Title: The Forty Day Scramble.

Author: C’est moi. Pol.

Rating: K+. Nothing so horrible the kiddies couldn’t play. Maybe some bad words. But I bet they hear those words at school every day anyway.

Pairing: Well, N/J of course. Could I write anything else? (Maybe I should try, huh?)

Disclaimer: I dress them up and make them pretty, that’s all. Pinky swear.

A/N: If anyone has ever seen Ballykissangel then you’ll understand where this came from: I originally thought it would be fun to see if Peter could give Assumpta up for lent. Yes, I know that makes more sense than N/J but the Ballykea fandom is so dead and any chance to put Nigel in a fic is too good an opportunity to miss. So here’s what happened.

BTW- if anyone’s awaiting the finale of The Order of Things, it’s on the boil right this minute. Shameless plug plug plug. Also Dead Bodies Central. Also by me. Also N/J. Hurrah!

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She snatched the donut out of his bony hands without so much as a batted eyelash.

"Thanks, Nige, just what a girl wants!" She chortled into the newly acquired food.

"Hey! I was really looking forward to those particular calories," Nigel complained, spinning around and eyeing the culprit as she made herself comfortable propped on the break room bench.

"Wouldn’t want to get chubby," she replied glibly, letting her gaze travel down the long, scrub-clad body, then ever so slowly back up again. She could have sworn that he was blushing too.

"Same to you, missy," he retorted weakly. He was practically squirming under her eyes. She’d never seen anything like it.

But he must have realized because on catching her infamous honey eyes, he struck a pose and raised an eyebrow.

"And after all, why would I be ashamed of this body?" He asked suggestively.

She could only laugh into her donut.

"So when was the last time you got any?" She questioned lightly.

"Yeah, yeah." He made a grab for the remainder of the calorie puff and missed. "All right. Don’t you have work to do, or something?"

She raised a finely plucked eyebrow, licked her red lips and slowly took an overly sensuous bite out of the offensive pastry, making as many illustrative and orgasmic noises as she could.

"I was waiting for that fingerprint to come through," she told him once she had both swallowed the last remnant of Nigel’s morning tea and suitably irritated him with her lust for it.

"Wait for as long as you like. I’m not doing anything until I get another donut," he retorted, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.

"Man, do you need to get laid!" Jordan teased, poking him in the stomach and strutting out of the room before he could retaliate. God she loved teasing Nigel, mucking around, getting drunk, swearing and caring, all that stuff. He was a good egg, that one. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

Of course, twenty minutes later the fingerprint analysis was all ready for her, complete with list of donut varieties and their respective calorie content.

"Lucky you didn’t opt for the Krispy Kreme, then," Jordan murmured as she flicked through the file.

Bug, who had been the poor unfortunate roped into retrieving the information, nodded his head sagely.

"There was a website where all these really, and I mean, REALLY fat people tallied their Krispy Kreme per day count. It was disturbing."

"That’s why you do the heavy lifting, my dear Buggles," Nigel quipped easily, leaning over Jordan’s inanely disorganized desk to point at his handiwork.

"That smudge there is the reason we’ve only got a four point match. Guess what it is."

"Grease? Krispy Kreme?" Jordan offered.

"Burn. His finger’s been partially destroyed by fire. We’ve got fragmentations of similar smudges all along the blade. I’d bet you fifty quid that his whole damn hand’s been flamed."

"Nice. Very nice."

She was being serious too. Four point match or not, it was hard to miss the hand of a burns victim.

"I take it my work here is done?" Bug asked, a trifle moodily.

"Don’t be a bad sport, Bug. You played an important role," Nigel consoled, giving Bug a blokey shove that almost sent the diminutive Liverpudlian sprawling.

"And what role was that exactly?" Bud retorted.

"Just keeping the love alive between me and Nige. You wouldn’t want to work in an unhappy environment, now would you, Bug? It’s all about the team morale," Jordan told him, grinning lopsidedly as only Jordan could.

"By team morale you mean personal enjoyment?" Bug asked dryly.

"Absolutely."

"Understood."

He half-waved them and left. It was a well known fact that Jordan and Nigel were potent together. Too much sarcasm, too much cynicism and too much sex in one room. Very dangerous stuff. Even Bug, possibly Nigel's nearest and dearest, knew when to get out of the firing line. Although he did enjoy watching the show from a distance.

"What a grumpy bum. Did you invite him?"

"No, did you?"

They looked at each other in mock confusion for a moment before getting locked into a staring competition.

"Jordan?"

"Mmm?"

"Some of us like to hand their paperwork in on time…"

"You walk away, you lose, buster."

"It’s not like Dr. M will actually read it, anyway."

"That is my philosophy."

She focused on the spot right between his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. For some reason that made it easier.

Poor Nigel was caught right in her eyes. He hated that. Jordan had eyes that could make any guy a sucker. Even a swinger such as himself.

And even worse, Jordan knew he was looking right at her. Nigel had piercing eyes and it was disconcerting to have him scrutinising, even if he was blurry round the edges.

"So that donut manoeuvre was asking for trouble," he said evenly.

"Really? Watcha gonna do about it?" She taunted.

He stepped forward, provoking a grin of surprise.

"The question you should be asking is: can you hack it?"

"Bring it on, y’old limey," she replied.

He stepped forward again. It was a little office and he had long, long legs. He was practically on top of her.

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you," he told her, never breaking eye contact despite the tears welling in his sockets.

"My lips are…" But he’d reached out his agile fingers and had got her in the ribs, tickling with sharp, agonising nails. She squirmed and shrieked and tried to get his toes with her heels, but she couldn’t break eye contact, she just couldn’t.

Nigel apparently had a talent for tickling. It was absolutely killing her in pain and pleasure. She wanted to curl up in a ball and die and…but Jordan refused to break first, despite her rapid, choking, giggling breath.

"Admit it. Admit it," Nigel whispered, face right against hers as he went for her back.

"What?" She gasped. Air. She needed air.

"You can’t hack it."

"Never!" And eyes firmly on the prize, she drove an arm into his stomach.

"Should I be calling your parents into my office?" A deep voice asked from the doorway.

In a moment of reflex they both looked up. Game over.

"Hey, Gar. What’s up?" Jordan asked, sounding (even to herself) overly casual. She ran her lean fingers through her hair and flung it back. It didn’t help the flush in her cheeks at all. She’d been caught out, that was for sure.

"So, Nigel, I’m guessing that your paperwork on the Murphy case is right now gathering dust on my desk?" He continued, face serious but eyes dancing. Garret was, after all, one of the biggest softies Jordan had ever met. At least where it concerned her.

