A/N: Thanks to eternalgorithm and Jinubean for reviewing! I really appreciate it. This chapter has some marginally fluff-like material. I am actually a fluff-aholic, believe it or not, so I'm trying something new with all this angst stuff. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please review!

"No. No, that's not possible."

"Get used to it, sweetheart," he says, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

"I don't think you understand. She was my last hope. My mother is dead, my father is dead. I have no other family. I have no one else."

It's a full minute before he responds, and she barely hears him, he speaks so quietly. "You have me."

"Excuse me?"

"I said you have me." He asks himself what he's doing even as he speaks. He doesn't even know this girl's name.

She stares for a few seconds. "You don't know me."

She's right. But that doesn't matter. "You're Jordan's niece."

"That's it?"

He nods and leans down, rummaging around in a desk drawer.

"I don't understand. I'm related to a woman that I've never even met and you're just going to accept me, just like that? What are you looking for anyway?" She rambles nervously, disconcerted by receiving such a response from the man in front of her.

"This." He offers her a small black book. She reaches across the desk to take it. As she opens it, she discovers that it is a photo album. She looks up at him, unasked questions in her eyes.

He laughs uncomfortably as she looks down at the first picture.

"I showed that to her once."

She assumes he's refering to her aunt. After a lengthy pause, he continues.

"She, uh, she," he chuckles in remembrance, "she told me it looked like the little black book she'd found on a prostitute in one of her cases. That was Jordan for you, always with a sarcastic quip to ease or avoid the emotion-sharing process."

The book is left open on her lap as she listens to him speak. She smiles, imagining the woman in the picture doling out the sarcasm. She's standing behind a bar, with a dishtowel in her hand. Her curly dark hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head and her eyes are shining. The grin on her face is clearly provoked by the photographer.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" There's a nostalgic smile on his face, and for a moment it doesn't seem so bad. Even the fact that he's speaking about her in the past tense doesn't register when he thinks about how innocently beautiful she was. She didn't know how lovely she was, and that only made her more so.

"Yeah. Yeah, she was."

"Turn the page," he encourages, leaning forward on the desk. He knows every picture well. He may not have spoken her name since he left Boston, but he looked at her every night.

She can't hold back a girlish "aww" when she sees the next picture.

He can't help but smile. He is vaguely aware of the fact that he has not smiled this much since the day he left Boston- the day Jordan died.

"Where was this taken?" she asks. He doesn't have to look at the picture, but he does anyway. Jordan is curled up on a couch with her head in his lap. He has one of her curls twirled around his finger, and his other hand rests lightly on her lower back as she sleeps.

"In her office. She fell asleep when we were working on a case. A friend of hers in the office snapped the picture right before she woke up."

She smiles. "Were you married?"

"Oh God, no. Jordan? Commitment? I don't think so. No, we tottered on the edge of dating for years but never quite took that step. We were just good friends. At least until..."

"Until what?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. Listen, as much as I enjoy reminiscing about Jordan, I must say that I know absolutely nothing about you." He realizes how much he enjoys this girl's company. But that doesn't mean he wants to spill his life story to her.

"Well, I suppose we should do something about that. It's a long story, though."

"We'll go to lunch. My treat. But first, what's your name?"

"Emily."

A/N 2: Next chapter is Emily's story. Hopefully by Wed, if not, definitely Thurs.