One more chapter to go after this…

I can go ahead and tell y'all, though, that I have quite a few one-shots in the editing stage and another multi-chaptered story in the brainstorming stage, so if you like what I write for Crossing Jordan, please either keep an eye on the FanFiction page or add me to your Author Alerts! I will keep writing as long as I have readers, reviewers or no.

Chapter 12

"Most of these are to treat symptoms," Jordan explained quietly that evening. She and Woody were sitting on the bed a few feet apart, her makeup bag open and spilled between them. The various pill bottles were spread on the comforter. "Like this one, the zofran you took earlier – this is for nausea, which, unfortunately for me, is caused by a few things."

Woody nodded mutely, hanging on her every word. He had not so subtly asked about the medications he had found earlier, unable to quell his growing fear that she was still dying even as she repeatedly reassured him that she really wasn't. She hadn't been angry about his find or his questions in the least, but a sad glint had caught in her eye and hadn't quite left yet.

"This one here is called Maxalt. It's the only thing I've found that helps kill the pain of my migraines. This one is generic naproxen, for body pain or smaller headaches. It's similar to ibuprofen in what it does, but the dosage is higher." She shrugged like it was no big deal and reached for a different bottle. "This one controls seizures, though I haven't had a tonic-clonic seizure since before the surgery. Sorry," she added hastily at his confused expression, "those used to be called 'grand mal'; the terminology keeps changing."

He nodded again and let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

"Promethazine hydrochloride." She held up another bottle before dropping it unceremoniously back to the bed. "Another anti-nausea med, only this one can knock me out for forty-eight hours if I take the full dose. Not my favorite, but it works as a last resort."

"Forty-eight hours? Jeez." Woody stared down at the plastic tube filled with tiny white pills, shocked that something so small could have such an impact on her body. There were only two unnamed medicines left, and he pointed to the one closest to his leg. "This one?"

"Antiprogestin," she whispered. "Studies found that it helps prevent cancerous cells from growing. It's really my best hope against this thing, unless I end up undergoing radiation – which would be the next step before another round of surgery if…if it starts growing again." She grew quiet then, touching the nondescript bottle with a light finger. "Antiprogestin also… Well, I won't be able to get pregnant – or at least not carry a baby to term. Preventing cells from growing and all that."

Jordan wouldn't meet his gaze when he tried to catch it, unsure of what she would see there as she dropped this new load on him. The meningioma had already taken so much from her, and now it might dawn on him that it could very well take a good deal from him as well if their relationship went forward the way they both wanted it to. Like his chance to have a family – something she probably couldn't give him now, but she knew he wanted.

Instead of tackling that beast yet, she pointed to the last medication, a blister pack that held just as much punch as the last one. "And that is a special kind of birth control pill with specified hormone levels that my body can no longer produce correctly. I usually inject it, but they gave me a pill this round since I decided to go out of town and was going to miss the monthly date."

"Inject…?"

She tried to chuckle at his obvious discomfort at the mere thought of a needle. "It's easier than adding one more pill to my daily routine. Though it's really only the seizure meds, antiprogestin, and this HBC pill that I have to take daily. Everything else I can take as needed."

"Can I, um…can I ask you some questions?"

"Of course you can." Jordan reached out to him, and he grasped her hand tightly. "I'll answer anything you throw at me. Promise."

Woody swallowed around a lump forming in his throat. He was frightened, and ridiculously so as old memories from his early childhood came filtering back. "W-when my mom was sick, t-the cancer -" But the question stuck, the words unable to form. "It-it…"

"It spread?" she supplied gently when his stuttering made it too difficult for him to speak.

He just nodded again, looking up at her with wet eyes. "She was in so much pain near the end. I…this – will…"

A stray tear leaked down his cheek and Jordan wiped it away, leaving her palm to cup his jaw. "Mine won't spread, Woody. Tumors that originate in the brain can't spread; the blood-brain barrier prevents cancerous cells from getting into the bloodstream. So if the meningioma comes back, it will stay in my brain. It's not even cancer, per se, but it's similar enough."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other for a few long seconds, neither trusting themselves to speak. But then Woody scooted closer, took Jordan into his arms, and moved them both to lean against the headboard. She wrapped her own arms around him tightly, pressing her face against his chest and letting him run his fingers through her hair, unabashedly seeking the comfort he was so willing to give.

