Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan.
Note: Thanks to Mexwojo, xOlly, lbcjfan, Velms, BugFan4Ever and 2merryann for their reviews of chapter 9! :))
Since this is the end, I'd like to thank all the readers and reviewers (including the abovementioned, of course :)).
So, here it is finally! The very last chapter. I'm not very happy about it, but it seems that it's the best I can do at the moment. Maybe I'll rewrite it someday.
On a side note, I changed the genre; it's crime/drama now.
Although she wouldn't be too willing to admit it, she was terribly disappointed when she woke up to find herself alone in that sickeningly white room which smelled of an equally sickening combination of medications and cleaning solutions. Ok, Garret and the guys certainly had some work to do. She didn't give them much thought anyway. But where was he? She needed him. She needed him badly – to hold her, to reassure her time and again that everything was over, that she was safe now. She was mad at herself. What was going on? She wasn't that vulnerable, whimpering creature ready to burst into tears any moment for no other reason than being in a hospital room all by herself. She was a strong, independent woman able to take care of herself. She needed nobody. She was perfectly capable of going through this alone.
"Yeah right," she muttered indignantly while trying to wipe the tears away with the back of her hand as fast as she could. That wasn't an easy task, though, since they just kept coming.
At first, she remained furious. She wasn't some crybaby, for crying out loud! Nevertheless, after a not very long time, she was happy that she was weeping. That was a good sign, a sign of a grown-up Jordan. The one who wasn't afraid to cry. The one who wasn't afraid to need somebody. The one who admitted to needing somebody. Or maybe that was a bad sign, a sign that, underneath it all, she still was that insecure little girl in a grown woman's body, the same one that had returned from LA almost six years ago. Or maybe it was just hormones.
By the time she reached the conclusion that estrogen and progesterone were the main suspects for her little outburst, her eyes had already been dry and she was smiling. She patted her abdomen. Oh God, if the remaining seven months were going to be like this, full of mood swings and rivers of tears, God help both her and Woody. Woody… Where was he?
"Oh, he probably just has something to finish at the precinct," she was convincing herself. "Maybe something that has to do with…" She shuddered. She didn't want to think about that. About them. About the golden-haired who had been dragging her across the floor like she was some object she no longer needed. About Billy, who still remained the man without a face, unknown and thus even more frightening. About the nightmare in which the woman had been telling her: "Just deserts, bitch. Nothing more." in a cold, shrill voice, while the faceless man with a butcher's knife had been approaching her slowly, relishing in each and every second of her horror and anguish. If she closed her eyes, she could see the shiny blade sparkling in the dark, the shiny blade ready to be jabbed into her flesh, making an incision on her belly. Only by employing all her powers, clutching desperately at the very last atoms of self-control, did she manage not to scream. She shook her head violently. She didn't want to think about them. Not now. Not ever. But she knew she was going to have to. Not only because of the inevitable trial, but because she needed to come to terms with that experience if she wanted to lead a normal life. She needed to deal with what had happened in that little room if she wanted to heal. But she wasn't able to face it alone. She needed him. Where was he?
Suddenly, a horrifying idea crossed her mind.
"What if… What if he… What if they…" She didn't even want to finish the thought.
She didn't need to, either, for he appeared in the doorway.
"Hey." She smiled, all grim thoughts and painful questions abandoned. He was here now and nothing else mattered.
"Hey." He smiled back, but she decided she didn't like that smile. It was… She couldn't find the word. Forced? Whatever the right expression was, one thing was certain: it wasn't one of those smiles that had won him her heart. Not even close.
"What's the matter?" she wondered silently. However, when she tried to spread her lips into another smile, she thought she got her answer. The sudden pain in her lower lip reminded her of her broken nose, the burn marks on her arms, the rope marks on her wrists. As her bed was next to the window, she had seen her reflection earlier, so she knew there was also some bruising on her face. He saw all that, too. What he didn't see were her knees, which were completely skinned and her shins, which were covered in bruises. On the bright side, if there was one, being on some mild painkillers, she didn't feel the pain.
But, on the inside, she was aching and desperately seeking the way to at least ease that pain since she doubted it would ever really disappear. She was craving human touch. She needed to know she was allowed to go to pieces because there was somebody to help her pick them up.
He felt her urge. He sat beside her, brushing a few stray hairs from her face so gently that she could barely feel his fingertips against her skin. Then, gingerly so as not to disturb her IV, he embraced her. He just held her as she sobbed, one of his hands buried in her hair, the other one rubbing soothing circles across her back. His heart broke for her. And for their baby. For all three of them. Life was so unfair to them. Two and a half months – that much they, Jordan and him, had gotten. After all their losses and falls, didn't they deserve more? What he had heard in front of Dr. Summers's office was driving him insane. It was killing him and he couldn't talk about it with Jordan, at least not yet. It would probably have been easier had he been able to cry. He wanted to cry, hoping that tears would be able to bring him relief, however short-lived. But his eyes remained dry.
After a time, Jordan pulled away, sniffing a little and drying her slightly red eyes. He took her hands in his. As his eyes fell onto the abrasions a rope had left on her wrist, he frowned. The unthinkable, horrendous things one human being was able to do to another one never ceased to disgust him. He tenderly traced his finger along the wound and then brought her hand to his lips. While his small, light kisses were covering her wrist and her palm, she was accumulating courage, having decided that the moment was good as any. Finally, she addressed him softly, "I have to tell you something."
