Set sometime in the future, but probably before they hypothetically get married. Just a little something that popped into my head, because really - can you see these two not getting into a fight every once in a while? It jumps right in, so bear with me! Rated because Jordan likes to keep going even when she knows she should stop, and a few not so subtle situations. Complete.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this or any other piece I post here.
Let It Rain
"You know what? Just get out."
Jordan pointed to the door of her apartment, face pinched with fury. Ever since Woody had gotten home that evening, he had been contrary and argumentative, and she'd had enough of it. Not only that, she was starting to rise to his bait - and that could just get ugly. "I'm serious. Go somewhere and calm the hell down. This case is getting under your skin and I am tired of you taking it out on me. Now go."
Woody stared at her in shock for a moment before stammering, "No. I live here, too."
They glowered at each other from across the room, each too stubborn in that moment to stop and figure out what was going on. "Fine," she muttered angrily, stalking by him to grab her own keys from the counter. "Call me when you've gotten some sense back in that thick Wisconsin head of yours."
But she slammed the door as she left, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
"Didn't I just send you home two hours ago?" Garret asked as he caught sight of his M.E. walking past his office as she shuffled down the hallway.
Jordan paused at that, leaning heavily against her boss's doorway and giving him a tired smile. "Woody's in one of his moods." She waved her fingers to give that last word special emphasis. "We've done nothing but fight all night. I needed to get outta there before either of us did something we'd regret."
"Ah." He nodded knowingly. "Trouble in paradise?"
"Not exactly. Before you go tossing 'how long until they break up' into the office pool, it's this case he's working on." She came into his office and dropped her purse and keys on his coffee table as she plopped down on the sofa, honestly relieved to have someone to talk to. Or at least, someone who wouldn't turn right around and tell someone else all of her secrets like Nigel would have. "A kid shot up a grocery store last week. The store clerk and responding officer died on the scene."
Garret leaned back at his desk, lips pressed in a thin line. "That sounds rough."
"The kid just got off on a plea," Jordan scoffed. "Turns out the shooting was gang related, so Walcott took the easy way out and offered him a deal in return for information. Woody is pissed. And I don't blame him for that!" she rushed to say, shoulders dropping in frustration. "I'm just...worried about him, you know? Usually all it takes to get something like this out of his system is a nice long chat and a few more hours of -"
"Too much information, Jordan."
"- really great sex," she barreled on anyway, despite Garret's loud sigh and dramatic eye roll. Knowing it was exactly what he didn't want to hear, she continued with, "He may come off all sweet and innocent, but the things that man can do with his -"
"Enough. I'm glad you two are happy together, but there are details about your sex life that I just do not need to know."
"Yeah, yeah." She gave him a wicked grin that quickly faltered. "He'll get over it. He'll stew for about another hour, call me a few times, then come here when I don't answer my phone. Then we'll talk, rather than all that yelling we were doing before. God." She crossed her arms across her stomach and slouched down in the cushions of the couch. "He knows all of my buttons – and he only pushes them when he wants a fight to get that tension off his chest."
"At least you walked away," Garret pointed out gently.
Jordan let out a long breath, shaking her head dismissively even though she realized he was right. "I just wish I knew how to help him. Anyway!" She slapped her thighs and stood again, gathering her things. "There are about six quarters' worth of medical journals calling my name. I'll be in my office. Don't even think about bothering me with work."
That's where Woody found her an hour later - lying on the sofa in her office with a medical journal propped on her knees. She had turned off the fluorescent overhead and replaced the light with the lamp from her desk to bathe the room in a warm glow, and a throw blanket had been pulled down over her legs to keep off the early spring chill. He knocked hesitantly on the partially-open door and gave her a sheepish grin when she glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"I, uh…" He sighed and scuffed his foot against the floor, buying a second or two before coming all the way inside and closing the door. "I'm sorry for being such a jerk."
Jordan was silent just long enough to make him squirm, but then she gave him half of a closed-lipped smirk and closed her journal, moving her legs a little so he could come sit on the opposite end of the couch. "Apology accepted. But Woody, hard as this might be for you to believe," she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think you have some issues with anger management."
Color rose in his cheeks at her words. "Jordan -"
Before he cold protest, she held up her hands and gestured between the two of them. "Yeah, I know. Me, pot; you, kettle. But at least I talk with Stiles about my...issues. Sometimes. Okay, fine - I spill when he presses me hard enough. I also confide in you, too, ya know. And at least I admit that I have problems!" She paused, studying him for a moment as he hunched awkwardly and twisted his hands. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she sat up straighter in concern. "Lu didn't actually help you work anything out, did she? After you were shot? Too much of a conflict of interest."
"I don't want to talk about this." Woody made to stand, already starting to reach into his pocket for his car keys.
"No? Well, that's too bad." She straightened her legs across his lap, effectively pinning him to the couch unless he wanted to push her to the floor to get up. "Because I do want to talk about it. Come on, Woody," she entreated softly, her voice losing its hard edge.
