A/N: This is my first Jordan/Nigel fic. I just re-edited it. Please read and review, thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan, Nigel, Jordan, Woody, Sarah McLaughlan or the song Fallen.

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Why did my life have to be so fucked up? How many times in my life had I asked myself precisely that same question?

I guess I just didn't understand how things could go from good to shitty in such a short amount of time.

Growing up I thought I had the greatest life. I had great parents, we lived in a nice house, we had nice things. You know, life was...nice.

Looking back now I can see where things weren't always what they seemed. My little kid mind always saw things through innocent eyes, eyes that didn't want to see the truth.

It wasn't until I was ten years old that I first realized that life wasn't as good as it seemed.

My innocence and optimism died the same day my mother was killed.

I remember, in the foggy way of dreams that fade, coming into the kitchen. Seeing her there, in a puddle of blood, and my father standing over her. I remember the confusion, the horror, the way my mind tried to freeze and not see what was in front of me.

I remember the cops pulling me away as I screamed for my mother and father. I tried to get to them, but the cops wouldn't let me.

I know now that they didn't want the crime scene disturbed any more than it had been. But to my little kid mind I was being punished, kept from my father, who was standing there, looking so lost.

I don't revisit my past very often. Quite the contrary, I try to stay as far away from the past as possible. Whether I do so by drinking or flying across the country, I do whatever I can to keep my personal demons at bay.

My thoughts meandered towards Woody. Woodrow Hoyt. Eternally optimistic, always with a cheesy grin. What did he know of life and death and reality? He came from Podunk, Wisconsin, thinking he knew everything there was to know about life because he went through the Police Academy.

Hah! He can't even be in the same room as a corpse. He about faints if he walks in on an autopsy.

What would I give for that innocence? For that complete obliviousness to the cruel ways of life? Since he'd been in Boston I dare say he'd seen things he wished he hadn't. But it had all been...detached. Part of the job. He had never walked in on his dead mother. He had never found out the depth of the lies that people can tell you, people you love, people you trust.

That's why I don't trust anyone. And that's why I don't love anyone.

Love and trust get you no where but hurt, and I'd been hurt enough in my thirty something years to last the rest of my life.

I had just watched Woody walk away with Devon. Again. Why did it matter? Why the hell did it hurt? He didn't love me. How could he? I'm not a loveable person, I know that.

But it did, it did hurt. It hurt to know that he didn't care, that he loved Devon, stupid blonde Devon who used to be a cheerleader.

Hell, life just hurt. Life hurt and being alone hurt.

My thoughts abruptly switched gears, like an old car whose transmission is going out.

Growing up, how many times did I wish for a sibling? A big brother to lean on, a little sister to pick on. But there was just me.

Or so I had thought. But all that time while I was growing up an only child, I had a brother. A big brother who was tossed aside like a used up tube of toothpaste.

How had that felt for James? Knowing his parents didn't want him? And when he found out about me, knowing that they kept me, wanted me? I had grown up with the mother and the life that he was entitled to.

No wonder he hated me. Hated me to the very end, even when he knew that we were kindred spirits, that despite my happy early years, I was marked by the same pain that he was marked by.

The pain of betrayal, by the people who are supposed to be there for you. Your parents.

My thoughts wound down as I stared down into the last drops of beer that swirled around the bottom of my glass. How many had I drunk? Three? Four? Ten? However many it was, it hasn't numbed my thoughts, so it was obviously not enough.

But my head hurt, and I was barely managing to stay on my stool, so I didn't ask for another one. I just downed the last drops and slammed the glass onto the counter.

Fuck it, I thought. Fuck it all. Life, love...who really gives a shit? Not me. I don't care.

I tried to stand up then and almost fell flat. I must have had a few more beers than I'd realized.

Suddenly there were strong arms around me, holding me up.

"Take it easy, luv, or you're gonna end up flat on your face."

I looked up and through the swirling haze of drunkenness I saw Nigel Townsend. It was his arms around me, holding me upright.

