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DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.
NOTES: see part one
Part Two: Injury
Macy, Nigel, Bug and even Lily ran interference for Jordan all day. Woody found the time to stop in at shorter and shorter intervals, wanting to know what 'the M.E.' had found. The simple, blank "The body is still in autopsy. You'll get your report as soon as possible," didn't seem to put him off. He finally caught up with Jordan as she was making her way to copy the report and have it sent over to him.
"Dr. Cavanaugh!"
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Squaring her shoulders and wiping her inner turmoil from her face. "Detective?"
"Is that my report?"
"It is."
He nodded, his eyes ice chips in the stone carving of his face. "What took so long?"
"Did you want it fast or did you want it right?" Jordan shot back, her back teeth grinding against each other.
His face drew into a sneer. "Aren't you asking the wrong man that question?" He paused. "Oh wait, never mind. I forgot, you usually work fast."
Her eyes went wide with fury. "You son of a bitch!" Her voice rose and its tenor drew her colleagues from their various locations. "Copy your own damn report. I have better things to do – no, I have better men to do – with my time." She shoved the report against his chest and let go, not caring that he didn't have a hold on it yet and the papers went flying. She turned on her heel and strode toward the elevator.
Without looking at the others from the morgue, Woody collected the papers scattered at his feet. When he did look up, he found himself pinned to the spot with angry glares. Wordlessly, he went to copy the report.
Lily sidled up next to Bug. "Remember when you asked me if I thought they'd ever work out their problems?"
Bug nodded.
"My answer now is Not anytime soon."
"Yeah." Bug grimaced.
XXXXX
Jordan sat in her car, taking deep, gulping breaths, swiping at the tears scalding her cheeks. She called Woody every name she could think of, hitting the steering wheel with each syllable. A gentle tap on the window made her jump. Garret peered in at her, his face concerned. She rolled down the window. "No one here'll turn you in if you want to beat on Hoyt instead of your steering wheel."
She laughed harshly, the sound torn from her throat.
"Here." He gave her her handbag. "Go home."
She thanked him and waved goodbye as he began to walk away.
"And Jordan?" He turned. "Take tomorrow off if you want."
"The case-"
"We'll manage."
She nodded, unconvinced.
"I mean it."
Jordan was halfway home when she changed her mind. In ten minutes, she was pulling into a parking space in front of J.D's building. His face registered surprise, but pleasure, at seeing her at his door. "To what do I owe this honor?"
She didn't answer him. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. Her kiss was hungry and aggressive. He backed up, pulling her with him, reaching behind her to push the door closed. "Cavanaugh," he gasped.
"Don't talk." She was pulling up the sweater he had on, her nails scraping lightly against his skin.
He gripped her upper arms, stilled her frantic movements. "Cavanaugh."
She pulled back. Her dark eyes glittered with so many emotions he couldn't begin to catalogue them. "I thought this was what you wanted."
"I do."
"Then what's the problem?" The strident, accusatory tone of her voice rang too shrilly in the air.
"I want you, Cavanaugh. More than I can say. Christ, I dream about you. Sometimes, I'm even asleep." He gave her a lopsided grin in case his fantasizing about her – and admitting it – unsettled her. "But I want you to want me. Because I'm what you want, not because you're angry at someone."
"Who said I'm angry at Woo- anyone?"
"Love, it's obvious."
She wrenched herself free and stalked away from him. "What does it matter? It's just physical."
He advanced toward her and, despite her protesting head shake, wrapped her in his arms. "It matters, Cavanaugh." He tilted up her chin and kept it there so she could not avoid his eyes. "It matters because it's not just physical anymore. You've – You've woken up some things in me that I thought were gone. Things that mean a lot to me. Because you mean a lot to me."
She snorted. "What if I don't care? I'm not exactly known for my ability to commit."
"I'm not asking you to make any commitments. I'm telling you why I'm not going to go to bed with you while you're angry at Hoyt. I want us both to be able to look in the mirror the next morning."
She broke away, pacing, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "You really don't know me."
"I know you a lot better than you think," he insisted.
"Yeah?" Her eyes scoffed with as much intensity as her voice. "Really?"
"Probably better than you'd like."
Her hackles rose. "Why don't you tell me how well you know me, Pollack?"
