A/N: Hello and welcome to my nightmares. A warning that there may be some stripping from my twelve illicit lovers along the way…ok seriously, don't ask about that one. I am currently looking at pictures of Jesse Metcalfe so bear with me until my fangirl-ness has worn off. There, it's gone.

A big shout-out to those wonderful (and I mean it) people who reviewed my last chapter…you guys are fantabolous (my new favourite made-up word)!

FKW: Sorry to disappoint but Woody does not kill Devan in this. Not even in a drunken rage. But…don't count out the possibility of an upcoming Woody/Jordan fic either…I'm working on something. I went on to Channel 7's website last night and it said that there was going to be another CJ marathon but no, there had to be a movie on instead! So I'm pissed off at them for building my hopes. But I'll get over it cause Desperate Housewives is on Monday! I'm drooling already. Anywho, thanks for the review! (that rhymes…)

celticgina: Thanks for the review :) Read this chapter to find out why they were out together. All questions will be answered. Thanks again.

littleblackant: Hehe…I like your name. Merci beaucoup for the review! (wow…I'm rhyming a lot today…) Hope you enjoy the rest of this story :)

Ok, the pleasantries are done so we may now begin. Enjoy it.

Only For The Truth
Chapter Two: Welcome To My Nightmare
Woody paced outside of the interrogation room, the two-way mirror showing him the figure of a sitting man, arms folded across the table and expression dead ahead. The man's build was quite muscular and his clothes didn't hide that fact. His blue muscle shirt was stained with grease while his light blue jeans were worn with tattered holes. His head was shaved and his ears held silver studs in several places. He sat perfectly still on the wooden chair, his teeth chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

Jordan walked up to Woody and held his shoulder. "Twice removed?"

Woody shook his head. "Don't even try."

Jordan shrugged, glancing towards the man. "What's he saying?"

Woody sighed and walked over to the door of the interrogation room, his hand grasping the handle. "Just that he was at the old house to check up on things. A weekly routine, apparently. He heard noises downstairs and went to investigate."

Jordan nodded. "And that's when he saw you and Devan."

"Yeah," Woody said as he turned the handle, "and the dead body."

Jordan held up her phone and shook it. "Should be getting a call from Devan real soon about it. Can't promise you an ID though."

Nigel typed rapidly on a keyboard. From the small amount of DNA he could find on the decaying body, none of it was turning up on the screen. No identification at all. The body had been male, and by the looks of things, had been connected to Lesley Morgan in some way. Now all they needed to figure out was how.

Devan walked through the doors intrusively, her face scanning Nigel's. "Find anything?"

Nigel sighed and shook his head. "Nope, nothing but dead ends. This man had to be someone."

Devan nodded. "Someone from eleven years ago. Right around the time Lesley was raped."

Nigel frowned. "You think he's the rapist?"

She shrugged. "Don't know yet, but it's more than likely. A sharp, metallic object pierced through two of his ribs, tearing them apart in an instant. There's our knife connection."

Nigel chewed his lip. "So if he did rape Lesley eleven years ago then he might have done it before. He'll be on our database."

Devan nodded. "I'll get on to Jordan."

There was a bleep on the computer and Nigel looked at the screen. A name flashed across it.

Woody placed the printed papers on the desk in front of the disorientated man. "James Kendall. Ring any bells?"

Nick Morgan shook his head and chewed his lip tentatively, before looking up at Woody. "Should I?"

Woody sighed and exhaled in frustration. "Yes. He raped your sister eleven years ago."

Morgan gave an annoyed look and placed his palm firmly on the table. "Twice removed."

"How does that…?" Woody began quietly in confusion. "Doesn't matter. Look, I need to know how this man ended up dead and decaying inside of your old house."

Morgan tried his best to look irritated. "I don't know! All I want to do is see my sister."

"Twice removed," Woody quickly added smugly.

"Whatever," the man stood up suddenly. "Please, just let me go so I can see her."

Woody sat on the edge of the table, shaking his head slowly. "Not until you tell me how a wanted felon ended up in your basement."

