A/N: I'M SORRY FOR ANY ERRORS OR CONFUSION, I'LL TRY TO MAKE FUTURE CHAPTERS MORE CLEAR. HOPE YOULIKE IT. AGAIN, I WILL NEVER OWN THEM.

CHAPTER 11: SETBACKS PART 3: IT'S ALL MY FAULT

"Well Dr. Cavanaugh," the doctor stated as he sat down beside Jordan. "It was not a pulmonary embolism as we had suspected."

Jordan gave a sigh of relief.

"It seems Detective Hoyt has a slight case of pneumonia," the doctor continued.

"How did this happen?" Jordan questioned, though she had her suspicions. "He was fine today, well maybe a little cough, but nothing that made me think pneumonia."

"As you know doctor, these things can creep up very fast on a patient in his condition," the doctor reminded her. "And Detective Hoyt has been fairly immobile for some time now." Glancing down at the chart, he flashed her a comforting smile. "A few more days and he will be strong enough to be moved to a regular room."

Jordan nodded and walked slowly toward the ICU. As she neared his room, she silently prayed; Dear God, Woody has been through so much, please help him. She tried to put on a positive smile as she walked into his room. "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?" she joked.

"Sorry I'm so much trouble. You should have left when you had the chance," Woody replied coldly. He started to cough and quickly put his hands to his side. Jordan handed Woody a pillow to hold on his stomach when he coughed.

"Here this should help with the pain," she said as she took his hand in hers. It broke her heart when she glanced at him, he looked like a scared little boy. His cheeks were red and puffy from the medication, and his tired, sad eyes were filled with pain.

"Doctor says you should feel better in a few days, then you'll move to a regular room," Jordan told him, trying to be cheerful.

"Yeah, if nothing else goes wrong," he replied, dishearteningly.

"You know Woody, these things sometimes just happen Setbacks are common, especially with injuries like yours," Jordan said quietly.

"Just my run of luck, huh?" he asked, that same steely glare in his eyes he had that first time she'd visited him.

"Woody, this is not your fault. None of it is," she said, rubbing his arm.

"Sure it is Jordan," he shot back, his voice cracking. "I was stupid…careless…I didn't try hard enough….I failed."

"Woody no, don't blame yourself," she told him, fighting back tears as he began to cough again. "That kid did this, he's to blame, he shot you."

"But, I let him," Woody rasped out, tears forming in his eyes. He turned his head away, and sighed heavily. "Don't you see? It's all my fault."