Disclaimer: Still not mine. :-(

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Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang.

Garret groaned and rolled over, yanking his pillow over his head to block out the noise.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

Muttering choice curses under his breath, he threw back the covers, hastily pulling on a pair of pants before yanking open his front door. When he saw the man on the other side, he swallowed the angry diatribe that had been on the tip of his tongue. It was Woody Hoyt, and he looked terrible.

"Look at this," Woody said without preamble, shoving an envelope at Garret. Garret took it, glancing at the front and seeing his own name.

"What's this?" he asked, even as his fingers found that the back of the envelope was sealed.

"You tell me," Woody replied sharply. "It's got your name on it."

Garret ripped open the envelope and drew out a silver key and a letter written in Jordan's handwriting.

"So what is it?" Woody demanded.

Garret scanned the paper, frowning.

"An apology," he said finally. This didn't make any sense. "And instructions…Woody, where did you get this?"

"Jordan left it at my place." He exhaled heavily, running his fingers through his already-disheveled hair. "She came over last night. She told me she loved me, and we…" He cleared his throat, feeling his eyes start to sting again. "She promised me she wouldn't run away. When I woke up this morning, she was gone. She left that for you and this for me."

Garret looked over at Woody. When he saw what the younger man held in his hand, his heart dropped into his shoes.

"That's her mother's locket."

"I know."

"It's a memento of her mother. She wouldn't just give that away."

"I know."

Garret wavered for a moment – Jordan's instructions were explicit that she only wanted Garret involved – but in the end, he couldn't leave Woody out.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Jordan's apartment." Garret held up the key. "She left something there for me."

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Woody stood awkwardly in Jordan's living room, watching as Garret flipped through a set of something that looked like x-rays. They'd been sitting on Jordan's coffee table, a post-it note labeling them as being for Garret.

"What are those?" he asked finally, unable to take the silence anymore.

"They're MRI films," Garret said, his voice hollow as he lifted one of the films up to the light from the window. "See these white circles, here and here?"

"I see them. What are they?"

Garret shook his head, disbelieving. "They're tumors. This is end-stage brain cancer."

"Why would Jordan leave that here for you?"

He reluctantly handed the film to the detective, knowing the information it held would break the younger man's heart.

"Look at the name on the bottom."

Woody took it, staring blankly at the letters. They couldn't say what he thought they did. It couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

"No," he said finally, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her name, but the letters still floated in the darkness, permanently imprinted on his corneas. "No."

"I'm sorry, Woody."

"No, it can't be true." He gave Garret a pleading look. "Jordan's not sick. She was fine last night. She was fine…"

"She's had headaches," Garret reminded him quietly. "She's been worn down lately. I told her I thought something was wrong. She got this MRI done to get me off her back. I never expected it to turn out like this."

"So this – this means that she's…"

"She's dying." Garret sighed heavily, reaching out to touch Woody's shoulder, but the other man shrugged him off. "From this I'd say she probably has a few weeks left, tops."

"So soon?" Woody whispered, running his fingers over the letters that formed her name. They were block letters, harshly formed and radically different from the sloping curves of Jordan's handwriting. He loved her handwriting; it was bold and unrepentantly feminine, just like her. "How can it happen that fast?"

"Most of the tumors are in very dangerous positions, near the places that control breathing and movement. If they get any bigger or shift position and press down on a cranial nerve, it will incapacitate her and eventually kill her."

"Eventually." The word shocked Woody out of his haze of disbelief. "She's going to get sick first?"

Garret looked down at his hands. "Yeah, probably."

"Then where the hell did she go? She's going to need someone to take care of her –"

"No." Garret debated the pros and cons of telling the younger man the truth, and eventually he decided his loyalty to Jordan had to take a backseat to the desperation in Woody's eyes. "In the note she left me, she said she wasn't going to wait around to die a slow, painful death. That's what it would be, Woody. Slow and painful. Constant headaches and nausea, accompanied by seizures, strokes, and paralysis. You know that's not what she would want."

"What are you saying?"

"Jordan is a doctor. It wouldn't be hard for her to get her hands on something that could make her death quick and painless."

"But Jordan…Jordan wouldn't do that." Even as the words left Woody's mouth, he wondered if he truly believed them. Jordan was strong-willed and independent. Macy was right; dying slowly of seizures and paralysis wasn't the death she would want for herself.

"According to this note, she prescribed herself midazolam. It's a sedative, and she's got more than enough of it to euthanize herself. She'll just go peacefully to sleep and not wake up again."

"She won't suffer?"

"No."

Woody looked down at the MRI again, realizing that his blurry vision was due to the tears gathering in his eyes and overflowing down his cheeks.

"She doesn't want us to look for her."

"No, she doesn't." Garret swiped surreptitiously at his own tears. "She left me instructions for her funeral and a copy of her will. She wants us to let her go, Woody."

He was about to protest; Jordan was sick and vulnerable. They couldn't just leave her alone on the streets of Boston to fend for herself. Then he remembered the emotions he'd seen in her eyes the night before, right before she'd kissed him. There had been love there, yes, and desire, but there had also been fear. He'd thought it was the fear of rejection, but now he realized she'd been afraid her illness might incapacitate her before they could share the night they'd both waited so long for. That night had meant as much to her as it had to him; more, even, because she'd known it would be the last time they were together. He couldn't go after her if she didn't want him to. He had to respect her wishes…he had to let the memory of that night be his last memory of her. That was what she would want.

"I won't chase her," Woody said finally, giving the MRI one last look before setting it down gently on the table. "I won't chase her…but I'll never let her go. I'll always love her."

Garret cleared his throat, swallowing hard as he patted the other man's back in sympathy.

"I love her, too," he agreed quietly. "And neither one of us is ever going to forget her."