Waking up alone, again, Jax sighed and reached for his cigarettes. In the three weeks since that awful night, when V. had learned of her brother's deception and killed King Leo, he'd only woken up a couple of times with her still next to him. If she was sleeping at all, he didn't know when it was. And it wasn't just her not sleeping. Since the morning after that night, when he'd opened his eyes to see her sitting on the floor, their bloody clothes in her lap, her face blank, he'd felt her pull farther away from him every day. That morning, he'd climbed out of bed and moved towards her on the floor, trying to take her in his arms, but she'd pulled away. When she met his eyes, he could read nothing in them. "What do you do," she asked slowly, looking back down into her lap, "when killing them isn't enough?" She shook her head slightly, and Jax had the impression she was talking to herself more than to him. "All this blood," she murmured. "And he's still here."
Jax knew that if he got up now, he'd find her in the clubhouse's main room, shooting pool balls randomly, or curled up on the couch with a book. Or, even more likely, he'd find her behind the garage, throwing increasingly difficult combinations of punches and kicks at the heavy bag. She'd worked that bag for hours nearly every day over the past weeks. He could feel the change in her body, her already muscular frame taking on a harder edge. Though he couldn't say he liked the idea of her losing her curves, he thought, at first, that hitting the bag was probably good for her, giving her a place to put her pain and her rage. The more she did it, though, the more it seemed only to increase those feelings in her.
He'd tried, as recently as the previous night, to get her to put some of that rage and pain on him, to let him help her carry it. Attempts at talking about it having been all but useless, and too, frustrated by her increasing silence and closed face, he tried to instigate her physically, taking her harder and pushing her farther than ever before. She'd responded in kind, pushing back against him with all her strength. His arms ached from trying to hold her down; there were bruises on the backs of his legs where she'd dug her heels into him. He'd dared to hope, as he'd fallen asleep, that the encounter had satiated her enough to turn off whatever was happening in her head and go to sleep, at least for a little while. He doubted, now, that it had worked.
Reaching for his phone, saw that it was still very early. It had been only a few hours before that he'd collapsed into sleep, V. next to him and already feeling far away. Still, he felt restless now, too, needing to make sure she was OK and didn't need him. After stubbing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, he got up and pulled on his jeans and boots.
Jax shivered slightly against the morning chill as he approached the boxing ring behind the garage. As he'd expected, V. was next to the ring, landing kick after kick on the bag. In the morning mist, she seemed almost ethereal. As he got closer, Jax noticed her bloody knuckles. Clearly she'd been hitting the bag with unwrapped hands. She took no notice of his approach, continuing beating the bag with no change in her rhythm. The blank expression she'd lately taken to wearing was gone, replaced by what could only be described as a mask of anger.
After waiting a few minutes for her to acknowledge him, Jax stepped finally between V. and the bag. She stopped mid-kick, the expression on her face reverting almost instantly from rage to a benign half-smile. "Morning."
He lifted her hand, running his thumb over her open knuckles. "Been out here a while, huh?"
She glanced down at her fist. "Yeah. Guess so. I didn't notice." She turned slightly, dismissively, expecting him to move and let her resume. He didn't, moving instead closer to her, lifting her other hand to his lips.
"You're hurting yourself." His voice was gravelly.
She pulled her hands from his. "No big deal," she said. "I'm fine." She lowered her eyes to the ground.
"No." He reached now for her face, lifting her chin so her eyes were forced to meet his. "Babe," his eyes searched hers. "This has to stop." She didn't move away, but said nothing. There were deep circles under her eyes, and her cheekbones were sharp against her skin. She looked, he thought, much like she had when she'd first hit town, thin and bruised and exhausted. He felt guilty, like he wasn't taking care of her the way he should be, and angry, too, because she wasn't taking care of herself.
"What's goin' on with you, darlin'?" Jax furrowed his brow as he looked into her dark-rimmed eyes. "You're not sleeping, you're not eating, and you're…" he trailed off. Not here, he thought.
V. sighed. She knew she wasn't making good on her promise to try to let Jax love her. It was all she could do not to scream when he touched her so softly, to curse at him for worrying about her. His gentleness hurt more than anything else.
"I want to help you," Jax said, his voice remaining soft. "But I don't know what to do. You gotta talk to me." He moved his hand from her chin, smoothing her hair. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead.
V pulled away. More of that same gentleness, and it was more than she could take. She'd slept, briefly, after the work over Jax had given her last night, and come out here only after being awoken by a new nightmare, in which it was Devin's throat, rather than King Leo's, under her knife. She'd been thankful for his seeming understanding in not insisting on talking, for his willingness to push her until she hurt. That she could take. It even helped, at least for a while. But this made her skin crawl.
