Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't. So that's that.

AN: Sorry it took so long to get another chapter up, but life decided to take its toll. Then I got lazy. Then life, and then I got lazy again. So finally sat my butt down and wrote some stuff, which I'm going to call 'Chapter 4.' Oh, and sorry for the shortness of this one, but anymore and I would have been reaching for material.

First off, some thanks to all of you who take time to review…

NCCJFAN- I too like 'old Woody'. Then again, I'm fine with any version of Woody, but pre-season three/four is definitely my favourite. Although I kind of like when Woody cracks down on criminals…so I added a bit of that into this chapter.

JillyHenny- Thanks! Oh, and I'll be changing the format thing, because I realize that it is kind of difficult to read. Looked fine in Word and I just haven't made the amendments to make it look the same onjtbwriter- Thank you, glad you find it enjoyable : )

Iara- Thanks, keep on reading!

Agel15- Thank you. 'Old Woody's' personality is much better than 'new Woody', IMO. (Easier to write for too, LOL)

AndreaB- It's good that you liked it! Thanks.

SarahLucey- Many thanks for the compliments. And I won't spoil the ending, but I'll try to make them end up together ASAP ; )

Moonlight01- LOL, don't worry I won't make her cry too much.

FrenchKissingWoody- Written and now posted : ) Oh, and I dig the name!

And on with the story! Enjoy!

"You want to tell me how we found your hair on the victim's body?" Woody leaned over the worn wooden table, his palms pressed hard against the surface.

As he told Bug on the phone the night before, they had picked up Jack Kelly for questioning immediately. Woody had been in the interrogation room for about an hour with an increasingly nervous Kelly. Although twenty-four, Kelly looked all of about fifteen. A sparse amount of facial hair covered his chin and his brown eyes darted about endlessly.

"I already told you that I don't know," the young man fidgeted in his seat.

"Let's try a different approach," Woody took a seat opposite Kelly. "I don't care if you want to tell me or not. You're going to."

"How can I tell you something I don't know?" Kelly removed the beat-up baseball cap that he wore and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"You a little scared Kelly?" Woody asked. "I'd be scared if I were you. I mean, we find evidence that links you to the eighth body in a prominent serial killer case. Actually, in a case where you've reported on all the seven other deaths. In fact, you got your hands on some pretty classified information, didn't you?"

"Yes," was the quiet reply.

"And Boston PD was investigating you because of that, weren't they?" Woody questioned, rising to his feet.

"Yes," he said once more. "But I swear that I don't know anything else. I don't know how that hair got there. Nothing."

"So, how about you tell me what you do know," Woody suggested.

"Somebody sent me that information. I don't know who, I don't know why. It was delivered to the office in a plain envelope, signed 'a friend', I'm not even sure it was for me," Kelly confessed.

"And your first thought was to use that information to your own advantage and not to give it to the police?" Woody's arms crossed against his chest.

"Listen," Kelly began, licking his lips, "you usually get one shot at making it big. And I thought this was mine. So I took it."

"Looks like you got a little more than you bargained for," Woody smirked.

"Honestly, I don't know anything. I swear," he said.

The door of the interrogation room burst open and shut with a loud slap. A thin man with thick rimmed glasses and dressed in a stiff suit stood in front of Kelly. The briefcase he held, slammed down on the table.

"Please don't ask my client any further questions as he's not inclined to answer them," the man snapped.

"And just who are you?" Woody asked.

"Ian Tracy," he answered, adjusting the bridge of his glasses and handing Woody a business card. "Mr. Kelly's attorney. You have no reason to hold my client."

"We have evidence that—" Woody began.

"You have nothing," Mr. Tracy told him. He grabbed Kelly by the arm and scooped up his briefcase. "Come on JD, we're leaving."

"I had nothing to do with this," Kelly informed his lawyer, trying to prove his innocence to the one person it probably didn't matter too much to.

"I said, we're leaving," Tracy repeated. "I trust I won't be seeing you again Officer Hoyt."

"Detective," Woody growled as the door once again shut with a slap.

xxxxxxx

Jordan walked into the break room looking for either Nigel or Bug, hoping to get an update on the case that had kept her up most of the night…again. She found both of them sitting at the table, eating lunch and in the middle of what appeared on the surface to be a serious conversation, but in reality was anything but.

"It was Spot, really?" Nigel asked in slight disbelief.

"Uncreative, but I think they were going for the ironic comic angle," Bug shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Do I want to know?" Jordan questioned.

"Ta Monthers," Bug replied with his mouth full.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"The Munsters," Nigel, whose mouth was not full, supplied for the confused Jordan.

"The pet dragon's name was Spot," Bug explained.

