FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun. More fun that Tim Kring et. al. seem to want to have at any rate.

A/N: I'm moving to Egypt as far as certain W/J issues are concerned. All shippers are welcome to join me. Just keep telling yourself he didn't push her away, she isn't going to have to be the one doing the chasing now... yep, denial is a beautiful thing!

Call Me Sometime (1/1)

Woody stretched and swallowed the last of his coffee. He checked his watch and groaned. Another half-hour to go on this damn stake-out. He rubbed his hands together and shifted, hoping to generate any sort of heat. Another half-hour to go on this damn December stake-out. Woody exhaled and his breath plumed out in front of him. "This is pointless," he muttered. "Pointless." Sent here by an anonymous tip Boston's latest firebug had designs on this old warehouse, Woody figured the tip came from the firebug himself and tomorrow they'd be looking into a fire across town. Oh, well, the overtime was a good thing.

The freezing his ass off wasn't.

He sighed again and picked up his cell phone. Surely he could talk and watch an empty building where absolutely nothing was happening or likely to happen at once, right? He hit speed dial.

She picked up on the third ring. "Woody. I thought you were working."

"Stake-out. Nothing's happening. Except I'm freezing my a- uh - I'm freezing."

On her end, Jordan grinned. "We wouldn't want that, Woodrow. After all, it's a great ass."

"Jo," his voice low and gravelly. He blushed, glad she wasn't here to see it. Then again... "How would you know?"

Jordan just chuckled in response. "How much longer do you have?"

"Half-hour or so. I just hope I'm thawed in time for work tomorrow."

"That could be arranged, I think." The warmth of her voice flowed through the phone, making him shiver in an entirely new way.

"Really? How's that?"

He could almost see her shrugging with a feigned nonchalance. "Grab a pizza, bring it by here... you know."

"You'll turn the heat up for me?" His eyes twinkled in the dark.

She chuckled, throatily, huskily. "Yep, Farm Boy, I'll turn up the thermostat just for you."

Woody shifted again. The cold seemed less intense. "You know I'm a little warmer already."

"Good," was all she said, but her tone practically melted the phone this time.

"My toes are still a little sti- uh - numb."

She chuckled again. Those chuckles of hers were going to kill him, he thought. "Numb toes, huh? Wouldn't want you to lose them to frostbite, Detective."

"Yeah, that would be oh so tragic. So what are you wearing?"

This time her laughter was deeper. "Woody!"

"Come on, Jo. Tell me what you're wearing."

She sighed with mock resignation. "We-ellllll, let's see... I found this old t-shirt I have. It's blue... says 'Property of

Boston P.D.'"

"Property, huh?" Woody growled.

"Careful, Farm Boy. Don't push your luck." She paused. "Good thing it used to belong to someone tall."

"Why's that?"

"Well, if it were much shorter on me, my ass would be hanging out. And then it might be freezing."

"And that would be much worse than my toes," Woody assured her. "You doing anything special?"

"Warming you up?"

Woody bit back a groan. Yeah, she was doing that all right. Lights flashed at the head of the street and a car rolled to a slow stop next to his. "Hey, Jo, next shift is here. Gotta go."

XXXXX

Jordan looked up at the sound of the key in the lock. The smell of pepperoni preceded Woody into the apartment.

"Heaven," she sighed.

Woody set the pizza down and sat next to her on the couch. He kissed her forehead. "No, this is heaven." He brought his mouth to hers and felt her soft, responsive lips open to him. When they broke her apart, he rested his forehead against hers. They both smiled. He gazed down at her. "You're not wearing what you said you were."

Her eyes widened with indignation. "Like I could!"

He stood up and gave her a hand. As he pulled her to her feet and into his arms, he placated her. "Hey, I didn't say I minded." He put one hand against her rounded abdomen and was rewarded with a sudden kick from their son.

"Pizza...?"

Her dark eyes sparkled. "Do I hear an 'or' in there?"

"You just might. Well?"

"Or." She slipped from his arms, holding one hand and tugging him toward their bed. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled. "And Woody? I'm not sure tonight was what I meant when I said 'Call me sometime.'"

"Is that a problem?" He teased.

They slid between the sheets and Jordan proved to him it wasn't the slightest problem.

END