This is later that night.

Woody sat at the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently. He already had two shots of tequila under his belt, and was about to have another when he saw Jordan round the corner and enter the bar. Woody looked at her, still in his favorite pink shirt, her hair down, just the way he liked it, and of course, no lipstick. She was beautiful, smooth as cashmere, but the slightest fraying at the edges. She had been worn over the hurt. You could see it in her eyes. Her bright, beautiful whiskey eyes. If you knew Jordan, truly knew what she'd been through, and looked into her eyes, once bright and young, you'd see that the brightness was still somewhat there, but she looked like someone who'd been hurt many times over, and who'd been through a lot. She'd been through too much. She was a good person, and the world had basically wronged her. She pulled her own weight, and basically spent her life helping others, yet she was still shot down and left to die. And ultimately, she had. Something in her heart had died, or had lay dormant, and she could tell. She was always and forever searching for some way to revive it, but it seemed like the more that happened, the more it grew harder to revive. That part of her was at it's happiest with Woody. Woody was snapped from his thoughts as Jordan reached the bar, and sat down beside him. He gave her a smile, and she returned it, though her smile was weak and forced, like someone who was crying inside herself.

"Hey." She said, in a low voice.

"Hey…..Jordan." He replied, awkwardly. He wanted so much to just take her into his arms and hold her, right there in front of everybody, but she deserved an apology, and an explanation. She averted her attention to the hem of her jacket, until she had nothing more to fix or prod. She looked up and felt herself falling deeper and deeper into his eyes, like cold refreshing pools of water.

"Jordan?" Jordan quickly snapped out of her reverie.

"Huh? Sorry, I just.." She broke off, still looking at him straight. Woody broke the ice, doing what he had originally come to do.

"Look, I truly am sorry for what I said today."

Jordan felt tears brimming at her eyes already. She fought to hold them in, at least for as long as she could. Her throat grew dry and her voice raspy. Woody spoke again, since she wasn't ready to yet.

"I was frustrated and chomping at the bit. I never intend to hurt you like that. Ever."

Jordan cleared her throat as much as she could. "How do I know that?" Her voice was raspy and she soon felt the tears, salty and warm, fall down her cheeks. Woody leaned in close to her, and wiped her tears with his thumb softly. He took her face in his hand and brought her close to him. After a moment of staring into her eyes, he kissed her, with so many emotions surging through his body all at one moment, and so many thoughts surging through her mind. When they pulled away, he softly said, "That's how."

They stared at each other for another moment before she said, "Hush, I'm a little warm. I'm gonna step outside for a minute." That was really just an excuse to think, ad try in a feeble attempt to sort out her many thoughts. Woody nodded, thankful for some time himself. Jordan turned from the bar, and wrapped her coat around her, to brace the cold Boston air. Woody was watching through the window, as if he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Jordan's mind was racing as she stepped outside. If she hadn't have quit smoking, she would've already smoked a pack by now. A drunken man, stumbling over himself, interrupted her thoughts. He was tall, muscley, and was in need of a good shave. He walked clumsily over toward her. 'Oh, great!' She thought to herself. She tried to pay him no mind. Inside the bar, Woody tensed.

"Hey babe." He said with a slur.

"Go away, creep." She said coldly, but the guy kept hitting on her. She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm.

"Go To Hell!" She said loudly, knocking his arm off her. Woody jumped off the barstool, and reached into his pocket, making sure his still had his badge and gun. The guy got angry quick.

"Don't talk to me like that, bitch!" He yelled, still with a slur. He slapped her across the face, then pushed her down, not noticing Woody already barreling out the door. Jordan fell, and as she did, her ankle twisted. Woody jumped on top of the guy, and after some struggling, wrestled him to the ground.

"You're under arrest for assault." He said, calling a nearby unit to come and car tote guy off. He looked over at Jordan, while still pinning him. "You okay?" He asked her.

Jordan winced in pain. "Yeah, but I think I twisted my ankle." She said, trying to sit up.

A cop car pulled up. The cop, one of Woody's friends, got out, and handcuffed the guy, then put him in the back of the patrol car. Woody thanked him, then walked quickly over to Jordan, who was still on the ground, but sitting up now. He bent down to examine her ankle.

"Alright, lemme see it." He said, gently pulling the leg of her slacks over her boot as if he were handling a very expensive diamond, which was, after all, how he thought of her.

"Damn, no wonder you sprained it," He said, nodding at her high heels, "How in the hell women walk in these, I'll never know."

Jordan gave a small, but noticeable chuckle. "It's an acquired thing, I guess."

Woody unzipped the boot, and pulled it of her foot. He cringed at her already swollen ankle.

"Well, you definitely twisted it." He chuckled a bit, trying to lighten the mood. In some way, he had, "C'mon, lets get you home."

Jordan tried to stand, but Woody motioned her to stop. "You're not walking on that."

Jordan, being her same, stubborn self, defiantly said, "I will." But, much to her protest, Woody scooped her up, and carried her to the car, and not to his surprise, she argued the whole way. It gave him hope, in a way, to know that she was herself again, though he always wondered how she felt, and if she was still in pain. Emotionally that is. He knew her past had scarred her, and he knew that she could never completely be the same, but he always had the hope. That little ounce of faith that somehow, with his help, she would heal. Woody put her down on the passenger seat of his car, and walked around to the driver's side, his eyes on her the whole way. He quickly revved up the engine, and drove back to her apartment.

Review please. For my motivation.