Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Crossing Jordan. This is just one of the ways I'd like to see "Jump, Push, Fall" work out.

Chapter One

Three Months of Falling

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Jordan's sneakers made an easy even rhythm as she went for a morning run. Running had always been an outlet for her – a way to shed some of the stress that surrounded her life – much like an overweight person would shed pounds. She could feel the tension roll off her as she would push herself to run another block, another mile…and to sweat it out just a little more.

Only now, her jogs didn't offer the same relief they had in the past. Not now. Not since that morning when the first cop got shot by the sniper.

Not since Woody got shot.

Not since Woody was paralyzed.

Thump, thump, thump. She stopped for a minute to catch her breath…in the exact same spot she and Woody had been in three months ago. When she told him about her blind date, how she was trying to respect his wish for friendship…how she was trying to move on and realized that he had already done so. With women she knew.

That hurt had her. Just like it hurt Woody to think that she would one day tell another man that she loved him. Woody wanted to hear those words…and have those words meant for him.

Jordan sighed as she wiped the sweat from her face and fished around in her pocket for enough change to buy a bottle of water. Woody did hear those words eventually – as he was coming out of surgery…when he thought she said them out of pity…that she really didn't mean them. That she was only saying them to get him to gather the strength to pull himself together, make it through more surgery, and walk again.

He did go through more surgery…but he hadn't taken a step since those moments before he was shot and tried to talk the young sniper into giving up. He was paralyzed from the waist down…no feeling…no movement. And although the doctors had not given up hope yet…the future had been dimmed for the blue-eyed detective from Wisconsin.

She chugged her water and began to jog back to where her El Camino was parked. Today was Saturday. Her day off from the morgue and away from Slokem and his heavy-handed pursuit of justice. And she would spend her time off the same way she did nearly all her free time now – with Woody.

He didn't want her. He didn't want her there taking care of him…working with the physical therapists to try to stimulate the nerves in his legs and spinal cord. But in the end, he had to reluctantly accept her help, because she was all he had left in Boston or anywhere else. His parents were dead and his brother, Cal…well, who knew where Cal was now? His cell phone number was no longer valid and his apartment phone was disconnected.

Jordan was it. She was the only person Woody could rely on to always be there to work with him and take any kind of abuse he dished out.

And she did take abuse.

She tried to frame it with the theories that Woody had always been so active and now he was inactive. He had always been independent. Now he was totally dependent. He had always taken care of her, now she was taking care of him. He had always nurtured and protected….and now he had to be on the receiving end of a great deal of compassion and love.

Love from her that he did not want to acknowledge or believe to be true. He deemed it was affection harvested from pity. Jordan knew better. She had simply quit hiding behind her emotional wall and knew that this was the wake up call for her to let him in. To love and be loved.

Only it was one-sided. She loved Woody….and Woody had turned his emotional taps off. Not that she could really blame him after all the years he spent chasing her and when she finally stood still to let him catch her, he could do nothing about it. For Woody, it was too cruel irony. Too cruel to believe…too much damage to rectify.

He would bark at her to leave…him and the hospital. Don't come back. You're not my "pity girlfriend." Yet she would return. Everyday.

Only to hear the same thing repeated to her through clenched teeth as he struggled to regain some kind of movement in his legs. If she hadn't of loved him so much, she would have retreated into her world of work and her apartment … give up on him and them.

But what she felt for Woody was far too deep…far too real…to just give up because of some angry words. This time she wouldn't run. She wouldn't hide. She'd hang on and ride out the roller coaster. He was worth it.

He's got to understand, she thought to herself as she got in her truck to drive home for a quick shower before she went to see him, that this is real on my part…and I hope and pray that those feelings he once had for me are still there…please, God…just let them still be real. Please …. Let him still love me…

"I still don't feel a thing….not a damn thing," Woody nearly yelled at her as she massaged his legs the way the physical therapist had taught her. These actions were supposed to help the nerve endings start firing again…as well as keep some of the muscle-tone his well-built body had.

"You won't get everything back in a day, a week, a month even," said Jordan resisting his efforts to push her away from his legs. "You've got to be patient." She shoved a lock of her hair out of her face that had fallen out of her scrunchie…a result of her strenuous efforts. She had come to the hospital after her shower and the therapist had told her to begin the massage and then he'd be there in a minute to continue the exercises. "I know it's hard…"

"You don't know anything."

She was quiet for a moment. Sometimes she really didn't know what to say or what to do. Sometimes no matter what she did or said, it only made matters worse between them. So silently she still began to work the muscles in his legs, working her way from his feet up to his knees. He would never let her touch any area higher than that, leaving his thighs for the physical therapist to work with

"I'm sure all of this…" she motioned to the exercise equipment, "will pay off soon."

He grunted. It had been three months…and not even a scintilla of feeling had pushed its way through his nerve endings.

"You know I'd massage anything I had to if it would help you," she feebly joked, thinking some PG-13 humor might brighten his outlook.

No. Just a grunt. "That's not likely to ever happen, Jordan," he said harshly. He had fallen into the habit of talking to her in that tone of voice…whether it was because he was trying to push her away and make her feel unwanted…or whether it was only because he himself was in such deep emotional pain, she wasn't sure.

She just knew it hurt….and it was probably a combination of both things…but it was making her feel like the entire ordeal was her fault. If she had been able to work harder and faster to find the killer…if Slokum hadn't pulled her off the cop killings and put her on Macy's debacle….maybe this wouldn't have happened. Woody never said it…but this was what she felt. She swallowed hard and kept rubbing his legs.

"I know," she replied softly, struggling to keep her voice even and the tears out of her eyes. "I know…"