"Absolutely, Dr. M. Just sitting there innocently, minding its own business…" Nigel shot his counterpart in crime a concerned look. "And speaking of, there’s… you know…that thing…"

He squeezed past Garret and had disappeared before any suitably cutting remark could be made.

"Way to ruin a girl’s high, Garret," Jordan admonished, perching easily on her desktop, letting papers fall where they may.

"Are you two ever serious?"

"Not unless it’s absolutely necessary," she shrugged.

"And what exactly was that I walked into? A wrestling match?"

She shrugged again. It was a way of both admitting guilt and casting it aside. It was a specifically Jordanesque talent.

"Just a bit of friendly fire."

"Could you keep it under wraps in the office, Jordan? That lady out there (gesturing rapidly into mid-air) has just lost her son in an MVA. She doesn’t need to see you two frolicking."

She watched his glasses slip down his nose and smiled wanly.

"Got it. Tone it down."

"And, for God’s sake, finish yesterday’s fucking write-up."

Jordan pursed her lips.

"Now, Garret, there’s a lady out there right now who’s just lost a son. Does she really need to be hearing that kinda language?" She said sternly, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him pointedly.

"The day you can tell me why I ever hired such a smart ass, let me know, okay?"

"I just always presumed it was because he would be deported if he wasn’t employed," she shot back, not missing a beat.

"I’ll deport you in a minute," Garret growled, causing them both to smile slyly to themselves. He may have had a tough time in the recent past (too many hours and not enough staff) but Garret still showed signs of the grumpy old bugger Jordan had first met during her internship. And she loved him for it.

For his part, Garret was very fond of getting a rise out of Jordan and completely understood why Nigel loved to heckle her. It was mostly that he enjoyed making her smile. Sometimes Jordan just needed to be reminded about smiling, about how therapeutic it could be. That was why, so Garret thought, Nigel was such a good influence. The tall, gothic, cynical bastard had a sense of humour surpassed by none.

It was a pity that in typical fashion, Jordan was oblivious of the inner workings of her friends. If she’d noticed perhaps she never would have taken the bait that Woody accidentally dangled before her. That said, Jordan was not known for her abilities to turn down a challenge.

It started out innocently enough, after all. Jordan and Woody were catching up over drinks at the Pogue, not that it was the Pogue any longer. Still, there were attachments to the place that neither of them were ready to give over, so they settled in their regular booth, Guinness and draught on hand.

"I would have said you’d been avoiding me," Woody started, cheerily enough. They clinked glasses and turned to watch drunken fools play at karaoke.

"This is why I told dad to stay away from karaoke machines," Jordan groaned theatrically, enjoying herself immensely, of course.

"Jo? Are you listening?"

"Yeah, you thought I was avoiding you. But, Wood, you think that at least once a month. It’s not exactly new material."

"So what was it this time?"

"I dunno. Life. One hell of an interesting cold case that Nige found when Bug was researching…"

"Jordan!"

"Hmm?"

They still had their heads turned toward the entertainment, with the entertainment firmly in inverted commas.

"We’re really bad at staying in touch now. Ever since Devan…"

She bit her bottom lip absently.

"Well, let’s not go there, okay?"

Woody was silent.

"I’m sorry, Woody, it’s never on purpose. You know that. Now spill the juice about this case. Bug says it’s kids only."

"All under the age of fifteen. There are five now."

"How often?"

"It’s erratic, I think. Whenever the sick fuck gets the urge."

So they sipped and occasionally guzzled and talked shop for the night. It was how they always ‘caught up’, how they felt most comfortable. There was no need to start on more treacherous ground, on how they were feeling, on whether they were happy…However, toward two in the morning and just as they were getting ready to go (the pub was closing), Woody apparently felt the need to bring up religion.

"That was nice, Jo. We should try and make it regular."

"We’re not regular people, Woody."

He shot her a look.

"Okay. I’m not a regular person. But it’s always fun."

"In forty-one days I’ll be up for round two, how’s that?" He asked, taking her arm as they squeezed through the doorway together.

"Forty-one days? What are you, a personal planner?"

"Lent, Jordan. Tomorrow lent starts."

She couldn’t contain a brief laugh.

"Since when do you do lent?"

"Since I’ve been catholic, which is…let’s see…since birth," he told her, just a tad sarcastically.

"You’ve never said."

"Cos that would make a riveting conversation. I know, let’s all talk about what we gave up for lent last year!" He continued, starting to enjoy himself.

"Settle down, Wood. I just wouldn’t have guessed."

"What, I’m not the lent type?"

"No, I mean…I dunno." She shrugged against his arm and veered him left.

"I’m down this way."

They walked in silence for a bit while Jordan adjusted her thoughts to allow Woody the quality (or vice, depending on how you looked at it) of lent.

"So, watcha giving up?" She asked finally, as they reached her car.

"Alcohol."

She nodded, fussing with her car keys.

"Right. So no Pogue for forty-one days. Gotcha. That’ll be fun, huh?"

"It’s not really about fun," Woody replied, opening the door for her.

"Yeah, okay. Well, kick some abstinence ass and I’ll see you at the Pogue in forty-one days."

She slid into the driver’s seat and reached for her seat belt. Buckle up kiddies.

"I wish you’d take me seriously, Jo. Lent’s not exactly easy. It’s a test of character."

Jordan took a breath and quirked the key in the ignition.

"This is me taking you seriously. I know that. What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Like not be so flippant, maybe? I’d like to see you do it."

"What, I’m not good enough for lent? I can do lent. I can go forty days without something."

Woody held up a hand in defeat.

"Whatever, Jo. Just don’t belittle it for me, okay?"

"No, really. You don’t think I can do it!" Her eyes were focused on his, caught between anger and amusement. It was a bizarre conversation to be having on the side of a street at two in the morning.

Woody shook his head.

"If you wanna know the truth, I’m not sure you could do it. But that’s not actually the point of this conversation." He was definitely starting to sound exasperated. One hand fidgeted against his jeans.

"Is now. The first thing I see in the morning that I really love, I’m gonna give it up for lent."

"You’re not serious."

"Dead set, Woody my man. Fifty bucks says I can do it."

"A hundred says you die in the first week."

"One fifty for forty days, buster. You’ll be coughing it up."

They shook on it and parted for the night, both certain of themselves and their prize of a hundred and fifty good old American dollars.

Jordan was hoping, however, that the first thing she saw the next morning wasn’t going to be another of Nigel’s orgasmic donuts. She crossed her fingers on the steering wheel.

