Chapter Three

Lovesick

She was still as beautiful as he remembered.

Woody watched her from his seat of honor at the Boston Police Department. Jordan was across the room from him…talking with some other detectives at his "Welcome Back to Work" party the homicide department was giving him. He had spent six grueling months at Walter Reed. Six months that had required two additional surgeries and the hardest work he had ever done…rehab.

She had called. Several times. He had never returned them. He wouldn't until he was sure of two things. First, that what she had told him when he had been wounded all those months ago was true…that she did love him. That her emotions for him were real and not rooted in pity. Second, that he would eventually regain full use of the lower half of his body.

He still was unsure of both. The messages she had left on his voice mail were the same. I miss you, Woody. Why didn't you tell me they were transferring you to DC? Do you know how worried I've been? Anyway…I still meant what I said…what I whispered in your ear when you came out of surgery. I can say those words now…I can tell you what you want to hear because I do mean them. I've felt them for a long time…I just haven't had the guts to tell you. Please….when you get a minute…will you call me and let me know how you are doing?

And as for the full use of his lower extremities…that judgment call was still out. He had some feeling…some sensation. He had regained that after the swelling went down from his last surgery. For a few days, there was great hope…then no more feeling returned. So while the lower half of him wasn't exactly useless any longer, it was a far cry from back to normal. The doctors at Walter Reed had told him that some people's nerve damage takes longer to heal. Maybe he was one of them. Time would tell.

Meantime, he could go back home to Boston…on crutches…and work with the physical therapists there. At least he was on crutches…and he could return to work. He hoped he could move from crutches to a cane in a few more months.

So now he was home…back in his apartment…back at the Boston PD…and back to where he would see her nearly everyday. He had tried to prepare himself for it…to avoid looking at the hurt in her eyes and the slump of her shoulders when he rejected her. It was for the best, he kept telling himself. He didn't need a woman he could not believe would ever fully commit to a whole man, much less a half of one…and she didn't need a cripple that she would stay with because of guilt and pity.

So he watched as Jordan waited…waited until the room cleared out and she could get a few minutes alone with him. It happened near the end of the party…the cake was nearly gone…the last beers hoisted…the last bawdy joke told among the band of brothers in blue. It was then Jordan caught his eyes and she slowly made her way over to him. "Hi," she said, sounding uneasy and unsure of herself.

Very unJordan-like, Woody couldn't help but think. "Hi yourself," he replied.

"It's good to have you home…I've … I've been worried about you."

"There was no need to worry. I've had the best medical attention out there. I was well taken care of."

She nodded. "I know. It's good to see you on those," she motioned towards the crutches.

"It beats the hell out of a wheelchair, that's for sure. But they make your arms incredibly sore."

"I'm sure…do you think if I put some padding…"

"I'm fine, Jordan," he said abruptly. "I don't need you following me around like a mother hen. The physical therapists have taught me how to live independently…and how to deal with the crutches. I don't need your help. I don't need your sympathy. I don't need you or your pity. It's better that we just leave things the way they were. It's been a whole year now. We've both moved on…it's time to just keep moving."

Jordan felt as if he had physically slapped her. He had never couched his rejection of her quite so harshly or with such an edge of bitterness. Still…she was a woman who did love this man…or at least had tried to…She opened her mouth to reply, but found she was too close to tears to make her vocal chords work. She simply nodded and left…walking out the door and back to the morgue.

Woody tried hard not to notice the hurt in her eyes at the last backwards glance she gave him in the doorway or the defeated sag of her shoulders.

In the long run, this would be the best for both of them.

"Have you finished the autopsy in exam room one?" Dr. Slocum asked Jordan.

Jordan paused to look at him while she was peeling her latex gloves off and throwing them towards the hazardous materials container. "Yeah. It looks like the victim was smothered in her sleep. Hemorrhaging behind the eyes…the typical symptoms."

"So it looks like the boyfriend did it?"

"I don't know. We can't get a fingerprint off the body…and it appears the murderer used a pillow…whose pillow case is now missing. She lived with her boyfriend, so any DNA or fingerprints in the apartment have to be discounted."

"And you've run trace?'

"Yes. But the tox screens haven't come back yet."

"What's the hold up?"

"Back up at the lab."

Slocum sighed and murmured something about the lab's incompetence. Jordan leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. At least the comment hadn't been aimed at her this time. Slocum often complained about her slowness…but never her thoroughness.

Which was why he put her on Garret's case – the one where he had buried evidence to cover up the murder of a reporter by calling it a suicide. And it looked like her thoroughness in that area was going to hit the jackpot. She had found evidence linking Garret's boss to the cover up. And this man had orchestrated the whole thing…Garret had only been following orders and at that time did not have enough seniority at the morgue to make his opinion heard.

So it looked like in a few short weeks her boss may be exonerated and back at work. She smiled. She was looking forward to having him back…she needed him back. She longed for something in her life to return to normal.

"Dr. Cavanaugh.." Slocum called from the door. "If you're through meditating.."

Jordan pushed away from the counter and opened her tired eyes. Slocum was working her to death…never a down moment or day off… or so it seemed. And fortunately, Jordan was at a place where she welcomed the hectic schedule. Since she had seen Woody back at the precinct and he had spoken those few, harsh, brief words to her, she had welcomed the heavy workload to offset the hurt she was feeling in her heart.

Lovesick. That's what she was…Jordan Cavanaugh was lovesick. She nearly laughed at the idea.

But that's exactly what was the matter with her. She had fallen in love, been soundly rejected, and didn't know how to get over Woody and move on. She was far too busy to date…even if she had wanted to.

And it was hard for her to move on when she saw him nearly everyday…his eyes could still bring her to her knees….his smile still melted her heart. But she knew she needed to get on with her life. He obviously had with his. She had seen the way other women reacted to him since word had gotten out that they were no longer an item. On more than one occasion, she noticed Santana had gone with him to work out in the gym…Framus was constantly bringing him lunch or volunteering to take him the places he needed to go.

Not to mention the other women that seemed to constantly go out of their way to assist him. Woody may be on crutches, but he still was a handsome man. He had rebuilt his body after the shooting to the point it was leaner and more muscular than before. That frame, coupled with his blue eyes, and dimpled-little-boy-cherubic smile made him the target for any eligible female around.

Anyone but her, that is.

She had always seen other women try to flirt with him. And she had been secretly thrilled he had never responded as long as he was trying to have some sort of relationship with her.

It now broke her heart all over again to see him nearly encourage them. He had moved on. With people she even knew.

Jordan sighed and followed Slocum into the next exam room. With any luck, she'd have another autopsy to do. It was four in the afternoon now….she could drag the autopsy out a few hours and then stay to complete the paperwork. With a little luck and some procrastination, maybe she'd make it home by midnight…and be so exhausted she'd fall asleep and not dream of him.