer Collins' and Officer Buck's wives would love to have them stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of their lives," she snapped. She hadn't meant to say it, but the words flew out, and she was surprised at their sharpness.

He must have been, too. He stared back at her, blinking in stunned silence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't..." Her voice trailed off. His jaw hardened, and he turned away from her.

Her eyes fell back onto the file she had been reviewing, but the words began to blur from the tears that had formed there. She quickly brushed them away before he could see. The tension was broken by the entrance of Dr. Turner. He came in every day around this time with his customary air of professional detachment to check Woody's nerve responses.

He would prod and poke and Woody would shake his head. Nothing. Then Dr. Turner would sweep out again with the same thin smile. "We'll try again tomorrow," he would say, but with each day that passed, it seemed less and less likely that Woody would walk again.

It was the same again today as it had been all week. She watched on hopefully as he pressed a sharp object into the bottom of Woody's foot. "Anything?"

Woody rocked his head slowly from side to side. "No."

"Here?"

"No."

"What about here?"

"No. No. Once and for all, there's nothing."

The doctor ignored him and kept on. "Anything?"

Suddenly, there was a flicker on Woody's face. Jordan stood up from her chair and crossed to his bed. His eyes widened. "I felt that."

The doctor looked up at him in mild surprise. He moved the instrument to Woody's other leg and pressed down harder. "How about this?"

"Yeah. I felt it. I felt it." His own voice rose in disbelief. "I felt it."

"Good." The doctor tucked the instrument back into his coat pocket. "The swelling is going down. It looks as if there was no permanent nerve damage." He gave Woody's arm a squeeze. "We'll start your rehab and physical therapy next week," he said with a mildly ominous tone and swept from the room.

She had spent too long trying to hide her emotions from him, and she now cried unabashed tears. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and she could see him blinking back his own tears.

She reached out impulsively and slipped her hand into his. She waited for him to withdraw his hand as he had done before, but he did not. Instead, he kept it there, and she felt the slight, almost imperceptible squeeze of his hand in response as closed his dampened eyes and leaned his head back onto the pillow.