To Have And Not To Hold
Part II
Woody had never stumbled over his thoughts before. Mind you, it wasn't that he didn't think. It's just that he was a straight thinker. He thought about something, came to some conclusion, made a plan and followed through with it. That's how it worked. Of course, he was bound to be distracted just like anyone else, but his reaction to distraction was to think again, adjust his plan and go on.
Jordan made him change his plans on a regular basis. He didn't mind, because she was worth all his jumping through loops and he knew it.
But this was different. He physically stumbled. Whenever he set up his thought process, there was a system breakdown. Whatever road his thoughts went, it always ended with her. He might have thought about how much he hated the new desk job or that he needed another vacuum cleaner, but when he came to the conclusion part it all boiled down to that he needed to go over to the morgue and check if she was still there. If it was still real.
There we go again. The soft chime of the elevator left him unsettled, his mind, still not used to this new way of thinking, frantically searching for a good excuse to be here - again.
Bug greeted him with a grin.
"Run out of file folders? Again?"
"Yes", Woody happily agreed before mentally slapping himself on the head.
"Happens all the time." He laughed uncomfortably. Somehow his mouth managed to override his mind all the time. Soon, people would think he was retarded.
In fact, Bug had a funny look on his face, but didn't comment. "You looking for Jordan?" He didn't even wait for an answer and Woody was thankful for that. It saved him from making a fool of himself all over again. "Autopsy."
He wordlessly stumbled over to where Bug had pointed. From a distance, he heard him mutter, "God, you are so desperate…"
He walked down the hallway and took a deep breath before entering the room.
When he saw her standing there with Nigel, his heart exploded into loud, hard thumping. No matter how many times he told it to slow down, because there was absolutely no reason, it just kept on beating like mad.
Nigel was not a rival. Bug was not a rival. Garret was not a rival. They were all friends and trying to help, because they'd known all along that what was between Jordan and Woody had the potential to grow into a beautiful and healthy relationship one day.
Only that it didn't. As hard as they tried, it just didn't. Whose fault could that be?
He caught himself staring at Nigel's arm around Jordan. Blood rushed through his body at maximum speed. Judging from the look on the other man's face, he hadn't been able to quell or at least hide the sudden feeling of possession. Ever so slowly, Nigel lifted his arm from her and patted her back in a comforting gesture. He'd started to smile, but looking back at Woody he instantly stopped and let his hand fall to his side.
"Nice to have you here again, Detective. Did you forget something last time?" He looked at his watch. "About an hour ago?"
"I'm here for that case, you know, the…" He stopped talking and thought that he should have waited for his mind to make up something good when he'd had the chance. On the other hand, that might have taken a day. By then, she could have been gone.
While he contemplated his slowed down thought process, it got through to him that Jordan had stepped in. She was in the middle of some out-of-this-world-explanation for his being there when he actually started to listen.
"…so, Woody knows this other girl who ended up just like this one", she pointed to the corpse in question, "but not in Boston, it was before he got here and…" Nigel put a finger to her mouth and effectively silenced her.
"Tell me no more. You two have fun."
She looked at him stupefied, then looked at Woody, who came to the conclusion that the strange noise around them was him grinding his teeth.
"Again with the anger issues, Detective? I understand why you're here then." Nigel winked at him suggestively as he passed him by. "And by the way, you two look like zombies. Kind of scary, even to me. Try getting some sleep!" With that, he was out and closed the door.
Woody didn't even bother to say hello to her. It wasn't the first time he saw her today. Probably wouldn't be the last. She looked at him curiously, but remained silent.
"I'm here because of you", he stated matter-of-factly.
She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I thought so."
Her voice was too small. Her eyes flickered. She covered the corpse with a cloth and rubbed her arms as if she was cold. He'd never seen her so insecure of herself.
He wanted to ask her what had happened. Why he felt uneasy around her. How she'd evolved into this quiet mirror image of herself. But maybe she felt uneasy, too. If he confronted her, she might call the whole thing off. So he said nothing and kissed her softly.