He guessed what it was and didn't want to hear it. The very same words that would have made him the happiest man alive had they been uttered an hour ago now frightened him because they were threatening to start the avalanche which could destroy them both. However, there was no point in trying to avoid the inevitable, so he looked up at her.
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, smiling.
"I'm pregnant," she announced.
Her smile died almost instantly. His face most certainly wasn't the one of a person who just got all he ever wanted for Christmas. His eyes were dark and his face impossible to read. Feeling the prickling of tears in her eyes, she pulled her hands from his. She hadn't expected that reaction. She had never even considered that possibility. She felt so stupid. She also felt as though somebody had just ripped her heart out.
"It's okay if you don't…," she started. "I can… I'll manage on my-"
"Jordan," he cut her off, tenderness audible in his voice. "Don't even say that. Don't you even dream about that," he told her, but couldn't bring himself to say anything else.
For a few moments, she waited for him to continue. When that didn't happen, she demanded, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong," he retorted unconvincingly.
"No, something is wrong," she insisted, getting more and more upset. "You… You aren't happy about it. Just tell me what the matter is."
He wasn't able to look at her. There hadn't been a moment in his life when he felt more miserable. To be having a child with Jordan and not to be over the moon about it… That was simply beyond his comprehension, but it was true.
It dawned on her.
"He's spooked you out, hasn't he?"
"Who?" He was confused although not completely clueless.
"Jack, Dr. Summers. He's talked to you, hasn't he?" She was getting worked up. "That's against the rules, dammit! He ought to have asked me for permission first!"
Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears again. He carefully cupped her face in an attempt to make her look at him.
"No, Jordan," he said slowly, "I overheard his phone conversation. You can't go through all that again," he told her, sorrow obvious in his tone, as well as in his eyes.
She sighed. She had known it was going to be like this. Taking his hands into hers, she forced herself to speak.
"Would you now just listen to me? No interruptions." When he only nodded shortly, she proceeded, her voice a bit shaky, "When I first found out, I was terrified. It's difficult for me to tell you this, to tell it to myself even, but I… Keeping her… or him… was the last thing on my mind," she admitted and felt him squeeze her hand reassuringly. "But now… You know, I've already named her." She smiled to him. "Macy, her name is Macy." She put his hand on her abdomen. "How could I ever… How could we ever-"
"Jordan," he interrupted, feeling the need to bring her to reason and feeling like some kind of a monster at the same time, "he said those things grew… I can't lose… You can't put yourself at risk like that," he pleaded.
"I know this hits a bit too close to home with you." She smiled weakly as she caressed his cheek. "But I will be fine, I promise," she put a finger to his lips to prevent him from talking. "To tell you the truth, I remembered that meningioma thing only yesterday. I had been so absorbed in my fears of becoming a parent and then in…," she shivered, "well, other things… The bottom line is, since there are no cases of fetal or maternal deaths due to meningioma and since I completely believe both Jack and Dr. Sanchez, I can promise you I'll be just fine and so will Macy," she concluded.
"Jordan…" he started softly, still not completely convinced.
Their eyes locked.
"That is what I want." Her voice was a whisper, but a decisive one. "We'll be fine, I promise," she repeated gently before resting her head in the crook of his neck.
He knew there was no point in arguing with her. She wouldn't give in. After all, she was a doctor. She wasn't the one to give promises she didn't intend to keep. And he wanted their child, a little girl with her dark eyes and soft curls. And, hopefully, not so stubborn as her mom.
"Macy, huh?" he more observed than asked, placing a kiss onto her hair.
Two days later, on Wednesday, Jordan was released from hospital. As she and Woody strolled to the parking lot, they talked about Howard Stiles. Funnily enough, Jordan herself had called the state psychiatrist on Monday afternoon.
"Yeah, he's pleased that I wanna talk." Jordan almost grinned. "He says this is actually the first time I'm being cooperative. Can you believe that?"
"Absolutely not." Woody grinned indeed. He was incredibly happy that Jordan had asked for professional help after her ordeal and immensely proud of her for having done so.
"Anyway, he says that the nightmares are gonna stick around for some time," a cloud crossed her face as she was uttering the words. "But," she tried to lighten things up again, "I've been thinking… Maybe I don't have to sleep." She cast him a significant look. "You know what they say about pregnant women… hormones and everything…"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, ma'am, I'm from Wisconsin." He flashed her a wicked smile. "But I'd be more than glad to hear what exactly you have in mind."
"Oh, lots of stuff," she started in a seductive voice. "For example, you going to buy ice-cream or egg rolls at three in the morning. Or you watching a sappy movies marathon with me. Or you reading me for hours because I have a bout of insomnia and feel too tired to read myself. Or you rubbing my swollen feet at least five times a day." She made a pause, smiling her crooked little smile.
"Ooh, those things…" He pulled her towards him. "Hate to break it to you, ma'am, but I'll be glad to do any of those things." They reached his car now. "But would you care to hear some of my ideas?"
Instead of unlocking the door, he wrapped both his arms around her, his chest to her back, and whispered something in her ear.
"Are there more from where these came from?" she asked, grinning again.
"Why, of course," he replied. "Though I have to warn you, ma'am. I'm very old-fashioned," he continued, his voice a little more than a whisper. "Nothing before marriage."
She laughed, covering his hands with hers and placing them on her belly. Nevertheless, she turned around a little.
"Good to know," she said. "'Cause I'm old-fashioned, too," she gave him a small, pretty chaste kiss, a promise of all those to come till death do them part.