Nigel was tall, I thought inanely. As if I didn't know that. I'd been working with the guy for the better part of ten years.

But tucked up under his arm, looking up at him, it hit me that he really was tall.

I giggled at my train of thought, wondering how I went from my dead mother to stupid Woody, to my long lost brother to Nigel Towsend's height all the space of...what, an hour? Two? What time was it anyway? I thought stupidly.

"C'mon Jordan, luv, I need to get you home," he whispered. Was he whispering? I couldn't tell. My ears felt like I was wearing earmuffs and the room was spinning in lazy circles around me.

I closed my eyes and though the room wasn't spinning anymore, my head still was.

"I won't be able to stay on your bike," I said stupidly, thinking of Nigel's ramshackle motorcycle.

He held me firmly around the waist. "I know it, luv. We'll take a taxi."

"Oh, okay," I said dumbly, blinking.

It was right about then that my Dad walked up. That was the problem with going to a bar with your buddies when your father owned the bar.

"Jordan," he said. "Are you okay?"

I looked at him and felt a sudden rush of anger towards him. The lies, the betrayals, all of it weighed down on me and I wanted to kick and scream and demand for him to tell me the truth for once.

But my head was swimming and I couldn't say anything. Only Nigel's hand, warm on the small of my back, kept me from landing in a heap on the floor.

"I think she had a few too many Guinness'," Nigel said lightly. "I'm going to take her home now."

I opened my eyes and tried to focus. My father looked concerned, but I knew that he trusted Nigel, so he simply sighed and said, "Thank you, Nigel."

"It's my pleasure, sir," Nigel said, his British accent rich and comforting.

Nigel easily steered me across the crowded bar and out the front door, where we were hit with a blast of warm, muggy air. A typical summer night in Boston.

Either Nigel had already called a cab or we just had really good luck because there was a cab sitting right in front of the Pogue. Nigel struggled to keep me upright as he opened the door and deposited me inside. I slumped across the seat and Nigel climbed into the cab behind me. He took me gently by the shoulders and sat me upright.

"No falling asleep, luv," he said softly.

"But I'm tired," I mumbled incoherently.

"I know it, luv, but we can't have you passing out," he said. "Not much longer and we'll be home."

I was sitting right next to Nigel. In fact, our bodies were pressed together in the close confines of the taxi. Since Nigel wouldn't let me lay down on the seat I leaned my head on his shoulder. He shifted around and put his arm around me, his hand landing on my shoulder. Ever so gently he began to stroke my hair. I sighed and closed my eyes, liking the feel of his strong shoulder, his arm around me and the smell of his spicy cologne mixed with the Whisky that he had been drinking.

I felt myself drifting towards unconsciousness, but Nigel kept talking. My head was resting against his chest, and the rumble of his voice kept sleep at bay. He talked of silly things, telling me about England, his family, his sister Jane and the Wheaton Terrier named Lennon that he'd had as a kid. I loved the sound of his voice, his accent.

Before long the taxi stopped and I lifted my head from Nigel's shoulder and saw that we were parked outside of my apartment. Nigel hands the cabdriver his fare and the cabbie tells us to have a good night. Nigel opened the door and slid out, holding my hands as I stumbled out after him.

The cab drives off, leaving Nigel to hold me up and help me up to my room. We take the rickety elevator, which creaks and groans and sounds like it's going to get stuck.

It doesn't and soon we are outside of my door. I fumble in my pocket for my keys. I pull them out and attempt to unlock the door. Nigel just takes the keys from me and unlocks the door.

We walk inside, me stumbling, and Nigel deposits me on the couch and disappears into the kitchen, where I can hear him opening cupboards.

Suddenly I don't feel so good as my stomach begins spinning as much as my head. I got up and staggered to the bathroom, barely making it before I threw up.

Nigel was beside me in an instant, coming through the open door and filling up the tiny bathroom with his presence.

"Go away," I mumbled, fighting another bout of nausea.

