One note of credit to make on this here chapter. The very last part of it was inspired by Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I didn't even realize I had been inspired until after I reread it and was like, 'Hey, that's familiar.' Yup. That's all. Feedback is always a happy part of my day ;) hint hint. Ciao!

Woody was lying awake, staring at the ceiling of Jordan's bedroom, when he heard her start to struggle against a dream. The cramps that seized his leg muscles at night kept him up for the majority of the dark hours. He sat up on his elbows and listened carefully to her movements, trying to decide if he should get up and wake her. When he heard her sharp intake of breath and the thrashing stopped, he knew she had woken on her own. His first thought was that he might as well try to get some sleep, now that she was awake and away from whatever it was that haunted her dreams. But he heard her start to mutter to herself, and paused to be sure that she was all right. It was when she uttered a plea for help, her voice tinged with tears, that he suddenly ached to go to her.

Not even bothering with a light, he slipped out of the bed and found one of his canes. Walking into the living room, he caught sight of her sitting on the windowsill, a quilt wrapped tightly around her shoulders. One look at her forlorn face and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her until she was happy again. But he knew he couldn't for several reasons, the least of which being that it would probably frighten her more than she already was. If only she would hate him, or treat him in the flippant fashion that she always did when they had a tiff about their relationship, he would have an easier time pushing away his resurfacing feelings for her. As it was, Jordan's amnesia was only encouraging them. And Woody knew that was dangerous for both of them.

Struggling to repress any emotions but concern, he joined her on the sill, following her gaze to the city outside. They sat in silence for several minutes, searching for peace in the night. Finally, Woody looked at her, hoping that some of the sadness had left her face. Jordan never failed him in her ability to control her emotions when she wanted to.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he murmured.

Jordan inhaled slowly and sighed, thinking hard about her dream. She bit her bottom lip and then looked up to meet his eyes.

"Not too much different than the night before," she told him. He looked as though he didn't believe her at all. Jordan rolled her eyes slightly before going on. "I was drowning. I couldn't find the surface of the water. And when I did, I saw a woman lying dead in her own blood."

"Are you ok?" he pressed her, worried that she was taking the dream too lightly. The last thing he needed was for her to start denying anything that her mind was telling her. Jordan hesitated before answering him.

"I didn't make it to the surface, Woody. I just…didn't make it," she recalled quietly. Her warm amber eyes grew dark as she fought what she didn't want to know. "The woman…I don't know how I know this, but…it was my mother."

Woody's jaw dropped a bit before he could recover from his surprise. Jordan's words hung heavy in the air. He watched her face drop in hurt and anger, taking his silence for confirmation of the truth. She looked down at her hands holding the quilt wrapped around her, holding her together.

"How did she die?"

Her voice was so soft Woody was barely able to understand her. He swallowed hard. He hadn't anticipated having to deal with one of the most traumatic events of her life so soon. Deciding that the truth was a far better path to take with Jordan, he steeled himself for her reaction.

"She was killed. When you were ten," he said with empathy.

"What I saw in my dream…did I see her when it happened?" her voice faltered just a little when she asked.

"I'm not really sure what you saw," Woody confessed. "You never really liked to talk about it."

"I guess that makes sense," Jordan muttered. She was quiet for a while, and Woody hoped that he wouldn't have to answer any more questions about her mother's murder tonight. Not only was it hurting her, but it was dredging up painful memories about his own parents. She appeared to be deep in thought about it, though, and he suspected that the murder would consume her mind now. Just as it always had. "What about my father?"

Woody's heart jumped and his eyes shot up to meet hers. "What about him?" he asked too quickly.

His reaction surprised Jordan and she immediately grew worried that things were only going to get worse from here on out. But what on earth could be worse than her mother being killed? As much as she wanted to regain her memory, she did not look forward to images of her mother lying dead. And yet, a desperate need to know these things tugged at her.

"I – well is he alive?" she inquired.

"Yes, he is," Woody informed her. "He's just…on a sort of a sabbatical right now." Woody sighed, trying to think of how to tell her about her father without completely breaking her heart. "He made some enemies back in his day as a cop, and it was reason enough for him to take a leave of absence last year."

Woody held his breath, praying that the conversation would stop there. He had no idea how to make either story sound like it wasn't a total disgrace if she kept asking questions. No wonder she didn't like to talk about her personal life much. It was hard enough explaining it to her now. Jordan lowered her head into her hand and closed her eyes, taking in what Woody had told her. She could tell he wasn't revealing everything to her, but she wasn't sure she was entirely frustrated by that. Her burning desire to know everything was fighting a part of her that just simply did not want to remember.

"I didn't even think about them," she confided. Woody looked at her, confused. "When I was in the hospital; I didn't even think once about a family that might be concerned. When they listed you as my next of kin, I didn't even question it. How could I not even think about that? Are the memories that terrible, Woody?" Her voice began to reach a desperate tone.

"Jordan, you've been through some tough things in your life," Woody comforted her as he subconsciously slipped his hand over hers and held it tightly. "But in all that, you and your dad stuck by each other as much as you could. You're lucky to have a father who is around when he can be, and who loves you no matter what."

"If that's true, then why is my mind refusing to let those memories in?" she demanded. In frustration, she tore her gaze away from him and let her forehead fall against the cool glass of the window as she let out a loud breath.

"I don't know, Jordan," Woody said, defeated. "I don't know. But you have memories in there of most of your adult life with a parent who stands behind you. That's more than a lot of people can say."

Jordan felt her face start to heat up in anger and embarrassment. She realized then that she had been behaving selfishly. Woody had been trying to encourage her, and from what she could tell he came close to revealing that she was more fortunate than he was. How, she didn't know. But her pride wouldn't let her find out now, and all she could do was keep her gaze frozen away from him, staring stoically out the window.

When Jordan didn't react to his words, Woody let go of her hand and took hold of his cane again. He felt more disappointed than anything else. Maybe he should have told her more. Maybe she was frustrated because he was holding back details. But if she got this upset over the little she had found out, then maybe it was better to take things slowly. In any case, they were done for tonight. He didn't have the heart or the energy to continue. Leaning on his cane, he stood up and started walking towards her room. He had only gone three steps when his legs suddenly failed him and buckled. Woody let go of his cane and flung out his hands to brace his fall. Jordan's head whipped around just in time to see him crumple to the floor, landing on his knees and then listing off to one side.

"Damn it!" he shouted, striking a fist against the floor. He hadn't fallen hard, but the blow to his ego hurt a great deal worse.

"Woody, are you all right?" Jordan shot off the windowsill and rushed to his side. She grabbed his cane and knelt down beside him. "What happened? Does anything feel broken?"

"I'm fine," Woody insisted, doing everything he could to avoid her attempts at assistance.

"Let me help you up."

"No!"

"Woody, at least let me get your crutch -"

"It's not a 'crutch!'" he yelled at her. "And I don't need you!"

Jordan froze at his side, momentarily frightened by his temper. She stood up and stared down at him, feeling a surge of anger, her gaze cold as stone. She watched him sit there, his chest heaving in irritation. He kept his face turned down, not wanting to look at her.

"Maybe you don't," Jordan said, her voice cold and low. "But I need you."

She dropped the cane and stalked back to her bed, listening to it clatter to the floor.