Standing Accused (Part Two)
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic
Chapter Three: Unraveling the Sweater Takes a Single Thread
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Word Count: 1,775
Disclaimer: I own House. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except seasons 1 & 2 on DVD and my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan.
Summary: When the man who shot House turns up dead in his Boston hotel room, House turns to old friends to prove his innocence.
Author's Note: While I still worry that the characters are OOC, my faithful (thank you) reviewers insist they're not, so I'm taking out that disclaimer. This is set somewhere after season 2 of House and season 5 of Crossing Jordan, and after my other fic "Sickness and Health," though I'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. This is an AU fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "Sickness and Health" and this story, House has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. However, I am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

This has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, still 100 percent my fault.

I have to admit, I am a Chase/Cameron shipper. That comes out a bit more in this section. And when I started this sequel over a year ago, it was supposed to be a Chase/Cameron fic in addition to Woody/Jordan. However, that hasn't been written yet, so it doesn't have to be...

I meant to post this earlier, but I had computer...issues.

Chapter Three

Unraveling the Sweater Takes a Single Thread

"Three positive ids," Jordan announced, pinning Woody against the wall outside her office. She didn't know where he'd gone while she led House's team back to the room to view the body, but she didn't think it was to see Walcott or House. Woody had probably been in trace with Nigel. "I'm sorry, Woody, but now you've got motive."

Woody looked past her at some young aides who were giggling at the two of them and back at her. "I thought that you agreed to help me prove he didn't do this."

"I will," Jordan promised, stepping up to kiss him. "I'm going to do the autopsy now. I'll let you know what I find…unless you want to stay for it? You're always welcome."

"Uh, I think I'll pass. I'm going to run down the other guests and hotel employees; see if anyone recognizes the photo of our John Doe. I've talked to Princeton P.D. They say they never managed to identify House's shooter even though he was related to former patient of House's," Woody explained. "I've got nothing, so I'll be hitting the pavement."

"Mmm…I almost envy you, but there's a nice body in there just waiting for me to slice and dice," she grinned as he made a face.

"I will never understand morgue humor," Woody whispered. He kissed her cheek and disappeared down the hall.

Jordan smiled to herself as she went to the locker room. She pulled out a pair of scrubs, pulling her hair back into another ponytail. She was about to walk out when the door opened.

Cameron poked her head in. "Jordan. I've been looking for you. Bug told us you were doing the autopsy on House's shooter."

"Yes, I am. I'd invite you to observe, but Garret and Walcott are all over both me and Woody because we know House. It's a touchy legal situation, and we need to nail whoever did this," Jordan explained. She'd been pushing it when she asked Woody if he wanted to stay, but she knew that he wouldn't.

"Well…With House being questioned, and the autopsy…We need something to do," Cameron confessed. Jordan smiled sympathetically. "Bug showed us his specimens, and Nigel wowed us with technology, but we're here to help House."

"Did Nigel give you details on trace?" Jordan asked as she walked towards autopsy.

"A weird substance on the guy's hand, mixed with chocolate from a local confectionary, but he also said with as many outlets as this confectionary has—"

"Never discount the wild goose chase," Jordan admonished. She caught sight of Sydney ahead of them in the corridor. "Hey, Sydney, want to run down an impossible lead? Show Foreman, Chase, and Cameron the ropes?"

Cameron winced. "I think I'll work with Chase."

"Nigel wasn't kidding when she said this was a bloody long shot," Chase muttered bitterly, trying to make out the next address on the blurry list in Cameron's hands. It wasn't easy. She had painted her nails a distracting metallic pink that caught the sun every damn time she moved.

"We did make more progress than Foreman and Sydney," Cameron reminded him, trying to be optimistic.

Optimism was hard to maintain in Cameron's presence, watching her do all that she could to please a man that would never give a damn about her. And Chase hated himself for the jealousy, for caring. "Look, we drove up here at two… We've been running on adrenaline. Let's get something to eat."

Cameron started to protest, but her stomach rumbled. She flushed. "Okay. There's a café a couple of buildings up from here. Want to try it or should we ask someone for a recommendation?"

Asking for a recommendation sounded like a date. Or maybe he was too bloody tired to think straight. He should eat. That, at least, would help. It must have been seeing Woody and Jordan again, bringing back memories of House's comments about Chase and Cameron making Chase feel like a bloody idiot, a jealous fool. They'd agreed that it wouldn't happen again, and he hadn't thought about it, not unless he was reminded.

"Let's just eat. We'll need someone to recommend a place to sleep later."

Cameron gave him a funny look. "I thought we'd stay at the hotel where House and Wilson are staying. I mean, it makes sense."

"I talked to Bug while you were looking at the body," Chase explained, "and he told me that the hotel was calling the morgue and everyone else to complain because the convention guests were forced to stay longer, and they're overbooked."

