Chapter Five

Progress and Regression

Progress is sometimes made not in leaps and bounds, but by inches and feet.

That was what Woody was learning during the weeks following his conversation with Garret. He had kept up with his aggressive physical therapy. The fight was long and hard, but the reward was more feeling below his waist. His legs were steadier and he could walk easier…to the point he was rewarded by being able to throw away the crutches and walk with a cane.

It was a slow, but steady walk. He was getting better. He may never be whole, but he was progressing…at least in the walking end of things. Other functions were still not normal…and depending on how and if the nerves repaired themselves, they may never be. He was still half a man – a fact he tried not to dwell on, but every time he saw her, he'd remember – for she was still just as beautiful and her eyes still held a world of hurt. Hurt he knew he had caused.

He didn't see the pain for long, but it was there. He was mobile enough now to go with another detective to homicide scenes where she was the answering ME sometimes. She'd glance at him when he would ask her a question and for a moment…just a second…the hurt would flash in those brown eyes. But she'd quickly mask it and go back to her professional self.

She was trying to make his readjustment to the field as easy as she could. She'd never contradict him on a scene…but she'd never volunteer information, either. She'd answer his questions…that was all.

It was all Jordan could handle…and it's what Garret told her to do. "Woody's a cop…been a cop for years. If he can't think of what questions to ask you, then it's not your fault…it's his. His head's still too far up his ass to see daylight."

And Woody was no fool. He could sense the change in their professional relationship, but didn't know quite how to handle it. Technically Jordan was doing what she was supposed to do. But in the past she had done more….and Woody had grown to expect more. The resentment built until one afternoon, after a murder in a Boston high rise, he couldn't deal with it any longer. He hobbled into her office late one afternoon as quickly as his cane and legs would let him. "What gives?" he asked her, shutting the door behind him. Most of the other staff had gone home, but he was taking no chances that they'd be overheard.

"What?"

"What gives with you on my crime scenes?"

"Have I done anything wrong?"

"No…it's what you're not doing any more, Jordan. You're not….you're not handling the scenes the way you used to….giving me more information than I need."

"All I'm legally required ever to do is give you what you ask for, detective." Her tone was colder than Woody had ever remembered. "And I've done that."

He paused for a moment and held her gaze, looking deep into her brown eyes before glanced away. "This is not about what you're supposed to do on a crime scene, is it Jordan?"

"I think you find all the answers to your questions in my reports, she answered, turning her back to him, getting ready to walk to the door and leave him there.

But his forceful "Stop," caused her to pause and turn back to face him. Pulling himself together and leaning on her desk, he said, "Let's get one thing straight, Jordan. We have to work together. You have to do your job and I have to do mine…and somewhere in the middle, we have to help each other. And you're not doing that…at least the way you used to. And any feelings we used to have for each other shouldn't get in the way of that."

"You know I'm too professional for that."

"I know that you think you still love me. I can see it in your eyes. But it's over between us, Jordan. Done, buried, and we need to move on. I don't want or need any proclamations of love based on sympathy and pity or guilt."

"That's not how I feel and you know it. If my feelings for you would have been based only on that, I would have written you off after you left for DC and didn't tell me where you were going."

"I know that love…or whatever it is that you think you feel for me now, is not going to work. You don't need half of a man, Jordan." He bit the words off and forced them through his teeth.

The look she gave him back plainly told him she didn't understand.

"Look, you're a doctor. Connect the dots. I have a spinal injury…even though I'm getting the feeling back in my legs…that doesn't mean everything is working right. I've never slept with you, Jordan. You never gave me that pleasure…but I have a feeling that you wouldn't be very happy….satisfied…for long with me. And I still care enough about you that I won't do that to you…saddle you with that burden." Woody could feel a faint heat rise to his cheeks at his confession. "I wouldn't put that on any woman."

"How do you know I wouldn't…be happy with you…despite whatever. I love you…I told you that after shooting…after I had been told the extent of your injuries. Doesn't that mean anything to you? I mean, I know my timing sucked, but the shooting made me realize how much you mean to mean…how much I really did care…and how we don't know what's going to happen from one minute to the next. I had to let you know…I had to tell you….I meant every word. And you just blew it and me off."

"That doesn't change a thing. You waited until I could do nothing…nothing about it. I mean earlier, when I offered you the ring…our relationship held all sorts of possibilities. But you refused me then. However, when it was safe…to tell me…."

"Safe? How the hell was your situation safe?"

"Because I couldn't do anything about it! I couldn't walk…I couldn't protect you…I couldn't…couldn't be a man! " His voice rose louder than he had wanted to. "And you don't need a half-man." His voice lowered again, as he walked slowly back over to Jordan and towered above her.

"I know one thing, Woody Hoyt."

"What's that?"

"You're more of a real man than most whole, healthy men I know."

He sucked in a breath. "Yeah…but how long would you say that when I couldn't…couldn't …satisfy you? Who would you turn to, Jordan? You're a woman…what would you do…find someone else and sneak around or end up resenting me for the rest of your life?"

She was nearly speechless at meaning of his words and the tone of his voice. Yes, intimacy is important in a relationship…but there were all different kinds and all different levels of it. Didn't he know that? "I wouldn't…do either…Woody…you know me…once I've made up my mind…I don't change it easily. I love you…."

"So you say…but for how long? Now that I'm crippled, you're suddenly willing to commit. That doesn't make a lot of sense from where I stand, Jordan."

She took a long look into his blue eyes…before she opened her office door to let him out of her heart and out of her life…"I have learned one thing, Woody…It's a precious thing to be loved…and be loved in return. It doesn't happen often, at least unconditionally, in a lifetime. You have to treasure it…nurture it….and protect it when it does."

She saw him rarely after that encounter. Woody made sure of it. He would hide in interrogation or behind his desk…or allow another detective to work with on any homicide scene they might find themselves together on.

And now, she was glad for his absence. He had pushed her away for the last time. She refused to be hurt by him any longer. She was taking Garret's advice. When opportunity knocked, she allowed him to take her out to dinner.

She began to date other men.

A fact that Woody became painfully aware of as he saw Jordan and Eddie Winslow having an intimate dinner at a restaurant. He knew it wasn't police business that brought the two of them together, because Jordan was wearing that red dress. The confusion that filled his mind startled him…he had told her to move on…but yet didn't want her telling another man what she had told him…Don't leave me…please don't leave me…I love you.

And if Jordan noticed his discomfort, she never let on. As a matter of fact, she was pretty much ignoring him in every way. She was glad that his legs were getting better…that his dependence even on the cane was growing less and less. But she was through pining after him. If Woody wanted her, he'd have to tell her…he'd have to make the first move.

Meanwhile, she was trying to learn how not to let his eyes and smile still have the same effect on her. How not to let the sound of his voice send a jump along her spine. And how to keep the hurt that he had inflicted on her from still reflecting out of her eyes.

She wasn't too successful on the last one…Woody still would see occasional flashes of pain in her face when she thought he didn't notice…or wasn't there…or not paying attention when the both managed to be in the same room. And when he did have to deal with her, she was quiet and nearly monosyllabic.

He knew the pain he had caused her ran deeply on both sides. Seeing her with other men brought the vision of what they could have had sharply back into focus. The feelings in his lower half were returning more and more each day…except for a slight limp, he was functioning normally. Should he let her know and see where the chips then fell? Or should he assume that she had now moved on, too?

It would take an ill-fitting pair of shoes to make him understand exactly what harm he had done…and what it would take to regain her affection again.