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"Do not show me!" Jordan squealed suddenly, grabbing Lily as a shield and hiding behind her back.

Nigel grinned in confusion. Lily squirmed.

"Don’t you let him show me that donut," Jordan whispered sternly as the grief counsellor tried to detach herself.

"What’s the matter, Jordan? Are you having some issues?" Lily asked, amused. "Donut issues?"

"No!" Was the indignant reply. She managed to crouch behind Lily all the way back to the little office that Lily called home.

But out of the corner of her eye she saw a long, decidedly English arm waving at her.

"Hey, Jordan! Jordan!"

She ignored it steadfastly. The minute she turned around it would be there. That warm, glorious, juicy, sugary donut. She couldn’t possibly be expected to give up such a wonder for forty whole days, right?

In the back of her mind a little clock had begun to tick. You need to pick something soon, Jordan. Make up your mind.

Okay, so donuts were out of the question. The next thing she saw that she really loved. That would be it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

She would never have admitted it to Woody, but this was already harder than she would’ve thought. And that pissed her off.

The next thing that she really loved, so she soon discovered, was her job. Now there was no way in buggery she was going to quit her job, or even take long service leave, just to prove a point to Woodrow Hoyt. That was plain stupid. Besides, they both already knew that she’d put her job over him in the blink of an eye. No contest. So she sliced and diced freely, reveling with renewed passion in the twisted small intestine of her latest ‘patient’.

The next thing. The very next thing.

Her office phone rang and she picked it up completely unaware of the ‘third time’s the charm’ mentality she’d fallen into.

"Just to keep Lily out of further danger," Nigel began, his rich voice causing an involuntary smile, "I thought you should know that today’s donut was not to torture you. That, in fact, and seeing conflict ahead, I went out of my way to purchase another donut, especially for our dear Dr. Cavanaugh. And now I am wondering, do you know perchance, if said Dr. Cavanaugh will be coming to retrieve her spoils, or would it be safe for her humble servant to gobble it all up himself."

"That is one hell of a speech, Nige," Jordan congratulated, her smile having widened considerably. "Let me get this straight; you wanna know if I plan on eating that donut ‘cos you want it?"

"Who would ever have guessed that there were such sharp brains in that pretty little head?"

"I want my donut," she replied, cruelly. "You bought it for me and it’s only polite that I eat it. All up."

The perk in Nigel’s voice dropped noticeably.

"If that’s the way you want to feel about it, love."

"You can even deliver it, if you like. I wouldn’t want to spoil your misery in watching me eat it. All up."

"Would you stop that?" He retorted.

"Stop what?" She replied, innocent to the extreme.

"All right, all right. I’ll bring it round on my way to go hang myself in the elevator shaft."

"Sounds like a plan."

She hung the receiver back in its cradle with a sigh of satisfaction, feeling the warm glow that bantering with Nigel gave her. God, she just loved it.

The alarm bell went off just a second too late to stop that thought in its tracks.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The next thing I really love…

Jordan snorted to herself, swinging her legs over the arm of her ergonomically abused computer chair. You couldn’t give up a person for lent. Who ever heard of that? Sure, you could give up human characteristics, like swearing, teasing, flirting, but they were things you gave up yourself. You couldn’t just lift out somebody else.

But once the thought was planted in there it festered. All those things she’d thought of (swearing, teasing, flirting) were aspects of her relationship with Nigel. And she loved it. All of it. It made her smile when nothing else had a hope in hell.

Third time’s the charm.

By the time Nigel appeared with her (reheated) donut, Jordan couldn’t look him in the eye. The damage was done. She figured she may as well go through with it then. And it’s not like she wasn’t going to see him, either. They worked together every day, for God’s sake. It was just that all the little perks on the side were gonna have to wait.

Nigel leant in her doorframe as she took the proffered donut, sans smart-ass remark. She appeared to be avoiding looking directly at him too.

"Hey, Jordan?"

"Mmm?" She smiled benignly at his shoulder before taking a bite of the troublesome confectionery.

"Oh, yum. This is great, Nigel. Thanks."

He waited for her to flaunt her enjoyment, to rub it in his face. When it didn’t come he knew that something wasn’t right.

"Something happen in the fifteen minutes I left you to your own devices?" He asked, as lightly as possibly.

She was trying to look amused at his suggestion, but they both knew better.

"Nah. Just hungry."

So he left her with her thoughts. He was very good at getting things out of her, it was just that you had to wait for the right opportunity. It was too early to get to her just yet.

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"So?"

"So…"

"So, what did you give up for lent?" Woody asked. He was in particularly fine form for some reason. Even over the phone Jordan could see the light dancing in his eyes. For Woody moods were unmistakable. Right then she was picturing him swinging the phone cord as his head bopped to background music. Particularly fine form.

"I don’t wanna tell," she replied, feeling childish. All afternoon she’d felt stupid. Just then she’d begun to realize that she’d given up Nigel over a donut. There was something so perverted, so wrong with that, that the stupid feeling was making her feel ever so slightly squeamish.

"Jordan, you have to tell. Otherwise how will I know you’re doing it?"

If she could have done the day over, she definitely would have chosen the donut. But it was too late now. Because she’d already eaten a donut. And you couldn’t just start lent over the next day. It was a very specific forty days, not just any old time.

"Because I’ll tell you that I’m doing it."

"Or you could just make it up."

"Ouch. C’mon Woody, that was harsh."

He laughed jovially into her ear.

"Yeah, but you could. That’s my point. So really, you have to tell me. You know mine."

"Yeah, well yours is reasonable. Yours is only alcohol."

"Only? I bet you couldn’t do without a pint here and there for over a month."

"Would you stop getting me into trouble? I’ve already given up enough for one day."

He must have been able to sense her growing agitation because he sighed rather loudly and folded.

"Okay, Jo, have it your way. You write on a piece of paper what you gave up and give it to me and when lent’s over I’ll look at it and I’ll know whether you did it or not."

"Fine. Or you could just trust me."

"Or we could do it this way."

She shrugged to herself. After all, she’d lied to Woody plenty of times and she would again. It didn’t hurt to keep the peace.

They continued to chat a bit longer, him with music in the background, her with television. A scrap of paper lay on her coffee table, next to her propped up feet.

It was folded over, but when it had been flat, it was easy to see what it said.

NIGEL.

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At first it wasn’t the drama she expected. After practically making herself sick over it on the first day, Jordan was surprised that a busy streak at work could do the hard stuff for her.

