A/N: 18+

TRIGGER WARNING: This contains talk of an assault with even more depiction of bruising. If you find that upsetting, then don't read this fic!

This is my first Oakley fic (snort - I typed "fix" instead of "fic" - so true!). I hope it's not too close to my heroine's (heroin) laterovaries take on him. Lemme know if it is, please.

It was strange to be scared of him - of Oakley, whom she'd known since they were in diapers together, with whom she roomed in what she'dthought was a happily platonic state, even when he'd begun, months ago, to voice vociferous objections to her current - former, she corrected viciously - boyfriend, Jack right from the start.

"I know him," he'd said. "You're not . . . safe with him." He'd hugged her to him, the way he often did - he was an affectionate - especially with her - flirty guy. It didn't mean anything. But there was something else in his hold that day, too, something in his eyes when he very deliberately caught hers, his expression more serious than she could ever remember seeing it. "You're going to end up hurt and I'm going to end up having to beat the ever loving shit out of him. Please don't see him any more." Oakley knew he had no right to ask much less insist about anything, and he'd never really felt the lack with her more acutely than now.

But she missed - or, more accurately blithely ignored - his warnings. Jack was what seemed to her to be a somewhat shorter, lean puppy dog with boundless energy, a ready smile and a comfortingly familiar halo of blonde curls - he was Oakley without all the "known him forever and he thinks of me as his little sister" baggage that came with the real thing - with that actual man she wanted, rather than what proved to be the bat shit crazy, violent jerk instead of the reasonable facsimile she thought she'd found.

Oakley - loving, fun, devil may care, flirty, surprisingly, sometimes heartbreakingly protective Oakley, even now that they were supposedly grown up and in their mid-twenties - with whom she had built tree houses, "married" - and just as quickly divorced - when they played house, and who had been there - hell, had instigated - almost all of those important firsts as they'd grown up - except one - cigarette, drink, herb - had been dead right, and when she'd come home sobbing earlier that evening, barely able to talk, he'd corralled her into his arms as she'd blindly tried to stumble into her room. Seeing her like this, he'd spat out but one word from between clenched teeth, noting as his heart began to hammer painfully in his chest that there were already bruises forming along her jaw and - to his horror - around her neck, too.

"Jack."

He'd not let her escape him no matter how hard she tried to wiggle away. Ava was feeling more embarrassed and humiliated and deeply scared than hurt, really, and not wanting him to see any of that.

But he hadn't given her any choice as he'd bundled her up into his arms and carried her into her bedroom despite her protests, sitting down on her bed first and leaning back against the headboard to cradle her on his lap.

When he settled her onto him, Ava was surprised to feel his erection poking at her bottom and started when she did, but he closed his arms around her, pressing her head to his chest.

His chin rested on the top of her head and she felt him swallow hard, his question stuttering and barely audible. "Did - did he -?

She knew what he was trying to ask. "No. But I . . . " she paused, a shudder running through her as those safe, warm, strong arms. She cleared her throat loudly, nervous energy still coursing through her. "He was suddenly just so big and way stronger than I am - and I've really never been in that situation before - where the guy just flat out ignored me saying 'no' in no uncertain terms. If he hadn't had to go into the bathroom to get a condom . . . "

She hadn't wanted to provoke him at all but she was so raw from the fright that the words had slipped from her lips before she thought about how he might respond to them.

Luckily, he hadn't made a move but she did felt him stiffen around her, a big hand still rubbing slowly, carefully up the slim line of her back.

As he massaged her, which only served to reinforce to him how horribly overmatched and vulnerable she must've been to that man while a vicious anger built steadily within him as his fingers glided over her fine bones, noting - not for the first time lately - just how delicate she was. He could well imagine just how vulnerable she had been to him, how frightened . . . Oakley was glad she couldn't see the dark, dangerous expression on his face.

She'd always been like that, always acted invincible, as if nothing could touch her, nothing could hurt her. As much as he admired her spirit, he'd been secretly dreading the day when some unscrupulous fucker showed her just how wrong she was.

