Broken Roots
Chapter Six: Changing Colors
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,002
Disclaimer: I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.
Summary: Sins of the father are passed onto the son. Sins of the mother to the daughter. And somewhere in the middle of all of that lies the truth.
Pairing: Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

Author's Note: I hate retail in the spring time, I hate retail in the fall, I hate retail so much I don't know why I work there at all... Yeah, so I blame my work for the delay. I hate my job.

Changing Colors

She woke alone. She muttered a curse as she rolled over, and her hand found the other side of the bed empty. She had wanted to wake up slowly, her head on his chest, her arm across his waist. She'd planned on lingering in bed, perhaps coaxing him into a repeat of last night.

One last night, he'd said. One last night before it all comes crashing down again. Knowing what she did about the outcome of the trial, she had agreed, just before he'd kissed her again, and she'd pretty much forgotten everything else. His kisses were that good, and hell, it had been a long time for her. She'd waited a long time for last night. It had been worth it, but she really didn't want to wait that long again.

She got up and crossed the room, heading towards the living room. She had a feeling that she knew where Woody was. Out with the box. And she knew that she'd never get him away from it now. That was his Pandora's box, after all. He was scared to know what was in it, wasn't he? He needed to open it, couldn't open it. A typical catch-22. She'd been in one herself, and she knew how it could go. But she would help him through it. She knew he would have done the same for her, if she'd only let him.

She stopped just inside the other room. She was wrong. He was in the kitchen, making coffee. The box was still unopened, sitting where she'd left it last night. She went to him, touching his arm. He turned and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her.

"Well," she said when he let her go and she got her breath back, "I could get used to waking up like this. Of course, you could have stayed in bed."

"I couldn't sleep," he told her, shaking his head miserably. "I tried, I really did."

"The box is still sitting there," she observed, watching his reaction carefully.

"Read it already," he shook his head. "It didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know. Jordan, I don't know what I was expecting to be different, why I thought that I would figure it out this time. I've been over this so many times... This isn't even the first time I've looked at that box. When I was a deputy, I looked them up. I wanted to prove that the punk had done it. I couldn't then. I still can't now."

"We'll find a way, Woody," she promised him, embracing him tightly and leaning against him, taking a deep breath. There had to be something. They would find it, together. She wanted him to know that he had her, that she wasn't leaving, and they were going to get through this.

"Jordan, I don't know what we can really do," Woody said, touching her face. I appreciate what you've done. What you tried to do. I just—"

She stood up and kissed him, taking his hand and leading him back into the bedroom. She didn't care if if she was late to work today. They would have to live with it. She was going to stay with woody as long as she could, and she wanted to start this morning over, waking up in his arms.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "What are we doing, Jordan?"

"You are going to try and get some rest," she insisted, pushing him over on the bed. He fell sideways, and she laughed a little at his expression. He grabbed for her and pulled her down with him. She decided not to mention that she should be going to work right now.

It was a lot better in his arms, anyway.

"So, we're talking desperate measures, then?" Nigel asked, perched on the edge of Jordan's desk. She looked both happy and sad, unsure of what she should be, how she should feel. She looked confused, and she was so cute when she was confused. What intrigued Nigel, however, was what made her so happy that a smile kept overcoming the frustration and guilt that she felt about failing to solve Woody's father's murder.

"Desperate measures?" she asked, fiddling with the ring on her finger. Nigel smiled. He knew her smile had something to do with Woodrow. And he had a feeling that he knew what that was.

"Well, we need to put our collective genius together, of course. We stage a murder night. Starting tonight."

Jordan shook her head. "Tonight's too soon. It's not that I don't want to do this as soon as possible, for Woody, but we need time to prepare, a place to get all of us together, drinks and food, and... Well, we need to get Cal involved."

"Calvin?" Nigel frowned. That would slow things down a bit. Detox programs did not think highly of letting their patients roam free, and they would have to restrict the drinks to those of the nonalcoholic variety. Not that Nigel wished to encourage Woody or Dr. M, but he knew that it would be bloody awful for Woodrow, going through all this again.

"This isn't about Woody," Jordan said. "Cal made the accusation. This is confused in his mind as well. And we have to know his side of the story, not just the drug induced part, but the truth. Woody's story alone isn't enough. It won't convince Cal. It might not even convince Woody."

"Tell you what, love," Nigel rose from the desk. "I'll get Bug and his dear wife Lily to work on the food, and I'll speak to Dr. M, see if he knows where to have it. You work your magic on Calvin."

Jordan sighed deeply, reaching for her phone. Nigel stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and might I assume that smile from earlier had something to do with you being late this morning and that both of those involved Woodrow?"