They were all subdued from fatigue and stress after three days of solid work and the occasional quip or suggestive comment falling flat was not exceptional. In fact, they were all treating each other in the way that Jordan resolved to treat Nigel, brusquely, efficiently, professionally but not unkindly.

Garret got sick on day four and Jordan had to try to keep everyone in check, a task she knew she was bad at from experience. This time, with much focus on her 150, she ignored all the small favours asked of her, the suck ups, the sickies and the complaints. Somehow she was doing reasonably well and really, Nigel soon became a background niggle, when Garret returned, good as new, and their caseloads settled. That was day nine.

Day Nine:

"I heard you kept their collective little noses to the grindstone," Garret said in mock amazement. "I’m not sure whether to believe my ears."

"Well you’d better, buster, cos it damn near killed me," Jordan returned, a trifle sharply. She was tired. Really very tired.

"That’s my girl. Lucky for you it’s looking quiet today. You can catch up on all that paperwork you owe me."

Usually Jordan was the first to run for the hills when the word ‘paperwork’ was mentioned, but she merely smiled wanly and nodded.

"Sure thing, boss." She turned again as she reached the doorway. "Good to have ya back."

Garret may have looked shocked by her submission, but she would never know because she didn’t turn back again. The clock in the back of her mind was telling her that this was day nine already. She was doing really well. Locked up in a room with paperwork would soon carry her over to day ten.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Only it didn’t take longer than an hour and a half for Nigel to find her.

"Heard that Dr. M. assigned you paper-pusher. Need a shoulder to cry on? Or even better, a window to jump out of?" He grinned easily at her, eyes tired but always ready to make an effort.

"Nah, not today. I’m too tired to climb the ledge," she murmured flatly, annoyed at how rapid her heartbeat was. Keep it cool, Jordan.

Nigel’s eyes darted from the window in question back to her. Obviously trying to decide whether to keep the subject going with such an unresponsive audience. He was smart enough to let it go.

The window ledge disaster was still on Nigel’s mind the next day but Jordan seemed to be caught up in a serious phone conversation. He watched through the glass partition for a minute as she looked concerned and muttered into the phone. When she looked up and saw him, she nodded distractedly. It was not a good time, then.

The minute Nigel disappeared she put down the phone. Just in case he was going to test her by ringing her extension. Of course, nobody except her would be that paranoid, right?

It was just that this lent thing was more than she’d bargained for. She hadn’t figured on jumping out of her skin every time she heard a twinge of British accent or smelt the subtlety of his cologne mixed with his leather bike jacket. It was hard. She had to watch herself all the time. Said in the right tone of voice, her window ledge comment would have encouraged him.

Thank God for weekends, she thought. Monday morning, ready to start afresh. And if Nigel had thought her weird recently, he’d soon forget it. She wasn’t going to let this whole lent debacle get the better of her.

Anyway, why couldn’t she have a normal conversation with Nigel? Couldn’t they just be mates the same way she and Lily were mates? She was determined to try.

"So, Nige, have a good weekend?"

"Brilliant, love. Just brilliant. In fact I spent most of it listening to our dear Buggles yabber."

"You were on call?"

"I’m always on call, love."

The regular follow up to such a comment would have been something along the lines of…well if you’d only go out there and find yourself a life…but Jordan bit her tongue.

"That sucks," was the best she could do.

"A mild but succinct understatement," Nigel replied. She could tell he was trying to hang on to the conversation, if only because they hadn’t actually had one in so many days. She let it fall.

Woody had called the night before for a chat. They both avoided talking about their various struggles over lent. But she would bet double or nothing that hers was much, much harder.

Having learnt from the day before, she gave up initiating conversation, which was especially difficult when stuck in a room by themselves. Sometimes she could get out fine but when they were working in a lab or on a body the only thing to do was talk shop. This was a minefield all of its own, because Jordan’s formula of the past several years had been the ‘let Nigel rant then pay him out for it’ one, and it was a favourite with everyone.

Nothing, however, could have been worse than having a good old gossip with Bug and Garret in the tearoom and not reacting to anything Nigel said. The other two began passing looks that were not in the least subtle and she could feel herself blush. It occurred to her then that if she just explained to everyone what she was doing, she wouldn't seem like such a bitch.

Somehow, the thought of telling Nigel that a donut had been prioritized over him quenched her of that idea.

Day Sixteen:

She didn’t know it then, but it was her last chance. Nigel had always been able to put up with a lot from her, from strange demands, unexplainable mood swings, dealings with illegality…he’d not actually ever entirely given up on her. Because once she’d crushed him, he’d always give her that one last chance and she would prove him wrong. She was worth it, after all. And that was just the way that Jordan was.

But after the incident the previous day, the four of them in the tearoom , joking around about Sal the janitor’s new girlfriend, Nigel was really very hurt. Jordan could be a selfish bitch, but she’d never reacted against him before. It was usually that he was just in the firing line. But this time was definitely different.

Over the past couple of weeks, now that he thought about it, she’d been getting more and more distant. A few theories, exhaustion, period, stress, distraction, Woodrow, etc. had flitted through his mind from time to time. But no. This was about him. To put it in a completely non-glamorous way, Jordan was phasing him out. And dear God that made him angry.

So when he approached her in the crypt and she barely glanced up from her clipboard to greet him, she was pretty much writing herself off.

"You’ve been landed with all the mundane shit lately," Nigel observed, pulling out a tray in the hope of looking occupied.

"It’s good for me. Clears my mind," she replied, still not looking at him.

"And if ever there was a mind that needed clearing…" he began, old habits dying harder than he would have expected, considering the steel edge in his voice.

"Anyway, someone has to do it and it’s usually Bug. I thought it would be good for him to…" she stopped the witticism just in time… "take a break." Emerge from the depths was what she’d originally gone for.

"So when exactly did Jordan Cavanaugh turn into Mother Theresa?" Nigel continued, his voice growing quieter by the second. He found that he almost didn’t have the energy to do this. Not without Jordan pepping him up.

"You’ll have to get back to me on that one," she answered. "I haven’t made it yet."

It gave Nigel the idea that this was one of Jordan’s harebrained schemes to makeover her life. It was pretty damn offensive that she thought he had been one of the evils of it, though.

So that pretty much decided it. By day seventeen they were avoiding each other. Except that Jordan was so relieved by the sudden ease of her task, the lack of temptation, the rarity of seeing her project, that it took her a while to realize why. When she did the sick feeling she’d begun with wound its way into her gut and wouldn’t leave. This stupid bet was going to kill her.