"We're going back to Boston day after tomorrow," she observed softly. "When I make my next neurology appointment…you wanna come with me? I could, uh, use the company."

There was more behind that question than she was putting into words; she needed his strength, even if he was just as afraid as she was. He could see that clearly. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll even drive you."

Jordan gave a small laugh and used her leg to push all of the bottles and cosmetics onto the floor so that she could stretch out beside him. "Sounds like a great date, huh?" Woody didn't respond to that, and she glanced up, worried. He was staring off toward the far wall with glassy eyes, suddenly lost in thought. She placed a hand to his chest, just over his heart, in an attempt to bring him back and talk to her. "You okay?"

"If it does start growing again," he started slowly, bringing his gaze back to hers, "what will happen? To you?"

The breath left her lungs like she'd been punched. She knew what would happen. She was a doctor; she had dissected countless brains with this condition, had seen the damage first hand. But seeing it, knowing what was to come, was much different than saying it out loud to the most important person in her life. "I-I'll tell you, Woody. I will. But…only if it comes back. If that happens, I'll tell you everything. Just not right now, while I'm still healthy." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Or at least, as healthy as I'll ever be."

"Okay." And just like that, he let it go.

Jordan sighed and pulled herself out of his arms so that she could clean up the mess she had just made by knocking everything off the bed. "It's past time for dinner. Are you hungry?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"A little." He leaned over and helped her gather up the bottles. "How did everything go with Holly?"

She dropped the last item into her pink cosmetics bag and zipped it closed. "As I expected, I guess. She hates herself for what happened, even though it wasn't really her fault. Anything new on your end?"

"Not really. Oh, wait! I almost forgot; Stone called before I fell asleep this afternoon. Remember that guy we brought in for questioning the other day? Jeffery Hammond?" He waited for her nod. "He was Evans's accomplice. The guy skipped town the second he was released, and Stone is tracking him down now. Bet he's kicking himself in the ass for letting him go."

"I'd like to kick him in the ass myself."

Woody laughed and pulled her back against his chest before she could get to her feet. "I think I'd pay to see that. He's, what, three times your size?"

"Hey, there's still one place I could kick 'im that would really hurt. And, as much as I'd love to stay in bed with you, my stomach is starting to get violent from the lack of food. So come on, let's go make dinner."

xXx

"Whitaker's phone records were certainly interesting, once I looked back far enough," Nigel explained to them the next morning. "I found many to one phone number with an area code in Providence. The interesting part? It's the direct line for the head homicide detective in the same district where Dooney & Cliff's headquarters was located."

"A homicide detective?" Woody leaned forward to better hear what was being said and Jordan held the phone a bit closer to his ear. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes. A one Natasha Gooding." Nigel fell quiet for a moment before adding, "It looks like the last call to her was placed three days before his death. Oh, and what have we here?"

The line was silent again, and Woody and Jordan glanced at one another. "What, Nige? What'd you find?" Jordan's voice was impatient, and she bit her tongue so that she wouldn't get snappy – exactly what she had scolded Woody for just a few days ago.

"Another call from a different Providence number. The trace on it just finished. I thought it was the same detective on another line, but I ran it just in case. It seems to have come from the very same office building that your Dudley Evans now works in, but the extension is for the lobby, not his floor. This one is dated about seven months ago; it's the only one. Lasted seven minutes."

"Thank you, Nigel," Jordan said, leaving Woody to write down what they had just been told as she put the phone to her ear.

"Just you now, love?"

"Mhmm." She smiled, knowing that he was hungry for the other details of her trip.

"So…" her friend drawled, "you're coming home tomorrow, are you not?"

"Yep, tomorrow night."

"And…?"

"And I'll talk to you when I get back. Hey, any word on Garret?" she asked, deftly changing the subject to what she actually wanted to hear about and leaning forward to rest her arm against the kitchen table.

"Yes, actually," Nigel replied excitedly. "He'd being released from the hospital tomorrow, but with no set date to return to work. Our dear Buggles will be coming back to us next week, though."

Jordan smiled even knowing he couldn't see it. "That's great. I can't wait to see him. And Kate? How is she?"

"Kate has been a real dream, I'll tell you."

"She's in the room with you, isn't she?"

"That she is."

She just laughed and shook her head. "Bye, Nige." With that, she closed her phone and turned to Woody. "Are you going to call Detective Gooding now or this afternoon?"

