Broken Roots
Chapter Nine: Buried Deep
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,185
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: So, I'm sitting here, the infection bothering me and needing more to drink, and I'm getting this ready to post... And I'm drawing a blank as to what exactly I should say here, but I think some kind of warning should be given... What warning, though, is the problem...

Buried Deep

"Every morning should be like this," Jordan said with a slight yawn, stretching across Woody's sleeping form. She had woken up in his arms, his hold was loose, but this was nice, really nice. She reached to touch his face, her finger tracing down his neck and then onto his bare chest. God, he was handsome. And she really could get used to this. She wanted to get used to this.

He caught her hand. She looked at him in surprise. His grip was tight, but as soon as he realized it, he let go.

"Stop it, Jordan," he snapped. She could hear him biting back something worse. He closed his eyes with a wince, struggling for control. "I know that I'm... irresistible, but I really don't like to wake up to someone touching me."

She bit her lip. "Oh. Oh, Woody, I'm so sorry. I didn't think of that. I mean, you said that he...but I didn't make that connection—"

"It's okay, Jordan," he assured her quickly, reaching over to put a finger on her lips. "You didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't remember. It's... It's new. New and old at the same time. Like almost everything in my life. We're going to have to find these things out as we go. And it's going to take time."

She sat up a little, propping her elbow on the bed and resting her head on her hand. Her hair was a mess, and she could use a shower. Maybe she'd talk him into joining her. Later. Right now, the bed was comfortable. "Just as long as you are willing to find them with me."

He sighed, his breathing slow and deliberate. He was still fighting those inner demons, even though she knew that things were better now. "I know that I haven't been very easy to get along with. Especially not lately. The alcohol. The things that I said... I hurt you. Lots of times, over and over. I know they were telling you to leave me, and they were right. You should have left me, kicked me out, done something other than stand by me the entire time."

"I'm not going to say that what you did was okay. It wasn't. But I know that you needed me. And I need you. I love you," she reminded him, leaning over to kiss him.

He responded immediately, turning the tables on her. He pushed her back against the bed, his mouth covering hers, insistent and passionate. She understood things a bit better now, still learning, of course, but it wasn't hard to figure out that intimacy had to be on his terms if it was going to happen at all. Since she wanted it to happen, she was willing to accept it. For now. There was time to change it later.

His hand slid down her stomach, teasing her navel. She giggled. He did that on purpose. It was Littleton village where he'd discovered that particular trigger, and he was just as good at using it now as he had been then. Better, actually.

The phone rang, and Woody cursed loudly as he rolled off of her to answer it. She balled up her fists and pounded the bed in frustration. She did not like interruptions. It was hard enough getting to this point. Everything with Woody was touch and go. Their relationship was healing, getting better by the minute, but he was damaged. He would always be damaged. And she wasn't exactly whole, either.

That didn't explain why she was letting him answer her phone. Or why he wanted to. He hadn't answered the phone in the entire time he'd been back in Boston. He'd refused to carry a cellphone and wouldn't put one in his office. So, why was he answering the phone now, of all times?

Was he expecting a call?

Woody put his legs over the side of the bed as he picked up the phone. He knew that Jordan wasn't happy about it, and he wasn't either. Strange. Well, it wasn't like he didn't enjoy what they did. He did. He sometimes felt like he shouldn't. It had been forced upon him, and he was still living with that, still trying to make sense of his childhood, even with his father's murder more or less...resolved.

Still, no one liked interruptions. Least of all him. If he had time to think, the doubts crept in. And he was not good with doubts. "What?"

"You're not Max," the voice said, sounding vaguely familiar. Woody did not like "vaguely familiar" voices. Or vaguely familiar anything, really. It was all part of losing his memory and getting it back. That familiarity tormented him.

"No, I'm not," Woody agreed. "Who are you?"

"I thought Max said his daughter's name was Jordan," the voice went on. "Never met her, course. He didn't like me meeting his family. Didn't bring the job home."

"I'm not his daughter, either," Woody said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, Max did, once, admit to having a son, but then he said that son was dead," the other man went on, his voice driving Woody crazy.

"I'm not his son, but I suppose I'm close enough to it," he ran a hand over his face and rose to his feet, leaving the room. Jordan watched him; he could feel her eyes on his back. He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He thought for a moment. "Wait. Boxer. You're Boxer, aren't you?"

"And you're Max's young pup?" the voice was incredulous. "What are you doing with Max's daughter? Oh... Oh. I get it. Close enough to being his son. Okay, then. Look, Max didn't leave me any way to contact him. I had to look up his daughter and hope for the best."

"This is about the film, isn't it? Were you able to restore it?"

"I was. Get Max and come down to my shop," Boxer said and hung up. Woody cursed loudly. He didn't know how to get a hold of Max, either. And now he had to find a way out of the apartment without Jordan following him. She was bound to follow him. She was going to be curious about the phone call, and for some reason, he didn't feel like explaining it to her. He wasn't going to take her with him.