Morgan sighed loudly and pulled his head down with his arm. "Ok, I'll tell you. The night Lesley was raped I came home to find that guy dead on the kitchen floor, a knife sticking out of his chest. Lesley was nowhere to be seen so I went looking for her. She had a bag packed and she was waiting for a bus to take her somewhere, I don't remember where. Anyway, I promised her protection if she stayed here in Boston. I buried him in the backyard that night and we never spoke of it again."

Woody frowned. "So how did his body end up in the basement?"

"How should I know?" Morgan gave a look of irritation. "Can I see her now?"

Devan walked through the doors of the precinct and a shiver ran up her spine. It always had a cold feeling to it, like an indifference that chilled her. She found Jordan talking to Woody and an officer and stopped a few feet away. Jordan turned to look at her and smiled quickly before the officer escorted her and Nick Morgan out of the room. She looked to Woody, who shrugged and smeared a hand across his face tiredly.

"We've got nothing," he said with an irritated sigh. "Apparently the rapist found dead was killed by Lesley the night he attacked her and Nick came home to find him on the kitchen floor with Lesley nowhere. He found her at the bus station a few blocks down trying to hitch a ride somewhere."

Devan frowned. "I don't get the whole 'twice removed' thing…"

"Forget about that," Woody said as he took her hand and opened the door to the interrogation room. "We've got some sorting to do."

When they were both in the room Devan looked at the two-way mirror and gave Woody a look of confusion. "You do realise people can just…see us, don't you?"

Woody looked up, unfazed. "Yeah."

He pulled up a box from the floor and placed it on the table. He began sifting through its contents and pulled out old books and diaries. He raised his eyebrows at Devan and smirked. She shook her head and sat on the edge of the table, picking up a random notebook.

"Dear Diary," she began reciting. "Today Nick told me he would keep me safe. There is no safe. That monster hurt me and I feel the pain everywhere I am. Even though he's dead, he lives in my memory."

Woody shrugged, picking up a book and reading a page. "Poor girl. She was hurting."

Devan gave him a scathing look. "You think? Hey, take a look at this…"

She leaned over the table to where he was sitting and pointed to a line in the diary. Woody read out loud instinctively. "Adrienne said that I needed to deal with my pain. How, when I know there are others out there hurting people?"

Devan raised an eyebrow. "She mentioned Adrienne, the counsellor. And the date's exactly six months after the attack. How long do you think she was seeing a counsellor?"

Woody shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"Well," Devan said as she slid off the table and walked around Woody. "She was still hurting after six months. And Adrienne never recommended anything to her before this time. If she had the girl's best interest at heart, she would try to help her as soon as possible."

Woody frowned. "I don't get it."

Devan sighed in frustration. "Look, forget it. Wasn't important, anyway."

"Whatever," Woody dismissed. "Ok, we need a list of suspects who could have possibly been in the house before with us. We've got the twice removed brother and the creepy counsellor so far."

Devan nodded. "And don't forget Ray Marks. Even though the rape kit came back negative, he probably violated her in some way and wanted us to pay for it."

Woody shook his head and sifted through another cardboard box. "I'm letting him go."

Devan stared at him. "What? Why?"

Woody shrugged. "Because he didn't do anything. And I take his word for it."

"You're dismissing him just because you believe what he said?" she asked incredulously. "How do we even know they had met that night? They could've known each other before and he staged her death to look like a suicide."

Woody looked up and faced Devan squarely. "You're reading way too much into this."

"And you're not reading into it enough," she countered coolly. "Even if he didn't kill her he contributed to her injuries. He should at least be charged with being an accessory or something."

"If that's the way you think, take it up alone," Woody said coldly.

She stopped in her tracks, her mind racing. She frowned and said quietly, "What is this really about? You've been weird about this case from the beginning."

"Devan, I was this close," he held up his hand and left a small space between his index finger and his thumb, "to being over the limit. If anyone found out I had been drinking I would have my badge taken away from me. This case isn't worth that."

Devan looked away from his probing blue eyes. "I thought you were all about finding the truth."

"I'll tell you the truth," he began spitefully. "Being with you could ruin my career."

