Disclaimer: Nothing, own I

A/N: Thank you for all of your reviews. It's nice to see that my writing is :sniff-sniff: appreciated.This will be kind of a short chapter, mostly about...well, you'll just have to read it and see.

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"The walls we build around us to keep out the sadness also keep out the joy" -Jim Rohn

Hotel Francisco

Mexico City, Mexico

Jordan sat on the edge of her bed feeling completly numb. We killed an unarmed man, and I can't even bring myself to feel bad about it.

Bug's eyes are full of uncharacteristic tears as he realizes that Lily is dead.

Why can't I feel sorrow like that? she wondered. What is it about me that stops me from grieving?

Anger was that she could feel, all that she knew. Part of her was dead.

Jordan had spent most of her life denying that she had any sense of sadness and pain, hiding behind emotional walls, not letting anyone in. Then, she moved back to Boston, got her current job at the morgue, and slowly began to fill the void in her heart, the emptiness she didn't even know she had. Garrett, Nigel, Lily, Bug, and even Woody became her family. Then, she and her father declared a truce, over thermoses of chowder. They began to rebuild their lost relationship, knowing that it's never too late to start over. Well, it is now.

When her father and members of her (adopted) family died, she knew that part of her soul died with them.

"That's why I feel so empty," she whispered.

Someone knocked on the door, penetrating Jordan's thoughts. She swallowed nervously. Pistol in hand, she slowly approached the door, her spine literally tingling with fear.

It was Woody. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice strangely husky.

"Sure." Her heart rate returned to normal.

They sat on chairs by the window. "Are you doing okay?" Woody asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know, Jordan, it's okay to admit that you have feelings and that you're upset," he said gently.

"Thanks for your permission," she snapped.

"Look, I'm just trying to help!"

"I realize this, but the last thing I need is for people to be waiting for me to fall apart." She knew that she was being too harsh, but she couldn't stop. "We're here for a reason, and it doesn't involve crying and feeling sorry for ourselves."

"I- I... I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." Woody hurried out the door.

"Woody, wait!"

Jordan slammed the door after he left and threw herself on the bed. She tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. Maybe I'm better off alone. I don't need anyone. But then why do I feel so empty? "I'm sorry Woody," she whispered. Anger and regret.

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Woody sat on the end of his bed, staring at his hands. I killed an unarmed man. I killed him, and I don't even feel bad about it. In fact, part of him felt better as a result. What's happening to me? I'm a cop! I should be looking for legal ways of getting justice.

He remembered the time Nigel saved his life after he inhaled large amounts of drugs from a sweater, causing him to overdose. He never let me forget that one. Then, he thought of his brother, who's life was completly screwed up thanks to drugs. This druglord we're after deserves whatever he's got coming to him.

He looked at his hands again. But that man I shot... he had no chance. He saw blood, Santos's blood, covering his hands. Woody shivered. What have I done? He blinked and it was gone.

Woody scrubbed his hands under water for ten minutes, wishing that the cold liquid would wash away the memories of what he'd done, of what he was going to do.

"There's nothing more you can do," he yells as he grabs Jordan by the arm.

He narrowed his eyes. Oh, but there is something we can do. And we're doing it right now.

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The sun went down over Mexico City, and with it went the last bit of conscience that both Jordan and Woody possessed. Those bastards are going down. Even if we lose our souls in the process.

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A/N: Like I said, short and more angst than anything. Kindly review, as usual. And, the next chapter will have a lot of changes and new developments in it, so be on the lookout for somewhat of an ironic plot twist...