"I'm sorry Jax," she said, backing away from him and reaching for her flannel shirt. "I guess I just need to be alone." She didn't wait for him to answer before turning and walking back towards the clubhouse.
Frustrated, Jax swung half-heartedly at the bag. He was trying to be patient with V., knowing all she'd been through, but he was at the end of his rope. Nothing he was doing seemed to help and he'd started to wonder if V. wanted him around at all. He couldn't help but remember Tara, the way she'd distanced herself from him before leaving town (both times). Was this distance from V. pre-ordaining her taking off? She didn't need the Club for protection anymore, and he was less and less sure that she'd stay around for him.
V. spent the remainder of the morning avoiding Jax. Once she was showered and dressed, she checked to see that Jax's bike was not in the lot. He'd gone home to see Abel, she guessed. She sequestered herself in the office, hoping to be left alone. When he pulled back in a couple of hours later, he didn't come in, but went directly to the garage. From the window, she watched. She wished she could go to him, wished there were some way to make him understand that it wasn't him, it was all her.
Tired of V.'s monosyllabic responses to her questions, it took Gemma only until the early afternoon to release her from the office with orders not to come back until she'd slept and wasn't in such a bitchy mood. Rather than argue with her, V. returned to the clubhouse, thinking maybe she'd make an attempt at a nap. She knew, though, that the moment she closed her eyes she'd be assaulted by the images of the night she'd seen Devin, the night she'd killed Leo.
Bobby sat at the bar, drinking a beer and flipping through a Harley magazine. He smiled when he saw V., then patted the stool next to him. "Hey there, sweetheart," he said. "Gemma cut you loose?"
V. nodded, taking the seat.
"You look tired," Bobby observed. "You still not sleepin'?"
A look of irritation glanced over V.'s features. Jax was apparently sharing her sleeping issues with the Club. Bobby smiled, knowing what she was thinking. "He's worried about you."
"I'm fine." V.'s tone was terse.
"No, you're not." Bobby's tone was matter-of-fact. "You found out you got sold out by blood. That's gonna fuck you up. And that's without the rest of it."
V. met Bobby's eyes. "So what if I am?" she asked. "Life fucks us up. We get over it." She shrugged.
Deciding another tactic might be better, Bobby pulled a joint from his shirt pocket. "You need a nap," he said. "This'll help."
"That it might," V. said, smiling with actual appreciation. Bobby lit the joint, then passed it to her. She pulled deeply on it before passing it back. They sat in silence for a few minutes, passing it back and forth. V. was thankful for the quiet, for his not asking her any more questions about how she was feeling.
When Jax came into the clubhouse two hours later, he found V. asleep on the couch, curled up on her side, a tattered Army blanket pulled over her. His mouth turned up at the corners. Even asleep she looked tired. He was tempted to pick her up and take her to her bedroom, knowing that in an hour or so the room would be full of Sons. She'd just wake up, he thought. He sat down on the chair across from her, his eyes trained on her face. It was nice just to be able to watch her sleep.
The peace didn't last too long. As Jax had expected, within the hour the Club members were trickling in, with the requisite loud voices and clinking bottles. V. sat up, seeming startled to have been asleep. She looked at Jax, whose eyes were still on her. "How long was I out?"
"Couple of hours I think." He smiled. "You're cute when you're asleep."
"I'm always cute." Feeling marginally better than she had in days, V. wanted to do her best to make up for that morning's conversation. She rose from the couch, sitting on the arm of his chair. Leaning towards him, she whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry about this morning."
He nodded, and pulled her into his lap. "I know shit is hard on you right now," he said. "We'll get through it."
Handing bottles of beer to both Jax and V. before he sat down, Half-Sack settled on the couch. "You been workin' the bag," he said to V. "You want to spar?" He glanced nervously at the approaching Chibs, who clearly put him up to asking. Half-Sack hadn't forgotten the last time he was in the ring with V., and how he'd expected it to end with Jax killing him.
"Fuck yeah," V said. "I'd love that." She felt Jax's body tense and turned slightly towards him. "You gonna be mad if I hurt your prospect?"
Jax still didn't like the idea of V. fighting. It went against everything he'd ever been taught about women to let anybody hit his old lady. He knew V. well enough now, though, to know that letting his displeasure at the idea be known would only earn him a place at the top of her shit list. "He gets in the ring with you, I guess it's on him." He lifted V's hand to his lips, noticing again her raw knuckles. After brushing his lips against them, he motioned towards Chibs and Half-Sack on the couch, keeping her hand in his. "Wrap your fucking hands, though," he said.