Author notes: Part of the ...Made You King-series. Thanks to Tanaqui for heavy-duty betaing.

The Lost King

By Scribblesinink

"Jaysus!" Chibs strode over to Jarry, standing next to the wreckage of her Honda: a mangled heap of red steel at the edge of the road. "You whole?"

She gave a shaky nod. "Yeah. Can't say the same for the suit." She showed him where her slide across the rough asphalt had shredded her leathers. Reddened skin showed through the lacerations: she hadn't escaped completely without injury.

He touched her torn-up sleeve with two fingers. The leathers' legs hadn't fared any better. "Christ." When she'd called, asking for the truck and explaining she'd laid down the bike after her rear tire had slipped on some loose sand, he hadn't realized how close she'd come to serious harm.

They'd hardly spoken in the past few weeks, after she'd released them from the town's lock-up following the scrap at Diosa. Though she'd let them out with nothing more than a stern warning and talked the three aggrieved clients out of pressing charges, Chibs hadn't been too sure how well she'd understood what he'd been trying to tell her about why things had needed to go down the way they had. He'd thought it best to give her the time and space to process.

Not that he'd had much of a choice; club work had kept him busier than a one-armed paper hanger. First off, they'd been rebuilding Diosa. Then the garage had needed getting up and running after they'd bought it from Wendy. That had meant renegotiating the maintenance contracts with both Oswald and Hale, and there'd been a ton of other paperwork to deal with. Just when he hoped to get a breather and see if Jarry was still upset, the Irish had made their long-awaited move: he and the club had spent a few days hip deep in violent shite to support Alvarez and get Malone to safety. Thankfully, none of it had spilled over into Charming before the Irish had slunk off with their tails between their legs, and the alliances had remained intact.

He watched her now as she hugged herself, her pale face evidence that the adrenaline was wearing off. He'd missed her. More than he'd realized. "You a'right, luv?" he asked again, his voice low.

"Told you, I'm fine." But he could see she was shaking with the come-down.

"Here." He ducked into the truck's cab and grabbed a hoodie from the seat. "Put this on. It'll keep ye warm. And ye should wait in the truck; me 'n Rat can handle this mess. And then I'll take ye home."

It was a sign of how shaken up she was that she draped the hoodie around her shoulders and climbed into the cab without a single word of protest. Was she really okay? Or was she pretending to be the tough broad and faking it? Perhaps, after they dropped off the wrecked Honda, he should take her to St. Thomas and have her checked over.

"Just take me home, please," she'd insisted an hour later, after they'd dumped what was left of her bike at Redwood Auto. Tig had taken one look and declared it rice rocket stew. "Good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

However, she hadn't objected when he took her to his place instead. Nor did she complain about him helping her out of the torn leathers and putting her to bed.

o0o

Jarry woke, stiff and sore, in a bed that wasn't her own. Sunlight slanted through curtains that were equally unfamiliar. As she grew used to the brightness, she made out the flag hanging on the opposite wall: white slashes on a blue background. She was in Chibs' bedroom. He'd explained the wall decoration—the Scottish flag—the first time she'd been here.

How'd she end up in Chibs' bed this time? It took another few moments for her sleep-fuzzy brain to dig up enough memories to make sense of it: after she'd binned the bike, Chibs had taken her home. His home; not hers. She had a vague recollection of him washing the grit out of her scrapes and giving her a drink and some pills. After that—? Her memory supplied nothing. Painkillers and booze: not a great combination.

As she woke further, she became aware she was dressed in her panties and bra, and a too-large shirt that smelled of Chibs—cigarettes and leather—and that she was alone. She drew in a deeper breath, detecting other smells mingling with the scent of the shirt. Coffee, for one, and—was that bacon? Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten for a while, and she sat up. Tried to, at least. She'd stiffened up overnight and a whimper escaped her as she forced her abused muscles into action. Where the asphalt had scraped her skin—it would've been so much worse if she'd not been wearing her leathers—the abrasions stung. Ow.

"Morning, luv." Chibs appeared in the doorway, propping himself against the frame. He was bare-foot, wearing a wife beater and jeans with the top button undone. He watched her across the rim of a steaming mug.

"That coffee?" Jarry asked, her voice scratchy with sleep.

"Aye." He smiled, cheeks dimpling. "Want some?"

She didn't even bother to joke that, as a Scot, he should be drinking tea. "God, yes." She struggled to sit up straighter, the effort eliciting another groan she couldn't hold back. Chibs was at her side in a heartbeat, setting his mug down on the side table and arranging the pillows so she could lean against them. She blinked up at him, a laugh escaping her. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at her in confusion. "I didn't put a bike down yesterday."