Garret had called her into his office, which was bizarre in and of itself. Usually he just grabbed her in a hallway, barged into an autopsy or paged her at an inconvenient moment. Being called into his office made her feel as though she was back in high school.

"What did I do?" Was the first thing she said, although it was plaintive enough to be called a whine too.

"Settle down, Jordan. I’m not out to get you."

"Oh, c’mon, Gar, this just reeks of detention."

Garret frowned, clearly perplexed.

"I have no idea what you just said. But it doesn’t matter. I have a bit of a bone to pick."

"Let me guess; with me?"

He smiled at her and she saw that it was nothing dire, just something that had been getting under his skin.

"I want you to be straight up with me, Jordan. Okay?"

"Yeah, man. Sure."

"So what the hell is going on between you and Nigel? Did you get drunk and shag him?"

Her mouth dropped open but nothing came out. It was more the shock of knowing that she’d been that obvious than the suggestion that she’d slept with Nigel.

"Okay, so that’s not it."

"Of course not. Unlike Nigel, I don’t fuck anything that moves," she replied, getting out her first dig at Nigel in weeks with serious relief.

"Funny, Jordan, very funny. You wanna tell me what it is, then?"

She considered it, she really did, but she knew what Garret would say. That it had to stop. That some stupid show down with Woody wasn’t worth screwing with team morale. That the way she was treating Nigel was inexcusable and the awkwardness she created with her other work mates was inconsiderate. These were all logical options and Jordan could see Garret going with an amalgam of them. She’d heard it all before. In her head, every day.

"I can’t yet. I’m sorry, Gar, but you’re gonna have to wait until I can tell you."

"What, is this secret on time delay?" He was beginning to get pissed off. She had said she’d be straight up with him.

"Kinda."

"Is it something Nigel has done? Do I need to talk to him?"

"No! No, no, nothin’ like that." Her cheeks were starting to flush again. "You’re just gonna have to trust me, Garret."

"I’m just going to have to trust that you’ll think better of whatever you’re playing at. Jordan, Nigel is working himself up over this. You’re acting like a madwoman, Bug won’t be in the same room as the two of you and Lily is afraid to try talking to either of you. Think better of it soon."

It was harder than anything to hear Garret talking down to her like that. And she deserved it too.

xxxxxxxx

It was probably Garret’s little ‘chat’ that started Jordan re-evaluating. On the one hand there was a lot riding on her sticking out the next sixteen days (she’d slept on it too), mostly her pride but also a good solid 150. With that money she could take Nigel out for one hell of a piss-up. Or at least it would get them going.

Except that Nigel probably wouldn’t want to go when the time rolled round. He was seriously unimpressed with her and she was missing him pretty badly now. Not just the guilt of torturing one of her best friends in the world, not just the withdrawal of sarcasm and cynicism in her life, not just knowing that he’d be there to watch her back. It was more than that. She missed Nigel. She was discovering too late that she’d been right in the first place. You can’t just lift out a person. And taking out bits and pieces of them didn’t work either. Because then it fell to pieces.

Looking back at it, Jordan couldn’t believe that this had basically started out as a joke. It sure wasn’t funny any more.

The next day at work she watched Nigel flirting harmlessly with Lily before passing Bug in the hallway with a wink and a sly "I warmed her up for you, mate." Usually she would have invited herself right into that little interaction, but this time she hung back.

Garret was right. Nobody wanted to be around her and Nigel at once and seeing as it wasn’t in any way Nigel’s fault, it was her responsibility to disappear. So she did.

Jordan was very good at disappearing when she needed to. It was almost always because she was running away from something and this time was no different. She was running from the big black hole she was steadily digging underneath herself and Nigel.

She took two sick days, spent a night with her father, applied herself to paperwork, put herself on 24 hour call. Another five days were gone before she had had to once more grapple with herself. And by then the countdown was on. Only ten days left. And she missed him terribly. To the point of distraction. Thinking about the way he laughed, the way he squinted, the quick tilt of his head after he’d made a particularly witty remark. All the god damned time. This was intolerable.

"Heya," was as cheery as she could be. She was on call. But she figured a quick chat to Woody would be safe.

"What time is it, Jordan? No wait, I’ll tell you. It’s two-thirty."

"You were sleeping?"

"What can I do for you?" He definitely sounded sleepy, but not more than normally grumpy. Woody was very good about her impromptu appearances in his life. She rather suspected he enjoyed them, actually.

"It’s this whole lent thing."

"You gave up?" That sure woke him up.

"No! And thanks for the vote of confidence. It’s just a technical question. And seeing as you’re the one who’s been in the business since birth…"

"Go for it."

"So, have you ever given up something that affected someone else?"

Woody was silent for a moment, but she let him think. Her fingers tapped nervously on the bedside table.

"Yeah, I guess. My brother used to bum cigarettes off of me but I gave them up for lent and it kind of forced him to go cold turkey."

"Since when did you smoke?"

"That’s what you said about lent too. Everybody smoked once upon a time, Jordan."

She had to agree with him there. She certainly had. Like a forest on fire.

"Okay, but I meant affected someone badly. Like hurt them."

This time there was no thinking pause.

"No. That’s not what lent is about. Is that your alleged technical question?"

She took a deep breath.

"Not exactly. What if you didn’t mean to hurt someone, I mean you couldn’t tell that something bad would happen but then it did. My question is: if you did accidentally hurt someone, what are you supposed to do?"

"What have you done, Jo?" He was worried. She could see him imagining all kinds of catastrophes.

"Don’t stress, Wood. Just answer the question."

"Can’t you just explain it to this person? That it was unintentional and that you did it out of good faith?"

"You’re doing it out of good faith, Woody. I’m doing it for my 150."

"It’s not yours yet, thank you very much."

The phone call didn’t solve much, except that apparently the options for fixing her problem didn’t include an early finish.

Jordan lay back on her pillow and let the phone rest beside her. It was almost three by the time Woody had rung off. She could have talked all night she was that starved for attention. God, she and Nigel would only just be getting in now if they’d gone out for a drink. They’d be shitfaced, probably singing, cracking terrible jokes all over the place. He would escort her up to her room like the gentleman he was and then make a last-minute pass at her like the cad he was.

Jordan hit the phone off the bed in a flight of fury. This was fucking unfair. It should have been the easiest decision in the world. But here she was, lying in bed, thinking longingly about Nigel. No, not like that!

Not that he’s unattractive, she thought. He definitely has sex appeal and he certainly has charisma.