"Well, you're know you're safe here with me," he murmured, something deep in his chest giving painful way as he felt her nodding unhesitatingly against him.

For long moments, Oakley merely rubbed her back, stroking his fingers absently through that gorgeous, long riot of blonde curls that cascaded down over it. "Remember when we used to get mistaken for twins all the time when we went on holiday?"

He was glad to hear her give a soft, abbreviated chuckle. They had looked remarkably alike as youngsters, both with crowns of almost white blonde ringlets. His had grown golden as they'd matured, and hers had darkened to deep honey blonde that he had lain awake nights fantasizing about using as a rein to keep her from being able to avoid his powerful thrusts . . .

Oakley felt a shudder run through her again. "Let's get you tucked up, huh?" he suggested, shifting her gently onto her back on the bed and reaching for the buttons at the collar of her shirt.

Ava put her much smaller, very cold ones over his, staying them. "No, I - I want to keep my clothes on right now."

He knew when she got scared her fingers and hands turned to ice, and he grasped them gently with his, rubbing them briskly to try to warm them and smiling softly down at her. "No problem, bug," deliberately using his old nickname for her - that he'd bestowed upon her many years ago because he'd said - part in frustration, part in affection - that she bugged the ever loving crap out of him.

Ava found herself in the strange position of being taken care of by Oakley, which was a bit of a roll reversal of the usual. He was the one who came in drunk and had to be carted off to his bed - as best she could considering he outweighed her by several thousand pounds, not to mention towering over her at the same time so that, every time it happened, they both very narrowly escaped ending up in a heap somewhere on the path to his bed.

When it seemed she had calmed considerably, he stood and reached out to turn the touch lamp on her nightstand on to its lowest setting, then pulled the sheet and duvet over her, tucking it tightly around her neck so as to stave off the inevitable vampires that she'd always sworn lived under her bed and in her closets when they were young. She'd been violently afraid of the dark, frequently visited by bad nightmares prompted by watching horror movies with him until well past her bedtime, and he'd often been her valiant savior when she'd crawled into his bed to shiver and shudder against him until he awoke enough to curl around her and whisper some magical incantation over them that he'd convinced her would keep them completely safe.

And he did the same thing right now, saying a lot of nonsense words the way he always had, but in a deep, authoritative tone that was sure to send anyone or anything packing - real or spectral - that might try to hurt her.

Then he dropped a kiss on her forehead saying, "I need to go out, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

Ava grabbed a hold of his hand, hers still alarmingly cold.

"Oakley, I want you to promise me that you won't go to Jack's."

He squatted gracefully down next to the bed, pressing her hand between his two big ones again, enveloping it tightly. In a very soft but still gently scolding whisper, he caught her eye in the dim lamplight. "You know I can't promise you that, buglette."

"Yes, you can!" she hissed, trying to sit up on her elbow, but he pulled it out from under her and she ended up right where she'd started.

Oakley bent down to press his lips to her forehead again, never wishing more in his life than right now that he had the right to really kiss her. "I won't be long."

He turned quickly, before she had a chance to catch him, hearing her grab at him as he stepped towards the door.

Ava stood and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind, trying to do the impossible - to keep him there with her. "No, Oakley, please! Please, please, please stay here with me! I couldn't bear it if you got hurt on my account!"

He could both hear and feel her tears and that was nearly enough to change his mind, but then he remembered the terrified look on her face when she'd come home, how she'd been sobbing then, too, and the sight of those bruises on her otherwise perfect skin had ripped his heart into tiny pieces, making his stomach clench into one big knot at the sight of her in such distress.

But he needed to do what he needed to do, resolutely disengaging her hands from around his waist and straightening to his full height, using a commanding tone he didn't think she'd ever heard from him, turning to pin her with a suddenly very adult, very serious gaze that more than matched his voice. "Ava, go back to bed. Now, honey."