Devan, taken aback, couldn't move. They had gone for drinks that night and it had been Woody's suggestion that they go to his place afterwards. Stepping back from the table, Devan left the room without a word, leaving Woody to stare after her.

It was past midnight and he still couldn't find her, or even reach her on her phone. He had a feeling she might be at a bar, but which one he hadn't a clue. Stopping suddenly, he looked up towards a sign that flashed with neon lights. Woody shrugged and walked through the door and after hearing the bells clink above him, he looked over to the counter. It was there that he saw her and walked over.

He looked at her with a sense of confusion and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

She turned to look up at him with an accentuated smile. "You know, the usual."

He was taken aback by her soft tone of voice and wondered at the strange look in her eyes. He then looked down at her drink, which was half-empty. "Are you drunk?"

She laughed quietly and lifted her hand, positioning her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Just a little."

"Devan," Woody began and took up the stool next to hers, "you're not doing this alone, you know."

Devan shrugged. "Yeah, but I am alone in what I think. Doesn't matter though…"

He watched her finish her drink with audacity and shook his head, taking her hand firmly. "You're finished here."

She struggled under Woody's tight grip; unable to break free when he pulled her up. "Woody…"

"I'm taking you home," he said with an acquired authority.

Devan raised her eyebrow before following him outside willing. "Really."

The drive to Woody's apartment was uncomfortable, with both of them sitting in silence, and Devan every now and then trying to find some sort of an escape. Twice Woody had to lean over her at a red light to pull the door shut, because she had attempted to walk out of the car. The second time he had to do this, there was a pause between when he had closed the door and was supposed to straighten. In this instance, he had instead lingered close to her. The light then changed to green and Woody had no choice but to drive.

The car stopped suddenly outside a building and Devan looked up at it with tired eyes. Woody cleared his throat before opening his car door and walking over to the passenger's side, flicking open Devan's door. She looked up at him with reluctant eyes. Eventually, though, he took her hand again and pulled her up, but when she stepped out of the car, she tripped over the gutter and fell forward. Woody caught her and sighed while shaking his head. Both of them knew it was going to be a long night.

Limping up the stairs to Woody's apartment, Devan leaned heavily against his shoulder and welcomed his arm around her waist for support. When they finally reached his door, Woody pulled out his keys and unlocked his room, ushering Devan in and closing the door firmly behind him, locking it so she wouldn't try to escape again. He didn't exactly want to be responsible for her going to work tomorrow with a hangover or not going at all because she had 'forgotten'.

Devan looked around, disorientated. "Why are we here?"

Woody sighed and took her hand, leading her to his bedroom. "Because my place is closer to the morgue than yours."

He sat her down on the bed and took off her shoe to examine her ankle but she looked at him with a frown. "Excuse me?"

"You've rolled your ankle, Dear," he said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "Try to sit still."

He rubbed her ankle professionally and Devan tried hard not to flinch. His touch was gentle and everything she wanted, but she couldn't let him see that. She would be crossing so many lines if she gave in to what she wanted. Woody stopped suddenly and searched for a bandage to wrap around her ankle. When he found one, Devan dictated to him what he should do.

"Tighter," she instructed. "Make sure you wrap around the entire foot."

Woody, however, was in awe at how clearly Devan spoke when she was intoxicated. She wasn't slurring, which was a good sign that a massive hangover didn't loom on her horizon for the morning. And as such, a massive headache didn't loom on Woody's horizon. When he looked up again, he was surprised to see Devan smirking at him.

"What?" he asked indignantly.

She shook her head. "You."

He frowned and sat up on the bed behind her. "Is that some kind of personal attack?"

Her smirk widened suddenly and she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She leaned back into his chest and forced him to lie back on the bed. Woody rolled his eyes and tried to wriggle free, but he found it surprisingly hard to move under her weight. So he just lay there and waited for her to drift off to sleep. It was going smoothly when…

"Will you sing to me?"

Woody's face lined into a frown at the soft, very drunk murmur. It was going to be a very long night, indeed.

A/N: Ok, that one's over. I know a common question among you all right now is 'what the hell was she on when she wrote this!' Coffee and coke mix quite well actually…