"No, but—." She gestured helplessly. "What's with the Mother Theresa act?"

Chibs' face shuttered the instant the words left her mouth, and she immediately regretted them.

"Sorry."

He grunted something unintelligible and left the room, returning several minutes later holding a second mug as well as a bottle of pills. He offered both to her without speaking.

She took the mug and ignored the pills. "I am sorry about what I said. I appreciate you taking care of me. It's just, uh, a little weird." She combed a snag from her hair with her free hand, and the gesture tore at another strained muscle. She winced again. "Ow."

Chibs sighed and shook a couple of the pills out onto his palm. "Eat up. They're generic naproxen. Won't knock ye out but'll help with the soreness." He'd been a medic once, she recalled.

Reluctantly, she accepted the pills, washing them down with the coffee, which was perfect: hot, black and strong. "Thanks." She looked at the sun outside the window. "What time is it?"

"Little after nine."

"What?" Shock made her forget her aching body and she flung the blankets off her. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?" She put the mug on the nightstand and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Ow, again. She grimaced, pushing through the soreness. "I gotta—." She had to talk to Eglee and set Carreira to digging into the intel she collected. Should've done that last night, really, except it had been nice to let Chibs take care of everything and to simply... be. "Whoa..." She swayed on her feet

Chibs grabbed her by the elbow to steady her. "—Gotta take it easy," he finished for her, chuckling.

"You having fun at my expense, Scotty?" She pinned him with a glare. "What d'you do to me, anyway?"

"I'm not laughing at ye." His face grew serious. "And I didn't do anything. That was a nasty spill, Althea. You're pretty banged up. Take a day. Town'll survive."

o0o

An hour later, the medication had kicked in, and a hot shower had loosened her up further. Aside from the cuts and bruises, and the occasional twinge every time overstretched muscles protested a sudden movement, Jarry was pretty much feeling like her old self.

It was only when she stepped out of the shower stall and wrapping a towel around herself that she remembered she had no clothes other than her funky underwear and the shredded leathers. A quick search through Chibs' closet unearthed a clean if too-large shirt—she rolled her eyes at the faded reaper logo prominent on her chest—and a pair of boxers that didn't threaten to instantly fall from her hips.

Finishing toweling off her hair and letting the towel fall to her side, she walked into the kitchen. Chibs, busy at the stove, snuck a peek at her over his shoulder and whistled softly through his teeth. "Looks good on ye."

She grimaced, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue at him. "Don't get used to it." At his waved invitation, she sat at the table where a place had been set for her, with a fresh mug of steaming coffee already waiting. Tossing the damp towel onto the corner of the table, she reached for the mug. "Think you can run me back to my place later?"

"Sure." Chibs was scooping sizzling eggs and a strip of bacon onto a plate. He placed it in front of her. "Hope you like yer eggs scrambled."

"Yes, that's fine, thanks." She reached for the knife and fork, trying not to notice that he was standing near enough she could feel his body heat. She still instinctively started when he reached out and smoothed down her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ear.

She shook him off, torn between irritation and a strange sense of comfort at the intimacy of the gesture. He remained where he was for a moment longer before crossing to the kitchen sink to rinse off the skillet he'd been using and adding it to a stack of other dirty dishes.

Turning to face her, he settled himself against the counter's edge. "So, wanta tell me what really happened?"

She looked up from attacking her eggs. "I told you, it was a patch of sand and—."

"Bullshit."

She dropped her fork, knitting her brows together. "Are you calling me a liar?"

He crossed his arms. "Don't give me that crock, Althea. There wasn't enough sand to cause a spill. And remember, I've seen ye ride."

She puffed out a breath, the anger flooding out of her. It wasn't directed at him, anyway. "Some D-bag ran me off the road."

"What?" That sure got his attention. He pushed away from the counter and put his hands on the table, leaning toward her. "Who—? Which bastard—?" He took a breath. "Did you at least get a plate?"

"Yes, I did." She picked up her fork again and continued eating. "And no, I'm not telling you. This is police business, Chibs."

His jaw twitched. "What the hell's that mean?"

Again, she sighed. She looked away. Better tell him the whole story, or he'd start digging, out of a misguided sense of honor or something. "Okay. I was riding, going nowhere in particular. For fun, you know?"

Chibs straightened, giving her a nod, one biker to another.

"When I passed by Diller Point, I turned in. Don't ask me why, I got no clue." She smiled. "Call it cop instinct. Anyway, there were a couple cars parked side by side at the far end of the lot, near the boulders."

Again, Chibs dipped his head to indicate he knew where she meant and to encourage her to go on.

