As morning dawned, she left him there in bed and slipped into the shower. She had tossed awake for much of the night before a restless sleep overtook her. She watched him now, lying gently curved against the spot where she had been. He could have no idea of the turmoil that roiled through her.

She had been having some doubts about her relationship with Pollack, it was true. It seemed a betrayal when he had written that story about Woody supposedly planting evidence, but she knew, rationally, he had only been doing his job. And no, he hadn't seen his own reflection when he looked into her eyes, but it was just some sentimental superstition, an old wives' tale.

And then there were these feelings for Woody. They had only gone dormant when he dismissed her from his hospital room those months before, but she was with J.D. now, and she would do what she had learned to do so well for most of her life: tamp tamp the unpleasant truths as far down inside her as she could.

A knocking came, and in her dazed state, she was only half aware of it. It came again, louder and more insistent. Pollack stirred and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Christ, who the hell is that on a Sunday morning?" he said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Ignore it. They'll go away."

As if on cue, a voice came from the other side of the door. "Jordan? It's me. It's important."

J.D. groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. "You've got to be joking," he muttered as Jordan moved uneasily across the floor.

She ignored him and opened the door. Woody stood there anxiously. He stretched out his hand and held out a piece of paper in a blue legal backer.

"What's this?" She rubbed at her eyes sleepily.

"The last the thing Judge Evans did before heading out for her Christmas vacation. Quite the bombshell. The prosecutor dropped off this signed order to me this morning. Take a look. The judge denied the continuance and granted the defendant's motion for change of venue."

He swept past her, uninvited, into the apartment. "Woody, wait.." she called out stop him.

"There's been too much pre-trial publicity in Boston," he went on. "So, the trial..." He stopped short as he suddenly noticed J.D. sitting there on the bed with the sheet draped across his bare middle. Woody's eyes quickly to darted to hers, and then fell to where the opening of her robe revealed the hollow between her breasts. His head dropped in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I..." he muttered. She could see a flush of crimson spread across his face.

"It's okay." Her hand flew up and held her robe shut, and she could feel the heat rise up her own cheeks. She motioned with her free hand to the order. "What's going on?"

"So..." He started again awkwardly. "The trial's been sent to Springfield. The new judge wants the whole thing wrapped up by Christmas. He doesn't want to hold the jury over the holiday."

"Wait. I don't get it." She shook her head groggily.

"The jury has already been impanelled." He said with force. "Opening arguments start tomorrow morning. We're going to have be prepared to testify at any time after that."

"Which means..."

"Which means pack your bag. We're going to Springfield."

XXXXXXXX

She dashed around the apartment hastily packing a week's worth of clothes into her suitcase while J.D. and Woody glowered at each other from across the room.

"Nice tattoo." Woody finally said with a trace of a smirk.

J.D. glanced down at his bicep. "Thanks, mate," he said with faux geniality. "You have any tattoos?"

Woody shook his head. "Nah..."

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little pain?"

"Try getting shot in the gut. That's pain." He pulled himself up to his full height.

Pollack laughed but took a few swaggering steps forward. "Why do you cops think someone has to get shot at to be a real man?"

"Well, you know...some people fight crime, some people can only write about it."

"The pen is mightier than the sword. And you know what they say. Men who carry big guns are merely compensating for a small..."

"Okay! Okay!" Jordan interrupted. "As much as I'm enjoying this display of witty repartee, it's time to go." She zipped her suitcase up for emphasis.

Woody headed for the door. "The DA's office booked us rooms at the Holiday Inn in Springfield. You can follow me, if you want."

"My car's still in the shop..."

"You can ride with me, then." Woody offered after a beat.

"No, I'll drive her." Pollack slipped a protective arm around her waist.

Jordan turned to him. He was glaring at Woody, and his eyes were narrow and dark. "It's okay, J.D."

He drew her back into the room. "I'm coming with you, Jordan," he said in a harsh whisper.

"It'll be fine. Besides, I know you've got that big City Hall story you're trying to break. Stay here. I'll be back by the end of the week. It'll be fine."

"My girlfriend's about to head off to the Springfield Holiday Inn with her ex-boyfriend the week before Christmas. The week that we were supposed to spend together. How am I supposed to feel?" he hissed. Jordan looked over at Woody, who quickly averted his glance and pretended not to hear.

She waited until Woody had headed back to the door to speak. "Pollack, it's work. That's it. Our relationship is purely professional."

"All right. All right." He shrugged in exasperation and plodded back into the bedroom. "I'll just stay here and make the bed," he called out loud enough for Woody's hearing. "Mind you don't step on the clothes on your way out."

She stood between them with her suitcase gripped in on hand while the two men looked daggers at one another, sizing each other up like two rams about to charge.

She hesitated for a moment. She should send Woody on. She should go with Pollack and spend the week holed up in the hotel on the D.A.'s dime, waiting for her turn to testify.

"I'll call you when I get in, J.D.," she murmured.

Woody let Jordan walk past, and she gave Pollack a weak smile over her shoulder before closing the door of her apartment.