Disclaimer: So, yeah. With that court order and all, I apparently have to refrain from making witty attempts at disclaimers and jokes about owning the rights to Crossing Jordan. With that said, I don't in fact foresee me getting said rights anytime in the near future. I disclaim.

Author's Note: So much for me rolling out those chapters all lickety-split, but as noted before, it is short. I guess I know how to hold up at least part of the bargain. Seriously though, it is a fairly short chapter and hopefully I will actually get another one of these up and out very soon. As usual, comment and constructive criticism are always welcome and feedback for your feedback will be provided at the end of this chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter Two: Playing Pretend

Jordan loved to play pretend. She would raid her mother's closet and drape herself in long, beaded necklaces, with large, floppy hats and gaudy rings. But this was a different kind of pretend. Now, she was pretending to be somebody that she wasn't. Now, she was somebody who had taken a job at some hole-in-the-wall café, who wore an apron, her hair in a bun and a nametag that read, 'Jori'. Now, she was pretending to be happy. And, truthfully, Jordan wasn't sure that she loved play pretend anymore.

She had been in New York for just over three weeks and the searching and probing phone calls from home were now down to a minimum. Her dad had been panicked and worried and sworn that Jordan had given him a heart attack. Garrett told her that if she didn't get her ass back to Boston immediately, he'd surely haul it back himself, because Garrett had control issues and claimed that her father wasn't the only one who was having a preemptive heart attack. Lily whispered in a tearful voice that she understood, but at the same time she really didn't, and as long as Jordan was safe she supposed it was okay.

Jordan had told them all the same thing, "I'm fine. I know what I'm doing. I need time. Please."

Woody hadn't called, but Jordan really hadn't expected him to. Some part of her had hoped, maybe, but expected? Not a chance.

It was almost strange that sometimes she still had those fleeting moments of hope. Moments where that silly imaginative tape recorder didn't remind her repeatedly that he didn't love her. There was no play button that would click in to bring her down to reality. Instead, she'd see faded images flash before her eyes, blurry and water colored, like an old projector might showcase against a billowing white sheet. And there, of course, would only be the blissfully happy times. The whole damn world colored with playful pastels.

A tire swing hanging from a tree in the backyard seemed horribly cliché, and yet the moment she saw the old elm, she just knew she had to have one. He agreed, with an excited, boyish grin and hung one later that week. And almost every night that summer, the two would sit beneath the tree, sometimes on the tire, sometimes not, and talk about how wonderful life would be now that they were together. How with the past behind them, all the bad times forgotten, everything would be perfect. And, for that summer anyway, it seemed like it really would be.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" Jordan asked. She lay half cradled in his lap, half against the tree, the rough bark scraping through her light cotton top.

"I don't know," he answered, his hand resting comfortingly atop her stomach. His other hand absently pushed the tire swing back and forth, the thick rubber smacking his palm with every motion.

"We should probably start planning a wedding too," she said, her forehead wrinkling slightly at the thought.

"Probably."

He smiled down at her, the soft thump of the swing slowly becoming less frequent. He didn't question that she had said, 'probably' and not 'definitely'. And she didn't question that he hadn't called her on it. She grinned at him in return and clasped her arms around his waist, drawing him closer to her.

"No rush anyway," she announced in a decided voice with an accompanying nod.

"No."

"And besides," Jordan continued. "It's not like you asked me to marry you."

"Guess I haven't," he said, his smile growing larger. "Do you want me to?"

"No," she responded, but her shoulders shrugged.

"Because if you wanted me to, I would you know," he told her.

"And what if I said that this was enough? That having you and all this was just enough?" she asked.

"Well, then if you still wanted me to, I still would."

"Hmm," she considered aloud.

"It wouldn't all change Jordan," he said. "You'd still have me, that wouldn't change. I promise."

"You'd just be bound to me by law," Jordan informed him with a raised brow.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Something like that."

"Well, that does sound sort of appealing," she admitted.

"So?"

"So, a promise is a promise," she whispered.

The breeze blew lightly then, making the swing fall from Woody's grasp. He reached for it, dramatically exaggerating his movements. Jordan laughed and leapt to her feet pulling the swing further from him, before slipping her legs into the tire. She grabbed hold of the rope with both hands and swung her weight, spinning herself in circles. Not getting off the ground, his knees sinking into the soft mud, he hooked his arm onto the tire.

Woody reeled in the swing, Jordan still perched on top, towards him. When he got her close enough, he tipped the tire down and kissed her quickly, before sending it soaring once more. As it swung back in his direction, he placed his large hands down on the rubber, the tire stopping with a jolt. She hopped off and made her way to the house, Woody following closely behind.

"I promise," he said, snaking an arm over her middle.

"Good."

And then a bright burst of red would end it all. It wasn't always clear if the color was literal or figurative. Maybe it was just symbolic. As if that billowing white sheet had suddenly caught fire and burned into nothing. Leaving the old projector to cast its images only into the night, where they couldn't be seen.

Sometimes, although not usually, that play button in her mind would be pressed when all was said and done and she could once more hear his words echo in her ears, "I don't love you Jordan. Not anymore. Maybe I never did."

And with that, the fleeting hope would become nonexistent. Then she would go back to fooling herself. She would go back to pretending. Pretending that she actually didn't like that little bit of fleeting hope that she clung to every once and awhile. Pretending that by running away, she could just forget him. Still pretending to happy.

Running a finger along the locket that she hadn't removed since the night she came to New York, Jordan thought that maybe if she could just pretend long enough, it would be real. Even if the thought of Woody, whether in dark, veiled dreams or misty muted memories, proved to be the only reality she ever wanted or needed. But if she just could make believe than maybe she could make it work. Maybe.

NCCJFAN: Thanks a million. Have I ever said what an awesome honor it is to have somebody whose stories that I enjoy immensely review my fic(s)? If I haven't, it totally is!

Kate: Thanks! I, of course, fanwanked the whole choir bit. But going to a Catholic school, I'm sure it's not that much of a stretch. (I speak from past experience.)

veggie5: 'Eerily dark' was exactly what I was going for :) Thanks for the awesome review!

Orlando-crazy, simba-girl, cavanaugh-girl: Thanks so much for the kind reviews :)

black.n.blu: Haven't abandoned it yet…yet. I kid. Thanks, glad you liked it!