Orlando-crazy- Wow, apparently I have a lot of great chapters! lol.

pryrmtns- lol. Yes, he does. I was originally just going to have the entire fanfic be Nigel and Jordan, and I don't think I will branch off again, but I decided that I could best display that scene through Bug's eyes.

Im perfectly imperfect- yeah, I was a W/J shipper when I first began to watch CJ about a fourth of the way through season 4, and I was until the season 4 finale. Then I realized just how much of a jerk he was. Can I borrow that? (takes chunk of wood and hits Woody as well.) Hehe. You're right, that is ironic... Oh, and thanks for the personal compliment!

rae1112- you should feel special. Lol, jk. I'm updating as fast as I can. I never want to stop writing now (especially since I got to the good part of the story!) and I find myself adding things in the middle of school. I guess that's how it gets done so quickly! oh, and about your two conditions, 1. define suffer... 2. peppy nigey is way cooler!

Mac3- like I said, I don't think that I will branch off to Bug or anyone else again, but for that scene I thought it would be a nice change. But who knows?

KittyDoggyLover- Yes, Nigel does always care, and that's another reason why I like him so much. I love episodes like Forget Me Not where it really shows Nigel's caring side. It shows that he's more than he appears to be, that he feels pain and love like the rest of us and that he's not as odd as we think. (Even though I like oddness!)

The action begins for Nigel as well in this chapter. Enjoy, and review please!
The Basement

Chapter 6: Safe in His Arms

- Nigel -

I sat there, still in utter shock, tears still sliding down my face. Lily walked away momentarily and pulled up a chair next to mine. She sat down and put a hand on my shoulder again. I glanced at her and saw that she had tears on her face as well. Garret wasn't crying, and I was glad. We needed someone strong right now. After a few minutes, Bug walked back in. Lily and I had both stopped crying by now.

"We've got a possible location," he said. "Woody's gonna call when he finds the file."

"How is he?" asked Lily beside me.

"To tell the truth," Bug said, "he sounds absolutely fine." I looked up at him.

"Fine?" I said, but Dr. Macy cut me off.

"I'm sure it just seemed that way," he said. "He's probably in as much shock as we are." But Bug shook his head.

"No," he said grimly. "I mean he sounded almost entirely unconcerned. Like it wasn't a big deal or something."

I found myself gripping the edges of my seat very hard, my knuckles white.

Like it wasn't a big deal?

Jordan had been kidnapped! She was most likely dead right now, her body lying in some alleyway or drifting at the bottom of a lake! How could it not be a big deal? They have one fight, one argument, and suddenly it's as if she's just another of the many victims that we see every day? Is this how Woody, the man that Jordan had loved for years, thought and felt? Was he that heartless?

"Nigel, are you all right?" Garret, Lily, and Bug were all watching me.

"Yeah," I said shakily. "I…I just need to be alone." I stood and walked quickly from the room, hiding my renewed tears. I arrived at my office about twenty seconds later. I sat down and began to cry all over again. How could Woody have been so cruel? And how could Jordan have ever loved him for all these years? I would never have done this to her. I would have made her happy…

The piercing ring of the phone interrupted my thoughts. I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Nigel, it's Woody." I felt my fists clench, but I kept my voice even.

"Do you have the location?" I asked. Woody gave me the directions to an older neighborhood, about an hours drive away, as I scribbled it all down on a slip of paper. Bug had been right, he did seem rather unconcerned, and it took all of my will power not to say something. I thanked him stiffly and hung up.

My original intention as I stood up was to go back and give the information to Dr. Macy and let him take care of it, but I didn't. I took the slip of paper and walked in the opposite direction to the elevator. I knew perfectly well that what I was doing was stupid, and I knew I could very likely get killed, but I didn't care. All I cared about at the moment was getting a hold of the creep that did this to Jordan. If there was even the smallest chance that she was alive, I would find her. If she was dead, I would make sure that her body was found, that she had a proper burial, and that the one responsible regretted it. I owed her that.

I stopped by my apartment on the way out and retrieved a gun from my bedside table. It had been years since I had last taken it out. I pocketed it, and then started the long ride to where I might find Jordan. It seemed to take an age to get there, and I grew more and more nervous every few minutes as I thought about what I was going to do. I wished briefly that I had told someone where I was going. Yet if I did, they probably would have tried to stop me, and this was something I needed to do. I smiled slightly as I realized that this was exactly the sort of thing that Jordan always did. I couldn't bring myself to think, "had always done." It was far easier to keep her in present tense.

