Disclaimer: I don't have a medical background, so I have no idea if rehab patients are allowed to leave the hospital. But let's pretend, okay:)
I know things are moving slowly for our favorite couple, but I don't think it gives away too much to say that you can probably expect a happy ending in another chapter or two. I hope it'll be worth the ride!
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
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She dreamed of him often. In each one, he could run and walk and dance with her in his strong arms. She would whisper to him those words -- Please don't leave me -- and he would scoop her up and cover her face with kisses.
Then she would awaken, and the cold reality would seep back in.
There was progress, but it had been slow and difficult these last few weeks. His spirits had improved with each step he took, and the chill between them had begun to thaw. He was restless, frustrated, stir-cray, but then at other times, he seemed to be the old Woody Hoyt.
He was able to move around fairly well with crutches and could stand now and take a few painful, halting steps on his own. He would need to continue physical therapy for months, but he could finally go home.
She showed up the night before his release and walked uneasily down the hall. Her heart was racing the way it had weeks ago when she had returned here after his cool dismissal of her. She was taking a big risk tonight, and she knew it. They hadn't spoken any more of their relationship after he had left her there in the hospital cafeteria. It was a wound that needed to heal along with the rest of him, and she thought perhaps friendship would be enough for her. With each dream she had of him, she knew that it wasn't.
She took a deep breath before entering his room and leaned against the doorframe. "Buy you a drink, detective?"
He looked up, and his jaw dropped. She was wearing a red halter dress, and her hair hung down in loose, wavy tendrils the way he had always admired. Her crimson lips curled up in an alluring smile.
"Jordan...wow. You look...wow."
She moved inside the room. "Wow? I'll take that as a compliment," she purred.
He blinked and swallowed hard. "No, it's definitely a compliment. What's the occasion?"
"Well..." she perched on the edge of the bed next to him. I was supposed to go to some stuffy old awards banquet for my new boss, but I blew it off. I'm taking you out to celebrate."
"And what exactly are we celebrating?"
"You getting out of this place! No more hospital gowns, no more meals on trays, no more teal scrubs."
He left an awkward silence and squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't think this is a good idea."
"Come on! When was the last time you saw the real world?"
He struggled for words. "Look at you. You're all dressed up. This is all I've got." He motioned down to his t-shirt and running shorts.
"Trust me. This place doesn't have a dress code. It's, shall we say, exclusive but casual."
He looked at her for a long moment. "You're not going to take no for an answer. Are you?"
She shook her head. "Not a chance."
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He went, reluctantly, but said little on the drive. She could feel his eyes on her as she drove. When she turned her face towards him, he would quickly look away, but she knew her appearance was having its desired effect.
Finally, he spoke. "This is the way to your place, isn't it?"
She smiled as her car turned the corner and slid into a lucky parking spot in front of her building. "Exactly. I told you it was exclusive. Good thing I know the owner."
She laughed a small ripple of a laugh, but it quickly died in her throat. He sat rigid in the passenger seat, gripping his crutches. "Don't do this, Jordan."
"What? It's just dinner! Hey, I'd love to take you out on the town, but I just put $750 in the transmission, so Chez Cavanaugh is about as top drawer as we're going to get." She reached out and touched his wrist. "It's just dinner, Woody."
He struggled on the way into the building and up the elevator, but he made it. His face was dark with a foreboding, and she nattered on and on to cover her own nervousness.
She pushed open the door ceremoniously and stretched her arm out. "Ta da." He leaned in and looked around. The darkened apartment glowed with the strands of tiny white lights she had strung around the room. The windows had been opened, and the window sheers billowed in the summer evening wind. She had moved her little kitchen table to the center of the room and set it with a table cloth. A bottle of wine waited there in a bucket.
"Jordan..." He shook his head, and she spoke up before he could say any more.
"I just wanted to do something nice. You've been staring at the same four sterile white walls for weeks. I just thought..." She looked down. "Don't say no. Please."
