Picking up V.'s story again, two years later. Once again, I'm writing in conjunction with indieJane, so please plan to read her story, Allegiances, along side this one (.net/s/6052410/1/Allegiances) so you don't miss anything. I have this one partially planned out, but I take requests, so if there's something you want to see, leave a comment!

-0-

"He's asleep," Jax muttered, his face in V.'s hair. She was standing at the sink, barefoot, in cut off jeans and tank top. He'd been watching her from the kitchen doorway, loving her being here, but couldn't help but come closer. Maybe, he thought, I should ask her again about moving in. It seemed to be going better this time, this latest round of breakup and make-up leaving them on blessedly stable ground. Maybe we're done with all that drama and we can just be a family now. He moved his lips slowly down her neck, across her shoulder, to the strap on her tank top. His hands held her hips and he felt the familiar way her body began to move against him. This never gets old, he though, beginning to pull the strap down.

She squirmed away, shrugging the tank top strap back up her shoulder. "You know he won't stay down," she said. "Do you really want him walking in again?"

Jax knew she was right—Abel's recently discovered ability to get out of bed alone had already netted him one horrifying, if funny, conversation about what he and V. were doing. It would probably be best to avoid another one. Still, she smelled so good. He slid his hands from her hips under her shirt, finding her breast with one, leaving the other pressed against her belly. Her laughter made him want her all the more, and this time when she began to squirm away he held on tighter. "No, stay."

V. leaned back against Jax, closing her eyes and letting the kitchen, the sleeping toddler, the questions about just what the fuck she was doing here again all slip away. Even when nothing else made sense, this part always did. She tipped her head back against him, giving him access to her neck, where he nipped at her, the hand on her belly dropping to the waistband of her shorts, looking for the button.

"Jackie!" Chibs' voice stopped them cold. It wasn't unusual for him to announce himself just this way, barging in the front door with some message or to collect Jax for some errand. Before either of them could move, he was standing in the kitchen doorway. "Oh. Sorry. V, Didn't know you were here." He backed up a bit, but there was really nowhere for him to go. "Clay wants us to check on that warehouse thing." He kept his face still. After two years, I ought to be used to it, he thought. He didn't even get hopeful when they broke up anymore—he knew it wouldn't last.

Jax pulled away from V. "Fuck," he said. "Babysitter hasn't shown up. Goddammit." He turned back to her. "Can you…?"

Chibs nearly smiled at the look on V.'s face. You chose this path, he thought. Suck it up. She nodded, not bothering to disguise her irritation. "This time," she said, warning in her voice.

Jax smiled, then leaned towards her again and kissed her quickly. "Thanks, babe." A moment later, she heard their bikes start up in the driveway and they were gone.

V. finished the dishes and dried her hands, then pulled a beer from the fridge. She noted that there was almost nothing else in it and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell Jax was feeding his son. Wandering into Abel's room, she saw the little boy was still fast sleep, blond curls spread out on his pillow. You are cute, she thought. Look just like your goddamn daddy. It was better than it used to be—she didn't think about the son that had been taken from her every time she looked at Abel anymore. Sometimes, when she was particularly drunk or morose, it got to her, but mostly, she looked at him and saw the little boy he actually was, the little mini-Jax into which he was being groomed. You're a lucky kid, she thought. You got a great big family, and they love the hell out of you.

For his part, Abel unexpectedly adored V., who played rough, let him eat whatever he wanted, and talked to him like an adult. When Jax told her the little boy was asking for her, during their last breakup when she wasn't coming over anymore, she'd been unexpectedly moved and worried by it. It isn't fair to do this to this kid, she thought. Jax and I may never get our shit straight, and in the meantime he loses me every time. The thought was still making her uneasy.

Wandering through the house, V. thought about how things were now, and how long they'd likely last that way. Her mind returned, as it often did, to the days following her kidnapping and torture by the Russians. Physically, she'd been a mess, barely able to walk, with injuries she hadn't even known she had until she'd been admitted to St. Thomas. The recovery was slower than she'd expected, her mind getting in the way of her body, and she'd refused—she still refused—to talk to anybody about any of it. Jax had been incredible. He'd taken care of her to the extent she'd allow it, and doing whatever he could to make her life easier even when she told him not to. Because of the Club, and particularly because of him, she never had to return to the apartment where she'd been tortured, never had to see the bloodstains on the floor, never even had to settle up the outstanding rent. It was just all taken care of.

Jax had quite a job in convincing her to stay at his house after her released from the hospital, but she ended up glad she had. He hadn't pushed anything on her, just waited for her to come to him. He was surprised how quickly she had, and had questioned her readiness, but she insisted. She remembered telling him, "this is how I get past this shit," and he'd let her take the lead.

It had gone bad not long after she'd healed, of course. He'd been pissed when she'd insisted on moving back into her own place, and from there it had escalated. Since then, there'd been…three break-ups? Four? Enough that it was a running club joke that they were together—or not—at any given time.

V. shut the back door quietly, not wanting to wake Abel when she went outside to smoke. She leaned against the side of the house, taking her first drag and looking up at the sky. She was tense—damn Jax for starting to work her up and then leaving—and wished she was out on some action rather than here, babysitting. He better not fuckin' think he is gonna make a habit of this, she thought irritably.

A noise inside stopped V. mid-inhale. She froze, concentrating, then heard it again. There's somebody fucking in there, she thought. Quietly, she crept towards the door, inching it open and looking around. She didn't see anything. Her mind raced—she didn't have a gun on her, where would the closest one be? Breadbox, she decided. Silently, the entered the kitchen, closing the door gently behind her, and moved across the room. Then, gun in hand, she stood again and listened. The noise again. Jesus, it was in Abel's room.

V. held her breath and clicked the safety off the gun. In the four steps between the kitchen and the entrance to Abel's room, her mind played all the possible scenes. Mayans? Wendy? It didn't matter. Whoever was in there was not going to lay a finger on that little boy.

At the door, V. was surprised to see not a man in a rival cut, but the slim, dark-haired figure of a woman. She was leaning over Abel's bed, her back to V. V. took a silent step forward, figuring her chances of having to shoot the woman in front of Abel were lower if she could sneak up on her and threaten her out of the room. Until the gun was against her temple, the dark-haired woman didn't even know she there.

She didn't scream, but jumped backwards. "Hold fucking still," V hissed. "And back out of here."

The woman began to speak, but V. lifted her other hand and clapped it over her mouth. "Not in here." Feeling the gun against her head and sensing V. would use if it she had to, the dark-haired woman backed up slowly. V. kept her hand over the woman's mouth, pulling her towards the living room.

Once they were away from the baby, V. removed her hand from the woman's mouth, but kept the gun to her temple. "OK," she said. "You'd better tell me real quick who the hell you are and what the fuck you are doing here."

To V.'s surprise, the woman began to laugh. The laughter was high and nervous, but seemed almost uncontrollable. "Jesus Jax," she said between giggles, looking intently at V.

V. pressed the gun harder against the woman's temple. "I have no idea what you find so fuckin' funny," she said, "but this is the last time I ask you. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"OK, OK," the woman stifled the end of her laughter. "You can put down the gun." She opened one closed fist and showed V. two silver keys on a ring. "I let myself in. Thought I'd surprise him." She began to giggle again. "I'm Tara Knowles."