"It's okay, Jordan," he said softly. He perched on the edge of the bathtub behind me and gently pulled my hair back from my face as I threw up again. He held my hair and rubbed my back softly with his other hand.

I am horrified, humiliated, embarrassed beyond words, but there's nothing I can do. I fight back tears. I can't tell if they are from embarrassment or anger.

When I finally stop throwing up I lean my head against the cool tiles, wondering if I stay there long enough if Nigel will go away.

It seems unlikely. He was gently stroking my hair and murmuring comforting words.

"Alright, luv, come on," he said and he helped me up.

I was feeling better; at least I didn't feel like I was going to throw up anymore. Now I just felt weak and tired. And embarrassed, of course. He poured me a cup of cold water and I rinsed my mouth out. With shaking hands I brushed my teeth, keeping my eyes down, not wanting to meet his eyes in the mirror over the sink.

He led me back to the couch and disappeared back into the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a washcloth rinsed in cold water. He handed it to me and I smiled weakly at him as I put the washcloth on my hot cheeks.

I sighed and scooted. I pulled my legs up and burrowed into the corner of the couch. A few minutes later Nigel reappeared from the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee. He handed me one and I drank gratefully. It's perfect, just the right amount of sugar and cream. I was suddenly touched by the fact that he had noticed how I fix my coffee.

Nigel had wandered over and was standing by the stereo, fiddling with it. It turned on suddenly, blasting the Sarah McLachlan CD that I had been listening to earlier.

The words filled the apartment, and even in my drunken state the words pierced through me.

"We all begin with good intent
Love was raw and young
We believed that we could change ourselves
The past can be undone
But we carry on our backs the burden
Time always reveals
In the lonely light of morning
In the wound that would not heal
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
That I've held so dear"

The truth of the words hit me hard. The wound that would not heal. The bitter taste of losing everything that I've held so dear. I pondered the words as the song continued.

"I've fallen
I have sunk so low
I'm messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so, no

I've fallen. I'm messed up. The song suddenly seemed to be speaking directly about me. I had sunk low. I had allowed myself to sink into the past, to hold on so tightly to the pain, the anger and the betrayal that I had let it run my whole life.

Nigel turned the music down and walked back to the couch, still carrying his coffee mug. He stood there awkwardly, as if he was waiting for something.

"Sit down," I said, motioning towards the couch. My voice was gruff.

Nigel sat gingerly on the couch next to me.

"Heaven bent to take my hand
I have nowhere left to turn
I've lost to those I thought were friends
To everyone I know
Oh they turned their heads embarrassed
Pretend that they don't see
But it's one missed step
You'll slip before you know it
And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed"

Nigel watched me closely, and I could see the concern in his eyes. "Are you okay, luv?" he asked softly.

I've lost to those I thought were friends, to everyone I know...

I had thought that Woody was my friend. I had thought he could possibly be more. I had thought that I could, finally, open up and learn to love, only to have my feelings thrown back in my face as he chose Devon time after time.

I remembered something that a guy I had dated once had told me the day we broke up: "You're a project, Jordan. You're a nice girl, but you have problems. You need to get your shit together." How many times had those words come back to haunt me? As I ran from anything that even remotely resembled a relationship and had one night stands because that way I didn't expect anything and no one expected more out of me than I could give.

"Jordan? Are you okay?" Nigel asked again and I realized that my thoughts were wandering again.

I looked up at him, feeling strangely sober. His dark eyes were full of concern and something more, something that I couldn't exactly place...it almost looked like...nah, impossible, I thought.

Oh they turned their heads embarrassed, pretend that they don't see. I thought of the long line of people in my life that had turned their heads on me. My father. Ex-boyfriends. Woody. They had all turned their heads, their backs, on me, leaving me alone.

But Nigel, Nigel had stood beside me. Even after all these years, he was the one who had carried me home, comforted me, held my hair as I lay on the bathroom floor.