She blushed. Nigel's suspicious were confirmed. He smiled. "I want details, love. All kinds of juicy details."

Jordan wadded up a paper and threw it at him. "Get out."

Nigel chuckled to himself as he headed down to Dr. M's office. The location, now that was the key. If only Max were still around, still in possession of his charming pub... That was an ideal location. Nigel knocked on Macy's door.

"Have you finished that detail for the Horn case?" Macy asked.

"I forgot it on my desk, but rest assured, it is waiting for you," Nigel promised. "I've come about arranging a murder night."

"Woody went over the files then?" Macy asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jordan says she went over them, and so did he. It's time to work our magic," Nigel insisted. "First, however, we need a location. Without Max's delightful pub or even his quaint suburban domicile—"

"We can do it here," Macy interrupted. "We'll use the conference room. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?"

"Just Jordan," Nigel answered. "I was going to see if Mr. And Mrs. Buggles could handle the food, and Jordan's going to try and arrange for Cal to be there."

"Good. Let me know when you've got it all worked out. And get me those files for the Horn case."

"I can't do this," Woody protested as Jordan pulled him to the car. She'd come home, woken him from yet another fitful sleep, and announced that they were going to the morgue. She was cheery—too cheery—which meant that act was for his sake, and she was preparing him for something unpleasant. He didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, he wasn't up to it.

"You have to, Woody," Jordan insisted, opening the door for him and pushing him into the seat. "You need this."

Woody glared at her as she shut the door and crossed around to the driver's side. He wasn't sure what was bothering him more—the sense that what was coming was bad or Jordan's insistence that she knew what was right for him.

She got in behind the wheel and started up the car, backing out of her space. He waited a few minutes, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "What is really going on, Jordan?"

She looked at him, clearly uncertain of how to answer. This was not good. Very, very not good. "Remember when I asked you to dinner, and you thought it was a date and then you ended up roped into a...um...well... We solved those copycat murders?"

"Jordan, please tell me that you did not arrange a murder night to go over my dad's case," he said, and he hated the begging that he heard in his own voice.

"Well, I didn't do all the arrangements," Jordan began slowly.

"Damn it, Jordan," Woody cursed, tempted to yank open the door and jump out of the car. This was crazy. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. He needed to know the truth. He needed to know what he had done, if he had truly done what Cal accused him of... He had to know. And yet he didn't want to know, wanting to run far away from the truth, from Jordan, from everything.

Jordan parked the car and came around to his side. He looked at her, and she took his arm, helping him out of the car. "The sooner you know, the sooner you can move on. Really move on, not run. If I could do that with my mom's death..."

Woody thought of Max and his tape. He should tell her, but he wouldn't, not now. Let Max deal with that demon. Woody wasn't even capable of facing his own. He couldn't help Jordan with hers. "Maybe you'll get that chance."

"But will you take yours?" she asked. He bit his lip and looked around, finally nodding. He pulled his coat close to him, and Jordan took his arm as they walked into the building. She waited until the elevator doors had closed behind them before sighing and saying, "There is one other thing that you should know."

"Something else?" Woody demanded angrily, not sure how much more of this he could take. He was already close to breaking. Again. "Jordan, I swear—"

"I arranged for Cal to be here."

"You did what?"

"You're not the only one who needs this answered, Woody. He accused you, and he needs to know that you didn't do it. You owe it to him and yourself," she stopped and corrected herself, shaking her head. "I know, you don't really owe him—you've given him more than he deserves. But regardless of what he's done, he has to know the truth, just like you do."

Woody shot her a dirty look, clenching his fists. It wasn't bad enough that they were going over the murder, but now he had to face his jerk of a brother, too. Damn, this pissed him off. He stalked out of the elevator and towards the restroom, intending to splash water on his face and calm himself down. A part of him was tempted just to leave. He shook his head. He did need to do this, but he didn't—couldn't—he just couldn't.

The door opened and Woody looked over at Nigel. "They send you to get me?"

"Well, the fireworks should be interesting. I wonder who will snap first. You, Jordan, Max, or cal," Nigel observed dryly.

"Oh, I think I will," Woody muttered as he followed Nigel into the other room. He looked at everyone there slowly. Garret, Lily, Bug, the midget, Max, Jordan, and finally at Cal. Cal glared back at him.

"This is stupid," Cal said. "I know he killed our father. I saw him. He had a knife."

"Cal," Jordan began, about to point out that Warren had been shot.

"Oh, god," Woody heard himself whisper, fighting a growing horror. "It wasn't a dream."