Chapter Six

Don't Leave Me

And so life went on. At the morgue and at the Boston PD. Woody continued to regain his health and Jordan continued to try to live her life knowing that Woody no longer wanted to be a part of it.

Working together was only tolerable. While both put on a professional front, when they looked into each other's eyes, everything was clearly readable – regret, frustration, and anger. It was in those moments that both of them knew that neither one had moved on, they were just going through the motions.

But Jordan was holding firm in her stance that it would have to be Woody that made the next move. She had laid her heart and everything else on the line…she loved him and her feelings had not changed.

And as for Woody, he still wasn't so sure that ending the dance they had been doing once and for all wasn't the wisest thing. Sure, they both may be miserable now, but when the right person entered their lives, he was sure they would both be grateful for his mature decision.

Funny how things don't always work out as you planned.

For Woody it began as a typical day. There was a body found just inside the city limits of Boston. He had called for an ME. He was told Jordan was on the way, but since it was early morning, she would be coming from her apartment, not the morgue, so be on the look out for her El Camino, not an official morgue vehicle.

He waited.

No Jordan.

He tried her Nextel…no luck. Of course, she had been known to forget it.

Impatiently, he radioed Garret again to verify that she was on the way. "She answered her page," Garret told him. "Said she would be on her way in fifteen minutes."

Woody was silent for a minute. "You don't think she wouldn't respond to one of my calls?"

"I didn't tell her who the detective-in-charge was…she had no idea."

Woody hesitated a while longer, then radioed back in for another ME. Whatever Jordan's problem was, he couldn't wait on her any longer. He just knew she better have a damn good excuse. He was getting in his car, planning on going back to the precinct to take care of the paperwork on this John Doe when his cell phone rang. Seeing it was the morgue number, he assumed it was her, and was fully expecting to take his irritation out on her one more time.

"This is Hoyt," he said.

"Woody…it's Garret. We know why Jordan didn't answer your calls. She was in a car wreck at the corner of Commerce and Peace. They're going to have to cut her out of her truck… seems her brakes gave out."

Woody tried to swallow the panic he could feel rising in his throat. "How bad is it?'

There was quiet on the other end for a second. "Bad," Garret whispered.

Now he began to have an inkling of how Jordan felt waiting for him to come out of all those surgeries. Time crawled…if it went that fast.

He had made it to the hospital right behind the ambulance. As a matter of fact, after Garret called, he had thrown his blue light on top of his car and raced to the scene of the wreck.

Garret had been right. It was bad. She had tried to stop at a red light and hadn't been able to. Realizing her brakes were gone, she had successfully swerved to avoid oncoming traffic – she hit no other cars – but had plowed hers head on into a tree. Her vehicle had hit with such force that nearly every glass in her truck shattered…her El Camino was far to old be equipped with air bags…She was wedged between the steering column and her seat.

He was there when they cut her out…when they had felt for a pulse and found it weak and fluttering. He was there when they used the defibulator.

And it was at scene of the wreck he faced his feelings for her all over and up close again. She had been the reason he had stayed in Boston for so long…hell, she had been the reason he stayed in police work long after he had begun to be just a little jaded and bitter about everything.

And without her, he didn't know what he would do.

So it was here in the waiting area of the emergency room that he paced…surrounded by the people that loved Jordan and weren't quite sure what to do with him. Everyone at the morgue was aware of Jordan's feeling for him…and also knew that he had put her out of his life. If looks could kill, Nigel would be guilty of murder…as would Bug and even Lily. Garret seemed a little more understanding, but not much. He had given Woody a sympathetic look when the chief ME was called over the Jordan's attending surgeon. They all watched as the two doctors talked a minute…then Garret came back over to where the small knot of people stood.

"Head trauma…they don't know what extent yet. She's not stable enough to run many tests. She's in a coma and on a ventilator. The first 78-hours are critical. Then we will be able to see just how bad it is," was the news the chief ME related to them.

"Has anyone been able to get in touch with Max?" Nigel asked.

"No one knows where he is," Garret replied.

"We can try to find him, if you think that would be what Jordan wants," Bug said.

"It may not be a bad idea," Garret continued, "if anything happens, he would want to know."

If anything happens…you mean if she dies. The thought hit Woody hard. "Can I see her?" he asked quietly. All four of the morgue employees looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Please?"

"I'll see what I can do," Garret replied. "But I can't promise anything."

But it wasn't long until he was ushered into a small room…filled with more medical equipment than he had ever seen. And all of it was hooked up to her. A tube ran down her throat, easing the burden of breathing from her body to a machine that hissed and pumped rhythmically.

In the center of if, looking smaller, frailer, and more vulnerable than Woody had ever seen her, was Jordan.

"Ten minutes," said the nurse.

"What?" Woody answered, stunned out of his silence.

"Ten minutes is all I can allow you an hour… and don't agitate her."

"Can she hear me when I talk to her?"

"Who knows? I'm not sure how deep her coma is," the nurse said, before exiting the room and closing the door behind her to give them a modicum of privacy.

"Oh, Jordan," Woody mumbled, standing close beside her bed, reaching out and gently taking one of her hands …a hand that he had seen work so competently in autopsy and trace…a hand that had held his gently on more than one occasion to comfort him…and now seemed so small and helpless in his bigger one. "What have I always told you about that old truck? It was going to get you killed…now look. You've gone and proven me right." The tears were coming now. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"

Still holding one of her hands in his, he used his other to gently smooth the hair back out of her face. "I only have ten minutes, Jo. That's all they'll give me an hour…and I imagine Garret will want the next turn. Look, honey…you've got to fight this thing hard…I know it's going to difficult and hurt like hell…but you've got to hang in there, okay? I don't know what I'd do without you…"

Woody let go of her hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks. The shoe was on the other foot now…and it hurt….now he had some idea of how she felt when he was in the hospital last year. He had to wait on her to regain consciousness and talk to him. This time he was waiting to hear what she would tell him.

He was waiting to see if she would live at all…

And it was as painful as hell. So this was how it felt.

Swallowing hard, he gently traced her cheek with his hand and whispered in her ear, "Don't leave me, Jordan. You can't leave me….please don't leave me…

"I love you."