A/N: My head's spinning. Too much Marilyn Manson. Don't, I repeat, don't ask. Long story. Anywho…haha I love this fic. I was writing it at eleven last night and I just kept coming up with really funny lines. My brain seems to work more efficiently at night…except when I'm doing homework, then it doesn't like to work properly.

Anyways, thanks to the amazing (and I mean that) people who reviewed my short little prologue :) Luv you guys!

FKW: Me have to see Closer! Me want to see Closer. Me is going nuts (haha…nuts). Anyway, thanks for the official goodbye this arvo and you know I'm always there to talk to when things get rough :) All ya have to do is ask. Thanks for the review as always and I'll talk to you tomorrow.

twinmuse: I love your name! Hehe…sorry I've had a lot of sugar today. Thanks for the review! I love reviews…they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Don't mind me, I'm crazy. Anyways, keep reading and thanks again for the kind words!

LeoDiabla: Thanks as always, Dylan :) Even for the 'you suck', but hey it's all in the time! ;) Keep reading and reviewing and I'll keep writing! Thanks.

Okies, I might be up to changing the rating if this gets a little crazy so just bear that in mind. And an Official Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan. If I did, I'd be rich.

Enjoy the show.

Only For The Truth
Chapter One: Looking For Answers In Corners

Devan poured an excessive amount of alcohol onto the cotton bud and walked over to the man sitting on a bench. She swiped along the man's cut quickly and watched as he squirmed under the sting. She gave him a sharp look and plucked up a roll of surgical tape. Ripping off a strip, she placed it roughly over the man's chest.

Throwing the cotton bud in the bin quickly, Devan turned away and looked for a small plastic container. "Cut yourself during all of that?"

The man shook his head. "I told you it was an accident."

Devan stifled a disbelieving laugh. "Right. You just accidentally raped and murdered a woman."

Woody poked his head into the room, his hand latching onto the swinging door. "Captain says I'm off the hook."

After being excused from the crime scene, the two of them had headed back to the morgue with the confessing man in handcuffs. Since then, however, that same man was denying his claim that he had killed Lesley Morgan.

Woody took a studying look at the man sitting on one of the benches in the autopsy room. "So, talk me through everything again, Ray. I can call you Ray, can't I?"

Ray Marks rolled his eyes. "I told you. I met Lesley at a bar tonight and we left together. When we got to my place, you can guess what happened next. It was completely consensual, up until she wanted me to play rough."

Woody raised an eyebrow. "And you had a problem with that?"

"Yes," Ray answered while looking squarely at the detective. "She wanted me to put my hands around her throat, and I did. But when she told me to apply pressure…I-I couldn't."

Devan shook her head. "That's not how we found her. Someone must have strangled her."

Ray looked down and cleared his throat nervously. "She made me. I swear I didn't want to hurt her."

Woody inclined his head. "So…who cut her middle?"

Ray swallowed. "She…grabbed a knife from the kitchen and just started…circling it around her stomach. I didn't know what to do so I just stood there and watched her. She looked at me for a second before she…plunged the knife into her stomach. I grabbed my phone to call an ambulance, but she ran out before I could."

Devan looked to Woody. "And that's when…"

"Yeah," Woody cut her off quickly, "I got it."

Sighing, Devan held out a small plastic container to Ray, who frowned. "I need a sample for the rape kit. There's a bathroom just around the corner."

Ray slid off the bench and took the container, sighing in frustration. "I told you, I didn't rape her."

Devan nodded and put on a fake smile. "Whatever."

When Ray was out of earshot, Woody closed in on Devan and looked at her squarely. "So what do you think happened?"

Devan shrugged and peeled off her gloves, throwing them into the bin below her. "I don't know; it's hard to tell the truth when all you've got is the suspect talking."

Woody sighed then. "There's always the victim."

"Yeah," Devan began, "but I'm going to leave her until the morning."

Woody frowned. "I can't hold him until then."

Shaking her head, Devan looked down the hall to the bathroom. "You don't have to; we'll keep in contact. I'm going to leave Jordan to clean up here."

Woody grabbed her arm gently as she was walking passed him. "I'm sorry tonight didn't work out."

She looked him in the eye before turning away and whispering coldly, "So am I."

Jordan paced Devan's office impatiently. When she had called her that morning, she had meant exactly seven, not seven minutes to eight. Looking at her watch again, Jordan sighed and wondered why it was that time seemed to move slower if you were waiting for something. Or, more specifically, someone.

Another minute ticked by slowly when Devan walked through her office door, glancing at Jordan apologetically. "Sorry, traffic was murder. Speaking of which, you didn't start the autopsy did you?"