But the fact that she missed him was separate from the lust that always hinted around the edges of their relationship. She knew he thought she was hot. And she, well here she was telling herself that yes, in fact, he did have sex appeal.

She missed his company, his caring, his eyes watching her out of concern, tenderness, amusement. Their banter. Their beautiful, uplifting, smile-inducing banter. Because Nigel could make her happy in a way nobody else could.

Luckily, Jordan caught the drift of her thoughts and forced herself to sleep. Whether she did or did not dream about Nigel, in a platonic or otherwise kind of way, was lost in the early morning of…

It was a Friday at least, so she knew that there was a nice healing weekend ahead to reward any pain that may be caused over the day. Still, from the moment she stepped into the elevator, day thirty-one looked seriously like a storm warning.

Sal the janitor pushed her button for her and the doors were just sliding closed when a strong hand gripped them right in the middle and hauled. The sinking in her stomach and the faint tinge of cologne and leather were enough for her. This was going to be ugly.

"Good morning, Dr. Townsend. I was like to think your hands there gonna be chopped off," Sal said brightly.

"Good morning yourself, Sal. And don’t you worry about these hands." He wiggled his fingers cheerily. "Would I go making a mess for you on this fine day?"

"You always did have the weirdest jokin’ streak in ya," Sal replied, nodding his head as if in agreement with himself.

Unfortunately for Jordan, who’d looked at Nigel as he came in and quickly looked away again in shame, Sal got off on the second floor and they were alone together.

"Without the fat man in the overalls to block your view, I’d think it would be pretty tricky to miss me standing here. In this tiny little elevator." His voice was quiet but very hard. It didn’t invite explanation.

"Hey, Nigel."

For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

"Hey, Jordan." He was mocking her.

"Did you hear on the news about that kid with…"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. We’re going to talk about the news, are we? Shall I put you out of your misery? No, I didn’t see that." The incredulity in his voice was really painful. She was still letting him down.

"Hey, I didn’t even finish my sentence. You dunno what I was gonna…"

"It doesn’t matter. I didn’t see it."

"An informed guy like you not watch the news?"

Nigel shot her a look but she missed it because as soon as his head turned her eyes shot down to examine the carpet pattern.

Mercifully their floor pinged and they were released. Nigel wasted no time hauling ass out of there.

Jordan watched his back retreating into Bug’s hideaway and felt very alone. She couldn’t go to Bug, or Lily or even Garret now that she’d knocked back his shoulder to lean on. She couldn’t tell anyone what was eating her up. They’d think her callous and selfish and they were right. But she couldn’t stop it now. There were only nine days left.

The morning passed in many a coffee cup. Nigel was called out on a pick up so there was no chance of another embarrassing encounter in the tearoom. She did see Lily at lunch-time though, snacking away on strawberries.

"Hey, Jordan! I haven’t seen you around for a while," Lily said, greeting her with a warmer smile than she deserved.

"Yeah," she shrugged, "I’ve kinda been slinking below the radar."

"We noticed. We all miss you back above the radar. Why don’t you come back?"

God, Lily’s face looked so meek and innocent, but she had the moves. That was for sure.

Jordan twitched her lips and got to fixing her hair with vigor. She didn’t really expect Lily to be fooled.

"Listen, I know Mr. Macy already said this to you, but I think it’s worth saying again. Just don’t be mad."

"Why would I be mad?" She tried to sound flippant.

"Good. It’s just that Nigel is really hurt that you’ve been freezing him out. He doesn’t know what he did wrong. When I asked he said the last time you guys were normal was the day he bought you that donut. But then we all got so busy with that rush last month so he thought it might have been in there sometime. Can’t you just tell him, Jordan?" She was so imploring. "Isn’t it kind of immature to snub someone for this long. Especially when they don’t know what they’ve done?"

"He didn’t do anything," she mumbled, without intending to say it out loud.

"What?" Lily put her punnet on the bench and looked straight at Jordan.

"I said he didn’t do anything!" Jordan yelled, flinging her arms down and letting her hair fall loose. Tears were working their way into her eyes, and fucked if she was gonna cry over some stupid backfired joke that would be over in nine days anyway.

"Hey. It’s okay."

And then Lily’s arms were around her and she did cry, just a little bit. Later on she guessed that was why Garret had made Lily the grief counsellor in the first place. She just had a way on getting things out in the open.

As Lily hugged her, she began to babble.

"And I can’t sleep, cos I close my eyes and there he is, and I only did it because I loved him the most, and my stomach’s sick, but I can’t give in, and I really miss him, and there’s only nine days left, but I thought we could still be friends, and Woody says explain, but he’d never understand, that’s what I thought, about the donut, but now because I let it go on for so long, and Garret is disappointed and Nigel hates me and you all think I’m a bitch, I mean more than normal and I can’t stop now, and it’s not the money, really it’s not…"

Lily let her carry on for a while, understanding nothing except that this had all been pent up for some time. Finally, when Jordan sniffled and pulled back to swat at her eyes, Lily gave her a reassuring smile.

"Jordan?"

"Mmm?"

"What only has nine days left?"

Jordan sighed loudly and looked at Lily closely. There was nothing but care there. Lily didn’t hate her. She didn’t think less of her because she’d cried all over her. And besides all that, it was a fair question.

"Lent. There’s only nine days left of lent."

Lily nodded.

"Okay. Why don’t you go and sit down for a while. If you like I can talk to Nigel for you. Tell him it’s not his fault."

"But you think it would be better if I did it?"

"He won’t believe it unless he hears it from you." Lily paused a second, then smiled again, this time nervously. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure, why not." She was almost laughing now. In hysterics, in relief, in exasperation. She couldn’t tell.

"You said that you loved him the most. You mean Nigel?"

Jordan nodded, fingers finding their way back into her hair.

"You mean you’re in love with him?"

Jordan’s eyes shot wide.

"No! Just love, y’know, like a buddy, like someone really great in your life who…"

"But you dream about him?"

"Yeah, but…"

"And you miss him now that you’re apart."

"Yeah, but…Jesus, Lil! You’re twisting my words. I’m not in love with Nigel. I mean I wouldn’t want to…" Get drunk and shag him? That suggestion hadn’t surprised her at the time.

"I mean, I never thought about it. I just…"

"You just took for granted that he’d always be there for you. That you’d walk in on Monday morning and he’d be here to pay out your hangover."

Jordan couldn’t bear the turn in the conversation any more. The idea of loving Nigel like that, when right now he wouldn’t want her loving him in any way, was really too much for her. So she walked on out. She knew Lily would forgive her. She walked out on Lily’s advice sessions all the time.