Woody set down the pencil in his hand and pushed his empty coffee mug across the table to join hers. "It's almost nine. I think I'll just go ahead and do it now." He grinned at her. "Good news about Doctor M.?"

"He's being released from the hospital tomorrow. Still not sure when he'll be back at work, though." Giving him a wily grin that never failed to make his breath catch, she scooted her chair closer to his and touched his neck to check his pulse. "Your heart feels stronger," she murmured, removing her fingers and replacing them with her lips. "Want to take advantage of it? I do enjoy some morning sex. After your phone call, of course."

"Of course," he mumbled weakly, turning to butter under her kisses but still finding the mental capability to store away the comment about her…enjoyments. "What phone call was that, again?"

Her laugh was throaty and did nothing to smother the fire that had blossomed between them. But she pulled away dutifully and slapped her own cell into his hand. "Make the call. We still have all day."

xXx

"Dead? What do you mean, dead?" Natasha Gooding asked incredulously over the phone not much later. "Damn it all to hell. Whitaker was the cornerstone of my case. Why am I just now being notified?"

"I'm sorry," Woody explained as best he could, understanding very well how angry she was. "We only got the phone records last night."

"He's in Boston, you say? Guess I should book a flight."

"Oh, no need. We - er, my...partner and I are actually in Warwick. We were supposed to have been on vacation and somehow got pulled into this whole fiasco." He sighed and leaned back in the kitchen chair. Jordan watched him from the counter as she flipped through a magazine that his friend had left behind, an amused expression on her face. His partner. Yep. "For some reason, his wife didn't want the local police to investigate on their own."

Gooding must have heard the annoyance in his voice, and she chuckled. "Yeah, Whitaker mentioned a while back that he and, what's his name? Something Stone? That they went to high school together. Never really got along. That's why he reached out to me rather than giving his information to a local detective - and we certainly appreciated that. We've been trying to nail a group to the wall for years now; Paul's input was invaluable."

Woody looked up at that, catching Jordan's eye. She could only hear his end of the conversation, but she immediately perked up when she realized something important had just passed between the two cops. "This group you're after...does it involve members from a law firm called Dooney & Cliff, by any chance?"

The line was silent for a long moment before the other detective spoke. "I'm driving down there right now. Where are you staying?" He gave her the address without argument. "Right next door, huh? My partner and I can be there in a few hours. I think it's time I took this case off your hands, Hoyt."

"Well?" Jordan asked with interest as soon as he hung up, leaning forward against the island. "What did she say?"

He met her gaze again, rather surprised at what had just transpired. "She's driving down here with her partner today. I can only guess that we've hit something pretty important."

That was not what she had been expecting, and she crossed her arms. "When will they be here?"

"Probably sometime this evening," he said quietly, setting his phone down on the table so that he could rub his hands over his face. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and he already wanted to get back in bed. "And so it just keeps going. Jeez, I'm starting to agree with you - I'd really like to go home right about now. My own cases, my own desk, my own precinct…"

Jordan walked around the island and plopped herself down in the chair next to his. "Well, we have to be back at work tomorrow, anyway. The whole week has already passed."

"Not much of a vacation, huh?" He gave her a small, closed-lipped grin.

"Not really, no." Seeing how frustrated he was getting, she stood again and went to stand behind him so that she could massage the tension from his shoulders. "I'm sorry this didn't turn out the way you wanted, Woody. I know you were just looking to relax this week. And, of course, have me all to yourself." He didn't need to see her wide smile to hear it in her voice. Before he could respond, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to the soft spot behind his ear, keeping good on her promise to continue what they had started earlier. "But you can't say it was all bad…"

"No," he quickly agreed. "No, I can't."

xXx

"Detective Hoyt, it's good to finally meet you." Natasha, a warm woman in her early fifties with graying black hair and sharp black eyes, shook his hand firmly and gestured to the man standing on the stoop beside her. "This is my partner on the case, Michael Atkins. Really, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. We don't mean to step on any toes."

"Don't worry about it," Woody said sincerely, backing away from the front door so that they could both come into the foyer. "Jordan and I didn't want anything to do with this in the first place, to be honest. We're more than happy to pass everything over to you now. Come on, everything is laid out in the kitchen. We can go over it all there."

"Mmm, and do I smell food?" She smiled widely as she followed him through the hallway.

"Yeah. Jordan just threw together some kind of casserole with the food we had left over from the week. I know it's still early, but we figured you two wouldn't have eaten dinner yet. If you're not hungry -"

"Oh, no," Michael interrupted with a laugh. "You figured correctly."

