A/N: Hang in there...it's almost over...one more chapter after this! Thanks as usual for your comments!

XXXXXX

There was some solace in work.

She had found a loving, experienced sitter for Will who had come recommended by Renee Walcott of all people. Her co-workers welcomed her back warmly, and there was a silent understanding that the subject of her marriage was off-limits.

She put new pictures of the baby on her desk, a particularly cute shot of one of his first gummy grins. She debated whether or not it was appropriate to put out a picture of Woody and wondered with grim humor if there wasn't some separated couples' handbook that she needed to pick up.

Woody did not come for dinner that week she started back to work. He left a quick message when he knew she would be out saying he understood she was busy, and he would call her soon to set up a time to see Will.

It sent a chill through her, his choice of words, the formality of it. She had known it couldn't last, this state of being neither together nor apart, but she had always believed that they would get through it. Now, she wasn't sure. Perhaps they would drift further and further apart until a divorce was inevitable. If not for Will, it would be as if they never really existed together.

She thought of him and their last meeting often as she waited for him to call again, and she would have to stop what she was doing until the ache passed through her.

She expected him on Saturday at his usual time. She set an extra plate and laid out Will's pajamas for after his bath, but the hours passed. Dinner couldn't bear another reheating, and Will fell asleep in his swing.

"I give up..." she said quietly to no one, and the thought came into her mind with an unpleasant jolt that she didn't just mean the dinner but their entire relationship. She jumped up and busied herself with the dishes and putting Will in his bassinet, unwilling to even contemplate it. But it was there all the same, a terrifying undercurrent.

It was late, and she could hear the downpour beating against the window. He wasn't coming. She readied herself for bed, aware that sleep would not come easily, and then there was a knock at the door. It occurred to her that it was Woody, but he had a key, after all, and she crossed back into the living room with a puzzled frown.

But it was Woody, standing in the hallway with his raincoat wrapped around him. She unlocked the door, and he hurried in without a word.

"Woody! It's almost ten o'clock..." She said, more concerned than angry. "What are you doing here?"

She turned to him. He paced the living room in restless circles with sheets of rain pouring off of him. He mumbled something, an inaudible apology.

"My God, you're soaking wet! What's going on? Did you walk over here?" She knew that apartment where he was staying was within walking distance, but just barely, and certainly not in a dark, driving rain. He ran his hands over his face, still not speaking. "Woody? Are you okay?"

He nodded vaguely. "I wanted to see you, Jordan. I left my place two hours ago. I've just been walking..."

"In this weather? Woody, it's practically a Nor'Easter out there...Woody?"

He seemed not to hear but stood in the center of the room, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. He shook his head slowly, and droplets of water shook from him.

"You're soaked to the bone," she said gently, trying to conceal the real worry that had crept into her voice. "You need to get out of those wet clothes." He only nodded, teeth chattering, and she undressed him like a child. She shivered as her fingers ran over his damp, bare skin. He had lost weight, and there was a gauntness about him that was startling.

He stumbled through the bedroom into the bathroom, and came out some time later toweling his hair dry, wearing a pair of sweats he had left in the bottom drawer.

"I'm sorry, Jordan. I should have called first." The shower had calmed him, but there was a heaviness in his voice and in his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days. Perhaps he hadn't.

"It's okay, Woody..."

She had curled up on one end of the sofa with her feet tucked under her, and he sat in the other corner. She waited for him to speak as he drummed his fingers distractedly against the arm of the sofa.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you think it was a mistake? Getting married?"

She looked into the darkened room where Will lay peacefully sleeping. "No," she said, never more certain of a thing. "Do you?"

"I just wanted things to be like they were." His voice throbbed with pain.

"I don't think things will ever be like they were again, Woody."

He nodded in the sad realization. There was a silence, and she held her breath waiting for him to speak again. His eyes flitted anxiously around the room.

"I thought being a cop would prepare me." He spoke slowly, and she could see that tears were rimming his eyes. "I almost died two years ago when I got shot. I thought I was over it. I thought nothing could be any worse than that."

The air around them crackled. She looked over at him, wide-eyed with sudden fear. "It's all right now, Woody," she said in a hushed whisper. It wasn't true. It wasn't all right, perhaps it never would be again, but there seemed nothing else to say.

"I saw some things, Jordan. Some of the things we had to do over there. I can still see them." His voice cracked. "I can hear him. He was right there next to me in the cockpit. Right there one minute. Right there." He let his breath out in a broken sigh and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

She couldn't move; she was paralyzed. He looked up then and spoke. "I'm seeing someone, Jordan."

Her heart trembled. For a moment, she thought he meant he was seeing another woman, but the she knew in an instant that was not what he meant at all. She could feel her own eyes pool, then, too.

"I know it will take some time. But I was wondering if maybe I could have a second chance."

Unable to speak, she could only nod. She pulled him to her, and he buried his face against her shoulder. He was right: this would take time. She knew things would probably be worse before they were better, like the tender new skin on a wound as it heals.

But she would give him a second chance, and if he needed it, she would give him a third, and a fourth, too.