Just To Feel You

"Are you telling me that after you dated other women, threw her out of your life, and fought like arch enemies for the last month, this woman still wants you?"

Woody nodded guiltily at the way Mike repeated the long winded story Woody had just told him. His first intention in coming to the station had been to turn in the knife case as evidence. He ended up spilling his guts to the only person he felt he could talk to about Jordan. He and Mike had always been fairly honest about women, as far as buddies go. And Woody needed advice.

"You are one lucky son of a bitch," Mike said with a short laugh. "Any other woman would have left you in the dust and moved on to new territory by now. Or socked you in the gut and aimed for your entry wound."

"Believe me, I think she's considered it. Jordan…Jordan and I are never on the same page. We've hurt each other a lot. I just wonder if maybe it's not worth the pain anymore."

Mike considered his friend. He knew that Woody had enjoyed the liberties of a police badge and a newly trim physique when it came to women. It surprised him when Woody, who had always been dubbed "the nice guy," stepped into that role. And it surprised him even more to hear that Jordan Cavanaugh had pretty much put an end to that behavior; try though he might, Woody could not get over her.

"Is what you have with her when you are in the same place worth fighting for?" he inquired.

Woody thought about this for a second. What was it that kept him trying?

"Those moments when I have her…those very rare moments when I really have her," he paused, shaking his head as he looked for the right words. "It's like tasting lightening. I know that the risk could be huge every time…but the thrill is too tempting."

Mike let out a low whistle. "God damn, you are screwed," he said with an amused smile.

"It's just, we've been dancing around each other for so long," Woody continued, pacing a little in the small office. "But we're never doing the same dance. I'm…waltzing, and she's trying to samba…or whatever," he added at a particularly amused snort from Mike.

"Metaphors aside, Woods, though they are excellent ones I must say," Mike said. "Have you ever considered asking her where she is on all this?" Woody furrowed his brow, hands on his hips. "In other words – did you ever consider teaching her the steps to your dance? Or learning hers, for that matter?"

It seemed so simple: just talk to her. He and Jordan usually had two ways of confronting their relationship – avoidance with flippant remarks, or unabashed fighting. Neither had fixed things, though the latter had at least given them a shove in the right direction. Woody thought this over carefully as he drove home. Maybe it was time to start talking.

Woody sensed that something was off as soon as he got out of the car. The door to the guest house was wide open. He narrowed his eyes, looking carefully at the doorway. It almost looked like there was something lying just inside the door. Were those…legs? He started towards the house, quickening his pace as he went and feeling his heart begin to pound.

"Jordan?" he called. She didn't answer. "Jordan!"

Nearing the door, he registered the sound of a haunting ballad being played loudly from the stereo system. The sound became distant as his mind and senses were numbed to everything but the image of Jordan lying lifeless on the floor. He thought his heart would shatter as he looked for any signs of blood or a wound.

"Oh God, no, please no," he choked out desperately. He knelt down next to her and felt for a pulse, listening for her breath, and knowing that if he couldn't find either than his own might fail him. She was warm. And alive. Even with this knowledge, Wood felt his blood run cold in panic. He ran a hand across her brow, fighting against the lump in his throat. "Jordan, sweetheart, wake up. Talk to me." Nothing. He nearly ripped his phone apart in his attempt to call 911. "I need an ambulance, now!"

Time had stopped. Woody was sure about that. It felt like the world had slowed down and no one could move fast enough to help him. Sitting in the entryway waiting for the ambulance had been agony. He had shoved away the box of roses from her hands without really realizing that the item was out of place at the crime scene. All he could do was hold onto her limp body and try to get her to respond to him as he heard the wail of the sirens grow closer.

The ride to the hospital seemed to take a year. He could only think about how stupid he was for leaving her alone. If he hadn't been such an idiot about trusting her, this never would have happened. Any and all forms of this same thought tore through his mind while he waited anxiously in the ER. What was taking them so long? How many minutes had gone by? He glanced at his watch again. Twenty seven. He ran his hands over his face. Yes, time had indeed stopped.

"Detective Hoyt?"

Woody looked up at the doctor who had admitted Jordan. She was an Asian woman perhaps in her forties. The look on her face was not completely encouraging, but it didn't look too grim either.

"You can come back with me, now," she said, and he followed her down the hall to a private room where Jordan was lying in a hospital bed. Woody swallowed hard at the sight. It was something he had hoped never to see. The doctor closed the door behind them and talked in a low voice, though it appeared that Jordan was still out. "You're going to have to fill me in on what exactly you two are involved in right now. Miss Cavanaugh was drugged. Very severely."

"We're working on a murder investigation," he said quietly, keeping an eye on Jordan. "But I don't know why…there's nothing about it to make her a target."

"Are you sure about that?" the doctor asked. "There were large traces of ethyl chloride in her system."

Woody's eyes shot up to meet hers. "What?"

"It was inhaled, most likely," the doctor said, obviously seeing that she had touched on something important. "I'm guessing that information is significant?"

"The killer left traces of ethyl chloride on the victim," Woody said with a sick feeling in his stomach. If I hadn't gotten there when I did…He shook the thought away. "Is she going to be all right?"

"Yes. She'll have some bruises from hitting the ground, and will be pretty groggy from the drugs, but she'll be okay. She's lucky, though. Any more potent, and she would have been in serious trouble" she said. She looked at Woody carefully for a moment. "I haven't had much experience in police work, but with the little I've run into in the ER, I've learned that no one is completely safe. It's often the innocent who pay the price. Don't take anyone's life lightly."