He flicked up an eyebrow. "All right. You have a hell of a time trusting people. So anytime anyone gets close to you, you find reasons to back away. Only you ran into a few people who let you off so easily – your friends at the morgue and Hoyt. Work wasn't so bad, but Hoyt… he terrified you because he didn't give up and you weren't always in control. Finally – probably when he got shot – you decided you could trust him. Only he pushed you away. So, except for work, you went back into your mode of not trusting anyone." He gave her an empathetic smile. "But there's one little problem, isn't there, love? You realized once you've learned to trust even a few people, you want to trust others. That need to connect is too strong"
She stopped moving and stared at him, her jaw slack. "How…?"
"Do you think I haven't been there? Because I have, love. And I meant it – you mean a lot to me. I want you to be able to look at yourself in the mirror in the morning and I think if I take you to bed now, you won't be able to." He paused. "Maybe a few years ago, it wouldn't have been a problem, but now? Well, there was a reason you were creeping out of here that morning a while back."
She turned from him, her stomach in knots, her shoulders slumped. He watched her for a moment, biding his time, aching to hold her, but knowing she had to come to him this time. She took a deep breath that shook her slender frame. When she turned, her eyes shone with unshed tears and she glared at him, but there was no real anger in her expression. "It's not fair," she told him, her voice soft and thick.
"What?" He gave her a tentative smile.
"You. Being right."
He shrugged half-heartedly. "Sorry?"
Jordan shook her head. "Thank you." She came back to him, rested against him.
"How about we get some take out, a little wine and watch some of your awful American TV?"
She smiled at him, her lips stretching tightly over a fresh wellspring of grief. She wished for the days when running was the answer to everything, even if that answer was an illusion. Now her illusions lay shattered around her and their comfort – cold as it had always been – was long forgotten.
Take-out ended up being burgers from a place around the corner. Jordan questioned the nice bottle of wine, but J.D. insisted. "Nothing like an Australian Shiraz, love, no matter what you're eating. And this one happens to come from a winery where I am rather well known."
"Were alien spacecraft seen there?" she teased.
He grinned. "If there were, my brother's never seen fit to mention it."
Her eyes widened. "Your brother?"
"Yeah. He's made quite a go of this place. Or so I hear."
Jordan shot him a quizzical look as she took another bite of the burger.
"It wasn't really off the ground when I left."
"You've never gone back?"
He shook his head. "Someday." He gave her a warm look. "Ever been to Oz?"
Jordan nearly choked. "No. You're not-"
He chuckled. "Calm down, Cavanaugh. I was only going to say you should. You'd like it and-" he raised his glass in a mute toast. "-I think you'd fit in."
Jordan clinked her glass against his and took a sip.
They didn't watch any television, but sat on his couch listening to music, talking quietly and occasionally, content simply to be together. In fits and starts, she told him about what Woody had said to her and she told him bits and pieces of what had come before. She knew he'd worked most of it out for himself, but somehow it felt good to let it out. Then J.D. was telling her about a sailing trip he'd taken in secondary school, his fingers ceaselessly stroking her hair, winding themselves into its silken texture, brushing against her cheek from time to time. Her quiet responses grew utterly silent and, looking down, he found she'd fallen asleep in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder, a slight smile on her lips. He brushed a few locks of hair from her face and kissed her forehead. Moving gently, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his room. He managed to get her under the covers of his bed without waking her. For a few moments, he sat on the edge of the mattress, next to her, watching her. Finally, he smoothed the coverlet over her and kissed her mouth. He turned to tiptoe from the room when her hand snaked out from the beneath the blankets and grabbed his wrist. "Stay," was all she said.
He looked back at her. "Jordan-"
"Stay." Her face was soft and sleepy, but her eyes were beginning to glow with a different fervor. She pushed herself upright. "Because I want to be here with you."
"Are you sure, love?"
She lowered her eyes for a moment and then, looking up at him, she nodded.
He slid into bed with her and wrapped his arms around her. For a long time they lay together in the dark, not talking – not needing to. She could hear the steady thudding of his heart and his even breathing made the world seem more stable for some reason. At last she closed her eyes and told herself to let this be whatever it was supposed to be, for once in her life not to fight it, not to run. Lily had asked if this was real. Jordan had her answer now. No, it isn't real – not the real I could have had. And we both know it. She also knew that whatever happened, the cuts and bruises of the last few months were starting to heal. She whispered a goodnight, which he returned.
XXXXX
He let her sleep late the next morning. When she woke up and peered around owlishly, he was sitting in bed next to her, reading the paper. She stretched. He watched her, a smile playing on his lips. "Well, Cavanaugh, I thought you were going to spend your entire day off sleeping."