I felt my eyes fill with tears as I looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Long hair, which was usually messy, dark eyes and an endearing grin. I had always thought that Nigel was attractive, in the way of someone who's a dear friend and you don't give much thought to.

How many times had I asked Nigel to do me favors, favors he knew full well he shouldn't do? How many times had he lied for me, covered for me as I chased my inner demons? I didn't think I could even count.

And yet, here he was, knowing full well that I had wanted to get drunk tonight because Devon was dating Woody and I had seen them leave together. He knew all of that, and yet he was here, fixing me coffee and bringing me a cool washcloth.

"Jordan?" he said again, starting to look alarmed.

I felt a tear make its way down my cheek and I didn't do anything about it. How long had it been since I had cried? I couldn't even begin to say. I was still staring at Nigel as if I'd never seen him before.

"What's wrong, Jordan?" He sat his coffee cup on the table and leaned towards me. He took one of my hands in his and I looked down, liking how his big hands seemed to swallow mine.

"I..." I said, and then trailed off, the fear of rejection rearing its head and rendering me speechless.

What if I was wrong? What if the look in his eyes had nothing to do with how he felt about me? What if it was just pity, but I'd had so much to drink that I couldn't tell the difference?

But it's one missed step, you'll slip before you know it, and there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed...

Missed steps, missed chances. Redemption. What did redemption mean to me? To be saved. I had always thought I was beyond salvation...

My thoughts were swirling around me and I closed my eyes briefly, gathering my courage. When I opened my eyes again Nigel was leaning towards me and I was certain that I knew what that carefully hidden emotion was in his eyes. It was love.

"Thank you for everything Nigel," I said, because I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say.

"You're welcome, luv. I should go so you can get some sleep. You'll have a bloody terrible headache tomorrow, I fear," he said lightly

Panic bubbled up inside of me when I thought of him leaving now, when we were so close to uncovering a truth that had been hidden for who knew how long.

"No, don't go," I blurted out and saw the surprise flash across his face.

"Alright, I don't have to go," he said and picked up his coffee and took a sip. As I recalled, he drank his coffee black with one sugar. He looked befuddled, but didn't say anything.

My heart was pounding loudly in my chest as I stared down at Nigel's hand, which was still holding mine.

"Nigel, I..." I said and my throat closed up.

"What is it, luv?" he asked, looking worried again.

I sat there like a lump, staring at him, trying to figure out what to say, how to tell him what I'd discovered. I knew it was up to me, that he wouldn't say anything because he thought I loved Woody.

I almost laughed at the thought. What I had felt for Woody was equivalent to a high school crush. In fact, as I sat there on the couch with Nigel, listening to the soft sound of Sarah McLachlan I realized that I had never felt this comfortable, this...whole...the entire time I had known Woody. Somehow I just couldn't imagine neat tidy Woody being very good at handling a girl throwing up. He'd have just wrinkled his nose in disgust and left me in the bathroom alone, no doubt.

How could I have not realized how I felt about Nigel before? How could I not have been able to tell how he felt about me? I mean, we'd always just been buds. I guess I had just always thought he looked at me like I was 'one of the guys'. I said a quick prayer to whatever God would possibly listen to a prayer from me that I wasn't about to make a huge, monumental mistake, that I wasn't going to make a complete fool out of myself.

"Nigel, I uh, I..." I paused, gathering up my nerve. "Nigel, I think I love you," I said, bluntly and with no fanfare.

His eyes widened in shock but I caught a flash of hope before his eyes shuttered and he looked at me blankly. "Oh, luv. You're so very drunk, you shouldn't be talking. You don't know what you're saying. C'mon, you should get to bed," he sayid and took my hand to pull me to my feet.

I yanked my hands away and glared at him. "Nigel! I am not drunk!"

There was a silence, during which I realized how stupid that comment was. "Well, I mean, I'm not that drunk. I'm not drunk enough that I don't know how I feel."

He stared at me and then licked his lips. "Maybe we should talk about this later," he said warily.

"Nigel!" I said vehemently.

