Standing Accused (Part Two)
A Crossing Jordan/House Crossover Fanfic
Chapter Seven: Talking Doesn't Solve Everything
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Word Count: 2,559
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: Most of what I know about medicine and forensics I learned from tv. 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.

Garret is a hard character to do justice to...Very hard to get a grip on his psyche... I did expect more comments about rocking the good ship WoJo, but if I didn't, they wouldn't be them, would they?

Chapter Seven

Talking Doesn't Solve Everything

Garret pushed the button for the elevator, waiting impatiently for it to reach his floor. Days like today, there didn't seem to be much point in going home. His place would be empty. The only thing he had to look forward to was a few hours of sleep before he came back here to do it all again.

"Dr. Macy!" Lily called as the doors opened. "I didn't know you were still here."

I'd rather be polishing off a good scotch, he thought to himself. "A day in court means less work gets done here."

"Actually, it's not what I need," she began, twisting her hands together. The elevator closed.

"Jordan?" he asked, following Lily's brisk, anxious pace. Usually he had a pretty good sense of when his rogue ME had gotten herself into trouble, but it hadn't gone off today. He must be slipping. "I thought she was with Nigel."

Lily shook her head. "She is. It's not Jordan. I think she may be part of this, but…"

They stopped outside Jordan's office. Woody sat at her desk, staring off into space, turning her snow globe over and over in his hands. "He's been like that for two hours. Bug and I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't answer us. And I think he's been drinking."

"Have you called Jordan?"

"She's not answering her phone. She's not at her apartment. Not here. Not at the restaurant where she was supposed to meet me four hours ago," Woody said in a low voice. He'd been listening the entire time.

"Do you think something happened to her?"

"I know what happened to her," Woody answered. "She's pursuing a lead. Like she always does. I should have known better than to think this time was different. She had already forgotten about the plans we made two weeks ago…I know she wants to help House, but… She wasn't the same about the case, not at first…I guess I thought that meant this time, this one time…our anniversary…But not with Jordan. Whatever case or crusade she's on will always mean more to her than us."

"Woody," Lily began sympathetically.

He shook his head. "I waited for two hours. I was so nervous. I broke the hinge."

Garret looked at Lily. She shrugged. Woody wasn't making sense. "Come on, Woody. I think you need to go home."

"I'm not drunk, Dr. Macy," Woody got to his feet. "I'm an idiot. I love Jordan. I always will. And her willingness to give everything for someone else is one of the reasons I love her. I just admire the way she fights for what she believes in. I just wish that something was us."

"Where are you going?" Lily asked as he pushed past them into the hallway.

"Home, I guess—to my apartment."

Garret wasn't the only one who noticed Woody's clarification. Lily hurried after him. "Uh, Woody, about your apartment, there's a—"

"Lily, please, the psychology can wait," Woody said. "I've wasted enough time on self-pity tonight. I'm going home to get some sleep and then I'll try to find a killer."

"We think we can help you with that," a man said. Garret recognized him as one of the ones that Jordan had been ushering around the morgue. With him was the woman Garret had also seen earlier. "We just came from David Brown's ex-wife. We think we have our man."

"Who?" Garret, Woody, and Lily asked at the same time. Garret glared at the others, warning them to stay silent. "Who is David Brown? And while you're at it, why don't you finally tell me who you are?"

"Dr. Macy, this is Dr. Chase and Dr. Cameron," Lily introduced them. "They work for Dr. House."

"I looked into the strange marks on Moriarty's body. Brown is a convicted murderer who carved his victims with an Allen wrench after their death," Chase explained. "We went to see his ex-wife—"

"—Who told us that David Brown had a reason to hate House and he was in prison with Bruce Miles," Cameron finished triumphantly.

Woody frowned. Garret looked at Lily and then at the others. "Who is Bruce Miles?"

"Emma Moriarty's brother," Cameron answered in confusion. "Didn't Jordan…didn't anyone tell you what progress was being made on the case?"

"Occasionally they tell me enough to maintain the illusion that I'm in charge," Garret observed dryly. "I think I've gotten more out of you two in the last five minutes than I have out of Jordan in a month."

Chase and Cameron smiled at that, so did Lily. Woody rolled his eyes and stalked off to the elevator. Lily smiled apologetically. "He's had a rough night. Jordan—Oh, I never told him you three were at his apartment."

