Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and stories belong to NBC and Tim Kring.

A/N: What happened with WoJo after Crash. This is my take. Jordan ran away (as per the usual), and ended up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin...and I'm from there...so I know a lot about this place. Woody comes for her...and there are time-to-time appearances from Lily, Bug, Nigel, Garret, and even a little Kate.

Final Thoughts

Why do I always run? Why is it that I always seem to run away even when things are good? Why do I promise myself I'll never run away again? But I did. I ran away from Boston right after we were rescued from that plane crash. I ran away from my life in Boston, the one I spent time trying to repair. I ran away from all the possibilities of a future that I could have.

I ran away from Woody. I ran away from the man I love. We shared a kiss on that mountain. That kiss was the best damn thing I ever felt in my life. Why didn't I stay so I could be with him?

Because I thought that if I ran away, I could forget him. That's what I do all the damn time. It kills me that I can't stay in one place long enough to really fall in love. They get close, and I run. That's what always happens. That's what will always happen. I'm such an idiot.

And yet I ended up here…Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Why did I choose this place to begin a new career? Why did I choose this place and stay for two years? That's right…it's been two years since the accident. It's 2009. I'm in Wisconsin. I'm working in the Milwaukee County Morgue. How I managed to get a job there and keep it without going crazy…and missing my old family like a broken limb…is beyond me. Of course, they're nice. Wisconsin folks are generally polite and considerate. At least…most of them are. I've run into a few rude people.

I chose this place because I wanted to be in a city where there is action…but I wanted to be near Woody. If I couldn't be near him, I could at least be where he lived as a child? Is it that bad that I want to be near his place of birth?

"Hey Cavanaugh? Boston…yoo-hoo?" called one of my colleagues. They've taken to calling me Boston or Irish Eyes. That's the price I pay for being a native Bostonian in a Midwestern setting.

"Yeah?" I asked him. "What do you want, Keller?"

"There's a new cop transfer from Boston. Figured you could show him around the morgue. Looks like he's been here before, but the morgue may be new territory for this freak."

"Why me?" he asked.

"Because you're from Boston," he answered me back. "And he says he knows you."

I rolled my eyes. It was probably someone from the precinct back home that looked at me a couple times and knew my name from the rotation list. I stripped my hands of my gloves and walked outside. "You know him?" Keller asked me.

At this point, I wasn't sure if my mouth was open or closed. There, in jeans and a nice shirt, hair combed in a sweep, and brown eyes with a sweet smile in them stood the man I ran away from. The man I still loved. Woody was there. I wanted to run into his arms. To tell him I'm sorry I ran and that I couldn't forget about him. I still love him so much. But I couldn't. At this point, he probably met someone in Boston and was deeply in love with her. This was probably just a ruse to get me to come home. So all I did was stand there and gape. "Yeah," I whispered, staring at my beloved Woody Hoyt, "I know him."

And I love him, I didn't add.