He hobbled in and stood in obvious discomfort in the middle of the room. She vanished into the kitchen. "Dinner will be on the table in a minute. I confess...I got take-out from the Italian place down the street."
She came back in with the plates, and Woody was sitting awkwardly at the table. They ate in an uneasy silence, the scrape of the silverware against the plates the only sound.
It all seemed so foolish and half-baked suddenly, this plan to lure him to her apartment in her tight red dress. He had made a grand gesture with the ring, and she supposed this was her own grand gesture to make him see how she felt and how utterly inadequate the thought of mere friendship was.
Finally, he pushed his half-eaten plate away.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm just not that hungry, I guess." He looked down at the table in discomfort. "Look, I've got a big day tomorrow. I should probably get back."
"No! No!" She rose and grabbed his plate. "Have some coffee first. Someone gave me this cappuccino maker for Christmas, and I've never used it. Just one cup. One little cup."
She flashed him a smile, but he pulled uncomfortably at his collar. "Okay. One cup," he said wearily.
He was sitting on the sofa when she re-entered. He took one sip and put the cup on the end table.
She sat next to him and curled her feet under her. "I've been thinking lately."
"Oh, yeah? About what?"
"About us." She looked down at her hands so she would not have to see his reaction. There was a pause.
"What about us?"
"Everything has been kind of on hold while you've been in the hospital. Your life, my life. But you're getting out tomorrow, and it seems like a good time to start things fresh."
Her heart had begun to pound, and she was not encouraged by the stony look that had come across his face.
"Is that what you think, Jordan?"
"Nothing's changed," she said softly as she inched toward him. "Those things I said to you? I still feel that way. I need you, Woody." She leaned in, her lips brushed against his ear the way they had those weeks ago. She felt him shiver against her. "I need you. I want you."
He turned his face towards hers then. He opened his mouth to speak, but she closed it with her own.
He began to respond, parting his lips, pressing them against hers. After a moment, she felt his hand move up her back. She ran her hands through his thick hair as he pulled her against him, and he moaned a soft, low moan. His mouth fell along her neck and across her collar bone.
She sat up and tugged his shirttails out of his waistband. She thought he might protest, but instead, he pulled the shirt over his head and leaned back against the sofa arm with a questioning look.
A jagged scar cut across his middle. She ached for him, having gone through so much pain. She ran her fingers alongside it and kissed him in the center of his chest. She could feel his breath quicken and his heart race.
His hands were on her shoulders, then, pulling her back up to his waiting mouth. His hands reached around her neck and undid the ties on her halter dress. The feel of his fingers on her bare skin made every nerve stand on end.
They kissed with the pent-up emotion of three years. Shoes were kicked off in a frenzy, and her dress fell into a pile on the floor. He looked up at her, and she smiled down at him with a radiant smile. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his running shorts and tugged at them, as she covered his face with small kisses.
"Jordan..." she heard him say in a small voice. "No..."
"It's okay, Woody. It's okay."
"No...please. I can't..." She felt his hand on hers, then, pulling in the opposite direction. "Stop." His other hand was on her shoulder, pushing her off.
He swung his legs over the side of the sofa and buried his face in his hands. She retreated into the opposite corner of the sofa, panting in breathless confusion.
"Woody? What is it? Did I hurt you?"
"No, it's just..." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I can't do this, Jordan. We can't do this. Don't you get it? I might never get any better. I might never go back to work. My days on the Boston P.D. are over. I can never be what you want me to be."
"Do you really think that matters to me? I don't care, Woody. I don't care about any of that, don't you get it? When I said those things to you in the hospital, I meant every word. Why don't you believe me?"
He raised his face up to her and kicked angrily at his crutches. "I'm not that person anymore, Jordan."
She looked away to keep from crying. The shooting had robbed him of so much, and his legs were the least of it. She shook her head sadly. "No. You're not."
She grabbed her dress and stalked off to the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the tub for a long moment and held a towel against her face to muffle the sounds of her crying.