"Let me guess," Garret began. "Jordan?"

Lily nodded. Chase shook his head. Cameron looked at all of them in turn. "Shouldn't we tell him? I mean, he'll walk in and find Foreman on his couch."

"Don't worry about it," Garret advised. "He's not going home."

"Where is he?" Jordan demanded the moment she got out of the elevator.

"Good morning to you, too, Jordan," Lily muttered sarcastically. She grabbed a pile of folders and left the desk, heading towards autopsy. Jordan rushed after her.

"This is important, Lily. I need to talk to him."

"That might have been a good idea last night," Lily agreed. "I'm not so sure it is anymore. And I don't know why you think I know where Woody is, anyway."

"Lily, please. Someone has to know. I went to his apartment, to the precinct, I talked to dispatch—he hasn't reported in. Please, I have to talk to him," Jordan found herself begging.

She hated begging, but she had to find Woody. She had to make this right. She hadn't meant for this to happen—she wasn't sure why she'd convinced herself she'd be back from New York in time for their date, but she knew she hadn't consciously sabotaged the night. She wanted to be with Woody; she knew that. She loved him. Maybe fate was against it—her cell phone died, Nigel forgot his, their flight was cancelled after they'd turned in the rental and then they'd gone back to find that the rental company was closed for the night. They'd been forced to stay in Albany overnight, and she hadn't been able to get through to Woody on any number she called. She'd been unable to find him this morning, and she was going out of her mind.

"He's not here, Jordan. He's out looking for a suspect," Lily finally answered. Jordan turned to leave, and Lily caught her arm. "Did you do it on purpose, Jordan?"

Jordan looked at her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me all right," Lily insisted. "I want to know, Jordan. Did you really go to New York to follow a lead or did you do it to avoid Woody? Because if you did, then…"

"Then what?" Jordan demanded. "Tell me, Lily."

"Then walk away now. Just leave him alone," Lily answered. Jordan's chest tightened at the words. She swallowed hard. "I know he'll forgive you, Jordan. I'm just not sure he should."

"And I thought you were my friend," Jordan whispered, fighting tears and trying to pull her arm from Lily's hold.

"I am your friend, Jordan. That is why I'm saying this. You are so willing to fight for everyone else, to give a voice to everyone who comes in here, but you're not doing it for yourself. Instead of fighting for it, you crush it. There's a man out there who loves you. Yes, he's made mistakes, and he's hurt you, and he probably will again. But if you'd seen him last night…"

"That bad, huh?" Jordan asked softly. She'd tried to make it a joke. Somehow it hadn't worked out that way.

"He was devastated, Jordan." Lily shuffled the paperwork in her hands.

"Lily, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

"I'm practicing," Jordan smiled a little. "I wasn't avoiding Woody last night, Lily. But thanks for the tough love."

"Anytime," Lily smiled. Jordan left in search of someone who could tell her where Woody was.

"I want to know when I stopped running a morgue and started running an insane asylum," Garret began, catching Jordan outside autopsy one.

"When you hired me?" she suggested, shrugging. He folded his arms and studied her. She flinched. "Look, Garret, if this is about Woody, I already talked to Lily and as soon as I find him, I'll—"

"This isn't about Woody. This is about the six people in my morgue that do not belong here but will not leave. People, I might add, that you invited," he told her, still waiting for a decent explanation.

"How did you become a doctor with such bad math skills?" she asked. "I only invited three people to your morgue, not six."

"Maybe your three invited the other three. Maybe Gandhi did. I don't care. I want them out of my morgue, and I want it now," Garret said, taking Jordan by the arm and leading her towards the conference room.

"—Why you failed to tell me you were arrested for murder," the woman's voice came out into the hallway. "I found out because of a newspaper article. And you three lie to me; tell me you're consulting on a case? Do you even realize how much trouble you're in?"

"As much as I'd be thrilled to add axe murderer to my repertoire," the disagreeable man with the cane began, "I was never arrested."

The brunette stopped, shaking her head in disbelief. "House—"

"Actually, he's telling the truth, Dr. Cuddy," Jordan interjected. "Woody didn't formally arrest House. Officially, he's a suspect, but he'll probably he downgraded to a material witness when Woody brings in David Brown."

"Am I supposed to recognize that name?" House asked. "Judging from the way you're all staring at me like I've got spots, you expected me to know this person."

