A/N: All I can say is…things will get worse before they get better. I'm not letting Woody off the hook. Not yet, anyway. (Also...note ratings change for swear words. Oooo!)

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There was a whirl of activity as they counted off the first of their 24 hours in quarantine. The CDC was alerted. Men in orange biohazard suits came and took away the body of the dead missionary. They took blood samples from both Jordan and Woody and left drugs and supplies for the next 24 hours. And then they sealed off the room and left Woody and Jordan alone for the long stretch until the next morning.

Jordan watched as Woody headed into a corner for a hushed cell-phone conversation with Lu, and she felt a small ache of sadness. He flipped the phone shut, and they stood on opposite sides of the room in an awkward stand-off.

"Drop trou and bend over." She took one of the syringes from the table and held it aloft.

He arched an eyebrow but undid his belt buckle. "You look like going to enjoy this."

"Let's just say this will hurt you waaaay more than it'll hurt me." She got more than a little satisfaction from jabbing the needle into his flesh.

"Ow! Damn, Jordan."

She picked up another syringe and smiled as she lowered her own waistband an inch or two to give herself a quick, painless injection in her right hip.

"Here. You'll need to take these, too." She passed him a cup with a rainbow of pills that the disease control doctors had left for them.

"And these will keep me from getting sick?"

"Well, they'll keep you from dying. Some people can experience a bad reaction, though."

"Such as?" he asked ominously.

"Fever, chills. Think of the worst case of the flu you've ever had. Then multiply it by twenty."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"You're going to wish I was kidding," she said tersely.

He shrugged and swallowed the pills. "Beats dying."

They went back to an uneasy silence, and she retreated into the corner. There was only the sound of the wall clock ticking off the minutes. It was dizzying, him being so close. Her feelings of anger clashed agonizingly with her residual romantic feelings for him.

But she could get through this. Keeping her distance. Speaking to him only when necessary. Twenty-four hours was a long time, but it was finite. She could get through this.

He tugged at his shirt collar and whipped his tie off. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?"

"It's just you," she said without looking up.

She found an old professional journal jammed into one of the cabinets and tried to lose herself in the fascinating world of forensic odontology. Woody balled up a stack of autopsy report cover sheets and played basketball with an empty biohazard bin.

Her liquid breakfast had been disposed of in the trashcan in the hallway, and it was nearing lunch. She unwrapped an energy bar that had been left for them and took a tentative bite.

"How is it?" he asked.

"Tastes like peanut butter flavored sawdust."

He crossed after a moment and got one for himself, and they both chewed in silence.

Time ticked by. She eyed him with irritation as he began to whistle and crack his knuckles.

"Look," he suddenly said clearing his throat. "As long as we're here, we might as well…clear the air."

"I don't want to talk about this, Woody. Okay? The past is done. We're done. Let's just bury this whole thing." She was trying to sound casual, as if nothing he could say or do would bother her again.

He said nothing but nodded once and hoisted himself up on a countertop. No one spoke.

"Just one question." Her voice cut sharply through the silence.

He looked over at her with wary eyes. "Okay…"

"When did you start seeing her?"

He exhaled and ruffled his hair before speaking. "A few weeks ago. Just after the bombings in the subway."

So, Lu had been seeing him when they had talked at the safe house. "God, I feel like such an idiot," she said to herself and covered her face with her hands.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

They sat in the thick, awkward stillness. "I'm sorry, Jordan," he finally said in a rough voice.

She thought for a moment. She should just shrug, give him a dismissive "whatever" and let the subject die. They would lapse into another silence and let the time drag by. That's what she should do if she wanted to keep him from the knowledge of how much he had hurt her.

But she wouldn't.

"Sorry for what? Sorry you're sleeping with Lu or sorry I found out? What is it you feel guilty about?"

"I don't feel guilty exactly." He shrugged and struggled for words. "It's just…I never meant to hurt you."

She smiled a pained, rueful smile. "Ah, poor Jordan. Is that what you think?"

He squirmed in discomfort. "Come on, Jordan, don't do this." His voice had begun to rise to an angry peak. "We've got 20 hours to go in here. Like I said, I'm just trying to clear the air. Lu and I didn't plan this. It just…happened."

"Sex just happens." She shook her head slowly. "Relationships don't just happen."

He slid off the table and took a step towards her, hands on hips. "Oh, kind of like your relationship with JD, right?

"What! What's that got to do with anything?"

"What's with the double standard? You're allowed to date other people, and I'm not? Seems to me you spent most of last fall shacked up with Clark Kent, Star Reporter."

Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. It was as if the Lucy Carver Inn had never happened. He didn't get it. Not at all.

"That's different, and you know it." Her voice was strained.

"How? How is that different?"

"Because there was nothing between us when I started seeing JD. No, as I remember, it was just the opposite. You pushed me away after you got shot. You. I was there, ready to say what you wanted to hear, and you were the one who pushed, not me. What did you expect me to do after that, join a convent?"

"Well, I guess I didn't expect you to jump into bed with the first person that came down the pike."

"No, that would be your job. " The tears of anger and hurt stung the back of her eyes. "After months of hostility, we finally get to a place where we can be friends. More than friends. Then, out of nowhere, you're dating your shrink."

"Ex-shrink!"

"Like that makes a difference. There are rules against it, and there are reasons for those rules. Your ex-shrink is well aware of them."

"Look who's talking. You're all about breaking the rules. Except when they apply to someone else, right?" he said with a sneer. "What's the matter? Jealous?"

She considered it. No. She was angry, hurt. But not jealous. Being jealous would imply that she envied Lu. Suddenly, seeing Woody, hearing his explanation, she knew that she did not envy Lu at all.

"No, jealous isn't the word. I just feel disappointed. Disgusted. And incredibly stupid. All this time, I thought you were one of last of the good guys. This Midwestern farmboy thing you project with the bad ties and the cornball puns? It's all just an act, isn't it? You're just another heel. Man, I can't believe you came to my place the other night and were going to cancel your plans with your new girlfriend to have dinner with me. That's low."

He looked back at her petulantly. "What do you care, anyway? Like you said. My life isn't your concern."

"Stupid me, I thought we had an understanding." Her voice had grown quiet. "We'd just shared the most intimate thing two people can share. I barely catch my breath, and when I turn around, you're with someone else. Is that how little that meant to you? You didn't think you owed me an explanation? You didn't think maybe you should tell me about it before I found out like this?"

He looked away for a moment in shame, but when he lifted his face back up to hers, his eyes were defiant. "Maybe I just wanted to be with someone who really wanted to be with me. Maybe I got a little tired of waiting around for you to make up your mind, Jordan."

"For your information, Woody, my mind was made up. When you were being wheeled into surgery. When we slept together. When I asked you into my apartment that night and you left me there with the lameass excuse of 'I don't want to be your rebound guy.' And what the hell does that mean, anyway? What would possibly give you the idea that you're my 'rebound guy?'"

"What was I supposed to think, Jordan? I wasn't really sure where I stood with you. How long did it take you to tell Pollack about us, huh? How long? And how many times did I have to keep asking?"

"I told you I was just looking for the right time!"

He had crossed the floor to her now. He was inches from her, with hot, angry waves rising from his body.

"Bullshit, Jordan. You dragged it out for a week, all the time promising me you'd tell him, stringing me along with that twisted little re-enactment game of yours. And in the end, you didn't even tell him! He figured it out! How do you think that made me feel? If your mind was made up, you sure had a hell of way of showing it. I had no idea what you wanted when we came back to Boston. I had no way of knowing if you wanted to be with me or whether I was going to be just one of your fuck buddies."

The words cut into her. No one moved. She would wonder later why it happened, whether it was because words failed her completely, but her hand shot up as if on reflex and struck him hard on the side of the face.

His head snapped to the side momentarily, then he turned his face slowly back towards hers with one angry, red cheek. She opened her mouth immediately to apologize, it was wrong, but he had suddenly taken her wrists in his hands, and she felt herself being propelled backwards in his tight grip.

She backed into one of the autopsy tables, and she could feel the cold steel against a bare patch of skin on her back. She managed to yank her wrists from his hands, and her elbow knocked over a paper cup, sending a multi-colored cascade of little pills skittering across the floor.

She watched him for a moment, her eyes round and horrified, mouth open, as she looked for signs of remorse. He was scarlet with anger, and his chest rose and fell heavily.

She bent down with her eyes flooded with tears and tried vainly to retrieve the pills as they bounced across the tile. His feet moved unevenly towards her.

"Jordan…" The hard edge had gone from his voice. She did not answer but scooped the pills into her hand. "Jordan…" He repeated. His voice was different.

She looked up. He took another uneven step to her, and she blinked back the tears. "What's wrong?"

He reached out a blind hand and tried to steady himself against a wobbly instrument tray. One foot slipped out from under him, his legs buckled. She scrambled to her feet, but before she could reach him, he had fallen to his knees, sending the metal tray to the floor with a loud, ominous crash.