I blew it...I blew it...I blew it...
She repeated it over and over in her mind in time with the rhythmic spin of the wheels against the highway. She leaned her head back and shut her eyes.
I should have gone with Pollack. Why didn't I go with Pollack?
She glanced over at Woody, and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. This was a mistake. You can't fall in love all over again from one stupid little kiss under the mistletoe, can you?
But that was just it. She hadn't fallen in love all over again. She had never really fallen out of it.
Pollack was smart, handsome, sexy. He had been more than patient with her trust issues and personality quirks. There was only one problem: she didn't love him.
She had warned him that she would run someday. He said he understood, but she knew from the look of hurt in his eyes when she had kissed Woody, that he didn't. She was going to hurt him. It was inevitable. And for what? For loving a man who no longer loved her? It was futile.
Despite everything that had happened in the last few months, she knew undeniably that she loved Woody, and he didn't love her. The situation was intolerable.
"Trouble in paradise, huh?"
She looked over at him as he drove on. "What?"
"Back there. You and Clark Kent," he said. She mumbled something in response and turned back towards the window. "If you ask me, he's got some control issues."
She whipped her head back around to him. "You don't get to have an opinion about my personal life."
She was surprised by the anger in her own voice. He looked over at her, startled. His mouth fell open, and he started to speak but choked on the words. She held his stare, until he clamped his mouth shut and turned back to the road.
XXXX
They arrived at the hotel some time later and checked in, having barely said a word to each other on the drive out. The hotel was almost deserted except for a few traveling salesmen types. Not too many people choose to spend their Christmas at the Springfield Holiday Inn.
They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in a meeting room with the various witnesses and members of the prosecution team, going over testimony, reports and exhibits. It was long past dark when the lead prosecutor finally dismissed them all, and Jordan realized she hadn't eaten since grabbing a cruller at some gas station along the way.
Everyone was streaming wearily out of the room, and Woody walked ahead of her, stifling a yawn.
"Hey, Woody? You hungry?"
He blinked as if hadn't given it any thought. "Yeah, I guess so."
There was an awkward silence. She shuffled her feet like an 8th grader at a school dance. "You...want to get something to eat?"
His face brightened. "Sure...sure. But I think the kitchen's closed for the night. There's a KFC across the street, though."
"KFC it is. Let me run upstairs and get my coat."
"No, I've got mine here. I'll just go through the drive-thru and..." he paused for a moment "bring it back to your room?"
The two of them. Alone in her hotel room. A small shudder passed through her. "Sounds like a plan."
He smiled unevenly and stumbled out of the lounge.
XXXXXX
"This stuff'll kill you," she said biting into another drumstick. "Believe me. I've seen the proof first hand."
Woody licked at his fingers. "But what a way to go."
She sat Indian-style on her bed with him sitting at the desk opposite her. He had picked up a bucket and a six-pack, and between bites of the greasy chicken, she washed it all down with a cold beer. She had been shaking earlier from hunger, but she felt contentedly full now -- warm and drowsy from the food and drink.
"So, just what are the eleven herbs and spices in KFC chicken?" He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.
"I don't know. Sage? Thyme maybe?"
"Black pepper. Does that count as a spice? What's the difference between a spice and an herb, anyway?"
"Herbs are the leaves of the plant, spices are the ground seed or bark of the plant," she said authoritatively.
"Really? But what's salt, then? I mean, clearly it's one of the eleven herbs and spices, right? But it's not a plant. So, what is it?"
"I don't know." She pondered the deep mystery of KFC. "A mineral, I guess. Toss me a biscuit, would you?"
He obliged, and she stretched her legs out in front of her and pressed herself against the headboard as she watched him there for a moment. It was times like this that she saw the old Woody, her Woody, her farm boy, and he wasn't so different after all. He wasn't the hardened, driven cop he had become since the shooting. She ached for him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and whisper that it would be all right.
She wondered, herself, if it would be. He had changed so much these last few months so that she barely recognized him at times. It was all a coping mechanism to deny his own frailties, she knew, but she worried about him, especially in the face of this trial.