Woody knew that she wasn't reprimanding him so much as giving him the voice of experience. He had heard speeches very much like that one when he was recovering. He didn't take it very seriously until now. The doctor told him that Jordan would be released as soon as she was awake and responsive. She then left him to sit with her.

Jordan looked horribly small and vulnerable in the hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes. She would smack him for thinking of her that way. Jordan always had to be strong, always had to prove to everyone that she would do the exact opposite of what they expected. She was good at being strong.

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, he gently took her hand and began to lightly message it. Her eyes fluttered the slightest bit.

"Come on, Jo. Be strong now," he told her.

He saw her head turn a little, a hint of concentration appearing on her face. She looked like she was trying to find her way back to consciousness. Her lips tightened and she swallowed, her eyes squeezing shut harder before her lids batted open carefully, adjusting to the light. Her warm brown eyes looked up at him, her brow drawn down in discomfort.

"How the hell did I let you talk me into coming here?" she muttered.

Woody smiled in relief. Rather than answer her sarcastic question, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the cup of water sitting there, offering it to her. She grimaced slightly as she sat up straighter, taking the cup from him.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Oh just as well as can be expected for someone who got a shot of ethyl chloride in her lungs," she said. Woody blinked in surprise. "I knew it the second I smelled those roses. They were laced with it. It smells disgustingly sweet."

Woody searched the back of his mind for what she was talking about. He had knelt down next to her in the house and…pushed away a box of roses. Jordan stared at him warily as she realized that he had missed the clue.

"Please tell me you bagged those flowers," she said

"It wasn't exactly my first priority when I found you unconscious on the floor," he told her. Before she could respond with any criticizing remarks, he said, "But I did call over at the station, and they sent a few guys to check out the house and keep watch."

Jordan was about to ask him why on earth he wasn't there himself when her doctor came back into the room to assess her progress. After a few simple tests and some questions, Jordan was cleared to go. Woody helped her to the car, a protective arm slipped securely around her waist.

"It's a little late in the evening, but I think we could get rooms at the Inn in town," he said to her.

"And why would we do that?" she asked.

"Because you were attacked at the place that we are currently staying, and it's only asking for trouble if we go back," he explained as though it were the simplest concept on earth.

"Woody, I didn't freak out and leave my apartment when it was broken into, so I don't think we have to go running for the hills because of this," she tried to convince him. He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

"You totally slept in your car for two days at the morgue parking deck when that happened. Don't even lie to me and think I don't know," he said. She gaped at him and tried quickly to recover her composure.

"Okay, well, you said yourself that there are cops watching the house," she argued. "I just don't see why we have to give this perp the satisfaction of seeing us run away."

Woody knew he had two options. He could either give in to Jordan's need for strength in this case, or he could ignore her and deal with her arguing for the rest of the trip why they should have stayed where they were. He was sure it would kill her to show even the slightest weakness to this guy. He only tried arguing with her for ten more minutes before reluctantly bending to her wishes…as usual.

Even with the guys from the police station patrolling the property, Woody felt like they were walking right into a trap. The cops told them that they had checked everywhere in both houses for anything suspicious, but nothing had been found. They had taken the flowers and the record as evidence as Woody had instructed on his cell. Jordan, being her usual perfectionist self, tried to suggest that they check out the guest house right then. Woody used the fact that she was still weak to physically steer her into the main house despite her protests.

"Woody, aren't you overreacting just a little bit?" she asked with exasperation as he ushered her upstairs.

"No, in fact, I think I'm being fairly accommodating to your insane requests right now, considering I came back here to find you dangerously close to death. Do you have any idea how that feels…?" he trailed off as she fixed him with a penetrating stare. He looked away from her in embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess you do," he mumbled quietly.

They stopped in front of her room. Jordan was exhausted from the ethyl chloride, the trip to the hospital, and the drugs they had administered and longed to fall into bed. She reached for the doorknob, then paused and glanced back at Woody.

"It'll be okay, Woody. Really. Can't run from everything," she said, giving him a small smile. She turned to go into her room.Woody reached out andcaught her elbow, turning her back around andpulling her into a tight embrace. Jordan was caught off guard, but easily rested against his chest, tucked securely under his chin. He gently placed a hand against the back of her head, holding her to him. He held her like this for several minutes, not saying a word. He just needed to feel her close to him, sure that she was all right. Jordan felt safer in his arms than at any other time in her life. She could have stayed there in the hall with him all night. After a few minutes had passed, he reluctantly released her, knowing she needed to rest.

"Sleep well, Jordan," he told her, watching her carefully as she retreated into the room.

A half an hour after he was sure she was safely in bed, he still stood leaning against the wall opposite her door. He felt like the whole thing was his fault. He should never have asked her to come out here, putting her life in danger. And here he was, going against his better judgment and risking her safety again. Sighing heavily, he walked over to her door and sat down in front of it, leaning his back against the wood. He could forgo sleep for one night to make sure she was safe.

SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 5...this information is at the request of R. Parker, so if you don't want to know what the producers have to say, turn back now...this is your last warning...

Ok, so basically they said that Jordan is back to her old romance habits (ie: one night stands) because of what Woody did, and Woody gets involved with his psychiatrist... on the plus side, Kring did say that "everyone knows Woody and Jordan belong together"... I guess they just think it's more fun to shatter our dreams first