Disclaimer: They aren't mine. If they were I'd get paid the big bucks for plot bunnies.

This takes place directly after "Under the Weather." I just couldn't face the fact that Jordan's El Camino was gone.

This is also the first solo fic I've written in forever. I like working with the ladies of Niva La Vough too much.

I know it has problems but as Sam reminded us -Be gentle.

As always, reviews are my drug of choice.

Nineteenth Precinct, Boston Police Department

9:23AM

Woody pinned his eyes on a point just over his lieutenant's left ear. This isn't the first time he's been reamed out by the old man, but it was the first time he felt totally justified by his actions.

"We'll be damn lucky if some hot shot lawyer doesn't get this case thrown out of court. Just what in the name of all that is holy were you thinking out there?"

"I was all thinking about those kids...sir. I wasn't going to let those children die because of some legal mumbo-jumbo kept our hands tied."

"That legal mumbo-jumbo is what we have sworn to protect."

The only thing that kept Woody from lashing out at the man was the stiff reminder of his gentle persuasion of the suspect swelling his hands to the point were he couldn't make a fist if he had to.

"Go home Hoyt. Get cleaned up, get some rest. You left me in a tough spot Detective. I need to think about what I'm going to do. You're dismissed."

Woody nodded woodenly not trusting his voice to say anything that would land himself in to deeper hot water.

"Off the record? If it's any consolation, you guaranteed a happy ending to this whole mess. Those families and Dr Cavanaugh owe you their lives."

It was one thing that those kids were missing and the odds of a positive outcome were fading with every passing moment, but finding out that Jordan was a victim of a murderer's cover up took whatever self restraint he had left away. In the end Jordan kept her wits about her and kept them all alive. Woody, and all of his tender tack, was running back up. Dr. Macy and Jordan had the situation was totally under control.

"It was Jordan who saved them, sir."

"How is she?"

Woody felt his ramrod posture loosen under the weight of his exhaustion and guilt, but he didn't show it. He still stared at the citation hanging just over his bosses shoulder. Woody figured by the time he left he'd have the wording memorized.

"I understand she refused treatment from the paramedics. I guess she's fine. I didn't stick around the scene very long. I had to come back here for booking. I assume a black and white...or the CME took her home."

The older police officer studied his subordinate with a curious eye. It wasn't the first time the impertinent, but lovely medical examiner was is a life or death situation, but it was the first that a certain young detective didn't make sure her welfare was being taken care of before finishing his job.

"Yes, well, I'm sure she's being taken care of. I want your report on my desk by close of business tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Woody let himself out of the office and into the bullpen. There were a few mumbles and bills exchanged. He wasn't surprised. Woody knew he was a disciplinary action waiting to happen. He worked his way over to his desk deciding to get a jump on his report even though he was ordered to go home. Home was just four walls and demons. He was more comfortable at his desk.

One by one he thumbed through the folder of official documentation that had collected on is desk over the span of the search. One particular pink copy stood out. An abandoned vehicle report with the make and model of Jordan's El Camino scribbled across it from the reporting officer who was there when the towed her vehicle out of the reservoir. The scrawl went on to say it could by found in the city impound. A rat's nest of a junk yard in South B. It was just waiting for the case to be closed and its potential usefulness to the department finished.

At least that's what the legalese on the bottom said. All that was left was to call Jordan and tell her that she had seventy two hours to claim her property before it becomes property of the city.

And by the looks of the yellow post with the bold block letters "HOYT" stuck on the top it was a phone call that apparently had been left for him to do.

"...great"

Tossing the rest of the file on the corner of his desk, Woody stood up and stretched. The phone was only inches away where Jordan's building was ten city blocks and two construction detours away.

Woody walked out of the office double checking that his car keys were still in his pocket. If he was lucky he could just slip the paperwork under her door.

Pearl St

9:58AM

Woody stood outside her door debating on the intelligence of his presence. Of course she'd be home. Sick and in bed, like she should have been twenty-four hours ago. He took a deep breath and knocked. He didn't have time to rethink and retract his steps. The door cracked open a fraction of an inch and he was face to face with a pair of eyes that were bloodshot as his own.

"Woody? What are you doing here?"

Her head was stuffed up like her cold had just taken a break long enough to save her life, then doubled up in its effort to run her down. The legal notice that had been burning a hole in his pocket since he walked out of the police station was suddenly unimportant.

He looked anywhere but her face. "Are you okay?"

"I thought we covered that at the park." Jordan said wiping her nose with a ragged tissue.

