Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan or any of it's characters/situations. They are property of Tim Kring and NBC. I am merely borrowing Jordan and there rest of the gang.
She waited until the last morgue employee had left before she allowed her shoulders to sag with exhaustion. She watched the elevator doors close behind Lily and turned to walk down the empty marble hallway. Her head throbbed, a heavy, pulsating beat just behind her temples. Still, she walked.
She paused at the door to Garrett's old office. As she peered through the window, she realized that the room held no evidence that her old boss and mentor had ever been there. His old fashioned things had been removed and in their place was Slocum's new-age technological paraphernalia. His record player, his jazz recordings, the hand puppet he used to keep on his bookshelf; all were gone. If somebody unfamiliar with the morgue were to walk into that office, he would never know that Dr. Garret Macy had ever taken up residence as Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
She tried the door handle, hoping that if she was inside the room, she'd somehow sense him, draw from his strength. But, like so many other doors in her life, it was locked.
With a final glance, Jordan continued to walk down the hallway to her own office, where she hoped to find some sense of hope, or of clarity, or, at the very least, enough bourbon to make her sleep for a couple of days. And maybe when she woke up, it would all be over. Garrett would have his job back, Slocum would be gone, and Woody would be well enough to job with her in the morning. And he would no longer by angry with her, he'd believe that she meant what she whispered in the hospital, and he'd return her feelings.
But, as she entered her office and looked through the mini-fridge, finding it devoid of liquor, she knew that, while drinking herself into a stupor sounded tempting, it wouldn't solve anything. And things desperately need to be solved.
She sat on her small sofa, her fists resting on her knees. She ran a hand through her hair, yanking at the tangles she encountered. She had to figure out how to get Garrett back. She needed him there, if not for her own sake, for the sake of the rest of the morgue family. After he had left that afternoon, her friends and coworkers had all but fallen apart. Lily began to cry, Nigel began to curse, and Bug just stood there with a stupefied look on his face. And then Slocum had ordered them all back to work with "a little enthusiasm, please."
Garret had a hearing in front of the DA's office the following week to find out if criminal charges would be pressed. If no legal action was taken, he would then have a hearing in front of the state medical board to determine the status of his medical license. If he was, indeed, reinstated, they would begin a long fight with Slocum regarding Garrett's old job, and who had the right to it.
Jordan had called Renée Walcott that evening, after she had finished with her assigned autopsy, and had all but begged her to give him the benefit of the doubt, the benefit he had earned after working with the DA's office for twenty solid years, sending innumerable criminals to jail with his testimony. Hr plea had been heard by the older who, in a voice almost as shaky as Jordan's own, assured her that she would do everything in her power to help. It seemed the real battle would be with the medical board and later with Slocum, who would have the final say on his job status. But Jordan couldn't think about it now. Her brain felt like it would explode any minute, and the thumping in her head seemed to have grown exponentially.
Hoping to assuage the pain, and every other feeling plaguing her, she laid back into the couch, tucking her body into an almost fetal position. She couldn't deal with this now. She couldn't deal with anything now. She wondered idly what, specifically, she had done to cause the mania surrounding her. What decision she had made to cause Garrett to lose his job, or Woody to get shot. It had to be some sort of bad karma, but she couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when fate had doomed her to live without the two men who meant the most to her.
She didn't know when she fell asleep, but whatever amounts of rest she had gotten seemed minimal when the vibrating of her cell phone woke her up hours later. She groaned, but it insisted on quivering in her pocket, so Jordan, after several rings, flipped up the top and pushed "answer."
"Cavanaugh."
"Jordan Cavanaugh? This is Dr. Waters at Boston General. We have you listed as the next of kin for a Detective Wood-"
"Woody!" She bolted upright, not allowing the woman to finish her sentence. "What happened? Is he alright? He's not dead is he? He can't be dead." She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her car keys from her desk.
"No, he's not dead. He went into surgery early this morning," Jordan glanced at the clock. It was almost ten, "and there were some complications. He's in critical condition. You might want to-"
"I'm on my way."
She didn't bother to shut her office door on the way out.