"One car had three kids in it. Two boys, one girl. High schoolers, I think." Nothing strange about that: the Point was a popular place for kids to hang out. It had been the second car that had drawn her attention. "The other car was a lone guy. Adult."

She'd also made out greasy stubble, a meaningless tat on the wrist resting in the window, and a faded green ball cap, none of which were details Chibs needed to hear to understand what had happened—or that it would be wise to share. She hadn't forgotten the conversation they'd had in the sheriff's interrogation room a month ago—how could she, when the sight of him in cuffs had made her want to jump his bones, even though, at the same time, she'd been livid at the trouble Samcro had caused? But it was her job to uphold the law in Charming, and she wasn't gonna give Chibs enough intel to allow him to go haring off after some smalltime crook.

"Aye?" he prodded, when she'd remained quiet for too long.

"The kids left soon as they saw me." She picked up the story. "The guy after a few minutes of watching me, like he was waiting for me to do something. Then he left, too."

"Drug dealer?"

She shrugged, the movement reminding her that her muscles and ligaments had been forced to do things they were never meant to do. "Didn't see anything change hands. But we got a couple reports of strung-out kids at the High School. And St. Thomas dealt with an OD the other day. Thankfully, nobody's died." Yet. She left the word unspoken.

"Jaysus, fuck." Chibs scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She lifted her brows, not rewarding the question with an actual answer.

Chibs scoffed ruefully. "Right."

"Anyway," she went on, "the whole thing smelled fishy. Enough to set off my spidey sense." She grinned. "I figured I'd follow the dude for a bit, see where it led."

"And he caught on and decided he didn't want ye on his tail," Chibs concluded. "Christ, Althea."

"Yeah." She forked up the last bit of her breakfast. "If anything," she added around a mouthful of egg, "that only confirmed I was right to be suspicious. The douche was definitely up to no good up there at the Point." She put down her fork and pushed the plate toward Chibs. "Thanks for this. But now I have to—." As she thrust her seat back and tried to stand, another wave of dizziness washed over her. Chibs caught her before she could stumble, and lowered her gently back on to the chair.

"Sure you don't wanta go to St. Thomas?"

"Yeah, just need a sec." The last thing she wanted was to have a doctor prod her bruises or poke needles into her.

"A'right." Thankfully, Chibs didn't argue this time. "But why don't ye stay here for the day. Call it in to Eglee and tell her what ye know." He slid his cellphone across the table. "Use mine. Yours is a goner, I'm afraid." He tilted his head toward a crumbled heap of broken plastic and tiny circuit boards at the far end of the kitchen counter that vaguely resembled her Blackberry.

"Shit." She'd forgotten she'd had to use a passing motorist's cell to call the garage. The guy had wanted to call the cops too, but she'd told him not to bother. She thought about Chibs' suggestion. Truth was, she was still feeling pretty shaky. As much from the actual crash—she hadn't been an indestructible angry twenty-one year old for a long time—as from the near miss. She'd been on the force long enough she'd faced death a couple times, but never alone or without backup. "Alright," she conceded, picking up the phone. She gestured with it. "Can you—?" She didn't want him to overhear.

He gave her a brief grin but retreated into the bedroom without protest while she made the call. She could hear him puttering around noisily enough it was clear he wasn't trying to listen in, so she told Eglee everything she'd got so far. "Call me if anything comes up," she finished, as Chibs came back.

He halted in the doorway. "Jaysus, Jarry. Look at ye."

Following his gaze, she looked down. Now that she'd moved the chair away from the table, the abrasions and bruises on her bare legs were in full view, standing out starkly on her pale skin. Her left leg was particularly spectacular: a long strip of road rash on the outside where the leather had failed to protect her against the full impact of the asphalt, and the inside black and purple where it had gone under the bike. She'd been damned lucky she hadn't broken the leg—or worse. But that fucking asshole was gonna pay for it.

Chibs had walked closer. Now he knelt and touched the angry red scabs with a light finger. "Should put some ointment on this," he muttered. "It'll calm the skin and keep it from scarring."

Without waiting for a response, he got up and headed for the bathroom, returning a moment later with a tube of antiseptic cream. Jarry held out her hand for the tube, but he ignored her and instead crouched in front of her, gesturing for her to turn the chair around to give him better access. "Uh, what—?" She laughed, nervously, and he looked up from uncapping the tube. The rest of her words died on her lips at the look in his eyes. She swallowed hard.

Pinching a few drops of the ointment onto his fingers, Chibs began to smear it over the cuts. It stung a little, at first, but his touch was soft and light. Soon the burning had faded completely and the brush of his fingers on her skin turned soothing. She sighed, closing her eyes and giving in to the sensation.

