Mac3- Thank you, I feel loved now. Lol.

Im perfectly imperfect- yes, more Woody bashing! My dad says I'm mean cause of it, but oh well. he's a W/J shipper. What does he know? Lol.

KittyDoggyLover- yeah, I know. I absolutely hate it when ppl do that! I read one that was a really good Nigel fic (figures) where he has this evil twin that wants to kill him. and it was never finished. I wanted to know what would happen so badly. I just wish that they, or anyone, would finish it. grr. I say again, I shall make sure that I finish this!

NadezhdaSt- always good to see a fellow shipper. Lol. Nigel is an awesome character. Many of my friends say he's UGLY! How can they say that? Grr, it bugs me. And you're right, we live in a much too J/W shipper infested world. At least there is us, defending the unusual. I think some ppl are coming to our side after the way Woody was in the season 4 finale/season 5 start.

Thank you again for all your reviews, they make me feel fuzzy inside! The action actually begins in this chapter, so have fun! Wheeeeeeeeee!


The Basement

Chapter 3: Random Statements and Statements of Revenge

- Nigel -

We went to McDonalds to eat. Neither of us felt that it was the best place to get food, but it was at least fast. I guess that's where they came up with the name "fast food." I ordered a Big Mac; Jordan got the chicken selects.

"It's the only thing I like here," she explained.

It was amazing that we still found things to talk about as we ate, yet we did. We laughed and joked and had more fun than I'd ever had at a McDonalds. At least since I was young enough to play in the play place that is. She was just telling me about something that she had done to a friend's cat when she was a kid, when I saw the smile leave her face, as suddenly as if it had simply fallen off. She stared grimly over my shoulder, and I turned around.

Woody had just walked through the doors across the room. I looked quickly back at Jordan and saw that her face was tense, prepared for battle. Woody was now waiting in the long line. He didn't seem to notice us at first. Finally he glanced around the room and spotted Jordan and I staring at him. His face became as tense as hers, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Then he turned his back and left the restaurant. I turned back and looked at Jordan. There was a very awkward pause. Then I dropped my gaze and took another bite of hamburger. As Jordan had already finished, she began flipping through he little tabletop menu that displayed all of the different types of coffee for sale.

"Did you ever notice," she said suddenly and unexpectedly, "that all of these seem to be made of different varieties of the same ingredients?" I raised an eyebrow at her. "No, really," she said, and began to read the menu. "Espresso: a shot of espresso. Cappuccino: a shot of espresso with steamed milk and whipped milk. Latte: a shot of espresso with steamed milk. What the hell? All they did to it was take the whipped milk away from the cappuccino, and now they call it a latte!"

I chuckled. This was only one of many things that I loved about Jordan: her irrelevant and even random statements, especially after moments such as the one provided by our dear Woodrow. Jordan had yet to tell me what he had said to her to make her break down like that, and I wasn't pushing her, though I was dying to know. She needed time.

After lunch we rode back to the morgue together. Though Jordan had the day off, I needed to get back to work. She told me that she was planning on visiting Max. This was a good idea in my opinion, even though I was reluctant to end our time together. I had enjoyed these two days in her company immensely, yet I said goodbye to her as I made ready to enter the morgue and she made ready to head to her car.

"Nige," she said as I was about to walk away.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything." I walked back to her and gave her a hug, which she returned gratefully. I savored her embrace until we broke apart a moment later. Then I smiled.

"Take care of yourself Jordan. And remember, I'll always be there for you. You can always talk to me." She nodded and smiled back. Then I turned and walked away, back to my job at the Boston Medical Examiner's Office.

- Jordan -

I watched him walk away from me, and found myself still smiling as I made my way to my car. Despite my argument with Woody, I had still found the last two days to be really great, all thanks to Nigel. There was no one else who could take what was originally going to be a day of drunken misery and turn it into enjoyable conversation and a lunch at McDonalds. Good old Nige. I walked quickly and joyously to my car, reliving our fun time at Mickey D's. I opened the door and got in, slamming it behind me, still thinking about today and yesterday's events.

That's when I felt the sudden chill of a gun being pressed into the back of my neck. Slowly, almost automatically, I raised my hands so that they were easily visible from the backseat.

"Drive," said a deep, male voice from behind me.

"Where to boss?" I asked, testing him. He jabbed the gun harder into my bare skin.

"Don't be smart," he said gruffly. "Just pull out." This guy wasn't playing around. I obliged, moving out of the parking lot and going up the street. I did what he told me, turning and swerving, and sometimes turning to go back in a completely opposite direction, all in silence. We went on like that for at least an hour, the mysterious gunman giving me directions and keeping a gun pressed to my neck the whole time. Finally he told me to pull into the driveway of a run down looking old house in an almost uninhabited neighborhood. This looked promising, I thought as I stopped the car in the driveway and waited.

"Get out," said the man, "and don't even think of running off. There's nowhere to go." I stepped slowly out of my car and stood there, facing the old house. It seemed so long ago by now, yet it had been warm when I left Nigel at the morgue. Here a chilly breeze blew through and I shivered slightly, wishing that I had a jacket.

I felt the gun touch my neck again and the one holding it said, "Walk." I bit back the retort that had been forming just behind my tongue and moved at gunpoint up to the old house, wondering just how many times I'd been through this routine before. I stopped at the front door, but got jabbed again.

"Open it," the gunman said and I pushed the door ajar, stepping inside. The interior was even colder than it was outside and I shivered again, at the same time realizing that I still had not directly seen my captor. I felt another jab.

"Keep moving," he said. "And don't try anything.

"You've got the gun."

He jabbed me for what felt like the eightieth time and I moved forward, thinking that I must have had a red mark on my neck by now. He directed me to a door off to my right and led me through it and down a flight of steps. We were going to a basement. I was shivering all over now; the temperature seemed to drop with each step. As we arrived at the bottom I took a look around. The basement was comprised of a single large room, entirely bare, no lights and no windows.

I turned and was able to see my captor for the first time. My breath caught in my chest as I recognized him. He was tall, at least as tall as Nigel. His dark brown hair was longer like Nigel's as well, though it was still not nearly as long as his, and it was greasy and unclean. He had a short beard and it was obvious that this man hadn't cleaned, shaved, or had a haircut in weeks. And I knew why, because I knew this man.

"So," I said, trying to sound cool and even, as though this happened every day, which was only a slight exaggeration, "what's the plan this time? Ransom?" He shook his head.

"This isn't about money," he said, nearly growling it.

"Then what is it about?" I asked, although I was sure that I already knew what his answer was going to be. He gave me an evil looking smile and said what I had been expecting, and yet dreading.

"Revenge."

Dun dun dun! Review bitte! Danke! (Yes, that is German...or German-English...or Germlish. Lol. I don't know the German word for review!)