"Y...Yes, well, I thought I'd let you know that Strauss is being arraigned as we speak."

His tone was as cold as her feet. She curled her toes inside the thick cotton of her socks wishing she could just go back to bed. She didn't need this. Not now, not like this, not when she didn't have the strength to try an understand.

With an irritated sigh she gripped the edge of the door. "...And you came all the way over to tell me this? Thanks...Thanks for the update..."

Just as she was ready to shut the door in his face Woody's hand lashed out to stop it. At eye level, Jordan couldn't help but notice the bruises on his hand. Woody felt her look of contempt from the abrasions on his knuckles straight through to the spot where his heart used to be.

"He killed two people and left those kids to die. He left you to die Jordan. We had nothing. I did what I had to do and I'd do it over again if I had to."

"Do you think if you tell yourself that enough it'll make it alright? It doesn't work like that Woody."

He didn't stop her as she slowly shut the door and threw the lock.

Almost as an after thought Woody pulled the paperwork from his back pocket. He debated on whether to disturb her again or just slip it under the door like he had planned. After everything she had been through she didn't need to deal with that.

He may have not been able to hold her when she needed it but he could at least save her having to untangle the red tape to see what was salvageable from her car. He owed her at least that much.

Farquhar Street Impound Lot

11:08AM

Woody double checked the locks on his car doors before he flashed his badge at the lot attendant. He had to side step to miss a stream of tobacco shooting from the man's mouth. Woody forced a friendly smile.

"Hi, I'm Det Hoyt. I'm here about a vehicle that was towed in around midnight last night, a Chevy El Camino?"

"You with the crime lab?"

"No, I'm with homicide."

The lot attendant's eyes light up thinking his boring day was suddenly going to get a bit of excitement. "You mean someone died in that thing?"

"No, I'm just here to see about getting it released."

With a sigh of disappointment the attendant unfolded himself from his position on a grime incrusted roller chair and grabbed a large ring of brass key's connected to what appeared to be a section of exhaust pipe. There must have been a question in Woody's eyes because the man laughed with a hack that only came with years of chain smoking and tough life.

"You never know what you'll run into out there. Nobody's gonna mess with ya if you're carrying a piece of steel like this. "

He palmed the pipe like Joe Don Baker in Walking Tall and Woody chuckled uncomfortably and followed the man into the yard. They were greeted to the sight of row upon row of vehicles in all levels of mobility.

Most were jacked up on blocks, their owner's victims of parts thieves that can strip a vehicle in speeds that would make a NASCAR pit crew impressed. Then there were others that were simply towed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Woody noticed a few were tagged with more then the usual meter maid chalk. The high chain link fence did nothing to keep out the gangs that called that particular neighborhood their home.

"Here it is," the attendant said pointing the end of his "key ring" at the sodden El Camino. "Pity, I have a soft spot on my heart for these things. It sure as hell isn't going anywhere to soon."

Woody ignored the man and took a closer look. Jordan's El Camino was never pristine but it most definitely had seen better days. It was most probably beyond repair.

Kind of like his friendship with its owner.

The grill was caked with mud as was the under carriage. The interior looked like a total loss from the water damage yet the hood release worked as well as he remembered.

It seemed like a life time ago when he volunteered change the oil. Even that was an adventure. Woody shook his head remembering how they argued over everything from the proper tool to use to the size of the oil filter. After that day he swore he'd never help her with her car again...until the following week when she got a flat tire.

"The whole system will need to be flushed and primed..." the attendant said through a roll of tobacco in his cheek.

Woody took out a pen light and looked at as much of the block as he could see. It looked solid.

"The interior is shot. Even if you can get it running again it'll smell like a wet dog every time you turn on the heat."

Woody gave a cursory check to the power steering and oil fluids. Both were contaminated.

"It'll take more then it's worth to put this thing back on the road. It's totaled mister."

Woody slammed the hood down and said, "Probably." He wiped his hands on the back of his pants and said, "I'll have a tow truck out here this afternoon. Until then let me take care of the impound fee."

The attendant looked at Woody like he had lost his mind. "Okay..." He looked at the police report and frowned. "I thought you said your name is Hoyt. This says this vehicle belongs to a chap named Cavanaugh..."

"The police department is not ready to release this vehicle to its owner quite yet."

The both knew it was a boldfaced lie but as long as the fee was paid and the release form was signed the lot attendant didn't care.

There might not be any help for his relationship with Jordan but he could fix at least one thing that was wrong.