A/N: Sorry it's taken so long. Thanks for being patient. Exams are about to start and these next couple weeks I think I'm going to just crash. Enjoy

When Garret Macey awoke twelve hours after being shot, it was to discover that it was not he- but a machine that breathed for him. At first, the sensation of having air being pumped into his body threw him off balance. For the first few moments, he didn't know where he was. The last thing he remembered was being shot, watching Jordan being taken from her home on Pearle Street, and then falling unconscious. He blinked away the sleep that had collected on his lashes during and after surgery. He felt groggy, his mouth felt waxy and as if something had died in it, and his chest... His chest felt completely numb, save for the sharp pains that cut through his back now and again. But the fact he could feel something in his back, well that was worth something wasn't it? On any other day, he might have thought so. But as he lay in that hospital room, unable to move, and unable to breath without assistance, only one thought overpowered his emotions. Where's Jordan?

"Garret?" A familiar voice soothed softly.

Too weak from surgery and medication to turn his head, Garret's eyes shifted in the direction the voice was coming from.

"Hey there" He caught a blurred image of a familiar red head with kind eyes and soft features.

Lily's eyes were puffy and red from crying hours before in the waiting room. After hearing that Garret's heart had failed during the procedure, she had thought he was finished. But just as soon as she had been told, the doctor had informed her that they were able to revive him. He would be on a respirator for a day or two, and then they would try for a second surgery to remove the other bullet.

"The second bullet is lodged in his breastbone. It isn't going anywhere for now, so it isn't an immediate risk if we have to leave it in a little longer. We'll just have to keep a close eye on him for infection or inflammation in the meantime."

"Can I see him?" Lilly had asked quietly.

The doctor had shaken his head, "I'm sorry miss, but doctor Macey is in ICU right now. You aren't listed as being the next of kin so I can't let you…"

"Please?" Lilly had asked quietly, her doe eyes pleading with the surgeon. "It could be hours before anyone can get a hold of his ex wife and daughter. If something happens between now and then, he shouldn't be alone."

The surgeon had paused in thought. He lowered his voice and said simply, "I can only tell you that no one is supposed to see you in there. I've warned you. If you should go against my wishes, well- I can't really tell you that anything good will come of it."

And with that he had headed back down the hall. Lilly waited outside the room for the nurses to leave. She had waited for the shift change, then entered the dimly lit room which had both it's blinds drawn and door closed. That was an hour ago. One nurse had entered, thinking Lily his wife, and had left the room without question. She wasn't going anywhere.

She wrapped her fingers around his and smiled as she looked at him. "Gave us all quite a scare."

He blinked simply, unable to do much else. Only one thought was on his mind, is she ok? Tell me she's ok.

Lily must have been a mind reader because the next thing she said was, "Woody's been working with the guys at the lab since seven this morning. It's going pretty slow right now, but they've got a DNA sample that Nigel's running through the crime database as we speak." She patted the top of his hand, "Don't worry about a thing, ok? Woody will take care of it."

Garret's eyes rolled to the ceiling, they blinked furiously and his brow furrowed with strain. Jordan was a daughter to him, not just a colleague. If something happened to her, if she was killed when he could have done something to stop it from happening, he could never forgive himself. He had worked enough cases in his lifetime to know the possible outcomes in the hours before her death. The knowledge of these things were even more torturous to him than the question that asked where she was. She could be dying somewhere, bleeding to death and alone. The attacker could have beaten her to death, tossed her into the river, or shoved her off onto someone else. Each scenario played through his mind again and again.

Lily knew he'd do this to himself, and rather than act as a grief councilor, she chose to be a friend. She stayed with him, in the silence of his hospital room, and together they waited for updates from the morgue.

Hours later Woody had lost both his tie and his jacket in the lab of the city morgue. Sydney had been forced to take over some autopsies that had been piling up in the crypt all day. In between his sessions he had returned to the lab to find out Nigel and Bugs latest findings.

So far, the bullet, which had been lodged in a hole that was covered in blood spatter, had been matched to a 22 caliber. This bullet matched the one that had been taken from Garrets chest just hours before. There was a smudge of dirt found on the fire escape with a well-mangled spiders leg imbedded in the dirt. Bug had discovered only that the contents of the dirt contained the same composition of every other location inside or outside of Boston. Nothing about it's composition was unique in anyway. Bug was busy trying to identify the damaged spider leg when Nigel's computer froze on a certain profile.

"I got it!" Nigel shouted in triumph. He quickly hit the print keys on his computer as Woody waited anxiously by the printer.

Out zipped a simple sheet of paper with a mug shot of a man that Woody had never seen before. The man had cold gray eyes, a face that could have been chiseled in stone- unwavering to human emotions. His name was Derrick Sniger. The photo was taken when he had been a kid, nineteen years old according to the profile. His hair was dark brown and hung over in his eyes just slightly.

"Arrested back in 1967 for assault against a girl by the name of…" Nigel read off the screen, "Hannah Somberson- but she dropped the charges by the end of the same week."

Nigel clicked onto the next window and whistled softly, "Did a number on this one."

Hannah, it seemed, would have been a pretty girl had in the photo her face not been splotched with countless bruises and cuts. Her hair was disheveled, and parts of her scalp were bare from where large portions of her curly brown hair had been torn from her head. Her eyes were small, her frame petite, but she was tall and looked as though in a few more years she would have been a knock out.

"Nigel, see if you can find a paper trail for Mr. Sniger and get back to me." Woody folded the mug shot and slipped it into his back pocket. He grabbed for his jacket and slipped it over his arms quickly, feeling a sudden burst of energy from the tid-bit Nigel had tossed him.

"Where are you going?" Bug asked, looking up from a text entitled, Arachnid Origins.

"I'm going to go find out where Hannah is, and ask her what made her drop those charges."

He was out the door before anyone could say anything further. Detective Hoyt was just rounding a corner when he nearly ran into someone he hadn't been expecting to see.

"Oops, pardon me mate, didn't see you there!"

Detective Hoyt hated coincidence. The aussie, who Woody had come to dislike more and more with each passing week, was now standing directly in front of him. Not only was he in the morgue, but he had come bearing gifts. JD shifted the box of take out into his other arm and held out his hand for Woody to shake.

"What are you doing here?" Woody inquired coldly, not returning the gesture.

The aussie dropped his hand and shrugged, "Just bringing Jordan lunch, like I've been doing for the past few days." He paused, "Where is she anyway? I went in her office and I didn't see her."

"She isn't here." Woody answered coolly.

"Is she at home then? I was going to swing by last night, but…"

"She isn't there either."

"Oh."

Woody turned on his heel and headed for the elevator. He wasn't going to give this spunky journalist any details. Legally, he wasn't supposed to. He could have, but hell- he could do a lot of things, but he wasn't about to make Jordan another spectacle of the press. And he sure as hell wasn't going to release any details to this slopped up mess of a journalist. May be "dislike" was too soft of a word these days to describe the feelings he had for the aussie. But oh well, no time for name-calling and specifics; he had a job to do. As he stepped into the elevator, Woody could feel JD's eyes on his back. Woody pressed the floor key he needed and crossed his arms as the doors began to close. At the other end of the hall, JD held a puzzled expression but didn't try to stop the detective from leaving. Seconds later, Woody was driving to the station to do his own research on Hannah's story and what exactly happened in 1967.