Finally, I pulled into the neighborhood. I parked my motorcycle in the street and climbed off, shivering. A chilly breeze blew through and I pulled my jacket closer around me. Why was it so damn cold here? I made my way up the driveway of one house. It was old and run down, like most of the houses here. My plan was to ask around, see if anyone had seen Jordan's car. At the first house, I got no response. I got the same from the second. An old woman in the third said that she "hadn't seen nothin," and snapped at me to get off her property.

Nice neighborhood…

I was unsuccessful at the fourth house as well. And the fifth. And the sixth. If someone was actually home, they said that they hadn't seen Jordan's car, and none matched the description of the man that Woody had given me. I was beginning to think about giving up, and yet I kept going.

I walked slowly up the driveway of the ninth house and rang the doorbell. The door opened, and I found myself taking a step backwards. The man who had answered was as tall as me. He had long, brown, greasy hair and a short beard. He fit the description perfectly, and he also had a gun.

Bloody brilliant…

"I've heard that you're asking around Mr. Townsend," he said. I gulped, he knew who I was. He held out his hand and jerked his gun expectantly. I glared, pulling out my own gun and handing it to him. He smiled and then stepped back from the door. "In," he said. I obeyed and stepped over the threshold. Damn, it was even colder in here!

"Where is she?" I asked forcefully as he led me to a door off to my right. He didn't answer, only unlocked the door and shoved me roughly onto a flight of stairs.

"What have you done to Jordan?" I yelled, but he merely pushed me again so that I stumbled down a few stairs more. I took the hint and kept going. When I reached the bottom I turned and saw him make his way back towards the open doorway.

"Where is she?" I shouted up to him again, desperate for an answer, but too late. He simply shut and locked the door behind him, leaving the basement in total darkness.

- Jordan -

I awoke to the sound of shouting above me. I didn't open my eyes however. I didn't want to wake up, didn't want to face the cold of the room or the pain and regret in my heart. I heard more shouting and saw a faint light creep through my closed eyelids. I gave in and opened them. Squinting I saw, silhouetted against the light from the open door, two figures, both of them tall. One of the figures made his way to the bottom of that stairs and looked back up quickly to see the other retreat towards the open door.

"Where is she?" I heard him shout towards the figure at the top, and as I regained full consciousness, I realized that the words uttered had been in an all too familiar British accent. As the door closed and we returned to pitch blackness, I heard the man slump to the floor. Then I heard faint sniffles. He was crying.

"Jordan," he muttered to himself, "I'm so sorry…"

"Nigel?" I said softly. I was weak from cold and hunger. The sniffling stopped abruptly. It sounded as if he wasn't even breathing.

"Jordan?" he said uncertainly. I managed to get to my hands and knees and crawl towards his voice, my arm outstretched, hardly daring to believe it was him. My hand suddenly connected with his left shoulder. I moved it up his neck and then ran my fingers through his long hair. I needed to know that it was him.

"Nigel," I whispered, a mixture of sadness and joy washing over me. I heard him give a long sigh, and then he put his arms around me in the dark. I welcomed them gratefully.

"Jordan," he murmured. "Oh God, Jordan…"

We sat there for a long time, simply embracing each other. A part of me was overjoyed to have him there. I could tell him. Finally, I could let him know my true feelings. And yet another part of me felt guilty, terribly guilty for bringing him here. He had obviously come looking for me, and now he was trapped, just like me. And just like me, he would probably die. It was my fault if he died. I began to cry again. Nigel reached up and wiped my cheek with his thumb, speaking softly in my ear. His voice was soothing.

"Nigel," I whispered finally. I had meant to say something along the lines of, "you shouldn't have come," or, "I'm so sorry that I got you into this," but somehow the words got mixed up on the way to my mouth and all I managed to say was, "I'm cold." Quickly he unzipped his coat and pulled it off, shivering as the cold air hit him. He then proceeded to undo the removable inner lining and pull it out. He put this back on himself and draped the slightly thicker outer lining over me. He put his arms back around me and held me more tightly to him. Eventually we moved to one of the corners, where Nigel put his back to the wall and I laid my head on his chest. Slowly, we fell asleep, and for the first time since I had been kidnapped, I felt safe.