Jordan leaned against Devan's desk with a stiff look. "And finished it."

"What?" Devan frowned. "Why?"

Jordan shrugged without much care. "You weren't here at seven. Don't forget that's how things work around here."

Devan sighed. "Fair enough. What did you find?"

Jordan straightened and pulled out a file from behind her. "Results are consistent with Ray's story. No apparent sign of a struggle, even though she was strangled and her oxygen supply was cut off for about ten seconds. The knife wound is on a downward angle, meaning she must have done it herself, the way Ray said she did."

Devan's hand rubbed her face and with a smothered sigh, she looked to Jordan. "I don't believe him. There's just something about it all that doesn't connect…"

There was a quick knock on the door and Woody walked through holding a few papers. "Lesley Morgan's medical records. Every last detail down to an old case of influenza."

Devan rolled her eyes at his emphasis on that last word. "Anything interesting?"

Woody flashed her a smile and raised a brow. "Actually, yes. When Lesley was fifteen, she was raped. They never knew who did it but it was suspected Lesley did, though she never told anyone."

Turning to Jordan with sudden urgency, Devan raised her own eyebrows. "Rape kit?"

Jordan shook her head. "No semen. Only the bruising. If she was raped last night there would be at least some fluid and skin cells from the suspect."

Woody nodded. "Ok, so he's telling the truth." He flicked his gaze to Devan, who stared back with an annoyed look. "After Lesley's rape eleven years ago, she went to a counsellor for three months. I contacted her via phone and requested a meeting."

Jordan headed towards the door. "You two go; I'll get a blood sample to Nigel for a tox screen."

The door clicked shut behind her and both Devan and Woody relaxed slightly. Jordan didn't know they had been together last night when all of this started, and they both wanted to keep it that way. No matter what the present was like now, Devan didn't want to mess with Jordan and Woody's history.

Woody leaned in close. "You didn't return my call."

Devan shrugged and brushed past him, heading towards the door. "I didn't know you called."

Woody stared after her and shook his head, watching her as she walked down the corridor towards the car park. Why was she being so cold?

The room was warm and filled with photographs and awards. The desk in front of them was a deep brown and cluttered with papers and more displaced photos. The woman was slightly more reformed, her face lined with wrinkles above her eyes and lips. Her short dark brown hair was tied back into a small bun and her jacket was buttoned over the top of her white blouse. She looked at them both expectantly with warm blue eyes, aged with wisdom only.

Woody cleared his throat, the mug of coffee steaming in his hands. "I know this is classified information, but it may help us in our investigation. Did Lesley entertain any thoughts about who it was that raped her?"

Doctor Adrienne Jean shook her head, her hair perfectly still in the bun. "I tried to sort of ease it out of her but it was like she was a locked door without a key. You know, she just couldn't open."

Devan laced her fingers around her own mug of coffee. "Did she express any details about it?"

The older woman sighed before nodding slowly. "She said he put his hands around her neck and squeezed until she was almost unconscious."

Woody and Devan exchanged knowing glances. Woody pulled out a piece of paper from the file resting in his hands. "The autopsy results show that the suspect strangled her for a period of seconds, but he says she told him to."

The counsellor frowned. "Did he say why she made him?"

Devan shook her head. "We were hoping you could."

Doctor Jean sat in silence before sighing reluctantly. "There is a condition that stems from post traumatic stress. It's when the person suffers something horrific and it's played over and over again in the mind. The brain then gets confused between what happened and what is just a figment of the imagination. Specific hormones are created though they are undistinguished between pleasure and pain. There is an unbalance of that particular hormone that throws the body and mind off kilter and confuses the person, leaving them unable to tell the difference between pleasure and pain."

Devan took a long breath and licked her lips. "So what you're saying is that Lesley told the man she was with to rape her…?"

There was a shake of a head. "Not rape. Remember, the brain can't tell the difference. The only thing the brain knows is what happened before."

Woody nodded. "So she wanted to relive it again."

Devan took a long sip of her coffee. "According to our suspect, Lesley stabbed herself in the stomach. Did she mention a knife when she talked to you?"

Adrienne frowned. "Not clearly, but she used to mumble about a knife…something about one going deep. I always assumed it was a metaphor or something."

Nodding, Devan took another sip of her coffee. "If she did this last night then it's possible she's done it before. We're going to need a list," she turned to Woody, "of boyfriends, partners…lovers."

Woody frowned. "Devan, we can't exactly find every one of her sexual partners over the last eleven years. What are we going to do, ask people of the street about their sex lives?"