He went back into the bedroom. Jordan had gotten up as well, and she had gone so far as to get dressed. She waited for him, hands folded over her chest. "Who was that?"

He shook his head. "You're not coming with me."

"We can do this the easy way, where you tell me what is going on, include me in whatever is going on, or we can do this the hard way, where you run off and I follow you, and I really think that we've been doing well lately. We're on a roll. Yeah. So we should stick with that, and you should just tell me," she nodded as she finished, and he shook his head. It occurred to him to curse the day he'd met her and gotten involved with the Cavanaugh family in all its extensions, and he did.

"We are not doing it either way," he told her. "You have a job. I have... I have a desk in a little room that no one ever visits. But you're going to do your job, and I might stop into see if the desk is still there, and that's where it ends, Jordan. Because this... You say we've made progress. Don't throw it all away by giving me ultimatums."

"Yeah, I know. Tell you to do something, and you'll do the opposite," she muttered, shaking her head. She was frustrated, and it showed. She raked a hand through her hair. "Please, don't shut me out. I don't know what's going on, and maybe, in the end, I won't want to know, but that doesn't matter."

"Jordan, you went behind my back so many times when I was on the force. Don't say anything about how I should trust you. Just... don't," he said, grabbing one of his shirts and pulling it on over his shoulders. He started buttoning it up, and she crossed to him taking his hands and holding them still.

"Okay, let's not make this about trust. Not about us," she said, leaning up to kiss him. "But I don't want you to go alone. I really don't. Please. Woody. Take me with you."

He cursed. He cursed loudly and angrily. "Damn it. I don't know how this always happens, but—"

She smiled, turning away to grab his coat and toss it to him. He'd lost again. He usually did when it came to her. And he supposed that she deserved to know. This was about her mother, after all.

"Where's Max?" Boxer demanded as soon as they entered the shop. Woody glared at him while Jordan looked around the shop with fascination. She seemed to be going through everything that Woody had when he first walked into this place. He was amused by it, and yet at the same time he wasn't.

"You know Max. He didn't leave a number," Woody answered. He folded his arms over his chest and looked at the other man. "What did you find?"

"The film wasn't as old as Max thought it was. He said it was about his wife's murder, right? But it couldn't have been. It was too new for that. Still old, but not twenty years worth of old," Boxer explained. "And, frankly, while this film is a crime, it's not what he was hoping for."

Jordan's arm connected with Woody's chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "What the hell were you thinking? You knew that my dad had something that he thought would solve my mom's murder, and you didn't tell me? Woody, what the... I thought we... Damn you."

He shrugged. "I haven't told you everything, and you don't want to know it. So hate me if you want, Jordan. I've given you plenty of reasons. But I did actually keep my promise to Max. I didn't tell you about this because he asked me not to. No, that's no excuse. It's not even a good reason. But as Boxer just told you, it wasn't what Max thought it was."

"It isn't fair," she whispered. "We were able to look at your father's files. We were able to give you that peace. Why can't we do that for me? Why can't I know what happened?"

"Jordan, we kind of always knew what happened to my father," Woody shook his head. "It got confused in Cal's mind, but it didn't change much. The killer hid his identity, that's all. And I'm not saying that you don't deserve to know. Because you do. But if the answer was easy, we would already know what it was."

He shuddered. She looked at him, her anger forgotten temporarily. "What is it?"

He swallowed, forcing back the taste in his mouth. He felt kind sick, the way he did every time he touched on a memory from his less than pleasant childhood. "Something my father used to say to me. I reworded it, but when I said it just now... He used to... When I asked him 'why,' he told me not to ask questions because the answers were easy and I already knew what they were."

"You're kidding," Boxer interrupted. "Or you're lying. You sure you never opened that film before? Never watched it? You didn't put it there for Max to find, you're not playing some sort of game, are you?"

"The hell are you talking about?" Woody demanded. "What the hell is on that film?"

"Woody wouldn't do that," Jordan protested. "He didn't even know about my mom's death until six years ago. Until after he knew me. And why would he put the film there? He doesn't have any reason to do that. I think you better tell us what is on that film."

Boxer shook his head. "My god. Your eyes... Those... Here, come with me."

He led them into a back room, filled with more clutter that had been shoved aside to make space for the screen and projector that now stood in the middle. Boxer went to the projector, switching it on, and Woody found himself backing into Jordan as he tried to get out of the room, to get away from that flickering image. He shook his head, distantly aware that he was saying something, but he didn't know what he was saying, couldn't hear it.

Boxer shut the projector off. "You know what that was, then."

"It doesn't make sense," Woody said. "I know what you said, that the film wasn't old enough to be from Emily's murder, and you're right, but why would that be... No."

"Woody, I don't want to ask this, I don't," Jordan began, "but... That film... It's one of yours. One of the ones your father made... Of you, right?"