Disclaimer: We don't own them. If we did they'd be totally screwed up.

Nina is being piloted this time by MADAMBETH and jmkw.

FYI: As with all of Nina's stories, this fic was not written overnight. It has been in the works for awhile. Because of that fact we did not include the change from "Man in Blue" and are sticking to the original scene of Woody's father's death. As Madambeth says, "Liquor store is code for gas station..."

BANG!

"Sir! Stay with us sir!"

"SIR!"

Woody jumped in bed with a start, the sheets tangled around his long limbs and sweaty body.

With a glance at the clock he let out a sigh of mock delight at realizing it was an hour later than he usually woke up to the nightly re-enactment of the shooting. At the time he had assumed he would die. He had to laugh now at the poetic license his mind had taken that day, damning himself to the same fate his own father had met.

He often wondered nowadays what his father had looked like that terrible night so many years ago. Had he been scared? Why on Earth would he have turned his back? Was it a point blank shot or from across the room? Had the shooter taken purposeful aim at that spot the bullet hit him right below his heart and through the soft tissue of his left lung?

Finally sick with all of the unanswered questions Woody grabbed the phone punching in the familiar Wisconsin area code and hoped his old buddy Pete was still the same workaholic he'd been when they were deputies together.

"Yes is Pete Myers on tonight?" Woody asked clearing his throat and running a hand through his sweaty, spiked hair. "Yeah, hey Pete….yeah, yeah it's Woody how are you doing? Uh huh….great, well actually this isn't a social call…I was hoping you could get your hands on some evidence for me out of storage…".

"Wha? Woody, man, what could you possibly need out of evidence storage at 3 am?" Pete asked rubbing his forehead as he leaned against his desk.

"It's a tape from a case about 16 years back or so." Woody said starting to get irritated by all of the questioning.

"16 years? And this absolutely could not have waited until a decent hour of the work day?" Pete yawned.

"It's from the gas station the night my dad was killed." Woody spit back angrily. There was a long moment of quiet before Pete said anything. Before he could though Woody stood from the bed and began to pace. "Don't over think this man, just go get the tape and send it to me okay? I…I'm ready to see it."

"Woody…I don't know if I even CAN send it to you…and I mean, do you really think this is the best idea?" Pete asked lowering his voice to a stage whisper.

Woody stopped and put a hand on his hip stiffly. "You know what Pete? Send it don't send it, I'll call someone else if you won't help me, I've….I've just had some….stuff going on in my life and I feel like a need closure on all this stuff with my dad and all…I just…just send it to me okay man?" Woody said trying his best to sound calm.

"It'll take me a few days to make a copy and send it. Think you can resist calling and yelling at me until then?" Pete finally relented.

"Yes…definitely, thanks Pete, I owe you one." Woody said before hanging up the phone and wondering how early was too early to go to the gym at the precinct.

It had been half a year since Woody was shot but the sting was still there for both he and Jordan. Hell, it was practically the only thing they would have agreed on anymore if they actually talked to each other for anything other than work.

"Hey Jordan autopsy two.." Garret said from the door to her office but raised his eyes when he saw the look on her face. "You okay?" he asked walking in and shutting the door behind him.

Jordan wasn't okay but she couldn't admit that aloud. To say something was bothering her would mean putting a name to that 'something' and that name, more often than not these days, was Woody.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay…just uh..just kinda vegging ya know? I'll be right there." She said pushing some papers around and standing from her desk while trying her best to avoid Garret's dubious gaze.

"Well you know if you wanted to talk he's not getting any more dead so.." Jordan cut him off with a frail raised hand.

"I'll be right there." She said grabbing the bottle of Tylenol that had become a companion to her over the past months. Whether for head or heartache she couldn't be sure but if the wished it hard enough she could usually manage to fool herself into believing that there was no painful aching in either. She tossed two back and took a deep cleansing breath before heading down the hall to autopsy two.

"Oh, hey.."

If she had been uncomfortable thinking about Woody only minutes ago, Jordan only became moreso when she was confronted with him directly moments later in the autopsy room.

