Word Count: 836
Summary: There was sadness in his eyes as she told him he looked like his father.
Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan or the characters.

They were laying in bed, an album in the middle of them. They were both laughing as they watched the photos, sometimes Woody would even tell her the story behind that photo – if he could remember. Sometimes a small detail would be forgotten by him because he was young when that photo was taken.

He points to a photo of him when he was four years old.

"I remember this. I would run around the house with a sheet wrapped around my neck like a cape, with a little sword on my hand and a crown on my head that was way too big. I ran around chasing Cal, my dad, my mom. Occasionally, I went like that to the precinct where my dad worked at and everyone would laugh at the little Hoyt that wanted to be king." He chuckled, and Jordan was laughing too, imagining that child running around pretending to be a king. It was funny to picture Woody like that.

"Seriously?" She managed to say, between laughing.

"Yeah. I stopped after my mom died," he looks at Jordan, and she gives him a sad smile. "because my dad didn't want a lot of noise at the house and, well, he stopped bringing to the precinct so much, you know?"


"I don't know. He stopped doing things he used to do before her death. That was one of the things." He shrugs and then moves the page.

"What happened there?" Jordan is laughing, looking at the picture in front of her. Her husband as a two-year-old – she thinks – full of chocolate mousse in his face and the biggest smile on his face, dimples and all.

"I have countless photos like this one, actually." Woody smiles at her and then pushes to the other page.

"Is that your dad?" Jordan asks, pointing to a photo of teenage Woody with his dad.

"Yep. I was maybe, I don't know... thirteen or fourteen when this picture was taken?" He looks at her and shrugs but stares at the picture. "I don't even remember when or why this picture was taken, but I do know that this is my dad's old car. He loved that car." There's a smile on his face, both in the photo and in the present.

"You look like him." Jordan points out but doesn't notice his face as she says that, the sadness that washes over him, even for a moment.

"Really?" He asks, tentatively.

"Yes. You do look like him. The apple didn't fall far from the tree when it came to you and him. Cal doesn't look so much like him, but you do." She looks at him. "Don't you agree?"

"I never noticed that." His voice his low, almost inaudible, even in that silent apartment.

Jordan just stares at him, not knowing what to say. She then smiles, softly.

"What happened to that car?"

Woody looks up, and smiles at her, knowing very well what she's trying to do: make him stop thinking how much he looks like his father.

"He was teaching me how to drive in that car. I was looking at the road, and he said something, I looked at him and crashed the car against a trash can."

"I've crashed a few times and seen people crash against the trash cans and they never destroyed a car. Not to the point of the car has to be destroyed."

Woody laughs. "Yeah, well, my dad was telling me to get out of the car that he would drive the car home, he was kind of upset, and a car smashes against ours."

"Oh! You're kidding."

"I'm not. It was so strange to see my dad's face. It was like the world ended right there. He was going to yell at me, but I mentioned that the person didn't move from the car to yell at us. Apparently, the guy had a heart attack as he was driving, and he just crashed against our car. It was the first time I saw a real dead body, so my dad didn't yell at the fact he had to buy a new car." He was now laughing, and Jordan was looking at him funny.

"Seriously? He had a heart attack? And because of that, your dad didn't yell?" She murmured lucky under her breath, remembering that time when she got her first car stolen.

They continued to go through those photos for a long time, just the two of them laughing and Woody telling her stories of his childhood, which he was remembering with the help of the photos.

But what Jordan told him kept popping up in his head. You look like him. It freaked him out a little bit, thinking he did look like him. He thought about it for years and years, but to hear that from someone else was different. And every time that thought came back to him, he would smile, hoping his old man was proud of who he became.

The End

I'm not sure if anyone still reads Crossing Jordan stories, but either way, I'll continue to write them and publish. If I have other ideas, of course!