We stared at each other. A myriad of emotions crossed his face and I could tell that he was fighting an internal emotional battle.

"Oh, Jordan," he said finally. "Do you really mean it, luv?"

Relief flooded through me and I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, I mean it."

"But, what about Woody?" he asked hesitantly.

"What about him? He's got Devon. We're not right for each other and we both know it," I stated. "That's all there is to it."

The hope was burning brightly in his eyes even as he protested. "But...Are you sure?"

I realized that I have to take matters into my own hands or we were never going to get anywhere. I sat my coffee mug on the table and leaned over. I put my arms around his neck and I felt him cautiously put his hands on my waist, gingerly, as if he was afraid I might disappear if he held me too tightly.

I looked into his eyes, which reflect the same strange mixture of confusion and clarity that I felt. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, and our lips met.

He tasted like whiskey and coffee. His lips were soft and warm as he kissed me, softly at first, then the kiss became frantic. When we pulled apart Nigel was looking at me, his eyes wide with shock. Then he was grinning crazily and I grinned back, feeling a strange lightness as if I had, at least for a moment, let go of all of my pain and confusion and was just basking in the reality of my feelings for Nigel, and his feelings for me.

"Oh, Jordan. You don't know how long I've wanted to hear those words from you," he said softly, running his fingers through my hair.

"Really?" I asked disbelievingly. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I had almost got up the nerve to do something about it when Woodrow came into the picture and I knew I'd lost my chance."

I shook my head. "He was just a momentary distraction," I said with a little smirk.

"What happened, or do you mind me asking?"

I shookmy head again. "I think you deserve to know. Nothing happened. He thinks I'm just a messed up bitch."

Nigel's lips curved into smirk. "Well, you are, luv. That's why I love you so much."

I laughed and flung my arms around him. "He didn't understand me."

"I've always understood you, Jordan," Nigel murmured against my hair.

"I know you have," I said softly.

Then we were kissing again, holding each other. My hands explored his arms, his chest. I had always thought Nigel was just skinny, but he wasn't. He was lean, but it was muscle, and I felt a little thrill of excitement as he tightened his grip on me.

We clung to each other as if we feared we would drown if we let go. It was a feeling I'd never felt before. I'd always been independent, I had never needed anyone. But I knew in that instant, that I needed Nigel, that I'd always needed him, even when it was just as a friend. I began to unbutton his shirt.

"Jordan," he whispered.

"What?" I whispered back.

He took my hands in his, stopping my progress at taking his shirt off.

"Jordan," he said again.

I looked up at him and saw passion burning behind his eyes. "Jordan, it's not that I don't want this, luv, because I do. I've wanted it for a long, long time. But, Jordan, I want things to be right when we do."

I pondered his words and realized that he's probably right. I'd had a lot to drink and I wasn't really feeling the greatest. Kinda tired and woozy.

"You don't work tomorrow, do you?" I asked.

"No, I don't."

"Neither do I," I said, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned slowly. "Really?" he asked.

"Really."

"Hmmm," he said.

"Nigel...would you stay tonight? Stay with me and just be here with me?" I asked. I knew I wasn't saying it right, not explaining myself, but I couldn't seem to find the words to say what I was feeling. Which wasn't a new thing for me. I rarely knew what to say when it really mattered.

Nigel leaned over and kissed me again, long and slow. Then he leaned back and kissed me on the forehead. "I would love to," he said, smiling. Then he leaned back on the couch. My heart was racing and I was feeling lightheaded. I leaned against his chest and felt that his heart was racing just as much as mine was. The CD had changed and was now playing The Cure. Just Like Heaven. I smiled as I snuggled up to Nigel. I relished the feel of his arms around me, the smell of his cologne, the feel of his chest, rising and falling beneath my head.

I smiled softly to myself. I was getting sleepy, even though I was trying hard to stay awake, to hold onto the feeling of perfect contentment that I felt. I felt safe and comfortable in Nigel's arms and all I could think about was tomorrow...