A/N:

Hello!

As for the quote in the second 'part', it is from Perfect Storm, when Lily was trying to snap Garret out of a morose mood. I thought it was appropriate, and 1, its their history, and 2, if we steal the characters we may as well steal the lines! lol. Haha its okay, Jinubean, I probably would have forgotten about the little phone thing if you hadn't pointed it out:P. Ok this AN is infinitely shorter than last...so I wont keep you any longer...

Chapter 6: Maybe Next Time You'll Think Twice

As Bug had predicted in his mind, Woody was definitely sorry he had demanded to see her. He couldn't even put his disgust into words. She was nothing, there was nothing left of her. Her beautiful eyes, the ones he had drowned in time and time again, the ones he knew so well, were gone, burnt. Her skin had burnt and shrivelled into a black, ghostly parody of its former self. Her hands were curled around, as if she was gripping something, trying to close her beautiful, deft fingers around something that just was not there. He blinked back the tears and the sobs that threatened to wrack his chest were held in. He looked at Bug.

"I need to know why," he said simply, and Bug nodded, completely understanding, and watched with a weary sadness as the detective left the crypt. Bug stared down at what was left of his friend. He couldn't sob, couldn't cry. All he could do was sigh heavily and lament over the pointlessness of it all.

Woody walked slowly, but deliberately out of the crypt. The chatter hit him forcefully, and he wavered before continuing on.

"Woody!"

He turned, not expecting to see Garret when he did.

"I'll help."

Woody looked at him a moment, before nodding his head.

"What do you suggest?"

"Why was she on the train?"

"Good call," Woody said gruffly, and they walked out to the car together.

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After she had turned down yet another offer of food, she allowed herself to think. She was here, everyone thought she was dead. She felt sick to the stomach at the thought, all the unnecessary pain they would be feeling was a physical blow to her. But, she supposed, Ayres was well aware of that. He had maximised all pain, she could not think of anything he could do that would be more hurtful to those he was targeting. She shook her head, pointless thoughts would do no one good. As Lily had once said, while she stood on listening, 'for all the factors that was bringing this together, there are factors keeping it apart. I'm one of them. We all are.' Jordan could have laughed. She was right, so right. This time she was the factor, this plan hadn't left this room, oh, its ramifications had, yes, but the intelligence and logistics remained right here. And she needed to know exactly what was going on, exactly what was happening, if she was to try and figure out how she was going to get them all out of it.

"Your plan wont work," she said into the silence. He looked at her, trying to read her, then grinned.

"Goading me wont work, Missy."

She let her shoulders slump in apparent disappointment, and summoned her best defeated voice. She needed to double her act in order to fool him, but she felt she was up to it.

"I just don't understand," she said in a small voice.

"What exactly don't you understand?"

She grinned inwardly. Hook, line and sinker, she thought proudly. She had obviously missed the knowing glint in the man's eye.

"Why you want us to suffer. It doesn't make sense."

"I am a strong believer in punishment," he said wryly, and she caught herself quickly before she laughed. "You don't need to understand it. That isn't the point."

"Do me the courtesy," she said, dropping the pretence. "What is on the…" Her eyes caught the piece of paper on the coffee table. "Menu?"

He followed her gaze and grinned. "Super super supreme," he said. "Party size."

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"Okay, lets brainstorm. Any ideas on why she might have been on the train?" Garret stared straight ahead. It had been a wordless agreement between the two, that he would drive. He had more experience, and a cooler head. Woody hadn't complained, had merely planted himself in the passengers seat.

"No," he said, thinking. "She said nothing to me."

Garret shook his head.

"Where exactly are we going?" Woody asked.

"Her apartment."

"You got a key?"

Garret patted his pocket and nodded.

They were both reluctant to walk up the stairs, but did so, both of them feeling a physical weight on their feet as they lifted and placed, lifted and placed. Woody was beginning to enjoy the numb rhythm that allowed his mind to go blank, when the stairs levelled out and they were on her floor.

When they reached the door, Garret pushed in the key and they stepped inside the room.

Woody did not allow himself to think, couldn't let himself look at it too much, blocked fiercely the memories that were bursting out of the seams, that were threatening to bring him to his knees. He felt a terrible pain, like a knot in his chest, and unconsciously rubbed at it with a balled fist. Garret watched as a horrible expression twisted his face as he stared around at everything, as he was hit with everything she owned, all hers. She lingered here, she remained, and neither of them wanted to walk forward and break the fragile atmosphere that their memories, and her life, had created. They paused, breath catching in their chests as they were hit again with what they had lost.