The ointment applied, Chibs' fingers moved on to tracing the bruises. When his lips joined his fingers, her eyes flew open and she was confronted with the top of his head between her thighs.

"Ye got damned fuckin' lucky, luv," he mumbled against her skin. She made an involuntary noise, and he looked up, his eyes dark. Alarm bells were going off in the far reaches of her mind but before she could say or do anything, his fingers had slipped under the edges of the boxer's legs, caressing the soft skin where her legs joined her hips.

"Chibs." She sighed his name, partly plea, partly objection. His response was to tug on the boxers, and she automatically lifted her ass up from the chair far enough that he could slide them off and down her legs until she could kick them away. He pulled her forward on the chair until she was perched at the edge of the seat, leaning back against the chair's straight back. Still kneeling, Chibs spread her knees wider and inched forward between them. "Uh, I don't think I'm up to—," she protested, though the stiffness in her entire body had taken a backseat to the low, heavy throbbing in her core.

"Ssh," he whispered, his breath caressing her. "I'll take care o' ye."

His promise seemed to hold a deeper meaning beyond the moment, but she had no chance to question him as he shifted forward and sucked her clit between his lips. All thought fled from her mind and it was all she could do not to clench her legs tightly around him, whether to escape the sensation of his mouth on her or to seek it further, she didn't know. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding on for dear life, as he brought her to a peak.

Still shaking and panting, her inner muscles trembling, she came back to the world. Chibs was sitting back on his heels, grinning smugly, his goatee glistening with her juices. "Good, eh?"

She swatted weakly at him. "That was fuckin' amazing," she admitted. "I should put down a bike more often if it makes you do that."

The smirk melted from his face, replaced by something that looked angry. "Don't—." He broke off and took a deep breath. "No more Die Hard shit, a'right?"

She laughed. "Going after a drug dealer? That's hardly Die Hard material. I just—."

He pushed up on to his knees and grabbed her elbows, his fingers digging in almost painfully. "Please."

She stared into his eyes, mere inches from hers, shocked to silence. He wasn't joking. She turned her head away, the intensity of his gaze too much to bear. "You know I can't promise that, Filip. I'm a cop. It's what I do."

"Fuck." He pushed away from her and jumped to his feet. Picking up the towel she'd discarded earlier, he wiped off his chin, grabbed the ointment and carried both tube and towel back to the bathroom.

She used his absence as a chance to snatch up the boxers and pull them back on, grateful she could use the chair for balance as she lifted first one foot and then the other.

She'd finished dressing by the time he returned. He tossed her a bundled-up pair of sweat pants before shrugging into his cut. "Put these on. I'll take ye home."

o0o

Engine idling, Chibs waited until Jarry's apartment door closed, cutting her off from view. Putting the truck in gear, he stepped on the gas. The wheels spun for a moment, until they caught and the truck jumped forward.

Damn woman. Didn't she understand what kind of dangerous shite she was putting herself in? She oughtta know better than go after suspected drug dealers on her own. Without even fuckin' bothering to tell anyone what she was doing.

Her amused tolerance as she'd listened to his instructions before he'd let her climb out of the truck—take it easy; go see a doc if there's any sign of nausea or double vision—had pissed him off even more than he already was.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. If only the wheel was the filthy scunner's neck... That bastard could've fuckin' killed her, and that kinda shite just didn't fly.

Reaching Redwood Auto, he turned in, ready to exchange the truck for his bike. For once, he had no eyes for the freshly painted signs with the garage's new name. Usually, the boards gave him a pang of pride and sadness mixed together; they'd achieved so much after Jax died. Parking the truck, he killed the engine, taking five to figure out his next move.

Jarry deliberately putting herself in harm's way was plain fucked up and he didn't know how to deal with that. And then when he'd asked—begged—her to never to put herself into that position again, she'd refused to make that promise. Did she think she was invulnerable?

He huffed a laugh. At least he'd known better than to argue with her about the details of the case—or let on about what he was planning to do once he got a-hold of the psycho piece of shite who'd forced her off the road. He'd heard plenty enough of what she'd told Eglee when she'd called it in—the walls in his apartment were thin and there was nothing wrong with his hearing—and he'd ask Eglee for the rest while Rat and Montez set to getting a twenty on the guy. They weren't Juice, but they were learning and they'd deliver; he was sure of it. And once they knew where to find the prick, he'd take Tig and Hap and show the guy what Samcro thought of dirty little bastards dealing drugs in Charming.

And if Jarry didn't like it? She could go fuck herself. At least she'd be safe.

To Be Continued...