In a way, it would have been helpful if it had been raining, thundering, storming outside. But the sun was shining away like mad and made it really difficult for Jordan to wallow in her mood. She pulled her flimsy curtains shut with undue harshness, only to find that the sun could penetrate them easily.

"Bullshit," she murmured, curling onto her couch and pulling the throw over her for comfort.

She must have drifted off because the knocking at her door forced her head to snap up, lightning fast, and scare the shit out of her.

"What?" She called, put out and heartbeat racing.

"You must have a sixth sense. How did you know it was me?"

‘Me’ was the voice she’d been longing and dreading to hear for days. ‘Me’ was Nigel.

"I didn’t," she replied, subduing herself with concerted effort.

"So now you’re being cold to everyone, huh? Peux-j’entrer?"

"Sure." There was no point in reacting to the first part of his comment.

When the door swung open, she didn’t quite know why she expected something different. After all, she’d seen him that morning in the elevator. He was just as skinny, just as tall, hair in the same little ponytail, green turtleneck with the same blue stripe. Somehow she just thought he’d be different, that she’d be shocked by his appearance.

He opened her curtains and leant back into the windowsill.

"Don’t fall," she said, trying to smile. She should have known she couldn’t patch things over with just a snap of her fingers.

"Why? Wouldn’t you catch me?"

He was looking directly at her again, just like that time, so long before, when they’d had that staring competition. It had been hard to handle then. Now it was bloody agonising.

"What? Don’t be morbid, Nige." Could she still get away with nicknaming him? She wasn’t sure where the boundaries lay.

"Let me…let me just ask you one thing," he began, stilted and ill at ease.

She nodded.

"Anything."

"Don’t you care what you’ve been doing to me?"

She swallowed. He’d said it so softly, so genuinely, that it wasn’t even an accusation. And Jordan was well aware that although Nigel had a long fuse, once he was mad he was really mad. He must have worked himself steady all day to do this.

She opened her mouth to respond but found that tears suddenly rushed to choke her throat. She’d only meant to say ‘yes’. But she couldn’t even breathe.

God, not twice in one day!

Nigel didn’t mistake her silence. He knew that her least sincere replies were those that clambered out of her mouth, every which way, packed with excuses and crazy rationale. When he caught her eyes (and he’d been trying not to focus on them: Nigel was a sucker for Jordan’s eyes) the tiniest glint of tears in the corners was answer enough.

"You want me to come back later?" He asked.

It was a very generous offer, but Jordan shook her head and reached out a hand for him. He took it and found himself being drawn onto the couch.

They sat, hand in hand, in silence until Garret interrupted. He wanted to talk to Nigel about the pick up he’d done that morning.

Jordan found her voice. She couldn’t believe it had taken so long. Suddenly there was so much she needed to say. But she couldn’t because Nigel was about to go off with Garret.

"Five minutes, Garret?" She asked, pretty desperately, truth be told.

Garret was no fool. He had been stunned when he’d had to look for Nigel in Jordan’s office, just like the good old days. He’d begun to think that cheerful harassment would never again flaunt its way through the corridors of the Boston County Morgue.

"Five minutes, Nigel," he agreed gruffly, shooting Jordan a reassuring wink.

And they were left alone again.

"What was that for?"

"I wanted to explain about the donuts," she told him seriously. "And the 150."

"Am I going to need to hire a translator for this conversation?" He asked, more jovially than before. A very good sign indeed.

"Very funny." She took a breath.

"We’re on a five minute countdown you know, love."

"I’m just worried you’re gonna think worse of me after this."

"To be honest, I don’t think I could think worse of you."

She took that one with all the courage she had.

"You know how I always do stupid shit and you find it funny?"

"I seem to recall something of that bent in the distant past."

"It’s just that this time it kinda backfired big time. And it wasn’t funny cos you were involved in it. I knew I shoulda gone with the donut." She was starting to feel a case of diarrhoea mouth coming on.

"Is this the donut I gave you that day?"

"Yeah, that one. And the one I pinched the day before. And any donut really. Cos I like them, y’know. Even the ones those people Bug said are really fat eat every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

"Good. We’ve established that you like donuts. I’m truly, truly glad we cleared that up."

"So the deal was the first thing I saw that I really loved. And you know how I feel about donuts."

"Affirmative, Agent 99. Now to the next niggling little detail. What deal?"

"With Woody. Because he didn’t think I could do it. Give up something I really love. Like he gave up alcohol."

"Our Woodrow gave up alcohol?" It was mock astonishment, but it was enough to crack a smile. Already, in the depths of her confession, the good effects of Nigel Townsend were lifting her spirits.

"Only for forty days."

"For lent?"

"Right, and he thought I was below par."

"Video killed the Bay City Rollers! You took his petty little challenge, didn’t you?"

"You don’t know how fucking miserable it’s made me, either!" She retorted fervently.

"I bet your arteries are thanking you, though."

"What?"

She swiveled in her position to look properly at the side of Nigel’s comical face. It was intent on keeping collected. She had seen him use that tactic before, keeping the snide little lines snappy long after he’d felt the need to kill something.

She noticed this and realized what he’d meant at the same time.

"Oh! No, Nige, I decided not to give up donuts. I thought I’d come across something easier to go without. And I backed myself into a corner, like the grade A retard I am."

"Beep! Your five minutes are up. Please leave a message or try again later," he said energetically, unfolding his long legs and patting her on the shoulder as he rose.

The familiar contact, the feel of him again, would have brought on another wave of choking but Jordan was too busy trying to stop him in his path.

"Wait, Nigel! I wanna explain to you!"

"Really? I thought we were talking about you. As usual."

"I was coming to a point."

"Tuesday night on Ripley’s ‘Believe It Or Not’! Listen, love, I need to go hold forth with Dr. M. If this uncharacteristic chattiness persists we can continue later."

He was about to slip away.

"Come over tonight! I’ll make us dinner," she suggested wildly, hand stopping imploringly on his chest.

He nodded.

"I’ll even forgive you if you stand me up for some hot chick," she added, smiling lopsidedly.

"I already have one hot chick booked for tonight," he replied, giving her a sly wink as he extracted himself from her office.

It was a good start at least.

xxxxxxxx

She could not get over her nerves. There were actually butterflies in her stomach. How old was she, anyway? But she couldn’t help it. It was probably to do with the pending confession, she decided. What else could it have been? It wasn’t as though this was a date or anything.

