It's been a while since I've written solo. I've been having way too much fun with Nina, and to be honest, inspiration has been running low.

But the muse whispered in my ear about a week ago….that and I got a couple of e-mail requesting another fiction set in the future … and this is what I came up with. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Despite whining and crying, begging and pleading, I still don't own Crossing Jordan.

Chapter One

Do You Still Talk to God Through That Thing?

Jordan sighed and pushed a stray piece of hair back into her messy bun. Another eighteen hour shift had come and gone and all she had on her mind was a hot shower, a cold beer, and a warm bed. Then uninterrupted sleep for the next ten hours at least. Tomorrow was Friday and she had the day off…and the entire weekend to boot. She wasn't on call…she wasn't scheduled for anything. A smile crept its way across her face as the elevator stopped on the floor for her apartment and she got out as the doors opened.

She keyed in her apartment, shut the door, and then stopped to enjoy the view from the ceiling-to-floor windows of her penthouse. She had come a long, long way from her Pearle Street apartment. A long way indeed in the last seven years. Years had blown by her like leaves in a whirlwind. Snagging that cold beer from the refrigerator, she uncapped it and slowly walked toward the windows, massaging the tired muscles in her neck along the way.

And knocking her stethoscope in the floor. She smiled again as she bent down to pick it up, remembering what Garret had asked her years ago when she had given him her old one that she had used in residency and thanked him for saving her: "Do you still talk to God through that thing?"

"No, now we e-mail," had been her cryptic reply. Jordan chuckled to herself. No, she didn't talk to God through her stethoscope, and as far as she was concerned the last prayer of hers that He had answered concerned Woody living through his sniper shooting….so even e-mail from the Deity was out of the question.

But she did listen to hearts through the instrument. Beating hearts….or rather hearts that were beating irregularly. After she and Woody had decided to take things slowly…their relationship had seemingly come to a halt. It didn't go forwards or backwards…it just kind of got stuck. Her trust issues came up…as well as his need for a traditional relationship. Eventually they had drifted apart…and even remembering that one night of passion shared at the Lucy Carver Inn hadn't been enough to propel what they had forward again.

Working with him became a type of bittersweet torture, especially after she learned he had begun seeing other women. Lu Simmons to be exact. So Jordan had decided to cut her losses. Cardiology still fascinated her. So despite Garret's protests, she had gone back to school, finished her residency, and became a pediatric cardiologist. She was now on staff at Boston's Children's Hospital. She hadn't been back in the morgue in the last four – no, now it was nearer five – years. Through lots of hard work and determination, she had become one of the best in her field.

But not without some sacrifice. She didn't see her morgue family nearly as much as she wanted. And the staff at the Children's hospital was always too busy and frantic to establish many relationships. The hospital Christmas party was about the extent of any time together outside of office hours.

She missed Nigel. She missed Bug. And Lily. And of course Garret. However, there had been some rewards, too. She made more money now. She moved from her funky Pearle Street apartment to a penthouse. Her clothes were even trendier and came from expensive boutiques. She had long ago abandoned her water-logged El Camino and now drove a Mercedes SUV.

Material things didn't go a long way in healing a broken heart, but they did help fill the gap. She turned from the windows and turned to walk down the hall to go to her bedroom when the blinking light on her answering machine caught her eye. One message. She hit the play button:

Hey Dr. Cavanaugh…Jordan…this is your old boss…Garret. Remember me? Long time, no see…or talk to. But I need to see you. Could you meet me at Tony's tomorrow for a late breakfast? I called your office, but your answering service said you were on an 18-hour shift….so if you want to meet around 10, that would be great. Unless I hear from you, I'll expect to see you there. And Jordan, this is not a request…I need to see you. Please.

Jordan looked at her wrist watch. Two-thirty in the morning. It was far too late…or early, depending on how you looked at it … for her to call. But the tone in Garret's voice caused the apprehension to rise in her. He sounded nearly desperate. She chewed her lip for a minute, but turned away from the phone. Whatever was bothering him would have to wait until tomorrow morning for her to find out.

"I ordered you chocolate chip pancakes. I hope you don't mind," Garret said the minute she sat down in the booth at Tony's. "I remembered they're your favorite. I hope that hasn't changed."

