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

A/N: Another chapter. This again focuses on Jordan's running away. I know it's redundant, but maybe she'll stop. Please review. Thanks. Love, Lawabidingchild.

I was standing at the bar in a red halter top and a pair of dark blue jeans. My hair was dark once again and I had my curls tossed over my shoulder. I even pinned some of it up. But I wondered where and what Woody was doing. But I was also a half-an-hour early…and on my second beer. "God, looking like that should be illegal," I heard a familiar voice say behind me.

I turned around. "Do you ever not play the cop, Woody?"

"Only when you're being a smartass," he teased.

I stuck my tongue out at him. The air felt a little more comfortable. I could feel a breeze pass more easily than I could if I hadn't confronted him; if I hadn't told him to meet me.

He looked great. He was dressed simply- a button-down shirt with vertical stripes and a collar that hung down appropriately. He had on blue jeans complete with a black belt, with black shoes. He wore no tie, no suit, nothing that would say that he's uptight. He looked relaxed, calm, in control. I felt and heard my heart thump faster. It was audible. Shut up! Shut up! I screamed at it in my head. That was no use.

He pulled my chin up so our eyes could meet. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I murmured, "why?"

"Because you have that look," he stated pointedly.

"What look?" I asked him.

"That look you get when something's wrong." I turned my head away. "I know you, Jordan. Don't think I don't know you. You're making the face right now."

I straightened up, and stared at him. I felt this intense urge to take him into my arms and just hold him. But after all that happened, he probably wouldn't want that. It's hypocritical of me to want him when I keep rejecting him. Instead, I compensated by clapping him on the shoulder. The friendly gesture was enough.

He wasn't as controlled as I was. He took me into his arms and wrapped me in them. This was not a Great-To-See-You embrace or an It's-Been-A-While embrace.

It was an I-Missed-You-So-Much embrace. The kind you give someone you love.

I didn't push him away. I couldn't. Instead, I just wrapped my arms around him and held on tightly. After what seemed like minutes, or decades (I couldn't tell), he pulled back. I was kind of expecting a kiss to follow, but I guess that wasn't going to happen.

He ordered a beer.

"So," I began, "how's Boston?"

"It's great. Everyone misses you, though."

"You know why I left."

"No. I don't. Do you want to tell me?"

It was at that point when I looked away from him. "I don't know."

"Yes you do," he said. I kept my gaze away from him, ashamed of myself.

"I can't tell you," I whispered sliding away from the bar.

"Was it me?" he asked simply.

"No, Woody! God!"

"It must have something to do with me." His eyes were pleading me for an answer. I couldn't give it to him. It wasn't that simple.

"It's not you, Woody!" I thought for a minute. "Well... it's not you, specifically."

"So it has something to do with me?"

"With us." I felt tears sting my eyes as I slid away from the bar. I slapped my fair share of the tab down and started walking.

"Jordan!" he called as I took off as I always did.

I walked out, leaving my one chance behind. I kicked a city garbage can and kept trudging on. I wiped tears vigorously from my eyes. I couldn't believe my own behavior.

I felt a pair of strong arms swivel my body around. I stared into Woody's eyes. He was behind me, trying to catch me. And I kept running.

"I love you, Jordan," he said to me on the busy street. "Nothing you do could make me stop. You didn't have to leave."

My eyes swelled with tears. He bent down to kiss me. This time I welcomed it. "Did you need to hear it?" he asked me.

I smacked him, kissed him again, and wrapped my arms around his lovely body. I felt my right arm get pulled down and a circle of cold metal touch it.

The ring.

I kept my body close to his.

I love him.