"Fine." Woody let out a long, pained sigh and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling before lolling over to look at her. "Fine. You're right. I just..." He ran a hand over his tired face, closing his eyes tightly as the weight of the day hit him hard. "My dad used to get so angry after my mom died. I swore to myself I would never do that, lose my temper the way he did. But here I am, taking it out on you. I'm so sorry, Jordan. I-I don't know what I would do if I lost you over something so stupid."
Jordan tugged off the blanket so she could slide across the couch on her knees to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her again. The sadness in his eyes made her heart ache. "It's not stupid, Woody. And you're definitely not going to lose me because of it, so stop worrying about that. I just think you should get some help. Like, professional help. Please don't turn into me." When her attempt at humor fell flat, she smoothed her thumbs over his cheeks. "Woody, please."
He stared at her, and suddenly all he could see was the Jordan from almost three years ago, when she had begged him of that same thing - looking so scared and defeated in her bright magenta suit and high-heeled shoes as she stood in that garage, trying desperately to convince him not to shoot that miserable kid in the head. The rage he had felt that day – the uncontrollable fury – seemed like it had risen from nowhere, and it had not really left; it was always there now, just below the surface, waiting for the tap to open so it could bubble to the top again. All it took was the right case, the right suspect to trigger him, and there it was. He wondered briefly if Lu would have called him a "hothead" if she had met him fresh out of Wisconsin, when Jordan had. When he was still the good man everyone commended him for being. Where had it all come from?
"What are you thinking about?"
Her words were just above a whisper, and he blinked, taking her in as she was now. Head tilted in concern, whiskey-colored eyes narrowed as she watched him, lips parted, and so close to him that he could feel her breath on his face, could smell the lotion that she put on after washing her hands.
"What happened to that magenta suit you wore once a few years ago?"
The question took her by surprise, and she dropped her hands from his cheeks as everything he had just been remembering flooded her mind as well. That was all it took. "My suit? You mean the one I was wearing when - I threw it away."
She held his gaze then, making sure he understood. She had gone home that night and ripped the thing off of her in a fit of rage and shoved it in the garbage can, wondering in vain how much more she could take. Her life had been in ruins around her just as much as his had been; Garret had come back, but Woody... "Two peas in a pod, aren't we?"
He smiled at her, at how far they had come together, and put a finger under her chin to pull her in for a kiss. "Do you, uh, think Lily has the name of someone I could talk to?"
"I can ask her in the morning." Jordan cupped his face again, hooking one of her legs over his lap to bring herself closer. "Thank you, Woody."
Her gaze flicked up toward the hallway and further down, toward Garret's office (he was off somewhere), before darting back and giving Woody a sly grin. He read that look easily and immediately covered her lips with his. One of her hands slid up through his hair to cradle the back of his head as he slowly started to lower her back down to the couch, her other hand skimming down his side as his body pressed against her. Their legs tangled as he struggled to pull the afghan out from between them, needing to feel more of her without the stupid blanket to interfere.
"The blinds are open," she murmured when his lips moved over her jaw and down her neck, using his nose to nudge her head back to give him more access to her pale throat.
He just slid a hand under her shirt toward her breast, pushing the thin fabric up enough as he went to expose her midriff. "You started it."
But neither had a chance to respond – a sharp rap at the window near the door startled them both, and Garret's muffled voice filtered into the room. "Cut it out! Lines, Jordan!"
Woody hid his suddenly burning face in the crook of Jordan's neck, but she chuckled carelessly, her pleasure-dilated eyes shooting over toward where her boss had appeared in the hallway. "Chill, Garret," she called out as Woody moaned in embarrassment, still refusing to look up even when she patted his back without a care in the world. "We weren't going to do anything!"
Garret just shook his head and walked off back toward his own office to finish up for the night.
After a moment of silence, Jordan chortled and turned her head, nuzzling her face against Woody's hair until he finally looked at her. Color still stained his cheeks, and her lips opened in a wide smile. "Garret's a hypocrite," she told him humorously. "He's had sex in this morgue at least eight times while, contrary to popular belief, I've yet to have the pleasure."
"You know everything that happens around here, don't you?"
"Mostly. Now come on." She pushed gently on his shoulder until he sat up, and she gave him a quick kiss as she dipped her hand into his pocket and snitched his car keys. "You're exhausted; I'll drive us home. As long as we're done with the fighting?"
"Yes, Jo," Woody griped, rolling his eyes but giving her a playful smirk and getting to his feet. "Fighting with you gets too messy, anyway. You like to scream."
"Only when you bait me!" She shot him a look as she turned off the light on her desk and gathered her own keys and purse. "And you so know you're doing it, too. Don't even try to lie."
His smirk turned into a genuine smile at her joking, and he opened the door to let light from the hallway into the dark office. "I love you, Jordan. Just so you know."
"Love you, too, Farm Boy. Hey." She stopped at the door, her hand on his shoulder to bring him to a halt beside her. He turned to face her expectantly. "Lu was a good person, Woody, and she did so much to help you." Her fingers ran down the front of his chest, feather-light, and hovered over where his bullet scar was, her eyes following the motion. "But there are some still some things you need to work out. So really – thank you, for being willing to finally do it."
"Anything for you."
"I appreciate that." She raised her eyes back to his. "But you need to do it for you."
Woody nodded and took her hand. "Yeah. That, too."