A/N: Thankyou NadezhdaSt and Orlando-crazy for reviewing chapter 10! And, NadezhdaSt - if you want more Renee, then more Renee you shall get. I like her too - wanted to write her in more before this but couldn't figure out a way to do it in a nice light - basically its just been Garret telling her where to stick it, haha. These characters have a mind of their own, I swear. Aaaand...how are you guys liking Dr. Harding? Ok, well, usual disclaimer...and here we go!

Chapter 11: Of Crime Dramas and News Bulletins

Jordan had never felt so uncomfortable in her own home. Woody watched her constantly with a quiet scrutiny that was driving her up the wall. She had already taken far more than was necessary toilet breaks just to escape his gaze.

They were sitting on the couch watching some crime drama, which was punctuated occasionally by Woody's sullen mutters.

"As if," he would scoff every ten minutes. Or; "Yeah right."

Jordan was only half-listening but she had the whole case figured out in the first 15 minutes. They were so damn predictable, she thought. Wish our cases were this clear cut.

"Do you think it was the brother?" Woody asked her. Jordan looked at him, trying not to roll her eyes.

"You don't watch this show very often, do you?" she asked.

"First time," he confessed.

"It's the boyfriend," Jordan told him. Woody shook his head.

"Nope. Too obvious."

"My point exactly," she said cryptically.

"But he has an alibi. The girls mother…"

"Is in on it too."

"I didn't know your conspiracy theories translated to TV as well," he said, looking at her.

Jordan sighed. "Remember that reference to the ice-cream parlour she had at the start?" she said, with the tone of one explaining something to a small child.

"I thought that was just small talk," he said, puzzled.

"There is no small talk on TV, Woody," she said. "Everything is said for a reason."

"Why can't it be a red herring? That way there's still a reason."

"Far too subtle for it to be a red herring," she said airily.

And, as predicted by the ME, when the program ended it was discovered that it was indeed the boyfriend, aided by the mother.

"You have the right to remain silent," the overly dressed, far-too-good-looking detective said, cuffing the young man. "Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law."

The camera panned out, fading, and the credits rolled.

" 'You have the right to an attorney!'" Woody said indignantly. "They always leave out the attorney part!" He looked at Jordan, who was staring through the TV. "Good call, by the way. Do you just sit at home watching crime dramas all day?"

"Hey I try to catch Days of Our Lives when I can," she said, smiling. At his puzzled look, she rolled her eyes. "What do you do in your spare time if you don't watch TV?"

Woody frowned. "Go over old case files of mine. Pick flaws."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was obsessive," she said.

"And of course there is the odd bout of guard duty I am obliged to do," he said.

"Of course," she replied. "Look, I think I am going to hit the sack…"

Woody glanced at the clock. "Its only 8:30, Jordan," he said.

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly.

Woody sighed. "Is this uncomfortable?"

She looked at him, toying with the answer.

"Yes," she said finally."

"It shouldn't be," he said. "We're supposed to be friends."

"The tiny matter of me being charged for murder seems to be getting in the way. The even smaller matter of my father being dead, maybe."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. What is there to say?"

"How do you feel?"

Jordan's mouth twisted. "How did you feel when your father died?" she snapped, and was instantly regretful. "I apologise, that was uncalled for, I…"

"Don't worry," he said. "I felt angry, at him, at the guy who killed him, my brother, myself. There was nothing I could have done, I know that, but you can't help feeling guilty."

At her nod, he continued. "Disbelief – how could my father be dead? It took me a while to orientate myself with that. The want for revenge."

"There you have it in a nutshell," she said quietly. She shifted on the lounge, so she was facing him. Damn these tiny sofas, she thought, referring to their close proximity. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been so wrapped up in myself, I never even stopped to consider how every one else was holding up."

"Don't beat yourself up. Your father has just been murdered."

Jordan stiffened to drew back.

"Say it again," she said so quietly he was sure he had imagined it.

"Say…what?"

"The second thing you said…"

"Your…father has just been murdered?"

She took in a deep breath. "Its not real," she said, looking wildly ahead. "Its so surreal…I need to be grounded, I need to believe that…say it again."

Knowing the feeling all to well, he complied.

"Your father is dead," he said firmly, locking his eyes on hers.

"Dead," she echoed, nodding slowly.