Down at the very pit of his stomach, he could still feel it. Leftover butterflies from long ago… When everything about her was like magic. When he was desperately thinking of something, anything to say to her just so she would stay. Just for the tiniest hope of having her kiss him again.
Her smell was the same like before all this. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then kissed her again. It was intoxicating, and he refused to open his eyes again.
Slowly but steadily, things went out of control after that. Had it been five hours already since they'd had breakfast? The kiss intensified. Numbly he noticed how clothes came of, how they would cling to each other urgently, desperately. How he lifted her blindly on some table, not really concerning himself with her convenience. She didn't seem to mind. Her eyes were glazed over and he wondered if she'd mind anything at all.
He thought of that one night long ago. She'd had this fairy-like glow, probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed, and managed to make him feel blessed that she would do so much as look in his rough direction.
What was left now was just this immense need that he couldn't quite classify. The lack of magic made him feel like crying.
He picked up some random pace instead, not knowing and frankly not caring how it suited any of them. She didn't make a sound, but looked at him like she wondered if he was real. He didn't believe it himself.
His senses were overheated. It was cold. The light was too bright. His vision swam until everything he saw was the fog. He briefly asked himself if they could be seen from the outside, but didn't dwell on that. Every noise in the room slammed into his skull at the speed of light. There was the clatter of a forgotten scalpel somewhere behind them. Castors on the floor. The soft squeak of flesh against metal. Fast, yet not uneven breaths. He thought that all of this sounded like a machine in a steady rhythm. It was outside the door that life could be heard in all its irregular glory.
Still, he found himself unable to stop. Her smell lay heavily around them, engulfing him. Their bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, clutching to each other, making it difficult to distinguish what was hers and what his.
It was over in a matter of minutes. The feeling of peace was extremely short-lived. He desperately tried to hold on to it, never opening his eyes, his breathing slowing down, thinking about nothing at all. Jordan touched his face lightly, forcing him to open his eyes at last. She smiled at him, but it was too shy. Almost as if she feared he'd leave her for being too cheeky.
He kissed her on the mouth, his stomach suddenly fluttering like he did this for the first time. Where did that feeling come from? And why didn't it ever stay?
Clumsily, they put on clothes again. He momentarily needed to stabilise himself. His feet hurt. He envied that Jordan wore scrubs. She didn't seem to be having that much of a problem putting it on sweaty skin with shaky fingers.
He stood on wobbly legs and took a step forward. She looked at him, expectantly. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but when he opened his mouth he found that he couldn't.
She seemed to be unaware of his inner stumbling over thoughts.
"Maybe I should tell you about her", she suddenly said and pointed to the body. "Just in case someone asks what you're doing here."
He nodded, wordlessly.
"She's Marie Hastings, girl of sixteen years." She lifted the cloth from the girl's head.
He was going to be sick. In all honesty he couldn't pinpoint the last time his stomach had reacted so violently to the sight of a corpse. Swallowing the bile, he tried to concentrate on matters at hand. Matters at hand did not include thinking about how sick it was to have sex next to a body and not care about it. What the hell had they been thinking? How had he started this? Why hadn't she contradicted him on it?
Because years of fighting with Jordan had taught him one thing: If he pushed a little harder, chances were they'd end up somewhere in the middle. Now that she didn't push back, he'd lose his balance and just fall over.
"Hey Woody, you still there with me?"
He became aware of the absurdity of it all. In her left hand, she held a file. In her right hand, she held evidence of some gruesome crime in a small plastic bag. She wore scrubs. They were in an autopsy room, with a corpse, discussing the death of some girl. After having sex. It was almost comical. Almost.
"Of course", he said and hated how that tasted. Quite a lot of what he told her tasted like that lately. Like a lie.
It was as simple as that: After four years of siege, of waiting and tearing down walls, Jordan Cavanaugh had finally been taken. Now that she'd fallen, he wondered if he was only in it for the thrill. He wondered if he really loved her. Somehow, that thought scared him to no end.