Two weeks later, Woody was still mad at Jordan for over stepping her boundaries and calling Cal even though he hadn't even heard one word from his scoundrel of a brother. It wasn't like he had much time to really dwell on it. He was being moved to a rehabilitation facility. Sydney told him this was where the hell began. Woody wheeled his way around the hospital room that had been his home for the last month packing up his stuff.

He saved digging out the police evidence envelope that held his possessions for last. He slipped his wallet in the pocket of his sweatpants along with the cell phone whose battery was remarkably still charged after a month of no use. He'd check his messages on the ride. He wasn't surprised that his badge wasn't there. He knew it was waiting for him, along with his firearm, to go back to work...if he ever did. It was the department's way of being able to phase him out easier if need be. For that Woody, was thankful. He couldn't imagine having to go back...just to leave. He was ready to toss out the bag when he felt the ring inside. The little diamonds twinkled as he dumped the ring into his hand. He laughed to himself thinking it was like they were mocking him...reminding him of a life that never was nor would ever be.

"Detective Hoyt, are your ready?" asked the burly orderly that acted as his personal chauffer the last few weeks.

Woody was tempted to give the guy the ring. He talked about a girlfriend once or twice. Maybe she'd like it. Woody didn't have any use for it anymore. At the least moment he slipped it back into his pocket. If anything it made a good worry stone.

"...I was ready four weeks ago."

By the time the transport pulled up to the hospice Woody was beginning to regret his cell battery wasn't dead. The first call was from a telemarketer telling him he had just qualified to be added to a drawing for a new vacation home in the Bahamas. The second call was from his landlord telling him that he let some dark haired woman into his apartment to make sure nothing crawled out of his refrigerator. He assured Woody he made sure she didn't take anything but a stinky trash can. The next call was from the drycleaner apparently "a pushy female by the name of Cavanaugh" wanted to pick up his laundry and he wanted to know if Woody approved. Woody could almost hear Jordan in the background arguing with Mr. Kim over his shirts. The last call was from Cal.

"Wood...um, I don't know if you'll be able to get this message but I want you to know I'm thinking of you. Jordan told me everything that happened. Man, I'm sorry...I don't know what else to say but...I miss ..."

Woody had to hang up as they wheeled him into the building. He didn't know what to expect from the idea of moving to a rehab. The inside looked just like the hospital. The same sounds and the same smells.

The nurse that met him at the door must have either read his mind or was just used to the look on his face. "It's our way of giving you incentive to get better quicker. By the way Detective Hoyt you already have a visitor..." she smiled as she wheeled him into the ward.

He could make out her figure standing by the windows that the nurse said looked out over the courtyard below. For a moment he wondered which one of them had lost more weight. He pushed his chair forward. "How much do I owe you for my laundry?"

Jordan slowly turned around. "You'd think your underwear would sell for big bucks on Ebay by the way your cleaners guarded them."

It still took her breath away to see him in a wheelchair and looking so...frail. "How are you doing?"

Woody looked around the room and the handful of people that would be serving as his roommates for the duration. "I guess I'm one step closer to being whatever I'm one step closer to."

Jordan smiled and gave him a little nod. "You'll be out of here soon enough." She handed his a stack of mail. "I used you power of attorney to pay some of your bills. You pay way too much for cable..." she rambled.

"You didn't have too Jordan," he replied uncomfortably.

"I kinda had to. Big brother was watching."

"What?"

"The department assigned me a liaison to make sure your affairs where in order. Apparently they don't want you to fall behind on anything and make the department looking like they've turned their backs on you...You're a hero after all" she said walking closer.

Woody rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry Jordan. When I filled out that stuff I didn't think that..."

She stopped him with a finger to his lips. "I would have done it anyway farmboy."

Woody nodded quietly and then laughed sadly. "Farmboy..." he said shaking his head. "You haven't called me that much lately..." he said matter-of-factly. "Course I haven't been that farmboy you met for quite some time have I?" he asked. And it was true. He'd changed a lot since his arrival in Boston. Some for the better, some for worse...but there had definitely been a change.

He was no longer naive as he'd once been. He was cynical, even a touch pessimistic. But one thing was still true of his first encounter with Jordan Cavanaugh. She still made his heart shoot into his throat every time he saw her.

"You still are somewhere deep down in there." Jordan tried to tease lightly back. She smiled but Woody noticed it never reached her eyes.

"I'm glad you think so.." he said back and casually touched the ring through his pocket. "So, I start my 'Super therapy' tomorrow." Woody said changing the subject with mock enthusiasm. "I met the guy this morning...seems nice enough, hopefully I won't want to rip his head off by the end of the first week." he laughed sadly.

"No matter what you think it's not in you," Jordan smiled just as sadly at him. "I'm more worried about you ripping your own head off. You didn't ask for this Woody..."

"Didn't I?"

"You didn't ask to be shot..."

"I'm tired Jordan," he cut in. "If you don't mind, I've got to get settled in and I'm sure you have something better to do..."

Jordan watched the life disappear from his eyes once again as he pulled his hand out of his pocket. "...sure. I'll see you around."

Jordan walked out looking at her watch. Seven minutes. The last conversation they had lasted five. She had to smile as she slipped on her sunglasses and walk out of the building.


The next morning dawned to what Woody forever would imagine when he heard the word 'Hell.'

Sydney stopped by as he did every day...but this time he arranged his schedule to be there for Woody's afternoon session. Sydney told Woody he was just there to gloat, but in reality he was there as a cheerleader. He little words and actions of encouragement and commiseration made what was a short but extremely difficult session tolerable.

Later, after the therapist had left Sydney handed Woody a bottle of water before he pushed him down the hall to a common room.

"My teeth even hurt..." Woody complained half heartedly.

"It's when your hair hurts that you know you're making progress," Sydney laughed back.

"You said it took months..."Woody started. He was past being discouraged, but the therapist sounded so promising. It was really hard to hate the guy even though he felt like telling the guy to stick his closed kinetic chain exercises where the sun didn't shine.

"That was me...not you. I was a just scared sixteen year old kid with a serious chip on his shoulder... you are just a jackass with a chip on both shoulders." Sydney smirked sitting down at a table and pulling out his cards.

Woody pulled up across from him with a little more grace than he did the first time they had been in that situation. "Shut up and deal."