"Of course," Jordan nodded. "Anyway, back to normal life, any updates on the 'Slash and Dash'?"

"Detective Hoyt is questioning Jack Kelly this morning," Bug replied and shrugged once more.

"He hasn't called you or anything?" she asked.

"Jordan, love, just what happened between you and Woodrow that you've resorted to pumping Buggles here for information?" Nigel's brows shot up like question marks.

"Nothing," Jordan dismissed.

"If you say so," Bug answered.

"Hey, private lives are supposed to remain private, alright?" Jordan said, taking a seat at the small round table.

"Aha!" Nigel stated triumphantly. "So something did happen."

"I didn't say that," Jordan sighed.

"Not in so many words," Nigel countered. "But, sometimes words are overrated. Don't you think love?"

"Drop it, okay Nige?" she told him, grabbing his can of cola and taking a sip.

"Struck a nerve did I?" Nigel smiled brightly as he always did after any sort of victory, no matter how small.

"No. I happen to have an interest in this case. As I should. Just like everyone else in the morgue," Jordan continued to drink Nigel's cola. "With a serial killer, everyone needs to pull together."

"Your name is Jordan Cavanaugh, you're a medical examiner in Boston," Nigel spoke slowly and deliberately.

"What?" Jordan asked an even more confused look stamped on her face than a few minutes ago.

"It's okay, I've stopped even questioning Nigel. Hurts the brain, you know," Bug said.

"Sorry Jordan, but after that little speech, I wasn't sure if you knew who you were. Thought it might be wise to remind you," Nigel explained with a smirk.

"Very funny," she responded, while pulling a face. Jordan stood from the table and tossed the now empty can in the trashcan. "Let me know if Woody calls."

"He's supposed to drop by if there's anything new, or if Kelly fesses up," Bug informed her, as she was about to leave. She sat back down instead.

"What makes you think that Kelly has something to confess?" Nigel asked.

"Oh come on," Bug lamented, waving his sandwich half in the air. "The kid goes from Jimmy Olsen to Clark Kent in the span of a week. Fame, there's your motive. He kills them then he writes about it. Give me a break, the guy is as guilty as sin."

"Interesting theory. But, Jimmy Olsen was never a reporter, he was a photographer. And Lois Lane was a way better journalist than Clark, better legs too," a voice announced to the ME's from the doorway.

All eyes looked up at Woody, whose hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his pants, a sort of half grin on his lips. It almost faded as his eyes landed upon Jordan's face. So much for avoidance.

"Look who's the Superman aficionado," Nigel commented.

"Comics were my haven," Woody admitted quickly, before getting down to business. "And right now I'd give my left arm to have the man in tights solve this one. I've got nothing on my end. I'm counting on you guys."

"What do you mean you have nothing?" Bug's forehead crinkled as he asked the question. "I thought you picked up Jack Kelly this morning."

"I did, except his high priced lawyer, Ian Tracy, crashed our little party. We need more evidence on the guy to tie him to the murders. Truthfully, I'm not sure what part he plays in this exactly."

"How would Kelly get a high priced lawyer?" Nigel inquired. "I thought he was nothing before the 'Slash and Dash Killer' story broke. Where would he get that kind of money?"

"Maybe from all those offers he had," Bug suggested. "Larry King isn't cheap."

"No, Kelly didn't do the talk show circuit. Or the magazine interviews," Nigel interjected.

"Luck?" Bug guessed.

"It was almost as if Tracy knew Kelly," Woody recalled the way that Tracy had talked to Kelly, as if scolding a child. Reprimanding him, grabbing his arm and calling him 'JD'.

"What, like on a personal level?" Bug asked.

"Keep digging around here guys, I want anything and everything on this case. Whatever scrap of evidence, information, whatever, no matter how insignificant," Woody instructed. "I'm going to look into Mr. Tracy."

Woody dashed out of the room, but slowed as he heard the clicking of footsteps behind him.

"Woody," Jordan placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Jordan," he sighed.

"Woody, we need to talk," she told him.

"I think you made everything pretty clear," Woody said with a hint of sadness.

"I'm sorry," Jordan repeated the words.

"I know, but I don't need an apology Jordan, I need space."

"Space," she echoed. "I can do that."

"I really need time to sort out whatever is going on between us. Or lack thereof," Woody said, his voice falling a bit.

"Right, of course," Jordan replied.

"I still love you Jordan, but I have to figure out just what that means."

Woody sort of shrugged, and began to walk away. He got to the elevators at the end of the hall; Jordan's feet still firmly in place from where they had just stood. Turning slightly Woody called over his shoulder. "Maybe you should do the same thing."