She sighed as they sat down at one of the outdoor tables. Chase looked at the menu, deciding that he didn't care what he ate and going with the daily special. She lingered over the menu, her fingertips catching the sunlight again. Chase wondered if she would mind if he ordered a drink. He knew he could use one.

"Do you think they'll arrest House?" Cameron asked suddenly, after the waiter had taken their order and left. "For murder? Will he go to prison?"

"Not if Jordan and Detective Hoyt have anything to say about it," Chase answered without hesitation.

Cameron laughed. "Chase, how many times is he going to have to ask you to call him Woody?"

Chase really didn't have an answer for that one. He didn't even know why. He was saved from having to answer by the waiter returning with their food. The café wasn't very busy, but then again, it wasn't exactly a peak time, either. He picked up his sandwich and concentrated on eating.

They finished their meal in silence. Chase grabbed the check and paid for it while Cameron used the restroom. She met him outside the café, taking out the list again. "Sweet Dreams Candy Shop is next. It's on this street. I think."

Chase nodded, and they walked up the street. Cameron was window-shopping, or at least trying to window shop. This area of Boston wasn't a retail center, and many buildings were vacant, waiting for someone to lease them. Chase turned away, watching the cars and people that went by them, wondering why he was out here playing detective.

Maybe he was better off not knowing.

"You're back."

"Five hundred registered guests and fifty hotel employees later," Woody agreed, slumping down on Jordan's couch. He sighed and closed his eyes. "No one heard anything. No one saw anything. No one knows who this guy is. No one knows how he got into House's room or even how he got into the hotel."

"Someone's lying," Jordan said, coming over to sit next to him. She leaned against him, and for a moment, they just enjoyed being together. He kissed the top of her head. Somehow, it broke the spell. "I finished the autopsy. Our John Doe died of a heart attack."

Woody opened his eyes and looked at her. "Are you kidding me?"

"No," she said with a smile. She shrugged. "If it helps, it was still murder."

Woody rubbed his forehead, grimacing. "Am I cursed? I thought I got rid of the Kewanee curse. I apologized. I atoned. What did I do now?"

She laughed, touching his face. "Nothing, Woody. These things happen. Especially since you met me."

He shook his head. "Jordan, as much as I sometimes want to blame everything wrong in my life on you, this isn't your fault. What about the marks on his chest?"

"Done with a pocket knife. Specifically, the Allen wrench. It makes no sense."

"If someone wanted House to go down for this, the heart attack makes sense. Why confuse the issue by carving up the body?"

"I don't know. However, I saved the best news for last," she told him with that smile of hers that always distracted him. He struggled to focus on the case. "Our John Doe is no longer a John Doe."

This woman would be the death of him, one way or another. If he didn't get killed helping in one of her crusades or by their chemistry, he would die of frustration after she'd slowly driven him mad. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"Honestly, I was going to wait and let Chase and Cameron have the honor of telling you, since they were the ones that—"

"Jordan," Woody interrupted in a low, dangerous voice, "please do not tell me that you have House's team running around Boston like—the last thing I need is more amateur sleuths running around and getting into trouble."

"I resent that. And they're not amateurs. You know what they do to diagnose patients."

"Jordan—"

"It was a long shot anyways. If you knew what they were up against, you'd have laughed. None of us thought they'd find anything. But they did. Foreman, Chase, Cameron, and Sydney spent the day tracking down the chocolate on the guy's hand. Chase and Cameron found a place, Sweet Dreams Candy Shop I think, where the sales girl not only recognized the photo of our John Doe, she remembered the transaction. He paid with a credit card, giving us the name Jack Moriarty. Nigel's digging up everything he can find and tracking activity on the credit card. He should have something for you soon."

"Good," Woody murmured, closing his eyes again.

Jordan poked his arm. "Oh, no, Farm Boy. No sleeping on my couch. We'll—"

"—sleep when we're dead?" he finished morosely.

"While that used to be my philosophy when working a case, no," she answered with a grin. "As crucial as the first forty-eight hours are, no one is going to think less of you if you take a few hours off to sleep. You know, enough to make it so you can think straight? Besides, you've got more than enough amateur sleuths to handle it while we're gone."

"Cute, Jordan. Real cute," he grumbled as he got to his feet. "Wait… Did you say we?"

"Come on, Woody. We both know we sleep better when we're together," Jordan told him, yawning. "And I'm too tired to argue about it, so let's just go, okay?"

He thought about teasing her. Even as well as their relationship was going—four months and no implosion despite the predictions and rumors—she had yet to admit to needing him. But he was too tired to tease her, and right now all he wanted was to take her up on her offer.

He ignored the ringing of his phone. House was going to have to wait.