Natasha nodded in vigorous agreement. "We're starving. And now I'm dying to meet this man who can, what did you say? Throw together a casserole with leftovers?"

"Oh, um," Woody paused, realizing as he did so that he had forgotten to give her a proper introduction on the phone. "Jordan's not -"

"I'm not what?" she asked brightly as the three of them came into the kitchen, hoisting the casserole out of the oven and setting it carefully on the island next to a stack of plates and silverware. "We can serve ourselves here," she added, not waiting for Woody to answer her question. "The table is kind of full." And it was, covered almost completely with papers.

Natasha looked at her with an amused surprise, a crafty grin on her lips. "You're Hoyt's partner? The one he is here on vacation with?"

"Partner? As much as I like the ring that has to it, no, not really." Jordan shrugged, easily returning the other woman's smile with a dazzling one of her own. "I'm actually a doctor - well, a medical examiner in Boston. We...work together. A lot."

"So you're his girlfriend," she stated innocently, not having a clue what those little words actually meant to either of them.

Jordan glanced up and met Woody's panicked eyes, biting back a laugh as she thought of what her next words might do to him. "Yeah, I guess I am. Damn cops, never minding your own business," she mumbled good-naturedly, pulling out a big metal spoon and practically spearing it into the casserole to begin doling the food out. Woody's face was flaming then, and she didn't look at him again. "Okay, let's dig in and start talking about this case. I am so ready to be done with it."

Michael came over and gratefully filled up his plate. "Would you tell us about what happened here first? Then Gooding and I can fill in any of your blanks, plus whatever you want to know about our side of this whole mess."

Woody and Jordan tag-teamed through the events they had uncovered, sharing crime scene photos and whatever evidence they still had in their possession. As twisted as it was, the murder was straightforward enough. Holly was a used third party - the real person who should be held responsible for the entire thing was Dudley Evans, then his accomplice, and then Dr. Sonders. But cornering those two lawyers to press charges...that would be the hard part. It would be far too easy for them to shift blame to Holly; they'd been too careful in covering their tracks. The only way the connection had been brought back around at all was because Jordan had found that box.

The medical examiner picked listlessly at her food with her fork, suddenly not hungry anymore as she remembered her conversation with Holly the day before. "You won't let any charges be brought against her, will you? Against Paul's wife?"

Natasha regarded her for a moment, taking in all of the information that had just been given. "If she really was used against her will the way you say she was, not only will I not let charges be brought against her, I'll petition our D.A. to charge those bastards with as much as we can get away with to bring her justice. What they did to her is absolutely appalling." She scowled, dropping a black and white photo from the autopsy back onto the table. "I can't believe they almost slipped right under our radar with this."

"What were they trying to hide?" Woody finally asked, watching as Jordan chased a carrot around on her plate with a prong of the fork.

Michael answered that while his partner looked through the file one more time. "A few years before Dooney & Cliff went under, a high profile case came through the firm. I won't go into details, but Evans and his team were hired as the defense for a doctor's malpractice suit - his cancer patient died as a direct result of his negligence. All of the evidence was there, and definitely stacked against him. But suddenly, the day the case went to trial, all three of the State's star witnesses disappeared. We always suspected Evans of foul play, but we were never able to find proof."

"Until Whitaker came forward two years ago," Natasha supplied. "He had been on that defense team, and was fired not long after the case was declared a mistrial. According to Paul, Evans had actually hired professionals outside the firm to, how did he say it? Remove the witnesses from the picture? Something like that." She shrugged. "Long story short, he had them killed. In the same round-about, hard to track kind of way he killed Whitaker."

"That son of a bitch," Jordan spat angrily, giving up on any semblance on continuing to eat.

Woody looked over at her in concern, but she was glowering at the wall and not meeting anyone's eyes. Probably trying to keep her temper in check in front of these strangers. He nudged her foot under the table, eliciting a very small grin at his attempted comfort. "But you can nail him now, right?" he asked for them both.

"We sure can." Natasha flipped a photo from the crime scene over so that she didn't have to look at it anymore. "Especially if Holly would be willing to testify. If this goes to court, Jordan, you might be subpoenaed as well, since you heard a good bit of her confession in regard to Evans' role in her husband's murder."