She grinned coyly at him. "You could have woken me up."
"Really? How?"
"Let me think…." She teased back. She sat back, resting against his headboard. "Thank you."
"For letting you sleep?"
"For last night." She sighed. "For – For making sure I could look at myself in the mirror today."
"Can you?" His tone was serious.
She nodded.
"Good. How about we go grab some lunch and go to the beach?"
Her eyes went wide with incredulity. "The beach? It's December!"
"So?"
She shook her head. "We'll freeze!"
"No, we won't. Come on, Cavanaugh. It'll be different."
"Right, yeah. I'll leave a note pinned to my top so Bug will know we froze to death and can skip autopsying our frigid corpses!"
He laughed and tumbled her over in bed. "Have you got a better idea?"
"Maybe." She raised her head and kissed him. Her arms snaked around him and pulled him down to her. Her hands began to wander toward the top of the sweats he was wearing.
"Hmm, I like your idea," he murmured, his voice throaty with lust. "I think it has definite possibilities. Def-" His stomach growled. Loudly.
They both burst out laughing. Jordan pushed him off of her. "All right. We'll at least grab some lunch."
They walked a few blocks to a sushi place that Jordan knew Bug and Nigel would have adored. They lingered over their meals. "Look," J.D. pointed as the waitress brought the bill.
It had begun to snow.
Having paid, they stood on the sidewalk. "I never quite get used to this," he said.
"No?" She slid her arm into the crook of his elbow.
"No. I love it when it's like this."
"Yeah. And then it hangs around, turns to slush, ices over… Not to mention the potential frostbite and…."
"You're a real killjoy some days, you know that?" He was grinning at her despite his words. "Anyway, you can't fool me, Cavanaugh. You love this place."
She sighed with mock theatrics. Then, she shivered.
Pollack suggested hot chocolate at a little café about halfway back to his place. She agreed with alacrity and in short order they found themselves facing each other over another table.
Jordan took a sip of the steaming drink. It needed to cool just a bit – unless she wanted to scald herself. She gazed at her companion. He seemed mesmerized by the white flakes drifting so lazily from on high. "You really like this weather?"
He shrugged. "Although I do have to admit – the thought that it's sunny and about thirty Celsius in Sydney today is a bit discouraging."
"Thirty?" She sighed, this time with real longing.
"Yep. I could be surfing. You could be lying on a beach, wearing a little bikini…." He leered at her. "You're right. This weather is atrocious."
She laughed. "A bikini huh?"
"Well, maybe not. I'd have to fight off all the other blokes. Without a doubt you'd be the hottest woman on the beach."
Jordan blushed slightly, enjoying their lighthearted conversation more than she'd enjoyed any banter since… Don't go there, just enjoy the moment. "Why did you leave?"
The smile vanished from his face as surely as if it had never been there.
"I'm sorry. If you-"
"No. It's all right. I – uh – I – I…." He fished his wallet out, opened it and took from it a picture. He laid it on the table and slid it over to her. Jordan picked it up and studied it. A blond woman – twenty-five, twenty-six, maybe – was seated on a rock with a little boy – two or three, Jordan guessed – on her lap. The woman beamed into the camera and pointed, probably at the photographer. Probably at J.D. Pollack. The little boy had his eyes and the shape of his head was unmistakable. Shaking, Jordan handed the picture back.
"You're… married?"
Pollack took a deep breath. "My late wife. She died."
Jordan nodded once, slowly, processing the information syllable by syllable. "And – And your son?"
"Bryan. His name was Bryan."
Was? Was Bryan? Jordan gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean…." She shook her head.
His mouth twitched. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you. It's not the greatest story, but – but it's important. You mind listening?"
All she could do was shake her head.
He wrapped his hands around his drink. "Scarlet and I met at uni. We hung out together with a bunch of other people. Eventually we started – we got together. I took my degree in journalism, got a job in Melbourne – nothing great, but a start. Scar and I were talking about moving in together, you know." He stopped for a moment. Jordan reached for his hands and took them in hers, squeezing his fingers. "She fell pregnant and I did the right thing. I figured, we'd been moving that way as it was and so – so it was the thing to do. We moved down to Geelong, near her mum so her mum could help out when the baby came. I was still working in Melbourne, commuting an hour each way, moving up a little, but things were really tight. You know, money.