Her hands fell from where she'd been holding them up in front of her as if she was going to set them on him again, and he could see her shiver, but she also did as he told her to do, thinking that there was a first time for everything. Oakley deliberately softened his expression as well as his tone as he reached to open her door. "You stay there, safe under the covers, and I'll be back to hold you before you know it."

As much as it was going to kill him to do so, he wouldn't hesitate in the least to stay awake and hold her all night if that's what she wanted from him.

Even if that was all she wanted.

With that he was gone, and Ava had dissolved into tears, worried that her best friend - the completely oblivious love of her life - was going to end up in jail this evening for assault and battery, at the very least, murder at the worst, and she knew she didn't have anywhere near the amount of money that would be necessary to post bail for him. Drunk and disorderly, yes. She'd had that covered since their early teens. But something truly serious - he was going to be in jail for a while before she could come up with that kind of money.

Oakely heard her crying as soon as he closed her bedroom door behind him, but steeled himself against running back to her as almost every fiber in his being wanted to. Instead, he began to nurture his dark side - to the part of him that wanted - that intended - to tear Jack into confetti, put him back together and then tear him apart a different way, letting years of latent jealousy and powerful anger course through him as he slipped out the front door of their flat and down the stairs by leaps, his face unnaturally dark and menacing.

Now she stood there before him in the biggest, frumpiest, most comfy housecoat she'd had to drag out of the back of her closet; it covered her from neck to toes as she nervously pulled its belt tighter around her waist, as if that was the magic spell that would keep her safe. . . from him?

Ava knew as soon as he came through the door - despite her relief that he was okay, that he hadn't been arrested and thrown into jail for whatever it was that he'd done to Jack - that he was in a dangerous mood. He positively vibrated with restless energy, and, having just had an encounter with Jack, who had acted in much the same way, she found herself in the unusual position of watching him warily on several uncomfortable levels.

He'd tossed his keys into the bowl on the buffet where they'd always thrown them and leveled a gaze at her that had her taking several steps away from him, as she stood there in that ridiculous, butt ugly robe, still keeping her eyes forward and on him, though, he noticed.

Ava had the unusual feeling that she was being stalked by a lion - which, with that false advertising halo of golden curls he'd been graced with wasn't too far off. But she knew that allowing him to intimidate her wasn't smart because all of her backing away from him had put her in the doorway to her bedroom - where, at the moment, anyway, she least wanted to end up with him.

But, if she could do it quickly, and she could if she had to, she might at least be able to get in there and lock the door against him.

How strange, for her to feel she needed to bar the door against the man who had always, unhesitatingly, been her protector, even when they were so young they were barely sentient, and again not so very long ago, just before he'd left for Jack's.

Not that she had any illusions that that would save her from him, if it came to that. He was too wound up, pacing back and forth in front of her - entirely too close for her comfort.

Feeling her wary gaze on him, Oakely suddenly stopped sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair, not liking how scared she looked, but he was having a hard time reeling in the primitive feelings being in a fight always aroused in him and he guessed she was reacting to that. Even his voice sounded different when he spoke - deeper, huskier, more mature, somehow. Beating the crap out of someone will apparently do that to you.

He was entirely incapable of stopping the words he'd said next from coming out of his mouth. "I told you, Ava. I warned you about him. But you ignored me." His eyes settled on the darkened bruises she was sporting as he clamped his teeth together until they hurt, that sight making him regret he'd stopped driving his fist into the other guy's face when he had.

She opened her mouth to respond to him - frankly, to take him to task for whatever it was that he'd done to Jack - she shuddered to think - but then she noticed something on his right hand.

There was blood on his knuckles.

Ava didn't care whose it was, but she surprised him by closing the gap between them herself and grabbing a onto it, holding it close for inspection.

There were definite scrapes on his big knuckles, someone's blood bright against his pale skin.