"Joy. This vacation has turned into the gift that just keeps giving." She rolled her eyes and sighed, standing to take her plate to the sink. Her mood had deteriorated rapidly, and she really just wanted to go upstairs and lie down.

"I guess the good news," Michael pointed out, oblivious to Jordan's change in emotion, "is that Gooding and I can go ahead and take all of this back to Providence with us. Can we take Whitaker's body with us, too, Doctor Cavanaugh?"

"Jo actually already called to make arrangements for that," Woody answered for her.

"Wonderful!" The other man clapped his hands once and helped to gather up the rest of the dishes. "I guess we should be on our way, then. We've made reservations at a hotel in town if you need us. Should we go ahead and take all of this…?"

It took another thirty minutes, but before long, the two new detectives had everything on Paul's murder boxed up neatly and ready to be loaded into their sedan. They would be stopping by to see Stone to get all of his files as well before turning in for the night, and that was the only part Jordan would miss seeing. But she certainly had no misgivings about washing her hands of this whole case. If this had happened in Boston, that would be a different story, but as it was…she had wanted nothing to do with it from the get go. Woody had almost died because of this damned mess; she would never forgive Evans for that.

Unaware of the cause for her brooding thoughts, Woody stood in the doorway of the kitchen after seeing their guests out and watched her silently rinse the dishes to put in the dishwasher. Her back was to him, and he found it hard not to be somewhat mesmerized by the way she moved when she didn't realize someone was studying her. The way her straightened chestnut hair fell gently over her shoulders when she reached under the water for the sponge, or the way her finely sculpted biceps flexed when she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on a plate. It was so domestic – and so very unlike any situation he had ever seen her in. And she was still so stunningly gorgeous.

"What're you starin' at, Farm Boy?"

Okay, so maybe she knew he was there after all. But for the first time in a while, he wasn't embarrassed to have been caught staring. "You," he answered shamelessly.

"Yeah?" she murmured, not bothering to look at him. "Well, get over here and help me with these dishes. I'm not a maid, you know."

But rather than dunk his hands in the soapy water, he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist so that he could bury his face in her hair. He took a deep breath, pulling the scent of her – a mix of shampoo and lotions and something only describable as Jordan – into his lungs where he wished he could keep it forever. She turned her head just enough so that her cheek touched the side of his face, and her lips twitched upward, her unpleasant mood beginning to lift. They stood like that for nearly five minutes, just basking in one another's presence, before Woody finally spoke.

"So," he whispered, the word a puff of air against the cusp of her ear. "You're my girlfriend now?"

Jordan chuckled and swatted at him playfully before picking up another plate to rinse. "Don't get so exited. I hate that term. It's so…I dunno, so high school. But, I guess – sure. Just don't go around calling me that in front of people we know or I might hurt you."

"Point taken." He leaned forward again and pushed her hair to the side to kiss the back of her neck, sorely tempted to pluck that plate right out of her hands. "Do we have to do the dishes now?"

"We can't exactly leave this place a mess when we leave tomorrow, can we?" Eager to feel more of his touch, she took some of the weight off her legs and pressed back against his chest. He tightened his grip on her as she did so, and she turned just enough to quirk an eyebrow at him. "My way of thinking? We get everything cleaned and ready to go now, and we can stay in bed doing whatever we want until five o'clock when we have to get in the car to head home. Okay?"

"Okay."

Her smile turned into a smirk. "Then go upstairs and throw our stuff into our bags, since you're not doing anything to help here. I'll be done in a minute."

Woody hastened to comply, leaving her at the sink as he went up to their shared bedroom to pick up whatever personal items had been scattered around. Just clothes, really. The toiletries he left in the bathroom to deal with later, but everything else he shoved into their suitcases, not even pausing to sort her things from his. Hopefully, he thought to himself, I can convince her to let me stay tomorrow night. Though, if her actions downstairs were any indication, she didn't seem all that rushed to get away from him. Not like she had been in the past.

He would fall asleep with her in his arms tonight, and again tomorrow night, and very possibly every night for the rest of their lives. And then he would wake up to see her smiling face every morning. He may as well be the happiest man in the world. Six years chasing her, and he was still just as in love with this perfect woman as he had been that very first day.

It had been a long time since Woody had let himself dare to hope things would work out well between him and Jordan. Their dance had led them around and around for far too long, and if he had a dollar for every time someone had told him to give up, he could have retired from the Force already. But somehow fate had always thrown them back into one another's path and now…now they could both be happy.

Together.