The defendant was a remorseless punk kid who botched a robbery at a diner earlier that year. He ended up shooting several customers, including a cop who was enjoying his breakfast at the counter before starting his shift. Woody had been one of the first on the scene, and the young officer had died in his arms.
It was only a few weeks ago that another cop, Officer Spalding, had died of gunshot wound while Woody held his hand and begged him to hang on. She had seen the cracks that had formed in the facade he had built for himself, and she wondered what recounting Officer Kelly's death would do to him.
He looked up at her then, and he seemed to sense her concern. He eased forward in his chair then and stood. "Well, I guess I'd better..."
She threw her legs off the bed and rose. "Yeah, we've got an early start tomorrow."
He shuffled uneasily toward the door and reached out for the door handle and then turned. "Jordan...I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You know...for that crack this morning about Clark Kent and control issues."
Her heart flipped a little. "It's okay, Woody." There voices both had dropped to rough whispers.
"It's just..." He searched the room with his eyes. He went on, his voice strained. "When I see you with him...like that. I always thought that would be me."
Her eyes widened, and she let out a small noise of surprise at his painful honesty. She almost reached out for him, touched his hand. But then his eyes darkened.
"But that's never going to happen."
There was a coolness in his voice. He stood there, eyes on hers, challenging her to say something. She felt as if the breath had been sucked from her, and she could only manage a slight, "Oh..."
"Well. Good night, Jordan."
He was gone, then: out the door and across the hall to his own room. She stood there, staring at the space where he had been for a long moment before sinking back onto the bed into a numbed haze.
It was some time later-- she had lost track of all time -- when a tentative knocking came at the door. She had to strain to hear it, and waited for it to come again.
She hoped, believed on some level, that Woody would return and tell her in a rush of words that he had been all wrong. It was all a lie -- he loved her completely. She jumped from the bed and threw open the door.
It was Pollack, standing there with a bottle of wine held aloft. He had a suitcase at his feet. "Surprise..."
"J.D..."
"If she can't go on holiday, we'll bring the holiday to her." He stepped into her room enthusiastically and grabbed her around the waist for a kiss.
"I thought you were working on that City Hall corruption story."
He waved his hand dismissively. "The lead didn't pan out. All smoke, no fire." He was opening the wine bottle and pouring them out two glasses in the little plastic hotel cups. "Are you surprised to see me?" He looked up eagerly and passed her a drink.
"Yeah, I'm surprised all right."
His face fell. "But not good surprised."
She shrugged helplessly. "I just didn't know you were coming, that's all."
"I'm sorry, Jordan. I know you've got a lot to think about with this trial. Look, I'll go. I should've called first." He reached out for suitcase.
"No, no, no. You're here. Stay." She took his hands in her own. "Just no more surprises, okay?"
"Deal." He kissed her quickly.
"I hate to be a partypooper, but it's late, and I'm beat. I think I'm going to turn in. Make yourself at home. A nice long shower, maybe? "
"Good idea." He headed toward the bathroom.
"Pollack? I'm glad you're here. Really." She smiled lightly. He smiled back and closed the bathroom door.
She quickly snapped off the light and pretended to be asleep a few minutes later when Pollack came in from the shower and slipped into bed beside her.
XXXXXX
Woody stood in the hallway outside the door with his curled fist held up. His heart skittered. What was he doing out here? And what would he say to her? How would he explain that he was back here at her door? He only knew he wanted to see her, had to see her before he went to sleep.
He drew his hand back, ready to knock, when he heard muffled voices from inside. He frowned. It wasn't the TV. He leaned in, ear against the door. He could hear Jordan, but there was someone else. A male voice. It was one of the ADAs, surely. He shut his eyes and strained to hear. He heard Jordan's voice again, and then the man's voice. An Australian accent. Pollack.
He took a step away, and his arm dropped limply to his side. She was with Pollack, and he seemed more unsure than ever why he had ended up on her doorstep.
He turned finally and went back into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.