"No…" her voice trailed off as the waitress brought her coffee and orange juice while she waited on her breakfast. Surreptitiously, she observed Garret over the rim of her coffee cup. His hair was definitely graying now…on his head and on his goatee. He looked tired. A sudden fear rose in her…what if the reason Garret had asked her here was because he was having cardiac problems and wanted a reference? "Are you alright?" The question came out of her mouth before she had a chance to filter it and tone it down.

"Me? Sure. Why?"

"It's just that….that…well, I mean…you look…" There was no way to make this sound any better and Jordan could feel herself digging her own hole.

"Tired?"

She nodded. "I don't mean to sound ugly, but yeah. And that concerns me."

Garret paused while the waitress sat down their food order. "Well, it could be because I am tired, Jordan. Do you know how old I am?"

Jordan mentally did the math, but kept getting tripped up. She wasn't sure how old he was when she came back to the Boston morgue after leaving LA. "Fifty…..something?" she ventured.

"You're too kind. I'm now sixty-two." His voice carried an edge of heaviness that continued to alarm her.

"Yeah, but you know what they say…fifty is now the new thirty….so that makes you only really forty," she said with a light tone in her voice, hoping to get him to ease up.

"I don't feel forty. I feel sixty-two." The lines on his face suddenly seemed harsher…and the bad lighting in the restaurant made him look older. "I feel every minute of it." He paused to take a swallow of coffee. "I mean with everything I've been through at the morgue…and then Abby…and then you leaving and us never finding a replacement for you…it's just been a tough few years."

"I'm sorry, Gar," Jordan whispered, putting her hand softly over top of his. "I never meant to cause you any pain, it's just that I had to…"

"I know," he said, equally as soft and dropped his other hand over top of hers. "You had to do what you had to do…in order to get on with your life. And that meant working somewhere else other than the morgue, doing something that involved not seeing Woody everyday…"

She lowered her head. "I had to…I'm just sorry that …"

Garret shook his head. "I didn't invite you to breakfast for recriminations or repentance. I invited you here to offer you your old job back."

"My old job?"

"Look, I've been keeping track of you, Jordan. And while you've kept your cardio certification up and stellar, you've also kept your medical examiners license up, too."

"It always pays to have something to fall back on," Jordan said dryly, turning her attention to her pancakes.

"Well, it makes me think you still have more than just a passing interest in the field itself. I mean every time we do get together we talk about old cases you worked on, if the unsolved ones have been closed, or if there's an interesting case I'm working on now. And then you offer your opinion on it…sometimes even wanting to see the autopsy reports…"

"I guess once an ME, always an ME?"

"I sure as hell hope so, because I want to offer you your old job back with a promotion."

Jordan nearly spit her orange juice across the table. "But I have a good job…"

"I know. And I know you're good at it. But I've talked to Max. And he says you're not happy."

Jordan grimaced. Since Max had come back three years ago, he had kept a close eye on her…wondering if her decision to go back to cardiology was a wise one…was she really happy? Was she really moving on with her life?

And Max's conclusion had been no. No, Jordan wasn't really happy. She was just going through the motions of trying to put her past behind her. Max thought she wasn't really going to move on with her life until she faced the issues of her past. And the biggest issue was Woody.

Like that was ever going to happen, she smirked to herself. Last she heard, Farm Boy and Tallulah were getting really serious. "Dad doesn't know everything, Garret," she said more sharply than she meant to.

"Yeah, but he knows you. And I believe him. So I'm prepared to offer you your old job back with the promotion to assistant chief ME."

Jordan looked up at him from her pancakes, alarm spreading across her face. "You've never had an assistant."

"I've never needed one before. I do now."

"Are things that hectic in the morgue?"

Garret paused for a moment, as if carefully considering how to answer her question. "Yeah. They are. Bug has gone back to England…so we're short an ME."

"Cambridge could send someone over…." Her voice betrayed her shock. When did that happen? Have I been so out of the loop that I missed Bug leaving?

"I know…but it's not just that…."

"Then what?"

"I want to retire early, Jor. I'm tired. I don't have the edge I once did and I don't want to get it back. I'm ready to turn it over to a younger Turk. And I want that Turk to be you."

Jordan swallowed the mouthful of pancakes she had. "I'm flattered….but…"

"I don't want an answer now. Think about it for awhile. I don't have to give the board my retirement date for another four months…and then we have another month to hire. I just want your name and your name only in the pot."

"But Garret…"

"Think about it. Seriously. I don't think crime is out of your blood … no matter how much you say you like pediatric cardiology and how much you talk through God through your stethoscope."