"God, Jordan," he said.

The spell broke. "You don't need to call me God, Woody. I know I'm good…but it's just too formal."

He smiled. "That sarcasm of yours is just second nature now, isn't it?" he commented, lightening the mood even further.

"Comes with the job." She shrugged.

"I'd noticed," he said dryly. She smiled at him, though it did not reach her eyes.

"I'm tired," she said, rising from the couch. "I'm going to bed."

He nodded wearily, bid her goodnight and stretched out on her sofa, immersing himself in the news bulletin that was far worse than anything any crime drama screenwriters could dream up, and gradually drifted off to sleep.

----------

James had left New York City, and Adam Macklin behind. He had not been able to believe his luck when he had managed to outrun the cop who seemed to follow his sister like a shadow. He had no idea where he was headed, no way of knowing where to turn. He had no home, no job, no ties except to the sister he barely knew.

He wanted to know her, ached to. She was all he had left. And she had helped him escape, he was sure of it. She wanted to know him as much as he her. Why should the damn authorities, who knew nothing, get in his way?

That in mind, he decided to make his way to the only place he really could go, Boston. He had about a hundred dollars cash on him, which would have to last for the time being. He hailed a taxi and ordered it to take him to where they had dumped Jordan's car. Jumping in her vehicle, he began the lonely journey back to the city his mind had never really left.

----------

Jordan sat up with a start, heart pounding in her chest, drenched in cold sweat. She looked around wildly, trying to orientate himself.

Home,she told herself firmly. I'm home.

But the child that remained with her, lingering from her dream was terrified.

Daddy? It called in a hight pitched, pitiful voice. Daddy where are you?

Taking in deep, shuddering breaths she tried to calm herself down. He's not coming back, she told the child-Jordan. He's gone and he's never coming back.

But the thought would not stick.

He can't be dead, he can't be gone, I remember his voice, his smell, the colour of his favourite damn shirt! He can't be dead!

Her body refused to calm down. It shook and trembled, and her mind raced, thinking so many different thoughts, thoughts that if left unchecked would surely send her crazy. Her heart was beating fast, the blood pounding in her ears. She sat up and opened the window letting the cool air wash over her face. She stood, of a mind to make a coffee to calm herself. Opening her bedroom door, she almost jumped when she spotted Woody on the couch, legs hanging over the edge. She had completely forgotten he was here. She crept closer and knelt down on the floor hear his head, brushing the hair out of his eyes. She had to smile at the peaceful expression on his face. Laying her head on the side of the lounge, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

Some hours later, a car screeching around a corner woke the detective. His training kicked in and he was not disorientated for long. He noticed his companion immediately, sleeping on the floor beside his makeshift bed. There was a frown etched on her face, apparently she had an attitude even while sleeping. Thinking it would be doing no wonders for her neck, he sat up and pulled her up with him. She only half-awoke, looking at him in confusion.

"What…?" she mumbled, blinking.

"Back to bed," he muttered, hauling her arm over his broad shoulders.

"Ok," she said, mentally shrugging.

He kicked the door to her bedroom open and laid her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. He turned and made to leave.

"Stay." The voice caused him to turn, she was sitting up, staring at him with wide eyes that weren't entirely her own. The child had returned.

"What?"

"Stay here," she repeated. "Please."

He nodded automatically and sat down next to her.

"Sorry to have woken you," she said in a small voice, looking down at the bedspread. "Daddy's at work."

It occurred to Woody that she had either lost it or was still in the throes of a dream.

"Mama said Daddy's job is dangerous," she told him. "He's a cop, you know."

"Me too," he said quietly.

Jordan's eyed widened. "You're a policeman too?"

"Yeah," he said, surveying her. "Listen, Jordan?"

"Yes?"

He paused. "Your Daddy is not coming home," he said gently, thinking that if he could make the subconscious child accept it, maybe the adult would too. Her eyes narrowed.

"Is he working late?"

Woody shook his head. "Your mother was right," he said. "It's a dangerous job."

"Then he's dead," she said stonily, effectively shattering any idea Woody may have had about sprouting the whole 'he's in a better place' story.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Woody saw her face change and knew, knew that the child was now older, but she still was not herself.

"Mama is dead, too. Who will look after me?"

"I don't…"

"Will my brother?"