However she thought of it, though, the butterflies continued to frolic unabated and soon began to exasperate her. She couldn’t do anything with a clear mind, it seemed. Cooking dinner, something she did very rarely but very well, suddenly became a monumental task. Choosing an outfit was almost too much for her. Picking background music actually did defeat her and in the end she sat in her favourite armchair and waited in silence for that troublesome pommy to arrive.

He was early too, which only made matters worse. She’d barely begun to compose herself, to gather her thoughts and ignore the sickening butterflies, when his well-worn knock sounded.

It occurred to her, rather arbitrarily, that he hadn’t knocked his usual pattern on her office door that day. She pushed the thought from her already shrieking mind.

"Hey, Jordan."

"Hey, Nigel."

It was bitter humour, but they both seemed to enjoy it.

"Peace offering," he continued, handing her a bottle of scotch. "Thought it was too early in the relationship to be bringing out the donuts," he added, flinging off his jacket carelessly and making himself at home.

She smiled and set the scotch on the counter.

"You hungry?"

"A growing boy like me? Every minute of every day, love."

"Good."

So they tucked right into dinner, neither saying much of significance, but then if there was one thing the banter duo had really mastered it was talking shit. And that night they did it with a flourish. Food, wine, music, reality T.V. Even Sal’s new girlfriend, who Jordan had never seen but had heard much about.

It wasn’t until the plates were cleared and they were moaning from their excesses that silence fell. Which is when Jordan really wished she’d tried harder with the music.

"Well, I had a blast knowing ya, Nige," she began, fatalistic and full of pasta and salad.

"Come again?"

"You’re gonna hate me with bells on after this. So I thought, y’know, I’d get my goodbyes in now."

"Jesus. Give me some credit. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m overjoyed just to be hearing this from you instead of having to listen to all that shit going round work."

"What shit?"

"Don’t tell me they haven’t been talking to you? Giving you advice, hunting for clues?"

"Yeah, sure."

"With some wacky outcomes?"

"How about Lily thinking I’m in love with you?"

The moment, the exact moment she said it, she knew it was a mistake. Nigel’s face contorted into a mask of mirth. And she had absolutely no idea what was underneath it.

"That is the kind of wacky shit I meant," he said, but there was no joke in his voice.

The diarrhoea mouth syndrome was hovering over her again. And the butterflies pushed it right ahead.

"She didn’t get my drift, that’s all. Cos I said I missed you, which is true. And that I loved you, which is also true. Because you were the thing that I loved that I saw, y’know. And I had to say it like that, so she knew what I meant about having to give something up but she thought…"

"Stop coach!" He yelled, putting up a conductor’s hand and silencing her with surprise.

"You decided to give me up for lent?" He asked incredulously. He was sharp, that was for sure.

"I only had nine days to go," she replied sheepishly.

"Why didn’t you finish then?" He asked, voice getting dangerous. His eyes pinned her into her seat. She wriggled her toes defensively.

"I dunno."

His eyes kept her pinned. She thought the foot under her ass might be going to sleep.

"Because I wanted out. But the longer I did it, the more I screwed with you and I didn’t think you’d forgive me. But then you gave me a way out today."

"I always do."

Looking back on it, she knew that it was the truth. He always gave her that one extra shot at proving she was worth it, after all.

"Am I worth it, then?"

"I dunno," he echoed, but a tug at the side of his mouth threatened to give him away.

They sat there, in silence once more, just looking at each other. This time it wasn’t a staring competition, it wasn’t invasive or threatening, it was just looking. To remember each other, to reacquaint, to acknowledge what they’d missed.

After all the times they’d filled their space with banter it turned out they didn’t need words after all.

Finally Nigel’s cheeky grin escaped him.

"You gave me up for lent?" He asked again, trying not to laugh.

"The idea just…stuck. I told you I do stupid shit!" She complained.

"And I have the supreme honour of informing you that you’ve outdone yourself this time, love," he answered, face lit with mirth now.

"As long as it wasn’t in vain. You would not believe the suffering I went through, Nige."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Not sleeping, not partying, not being able to chat to my friends. Feeling sick in the stomach. It was nasty shit."

"Well you screwed yourself over that time, love."

"You’re at least partially to blame," she accused him, jabbing a finger and a raised eyebrow in his direction.

"I’d like to see you lay this one on me, Jordan Cavanaugh," he provoked.

"Okay. Get this. Cos if you weren’t so god damned endearing, I wouldn’t have missed you so much. You fucking plagued me, I missed you that much," she told him.

Nigel’s eyes narrowed. It looked a lot like he was balancing his options.

"How much did you say you missed me?" He asked a second later. His cheeky grin was getting past the point of ridiculous.

She shook her head.

"God, you’re a slippery bastard. You think you’re gonna get it outta me, just like that?"

"Hey, you gave me up over donuts. I deserve recompense."

"I gave you up over donuts because I love you more," Jordan replied, thinking of that slant at the very last moment.

"More than a Krispy Kreme?"

"More than a Krispy Kreme."

He stopped and tried to look as though he was seriously considering this admission.

"It’s a very pretty compliment, love," he said after a pontificating pause, "but I’ve yet to see proof."

"Well, I was going to use my winnings to take you out. But you had to go fuck up that plan, didn’t you?"

"How much?"

"One fifty. It was gonna be a sweet victory. Think of Woody’s smug face now."

"Can I not? I try not to think of Woody’s face at the best of times. Why only 150?"

"I guess he thought that’s how cheap my morals were."

"Well, I’ll double or nothing you can’t make it up to me."

"How?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her and she burst out laughing.

"You want me to prove it, don’t you? How much I love you. You’re a big giant rat, you are, Nigel Townsend," she scoffed, unable to believe how clever he’d been. She’d walked right into that one.

"Just ask yourself this: can you hack it?"

Palms in the air, she gave him her own cheeky grin. Unknowingly, she also gave him the sparkle in her beautiful honey eyes he’d been craving for so long. Nevermind that she’d put her foot in it about what Lily had said. He knew that underneath there was more to that topic than she was ready to evaluate. But for now, she’d said that she missed him and that was a bigger high than he’d expected out of this whole sordid mess.

He wanted to kiss her thank you, but figured that would have its place in the near future, seeing as how he thought he’d probably need some convincing about that Krispy Kreme comment.

"How long do I have?" She was asking.

He focused on her easily. His eyes had never left her.

"Forty days."

The anticipation in the air from then on did nothing to quench the butterflies swarming in Jordan’s gut...fluttering around other troublesome places as well.

She really wanted to win this one.