"Hey…what've we got here?" she asked only glancing at him briefly before returning her attention to the tools in front of her as Woody explained the details of the case and she alternately tuned him out and began the autopsy.

By the time she'd finished to a point where she could kick Woody out with a promise of calling when she found anything Jordan gave up for the day. She went back to her office making her best efforts at pretending that something that was bothering her hadn't even crossed her mind that day much less her autopsy room for the past few hours.

As Woody left the morgue he flipped out his phone and called his buddy Pete for the third time in two weeks, his patience faltering with each apparent run-around his friend gave him.

"I'm sorry Woody but you can understand my hesitance right? I mean…I made the copy and all but…" Pete trailed off halfway through their conversation.

"He was MY father Pete, I deserve answers as much as anyone." Woody whispered sharply as he pulled up in front of the 19th precinct. "Please…just… send it to me at the address I gave you the LAST time I called." Woody said shakily, almost pleadingly. "Please Pete.." he said again and he could hear his old friend's affections taking over.

"I'll send it out tonight…but only if you swear on your old man's good name that you're sure about this…." He finally said in a sigh.

"I Swear…Thanks Pete, I knew you wouldn't let me down." Woody smiled and hung up the phone as he retreated into his office behind a closed door.

Six states and a million emotional miles away Calvin Hoyt sat at a bar milking a ginger ale for all it was worth and regretting the years he'd spent with his nose in the bottom of a bottle. There were a lot of things he'd done to disappoint his brother but being sober was one he swore he'd never give up on. He'd hurt Woody too much and put him through too many years of worrying to ever lapse back into a life he himself already regretted more than anything. 'Well almost anything'. He thought and looked up as an old friend sided up to him at the bar and took a stool.

"Hey, Cal, how are you doing?" Pete Myers asked tapping the bar for the tender's attention and asking for a draft. "Oh sorry, do you mind if I drink?" Pete asked holding a hand up to Cal.

"No..no, drinking's my problem not yours, I'm doing okay, how are you Pete?" Cal asked taking another long sip of his soda.

Pete took a long drag off of his beer before answering. "I'm good…I'm good. You know it's funny seeing you here, I've talked to Woody a few times on the phone in the past few weeks. He doing okay? He sounds kinda on edge." Pete asked concerned.

Cal lowered his head and sighed. It was bad enough that he hadn't seen his brother in nearly a year and even worse that he hadn't even had the guts to go see him when he was in the hospital with a gunshot in his belly and facing possible paralysis. When Jordan had called him the night of the shooting Cal had made some lame excuse about not being able to take time from work. He knew Jordan could smell that one from Boston but he knew he just couldn't face Woody yet, especially lying in a hospital bed having been shot.

The memory of the last time he visited someone he loved in the hospital was still far too fresh on Cal's heart for him to face it again.

"He was shot…about uh..6 or 7 months ago. He's okay now but I think he's probably still a little wigged out. Why'd he call you if you don't mind me asking?" Cal asked turning to Pete with furrowed brows. He could tell something was wrong as Pete began to shift in his seat.

"Well now that you've told me that what he called for is making a little more sense to me.." Pete said quietly and took a longer drag off of the beer he was grasping. He turned to look at Cal and then turned back to his beer before he answered.

"He wanted me to send him a tape…the tape from the gas station the night your old man was…" Pete trailed off in that quiet way again and it was Cal's turn to shift uncomfortably.

"Oh….so I mean you didn't send it to him did you?" Cal asked feeling a steadily growing lump in the pit of his stomach. The lump got larger as Pete opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"I just sent it off before I came in here.." he said finally. Cal nodded after a long few minutes and stood paying for his soda.

"It was good seeing you Pete." He nodded with a pat to the other man's shoulder before he walked out of the bar.

Ten minutes later he was walking towards home with 5 beers of a six pack in one hand and a half empty can of Old Milwaukee in the other. It took him nearly 17 years and lots of alcohol to even think he'd forgotten about that night his father had been shot. Now that he had finally gotten to a place in his life where he thought he could put it all behind him his brother had gone and dredged it all up again. Those feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, and most importantly, guilt suddenly came rushing back to Cal like his first shot of whiskey.