"Bryan came along and – and changed everything. I used to be a lot like you, Cavanaugh." He smiled at her arched eyebrow. "I did. Once Bryan was born I wanted to change the world, make it a better place for my son. I got an in with the editor, started doing some hard hitting pieces, that sort of thing. It was great. Except for the money. Scar and I started arguing – a lot. I was never home and we never had any money and… anything you can think of, we fought about it. One night we had this knock down, drag out. There'd been a call to the house, the editor at one of the Melbourne tabloids offering me a job and a lot more money. I'd turned it down before without Scar's knowing. I should have told her, but I knew she'd go batty on me."
He took a deep breath. "So, we had this fight. And she ended it by grabbing the kid and storming out. She'd done it before – gone on to her mum's for the night, come home in the morning and we'd patched it up. So I sat, watched some cricket, drank a beer or two and took myself off to bed. Then her mum came around about eight-thirty wanting to know why Scar hadn't showed up at eight so they could have breakfast as planned."
Jordan felt tears start in her eyes.
"I didn't know Scar had been drinking. I swear I didn't. I should have, but I was so mad – so mad…." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Do you know anything about Australia?"
Jordan shrugged. "Kangaroos? Koalas?"
He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, well, we've got those. We've also got this bloody great road that runs along the eastern coast. It's called – clever this – the Great Ocean Road. It's a bit like the Pacific Coast Highway out in California. Anyway, it was built between the wars as a make-work project for our veterans. It's marvelous. Gorgeous views. Goes along the ocean obviously. Sometimes you're up a hundred meters or more, sometimes it seems like the waves could wash over the road at high tide. It also winds through the Ottway rainforest. You see all sorts of things – wildlife, interesting rock formations, the remains of shipwrecks. Only you don't see much at night. Not drunk. Not speeding."
"Pollack-"
"She must have known at the end. The skid marks were pretty long, but she took one of the curves way too fast. She never really stood a chance."
"I'm sorry."
He sighed. "She hadn't gotten Bryan in the child seat just right. The impact broke his neck. They told me he died instantly. Scar – Well, for whatever reason, she didn't have her safety belt on. They got her removed from the car by the time I got there, but I saw the windshield. I still see it sometimes – in nightmares."
"So you left?"
He shook his head. "Not right away. I moved up to Sydney for a bit, kept on writing my exposes and the like, struggling to make ends meet. And then I got this idea in my head that if I'd made more money, none of it would ever have happened. Never mind that Scar and I were already drifting apart and probably wouldn't have lasted much longer. Never mind that my son would have been able to be proud of me. No, if I'd made more money, everything would have been perfect."
"You're not the first person to see what you want. Believe me."
He nodded. "Yeah. It's easy, isn't it?" He shrugged again. "So I quit my job and went to work for one of Sydney's most outrageous 'rags.'" He grinned at her. "And I made more money. The thing was that life didn't get any better. My car got better. I found a better flat. But-"
"But nothing else changed."
"Bingo. So I came over here."
"You mean I'm not the only one to run away from my problems?"
"I think maybe I have you beat on this one, Cavanaugh. I not only ran, I ran over ten thousand miles!" He regarded her solemnly for a moment. "At least you came back. It's been seven years since I've been anywhere near 'home.'"
"And now I've got you thinking about it? Great. About par for the course with me."
He smiled. "Not because I want to get away from you, love. No, you reminded me of something. I told you that last night – you woke something up in me I thought was gone. Something that died with Bryan."
"You want to be Crusader Rabbit!" She laughed gleefully.
He grinned back. "Yeah. I kind of do. I've been thinking a lot. I wanted my son to be proud of me. I wanted to make a difference for him. And when I lost him, I figured there wasn't any point, but there's always a point, isn't there, Cavanaugh? So, yeah. You reminded who I used to be and I rather like that bloke. Thought I might give being him a shot again. What do you reckon?"
She leaned across the table and kissed him. "I 'reckon' it might be worth that shot."
"If I went home for a visit, would you come with me?"
"I – uh – um – I-"
"No pressure, Cavanaugh. Just a chance to play tourist, see some great sights, drink some great wine. I think you could use a break and I'd wager Dr. Macy would agree with me. And Bug. And Lily. And Nigel."
Jordan swallowed reflexively. "Can I think about it?"
"Yep. Hmm, the snow has stopped."
She glanced out the window. "Should we get going?"
He gave her that playful leer again. "We'll get cold."
"I'll warm you up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
END Part Two