A.N. It's been a while since I've update, but things have been insanely hectic lately. I'm anxiously awaiting the Crossing Jordan season premiere! It should be a good one. As always, please review. If you read the story, it takes two seconds to review, and it means so much, even if it isn't positive. Thanks!

Cry Another Day

-Elisabeth Carmichael-

Her phone was ringing endlessly in the background, but all she could hear was the sound of Alison Krauss's "Maybe" blaring into her ears.

Maybe it's for the best

I can live alone, I guess

Maybe I can stand alone

Maybe I'm strong as stone

Even though the bird has flown

Jordan winced slightly at the memory of the night. He had turned her away again. She was supposed to be the reluctant and scared one. She was supposed to run away from it all. She was supposed to be the child in the relationship. Now he forced her to be the adult as he ran. Her hopes had been for some sort of truce, but instead he dropped a bomb on her fragile self and shattered it to pieces.

"Maybe I can stand alone," she belted out, "Maybe I'm strong as stone. Even though the bird has flown, maybe he'll…" her voice cracked into slight sobs as she turned off her iPod and threw it aside.

The ringing persisted, but she felt too exhausted both physically and mentally to walk over to her phone. Instead her whiskey eyes stared dismally at the phone as the machine picked up, "Hey this is Jordan. Leave a message after the…," tripping could be heard in the background, "Damn. Ah screw it. Just leave a message."

"Hey, uh, this is Woody again. Please call me Jordan. Please," there was a hint of urgency in his voice that she had not heard from him in over a year, but that didn't change the contempt she felt for him.

Slowly she walked over to the phone and dialed his number, a look of mixed rage and hurt playing across her face.

"Jordan," his voice sounded relieved on the other end of the line.

But hers was cold and angry, "I got your message. Make it quick."

"I'm sorry about how I acted earlier. I just want you to know that I'll pay however much child support you need."

"Woody, for all I care you can go straight to hell. I don't need your money. I was hoping for your moral support, not child support, but obviously that was hoping for too much. Now if you don't mind, I need to pack."

She hung up without letting him reply, furiously tossing the phone on her bed. He didn't need to know that she was only going to a conference for the weekend. It would be better to let him sweat.

Jordan crawled up onto the bed and pulled her legs towards herself, hugging them as her chin rested on her knees, biting slightly on her lower lip. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to gradually work back into their normal relationship, but her pregnancy put a kink in the plan. Soft tendrils bounced back and forth like a pendulum as Jordan shook her head.

"No, no, this baby is what I need. It's a good thing," her voice was scraggly but fiercely determined, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

Her fingers toyed with the silver heart that would become a fixture around her neck, allowing the point of the heart to dig into her thumb, almost impervious to the pain. Love. It all came down to love. Her fear of losing it, of giving it, of having it savagely taken away, but with this precious life growing inside her abdomen, she felt the urge to love selflessly and completely another human being. It scared her, but it was a wonderful fear.

The harsh florescent lighting stung his eyes, penetrating his skull and squeezing his brain until every part of his body throbbed. His desperate attempt to shield himself with the flimsy hospital sheets was futile, only making his body ache more from the movement. Slowly he rotated his head, unable to even curse at the pain, and stared at the heart monitor. It was not a heart attack. Maybe it was the sting of her words. She was packing…running…leaving him and never coming back. But why did this really concern him? He had wanted her out, and now she was.

He knew he had been a jerk to her, no, not a jerk, an ass, a complete and total ass hole. Maybe this was what he deserved. Hell, he didn't even deserve to have her ever speak to him again. She did nothing wrong and yet she wound up pregnant with his child, and he knew she was scared, but he did nothing. This was a light punishment. He deserved so much worse.

Picking up the phone, Woody cautiously dialed Jordan's number.

It rang four times before her machine picked up. He hung up without leaving a message and tentatively pressed speed dial two to call her cell phone. This time he reached her voicemail.

"Hey, you've reached Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh. Leave a message after the beep."

"Uh, Jordan, I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for being a jerk. If you don't return this message I understand, and I have no right to tell you not to run, but please, don't do it because of me. This is your home, and all your friends are here. I hope you and the baby are safe and healthy. Bye."

Sighing heavily he closed his eyes. The pain continued to pulse throughout his body, but at least he felt slightly better being able to tell her sorry.

A few days later after a much needed vacation from the city and a slightly boring conference in New York, Jordan returned to her apartment at 311 Pearle Street with two shopping bags full of maternity clothing from some of New York's cutest maternity boutiques. She had also decided to treat herself to a pedicure and hair cut, which left her hair in the gorgeous curls she had when she returned to Boston five years ago.

"Ah, home sweet home," Jordan sighed as she flopped down on her couch. It had been a long drive home, and she was desperately trying not to think of how nice a beer would taste at the moment.

Her eyes looked over to her answering machine, "Holy crap! How can I have 27 messages? I was gone for three days!"

"Woody," she moaned after deleting the last of her messages, "Why the hell would he call 25 times?"

One had been from a high school friend, another from her doctor, and the rest were all from Woody. Each one was short, desperate, and slightly pathetic as he apologized and told her to come home.

"Idiot. Why the hell would he leave these on my home phone if I moved?" she snarled pouring herself a glass of water, "If he really were sorry, he'd say how much he wants to be a part in our child's life. Our child, not 'your baby' or 'the baby' as he keeps saying. If he were really sorry he wouldn't be such a damn ass hole! Ugh!" She slammed her water glass down on the counter and savagely twisted off the cap to her prenatal vitamins.

"'Sorry Jordan. Sorry. I'm really sorry. I hope you and your baby are okay. Sorry.' Damn you Woody Hoyt!" At this point she was shouting. With her back against the refrigerator, she slid to the floor and whimpered, "Damn you. Damn you."

A.N. Again, please review. The more reviews, the faster I tend to update. Thanks, Lis.