VII

Woody seemed nervous during the car ride to his apartment. His palms were slippery on the steering wheel and he gritted his teeth as he drove. Emma decided to open him up with some idle conversation about the case.

"Have you heard anything else on the case?"

It seemed to work, "No, not yet. I haven't heard from the ME's office either on the other two bodies. We are hoping they are connected to your case."

"How could they possibly be connected? I've never seen him handle a gun," she paused, realizing her mistake and corrected it by continuing, "I mean, when he fed me the pill, he didn't have a gun."

Woody eyed her slightly suspiciously before brushing off her odd comment by changing the subject, "So do you have family or friends back in Vancouver that you should contact?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't want to worry them unnecessarily. I mean, they are all looking forward to me getting this job tomorrow and I would not want to tell them about all this to worry them. They'll just tell me to come home right now, and that won't really help anything."

"What do you mean it wouldn't help anything?"

Emma smiled, "They'll just get protective and concerned. I don't want to worry them. Tell me another joke!"

Woody smiled, "I knew you liked the jokes, but our conversation isn't over. I have a feeling you're not telling me everything."

"What do you mean?" Emma exclaimed becoming defensive.

"You can't lie to me, Emma. I'm a cop remember? I can see through lies."

"You don't have X-Ray vision."

At a red light, Woody turned to Emma and said, "If there is anything you are not telling me that is imperative to the case, you could be doing more harm than good."

She looked him directly in the eyes and said with equal force, "You know all that there is worth knowing."

"But there's more?"

She faltered before admitting, "No. There is no more."

There was a long silence before she asked, "How did you know where did to find me?"

Woody smiled, "We got an anonymous call about some gun shots and found you and two dead women in a warehouse transformed night club in the industrial section of Boston Harbor."

"Tell me a joke now," she said. She grew weary of all the formalities and just wanted to be comfortable. She suddenly wished for a warm bed to sleep in through the entire night.

"OK," he sighed, "here's one Jordan's dad told me a long time ago," He paused, perhaps reminiscing. "It might be a little offensive if you're Irish though."

"Don't worry, I'm not Irish."

"All right, so there was this guy named Paddy, who was in an Irish pub and one night he got right tanked before the bartender said, 'Paddy, I think it's time you went home.' Paddy agreed and he got up, fell on his face, and said, 'Shoite, I must be drunker den I taught!' He belly-crawls to the door climbs up and says, 'Me house is only a couple doors down, I can make it!' He takes a step forward and falls flat on his face, 'Bejesus, I'm fockin' focked!' So he belly crawls to his house, falls on his face as he gets through the door. He looks up the stairs and says, 'No fockin' way!' but he crawls up them anyway, finds his bed, crawls in, and goes to sleep. The next morning, his wife wakes him up and asks, 'Paddy, did you have a bit to drink last night?' Paddy replies, 'I did, how knew you?' She says, 'The bartender called and said you left your wheelchair there,'"

Emma smiled, nearly asleep on her seatbelt, and asked, "Why does a man who's bound to a wheelchair have stairs leading to his bedroom?"

Woody smiled back at her, pulling into an underground parking area, "I don't know, I never thought of it that way before. We're here."

Emma yawned and stretched, "I usually find flaws in tasteless jokes."

From the parking lot, they took an elevator to the third floor and Woody opened his apartment. Emma could tell he felt uncomfortable asking her to wait outside for a moment, keeping her eyes open for any suspicious behavior so that he could tidy up a bit. When he brought her inside she exclaimed, "This is exactly how I envisioned your apartment!"

Woody looked a bit taken aback and frightened with an armful of clothes, he watched Emma as she examined every aspect of his living room.

"Right down to the Boston Red Sox cap on your wall and the futon for a couch," She looked at the takeout boxes of food on the open kitchen counters and wondered if he ever cooked. She asked him.

He replied, "Well, there's really no point if it's just for me, I mean, I have some cereal in the cupboard, but I'm almost never here so…" He trailed off, keeping a close eye on her. "Um, sorry about the mess…"

She giggled as her eyes went over the posters of 'The Kinks' on the walls, the bookshelf used for every bit of paraphernalia except books. Woody was supremely embarrassed, and he showed it to. The last thing she looked at was his face.

However, she smiled kindly and asked, "It's not a problem, trust me, I've seen much worse. Where do I sleep?"

"Oh, uh, you can sleep in the bedroom. I'll take the couch," he opened a door that led to a room off the living room.

"Are you sure, I don't mind couches, I am the one interfering."

"Oh, it's no problem; I normally fall asleep there anyway!" He laughed nervously.

The bed looked untouched; the room was the cleanest area in the house. He dumped the clothes he carried on the floor of the closet and closed it. Flushed he said, "I don't normally spend too much time in here, being on the job 24-7!" He explained.

"Woody," she whispered quietly. He turned around slightly alarmed at her sudden change from excited to calm, losing his flustered appearance. She only said, "Thank you."

AN: Well, is this not a strange turn of events? Betcha didn't expect that now didja? Well, it gets more interesting. Stay tuned for VIII and feel free to comment on this chapter!