Devan glared at him with frustrated eyes. "Woody, we need to do everything we can to find the truth…"

"Oh trust me," Woody cut her off, "I'm all for the truth, Devan. That's all I'm for but what you're suggesting is pure madness."

"It's been done before," Devan countered quickly.

"Excuse me," Doctor Jean stopped them both with her powerful voice. She turned to Woody. "Why don't you have a partner?"

Woody frowned in confusion. "Sorry?"

Adrienne Jean rested her hands one on top of the other on her desk neatly. "Isn't it customary to have a detective partner?"

Woody sighed. "No, it's optional. I request not to have a partner, they only get in the way."

The counsellor smiled. "And yet you let a medical examiner tag along. You've had a bad past with partners, haven't you? Maybe even betrayal…?"

Woody stiffened in his chair, his jaw clenching. "No, not me. Thank you for your time, Doctor."

Devan frowned as Woody stood in his chair and walked over to the door. She smiled politely towards the older woman and stood herself. "Thank you."

The counsellor stood as well, looking to Woody. "Lesley's old house is still in tact…and nobody uses it now. It's worth having a look at."

Woody nodded his appreciation before walking through the door, Devan in hot pursuit.

There were cobwebs hiding everywhere, their sticky residue plastering to Woody's clothes as he trudged through the tall grass. There were upturned wooden boxes, as well as old tattered furniture strewn across the yard. The house itself was completely covered in constricting vines, and was hidden behind a fell of trees and shrubbery. Devan groaned when she walked straight into another cobweb. She stared at Woody's back as he continued walking and she gave a small, frustrated sigh.

"What are we even doing here?" Devan asked to his receding back.

He didn't turn around. "Thought you wanted to find the truth. And besides, that woman knew way too much about this thing, even for a counsellor."

Devan sighed before forcing herself to walk forward. "Maybe she kept in contact with Lesley. Who knows, with Lesley's parents dead and the rest of her family in France, maybe she needed a parental figure."

Woody stopped at a small backyard door and he turned the handle. It was open. "Whatever," he said dismissively as he walked in the house, flicking on some lights.

Devan followed him after a moment's hesitation and she immediately tripped over an upturned box, falling onto Woody's back. She straightened quickly and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why is it so cold in here?"

"Wow," Woody gave her a sarcastic look, "I don't know. Maybe because it's been empty for five years."

"Yeah," Devan walked past him slowly, "or it's you."

He grabbed her arm. "Me? Excuse me, I'm not the one acting like Frosty the Snowman just because my beautifully planned night was ruined by something important, like a person's life!"

Devan snatched her arm away from his grip. "I'm angry at you because you've been acting like you're the only one living in this world. And you're the only one who can be right."

Woody shook his head in disbelief. "I think the real question here is what world are you living in?"

There was a footstep in the next room. They both froze, their heads turned to the open door in front of them. There was no other noise besides their abnormal breathing, partly created by the footstep and mostly created by angry remarks being carried between them both. Woody took a cautious step forward suddenly.

"Is anyone there? This is the police."

Devan cringed. "The police?" she whispered. "Great, we'll be killed now because of that."

Woody shrugged and walked forward into the next room. There was no one there, but there was an open door with stairs leading into a basement. He walked cautiously towards it, Devan following right behind him, her arm holding onto his shoulder. He shrugged it off when they reached the edge of the stairs.

Woody leaned forward. "Is anyone down there?"

"This is the police," Devan added sarcastically.

Suddenly, they were both pushed forward and they toppled down the stairs into the basement. It wasn't a huge drop so the pain was bearable…but only for Devan because she found herself holding onto Woody as they fell. Woody landed first, his head whipping up when it hit the concrete bottom. Devan had a much softer landing and when she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into startled blue ones. She looked down and realised she was lying on top of him.

"Whoa," she said loudly as she quickly straightened and crawled away from him.

Woody sighed and relaxed, panting and cringing at the throbbing pain in his back. "Is it possible to break every bone in your body?"

Devan found the wall and leaned against it. "Yeah, it is."

Woody groaned loudly before looking over to the top of the stairs. The door was closed, no light creeping in. He found himself able to see though because of a glass window at the top of the basement. A foot walked over it suddenly and Woody sat up slowly. He groaned when he heard…and felt a crack in his back.

He looked over to Devan, who had her eyes closed. "Well, this makes things a whole lot more interesting doesn't it?"

"No," she answered quickly, opening her eyes, "it doesn't. Do you have your phone on you?"