"Your brother?" Obviously her subconscious was mixing everything up, the chronology of her life had been broken.

"James," she confirmed. "He's a big boy, isn't he?"

"James can't look after you," he said. "He has his own demons to deal with."

"Then I should help him." Her face was concerned.

"No," the detective said quickly. "You can't help him."

"But he's alone," she said, no understanding. "I'm alone."

"You're not," he said. "I'll take care of you."

She eyed him, then smiled. "Ok," she agreed, and lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes. Woody leant forward, brushed his lips against her forehead, and walked out.

-------

James parked outside the building that night, and got out of the car, going up to the apartment he knew was his sister. Hand poised to knock he stopped when he heard a male's voice. Not being able to decipher what he was saying or who he was, James slunk away. That's when he noticed the black car parked outside, just around the corner from the one he had driven here. He had

had enough dealings with the police to be able to tell it was a cop car – unmarked – and most likely the detective that had become so annoying, the one who had pursued him. He frowned, wondering why he was in Jordan's apartment at – he glanced at his watch – 11:30 at night. Shrugging, he settled back down in the car and waited.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the detective had gotten into his car and driven off, thankfully not spotting the car he was secreted in. He reached for Jordan's car-phone, deciding that it was far better to be safe than miserably sorry – sorry as in sitting in a jail cell, maybe even on death row for the murder of the damn police chief who had so wronged them all.

---------

"I'm going down to the morgue," Woody told her when they had woken up. She stood up from the lounge where she had been eating.

"I'm coming."

"No," he said. "I'd say you're pretty much suspended."

"Until Dr. Macy says otherwise…"

"He rang this morning," Woody lied.

"Oh," she said, glancing at the phone. "Right. Aren't you scared that I'll go running off or something?"

"Will you?"

She thought about it. "No," she said truthfully.

"Well, I trust you."

She gave him a funny look. "That means a lot," she said. He inclined his head.

"I'll only be a couple of hours, max," he said. She nodded.

"Have fun."

"Did I mention I'm going to see Walcott?"

Jordan grinned. "Ok, then my previous comment it moot."

Woody laughed. "See you later."

She nodded and waved him out, picking up the phone as soon as he closed the door.

"Garret?" she said as soon as it picked up.

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" a woman's voice said.

"Dr. Harding," Jordan said. "Where is Dr. Macy?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"I don't know. I'll get him to call you when he gets back."

"Right," Jordan said, awkwardly. "Um…I don't suppose…oh don't worry. I'll see you around."

She pushed the phone back on the hook before Harding had a chance to reply. When it rang again, she jumped.

"Hello?"

"Jordan." The voice sent a chill down her back.

"James," she said. "Where are you?"

He chuckled, surprisingly. "Closer than you think." He found it hard to break from the cryptic speech he was so used to.

"Where? Are you alright?"

He frowned, noting the obvious concern in her voice. "I'm fine." He hesitated. "How are you?" He could almost imagine the sardonic look she was sporting.

"I've been better," she said, not elaborating.

"Are you alone?"

"For a couple of hours," she said bitterly.

"I'll come up."

"Up? What do you mean? Where…?" she stopped, an idea slamming into her brain. She rushed over to the window and pulled back the curtain, closing her eyes when she spotted her own car parked outside the building.

"James!" she hissed. "You're here?"

"I will be in a sec," he said. There was a knock at her door.

"That better be you," she hissed, hanging up the phone and opening the door.

"Hey sis," he said. She shook her head with exasperation, worry in her eyes, before grabbing his arm and yanking him inside.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought you'd be pleased to see me," he said, adopting a hurt expression.

"There is a cop here," she said, and watched him flinch and look around. "Not at the moment," she corrected. "He'll be back in a couple of hours. At the most. You have to get out of here."

"Why is there a cop here? He was here last night, too." He sounded so much like an overprotective brother she had to laugh.

"I'm still in custody," she said.

"Still?" She directed her brother to her lounge room and they sat. "What do you mean, custody?"

"I'm being investigated for his murder."

James didn't need to ask who she was talking about. "But Koreldy…"

"Seeing as I was the only credible witness there, and he's now conveniently dead…" She shrugged.

"And they're blaming you." There was a hard edge to his voice., and he stood up.

"Them's the breaks," she said, standing too, but he did not laugh.