"You told him he was impotent. He blames you for his impotence and for the seven people he killed after your diagnosis," Chase explained.

"Oh, come on," House muttered. "Because some jerk's plumbing doesn't work, it's my fault these people are dead?"

"If you look at it like that, this whole thing is your fault," Chase countered. "You told Emma Moriarty about her husband's infidelity. She killed herself. Moriarty blamed you. He shot you. Miles blamed you and Moriarty. Brown blamed you for his impotence. He killed Moriarty. He killed Moriarty. He framed you. And in a twisted way, it's all your fault."

"Ooh, I like that," Cuddy said. "Aside from the killing part, it' s poetic justice that this is all your fault, House."

"Wow, this is fascinating, really, but I have to find Woody," Jordan interrupted. "I don't suppose any of you know where to find him?"

"Shouldn't he be at the precinct?" Cameron asked.

"Or getting a doughnut?" House offered.

"Or walking past the door?" the other one of Jordan's invitees asked.

Garret turned. Jordan rushed out of the room and caught a very unhappy Woody as he tried to escape their notice. "Jordan, wait a minute."

"I've got some things to take care of, I'll see you later," Jordan called over her shoulder as she followed Woody to the elevator.

Cuddy joined Garret by the door. "Looks like we have something in common."

"Jordan, get out of the car. Now."

"I'm not moving," she said, buckling her seatbelt and burrowing into the passenger seat of his Chevelle.

"I could just take a car from the motor pool," Woody told her. "Because we're not doing this, Jordan. I—I cannot talk to you right now. And you are not coming with me to arrest this guy."

"Woody, I know you're mad at me. I understand. You have every right to be mad at me, but—"

"I moved past angry last night. After an hour, I stopped kidding myself, stopped trying to deny that you weren't coming. For an hour after that, I was angry. I had a few drinks at the restaurant. Tried to find you. After I hit the morgue, I just waited, wondering what I could do to make you show up or go back and start over…Then I just stared into space, unable to do anything but wallow in my misery and self-pity. Finally, I accepted it and moved on," he told her, gunning the Chevelle to life without the usual pleasure he took in the sound of the engine.

"Wow. Maybe it's just me, but someone who can't talk, you sure have a hell of a lot to say," Jordan teased. He glared at her. "Woody, did you listen to yourself? You just told me you went through the seven stages of grief last night. But that's ridiculous. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you had something to mourn, but…"

"But?"

She looked almost panicked. "Woody, are you…did…Are you—"

"Damn it," he cursed, pulling into the empty lot. "Someone or something tipped him off. Guy reported seeing Brown's jeep here for the past three days. Now it's gone."

Woody parked the Chevelle and got out, walking towards the rundown building, once some sort of factory. She followed him as he entered the building. "I thought you weren't taking me with you when you went to arrest this guy."

"There's no car. He's not here. And whether I like it or not, I need your forensic skills to tell me where he went," Woody answered. He took out his gun and tried the door.

"You could have gotten someone else, since you're obviously still mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. Being mad at you for being who you are is rather pointless, don't you think?" He entered the abandoned factory slowly, sweeping the room with his eyes. Jordan kept close to him, practically touching him.

"So what were you planning to do if his jeep had been here?" Jordan asked.

"Drive by, call it in, and drop you off somewhere you couldn't get in trouble," he answered, walking towards the inner part of the factory. Between the rusted machinery and pools of grease, his empty stomach was beginning to get a little queasy.

"Really. And how did you expect to do that, Woody?"

"I thought you would do what I asked if I gave you the answer to that question you couldn't finish earlier."

"Nice. Blackmail." She shook her head. "You think I want an answer that badly, huh?"

"Keep joking," he admonished. "I know you want that answer."

"I love you, Woody," Jordan said softly.

"You have a funny way of showing it sometimes," he muttered. "I don't see any sign of squatters. This is a dead end."

And that was when the factory erupted in gunfire. Woody and Jordan dropped into a crouch, making their way to the open door of the foreman's office. Jordan pulled the door shut behind them. "Dead end, huh?"

"Looks like we found where he was staying," Woody muttered as he looked around.

"And I think he wanted us here," Jordan said.

"Why do you say that?" Woody asked, turning to her in surprise.

"Because that lock is broken, and I think I smell something burning."