She swallowed hard, in awe in the face of the blatant evidence of what this man had done for her, as much as she would have preferred that she had taken his advice about Jack in the first place. She looked all that way up at him, suddenly more aware of him as a man than she'd ever allowed herself to be in his presence. She'd always kept her responses to him carefully under wraps, not at all willing to risk a certain rejection that would knock her to her knees. Better to live with him platonically than throw herself at him and end up - if she was lucky - just another in a devastatingly long line of females she'd taken to referring to as the "pussy du jour" she'd seen parade through their flat, since he rarely had more than one date with any of them.

Oakley was excruciatingly aware of how she had looked at him, how she was holding his hand as if it was - he didn't know - precious to her, somehow. He was already rock hard - had been despite the practically matronly figure she cut in that positively Victorian robe. That, if nothing else, was a testament to just how much he wanted her - that he could become and remain fully aroused when she was dressed in something that looked for all she was worth like something his Gran would wear.

Ava tugged at his arm and he stood rooted in place for a long moment, until she turned and cajoled, trying to get him to smile, "C'mon, Oakley, the least I can do is to clean your wounds since you got them defending my long lost honor."

After a moment spent gazing into her eyes, to the point that she began to fidget under his intense stare, Oakley allowed himself to be led - almost docilely - into the bathroom, which he quickly decided was a mistake. It was entirely too small a room for him to be in with her at this point, and in the state he was in.

It seemed that every single thing about her - even more than usual - added to the intense hunger he already felt for her - the gentle way she cradled his hand in hers, dabbing at bruised knuckles that he had had crashed over and over into Jack's mug, scraping - as he'd dislodged - several of his teeth, her every movement brushing some part of her up against him until he was just about ready to scream.

Or worse, reach out and grab her and haul her against him. He couldn't imagine she'd be amenable to that in the best of circumstances - she seemed quite content with their sibling-like relationship - but most especially now, when the last man who'd touched her had so obviously hurt her -

He shouldn't be around her at all. In the state he was in, he wasn't at all sure he could control himself, and he'd sooner cut his arms off than scare her.

He wasn't exactly proud of the fact that he'd beaten the guy senseless - not that he regretted it in the least, either, though; it had been almost too satisfying, and he'd barely been able to force himself away from the cowering asshole before he'd gone entirely too far. Instead, he'd had to content himself by leaving Jack with the menacing warning that if he ever came within a mile of Ava again, he'd come back and finish the job.

Oakley knew, deep down in his heart, that those words had been the absolute truth.

He supposed that constituted a death threat that he could be hauled away for, but Oakley also knew Jack. He was a weasley guy, and there was no way he'd ever go to the police. He'd be too damned embarrassed that he had taken such a beating.

While he was musing, Ava put some antibacterial spray on his wounds, muttering, "Damned hard to bandage knuckles," then danced - all of a sudden startlingly aware of just how close to him she was - away from him, triggering his prey instinct such that he had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from snaking his hands out to pull her roughly up against him.

She was nervous around him. That was new and he regretted it, but he could also understand it.

Her eyes kept darting up to his then skittering away again. "Listen, Oakley, as much as I can't condone what you did -"

His strength of will nearly evaporated entirely as he was unable to keep his hand from reaching out to almost but not quite touch her own wounds, not wanting to hurt her.

She brought the collar of that horrid housecoat up compulsively, as if she was trying to hide them from him, moving out from under his hand so that he couldn't reach her - she thought. " - I - I want to thank you for the impulse, anyway, if not exactly the results."

Oakley took a small but determined step towards her, not at all liking the frightened look that passed over her face before she squelched it, and he flatly hated what she asked him next. "You didn't - you didn't hurt him permanently, did you? I mean, you left him alive?"

One long finger came out to tip her chin up so that she could no longer avoid his eyes as he took another, bigger step towards her, feeling her stiffen in alarm in with such a starkly terrified look that had heart squeezed painfully up against his sternum as it pounded within him. "He'll live," he growled, not willing to give that bastard another moment of his attention, and not wanting her to, either. "I could have killed him, Ava. I wanted to more than I've ever wanted to do almost anything."

Except maybe make love to you, he added in his mind.