"This isn't funny, Jordan. You could go to jail."

"No way," she scoffed. "I'll just do what you did." She was only half-serious, and was surprised when he replied vehemently.

"No," he spat. "I think jail would be better than this."

"At least you're free," she said, in n attempt to get him to talk more, to understand his plight.

"Free?" he said incredulously. "I have nothing. I am constantly on the run, constantly looking over my shoulder. You'd think the world could swallow you up, huh?"

"Surely you could start again, go get a new identity…"

"I tried, with Adam Macklin."

"I don't mean an identity with a past. He was a real person. You need a completely new one. If you stay out of trouble…"

"I know," he said. "But I have no money, no sources…"

"Let me help you," she said, and they both had the strangest sense of déjà vu. They stared at each other, the kitchen evaporating around them until all they could feel was the cold night air and all they could smell was the smog that was thick in the air on the night they thought they'd lost each other for good.

"You're my only family now. My only blood. The only person who'll understand." James said, ignoring the two police, both of whom had their guns pointed right at him. His eyes were for Jordan alone.

"That's right James, I do understand. That's why I'm the only one who can help you, okay? Just come back inside."

But he hadn't come back inside. He had, after more dialogue between the four of them on the rooftop, and despite Jordan's desperate pleas, fallen backwards, holding his sisters eyes until she was out of sight.

The rain, pounding indignantly on the window, jerked them out of the scene and they stared wildly at each other.

"How could you have survived that damn fall, James?" she whispered, throat constricting with the memory.

He swallowed hard. "I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know."

"You have to get out of here. I'm not losing you, not again."

"Wow, that makes sense," he said dryly.

"You know what I mean. Take my car and get out until this whole thing blows over. Then come to me and I will help you."

He stared at her. "When it blows over?"

"Let me rephrase that. If I'm not in jail by the end of this mess, I'll help you."

James looked at her. "That serious, huh?"

"Worse," she said. "Walcott wants my ass."

"Nice," James said. "What's your prognosis, Doctor?"

She sighed. "I don't know how I am going to get out of this one, James. My hair was on his body." She began to pace subconsciously. "Nothing is putting anyone else there. The 911 call was made from…"

"The payphone," he said. Her head snapped up.

"You made it," she said.

He looked at the floor. "Yeah."

"Untraceable. No one is there but me. He's dead, I'm as good as. I could go away for life for this." She looked at him. "What were you doing there?"

He had been dreading this question. "I wanted to talk to him," he said.

"Koreldy?"

"Max."

"How did you know he was there?"

"Because I…" he hesitated, watching her face. It was so open, so readable. She wanted the truth, and he'd be damned if he'd lie to her, deceive her again.

"Because I took him there. It's my fault he's dead."

Jordan stared at him, misery in her eyes. "Tell me you didn't kill him," she said, knowing that even if he did she would not rat him out, she would take the plunge for him. Even so, she was immensely relieved when he shook his head.

"I didn't pull the trigger," he said. "But I killed him, as good as. Koreldy was following me."

"You didn't know he was?"

"No. I just wanted to talk to Max, ask him…I don't even know!" He was growing agitated. "I wanted to know my real name, maybe. More than that."

"I understand," she said, echoing the statement she made the night he jumped into the Charles. "I do."

He was shaking now, with grief, with misery. His whole life had been a sham, all of it! Damn it, he didn't even know who he was!

She sidestepped the table and grabbed onto him, embracing him for the second time in their lives. He stiffened, but she did not back off. He bowed his head against her, and they stood, for how long she didn't know.

They jumped apart, however, at the sound of a car below. Jordan ran to the window and watched in horror as Woody got out of his car and started to walk towards the building. Frozen in panic momentarily, she could only stare. But at a noise behind her, she snapped into action.

"Hide," she hissed. "Now! Get onto the fire escape!" He stared. "Go!" she yelled. Spurred into action, James grabbed the other window, hauling it up, and dragging himself out. Jordan spun around, staring around at her apartment, before punching the button on the TV and taking deep breaths. As the door opened, she managed to burst out laughing.

Woody stared at her, hard look on his face. "What's funny?"

"The TV," she said, not able to keep up the charade. She turned the TV off.

"You're back early," she said.

He ignored her. "Your car is out the front, Jordan. How in the hell did it get there?"