Woody reached into his pocket and felt nothing. "No, but as soon as they realise we're missing, they'll come looking for us."

"Oh, great," Devan started sarcastically. "By the time the cops get their lazy asses out of their chairs it'll be ten years from now. That's ten years to ponder on how to kill you."

Woody frowned. "So this is all my fault now?"

"You were the one who wanted to come here," Devan snapped.

Woody nodded and stood up with much difficulty, every bone in his body aching. "And I'm going to be the one to get us out."

Devan closed her eyes and leaned back into the wall. "Here we go again with the hero act. Good luck getting that door open."

Woody placed his hands on his hips. "Who said anything about a door?"

Devan looked up to where he was pointing and saw the small window. "No. We are not doing that again."

"Ok," Woody sat back down. "Your loss. But…for what it's worth, you have a nice ass."

Devan stared at him. He grinned back. She shivered and turned away from him. "Thanks, that's worth everything to me."

They sat through an uncomfortable silence for the whole of twenty seconds before Woody sighed loudly. "So what do you want to do?"

Devan shrugged with a bored look. "We could wrestle." She rolled her eyes at his look. "Arm wrestle, dummy."

Woody laughed and turned around to face her. "Sure, worth a try."

Their elbows touched the ground while their hands were tightly clasped. Woody shifted into a lying position and he took a deep breath before he nodded. They both applied pressure at the same time, their hands trying to go in different directions. Woody grimaced and let out a grunt while Devan smirked at his persistence. When Woody was almost shaking from the pressure he was applying, Devan pushed the force from her hand into his, making his hand fall to the ground. She let go of his hand before smirking at him.

"Never compete against a three-time champion," she said smugly and leant back into the wall again.

He returned the smirk before grabbing her hand again and pulling it down, jerking her forward suddenly. "Is that so?" he whispered into her ear.

Devan, taken by surprise, hooked her arm around Woody's shoulders, pulling him down next to her. She sat over him skilfully and held out his arms firmly above his head. He tried to move them but she held his wrists tightly. He smirked at her before using his bodyweight to lift her up and turn her over so she tumbled off him. He quickly straddled her and held her down the same as she had, except he twisted her wrist around in a lock. Letting out a small yell from the stinging pain, Devan glared at him before lifting up her legs and wrapping them around his waist, twisting him over again. This time, he fell with a thud against the cold concrete.

Woody heard the crack before he felt it. "Ouch," he said slowly, his back arched slightly. "I suppose you take yoga lessons, too."

Devan shook her head. "No," she said through quick breaths. "Self defence."

Woody panted heavily. "Even better."

Devan closed her eyes and smiled. "I know. It feels good to kick your ass."

Woody shrugged from his lying position on the floor. "Does it."

Devan opened her eyes and turned her head to the side, away from Woody. She screamed at what she saw. Next to her, in the midst of packed and labelled boxes, was a decaying skeleton. She sat up quickly and shuffled over to Woody, who stared at the body with wide eyes.

Horrified, Devan grabbed Woody's shoulder immaturely. "Oh my God. We've been locked in this room for a little les than ten minutes and there's been a rotting skeleton next to us the entire time. How could we have not seen that?"

Woody sniffed and scrunched up his nose. "Or smelt it."

Devan looked at him with a mixed gaze of annoyance and horror. "Please don't do that."

Woody sighed and looked again at the body, then he frowned. "What are those boxes?"

Before Devan could reply, there was a shuffle above the basement and the click of a door. Light shredded through until the door was completely open and the light from above just blasted them. A silhouette appeared on the top of the stairs and Devan's eyes widened when it started walking towards them. She held onto Woody's shoulder tighter and he turned to give her a look of mock sarcasm.

The silhouette took another step before it stopped dead in its track. "What are you two doing here?"

It was a male voice, as the figure suggested. Devan let out a quick sigh of relief and answered before Woody could. "We're the police."

Woody gave her an annoyed look. "Detective Hoyt, Boston PD. Next to me you'll find Doctor Maguire from the Medical Examiner's Office."

"And next to me you'll find a dead body," Devan added.

Woody frowned. "Who are you?"

The man walked towards them again, his face still hidden by the shadows. "I'm Lesley's brother twice removed."

Confused, Woody turned to Devan with an open mouth and whispered, "Twice removed? How does that even work?"

Devan shrugged. "Don't want to know."

A/N: The twice-removed thing was really just a stupid joke ;) I don't know if that can actually happen. Hmm…a preview for the next chapter…there's a lot of alcohol being consumed…and a lot of awkwardness follows. Read and review peoples!

Peace.