"The most likely scenario is," Garret said, avoiding the detectives eyes. "That she found something."

"What do you mean?"

He ignored the question. "Look for something," he said.

"What?"

"Anything."

Woody nodded slowly and began to walk, as if in a dream, around the apartment. Ten minutes into the search, Woody found something. Not anything that could possibly lead them to an answer, but something just the same. In a small drawer in her bedroom in her dresser, he would have missed it had he not been looking directly at it, was a small material pouch, which looked like a small child had stitched it. He held it gingerly in his hands, and pulled the button open, and a bunch of photos fell out into his lap. Garret saw out of the corner of his eye that Woody had stopped, and edged closer, trying to get a glimpse of what he'd found.

Woody held the photos in his hand, not looking at them as his eyes had become strangely blurry. Trying to focus them, he stared at the first one.

Garret watched as Woody went through the photos. Jordan's father and mother featured regularly, which caused no reaction from the two, but when the photos of them started coming out, they found it hard to focus. A couple of both Woody and Garret were there, photos the two didn't even remember. Woody choked back a sad laugh as he came to the last one; last years Christmas party that was held at the morgue. Jordan had her arm thrown around him companionably and was partially bent over, crying with laughter. He didn't recall the joke but remembered they had all been more than a little drunk.

Never again, whispered a nasty voice in his mind. Never again.

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"Do you think I should let them see you before they die?" Ayres said, breaking the silence. He was twirling a pen around in his fingers, able to see her eyes following it, an irritated expression mingled with one of disgust on his face. He lifted his eyes slowly to meet hers. "Well?"

"Do what you like," she said. "And so will I."

"Gee, you really look threatening too."

"As about as threatening as you."

He studied her. "Because I was thinking. They could die, thinking their friend was dead, or at least with that possibility. That would be nice and bleak. Or I could let you have a lovely little reunion, and shoot them in front of you." He chuckled. "I know," he said, purposefully misinterpreting her look or horror. "Shooting is so common. Unfortunately it's the only practical way."

"And you're just going to let me go."

He looked at her. "What do you take me for?" he said, with a mock offended look on his face. "I guarantee you, you wont walk out of here." He chuckled. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before you…"

"Do my job? Oh yeah, I definitely will."

"Don't be smart," he said. "It doesn't get you anywhere in life."

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"Nothing," Woody spat as they closed the heavy red door behind them. Garret glanced at him. The strain was starting to show on the young detective, his eyes were narrowed and hard, a cold icy blue, he was shaking slightly, ever so slightly, but Garret's trained eye picked it up as if he was jumping up and down. Garret reasoned that he probably didn't look much better.

They both sat, side by side in the car. An observer would raise an eyebrow at the almost identical expressions on their faces, a mixture of anger, grief and determination.

"We'll go to the train stops," Woody said. "All if them, closest to one in Los Angeles, for all I care."

Garret nodded, not even bothering to state the obvious, that they both had jobs, lives, and even to search five train stops would take them well into the night.

"I don't even remember when I last spoke to her," Woody said after about fifteen minutes of contemplative silence. Garret didn't reply, instead was plunged into their last conversation.

Woody stared to his right, out of the window, and watched the buildings fly by. They all merged into one blur, a bleak, grey mush of the best of times mixed with the worst of times. If there was no happiness, then there was no sorrow. Even as his practical mind tried to accept that, tried to prepare to live by it, as it worked in theory, he knew he would never stick to it, and knew he would endure this sorrow every waking moment for the rest of his life, if he could see her again, one more time. He was jolted, literally, out of his reverie as the car ground to a complete, sudden stop, and his head was thrown forward. As far as he could see they had not been hit, and was about to shout at Garret when he saw the white look on the ME's face. It was a look of sheer horror, guilt, pain that he himself was moved. Garret swerved off to the side of the road, even as Woody was thinking that this was not the place to express his sorrow. Garret threw the door open and stared around, grabbing at his jacket, and pulling his phone out. Undoing his seatbelt, Woody jumped out.

"What is it?" he asked urgently.

"She's not dead!" Garret said quietly, tentatively, looking at Woody, daring, only just allowing himself to believe. He was clutching his phone, and he shook it at the detective, a look of the most intense relief he had ever seen crossing his face. "She's not dead!"