When Dr. Knowles tells you that the Scottish patient you had been reassigned from might be interested in you, you are admittedly shocked. He was an attractive man for sure - you were the first to admit that. Now he was asking for your reassignment to return to his care, and you wanted to, of course. Something about being in his presence was more than enough to make you want to go back, and after your near beat-down with a woman you assumed was his ex-wife, you're more certain than ever that caring for this man is where you are supposed to be.

That Fiona woman was a real piece of work. She had a fiery look in her eyes when you instructed her to leave, almost like she was internally threatening you with your own life. She didn't scare you - you had received that look from your mother a million times over and at least a hundred times worse. Irish-borne threats never bothered you, not even as a tyke. Now, as a grown woman, they were just snide comments from a person hell-bent on making you lose your shit. Little did that woman know but you are not easily shaken by idle threats and comments made in passing.

The doctor you answer to is more than happy to reassign you to Chibs. He can see that the patient is taken with you, but he also understands that there is far more to it than that. There is a level of trust he hasn't seen by way of a patient and their nurse. It's almost as if he admires that kind of foundation. Hell, so do you.

Your times with Chibs are silent at first, given the heavy level of medications running through his system and that fact that he is almost more wired than the desktop computer back in your apartment. You admire his stoicism around others and the fact that he enjoys talking to you. Your chats are simplistic, covering more about the reasons behind your favorite color than about your past. That isn't quite the most important thing at the moment. His involvement with SAMCRO is more than enough to make you think twice about even talking to this man, let alone be considering him in more ways than one.

Your father's previous involvement with the Sons has your head reeling with its own kinds of questions, some that state that perhaps you are not supposed to get into the same situation that your mother found herself in all those years ago and became the reasons for her desire to get out. Perhaps you're simply overreacting - you have been known to do that. Still, maybe there is more truth than condemnation in what you have the cajones to contemplate.

When Chibs is discharged a few days later, you understand why, though it still kind of saddens you. You have grown accustomed to hearing his thick, Scottish banter, and to his very presence. He has become more than just a comfort to you - he has become a friend, a comrade, an ally, and perhaps more.

You check your charts for the day - two surgeries on your list. You're not surprised to say the least, but you definitely had expected more for your agenda. You're not complaining, given that you are allowed to go home once your jobs for the day have been completed. It's a gig you've become thankful to have.

The first surgery of the day goes well, practically textbook. Scrubbing out as always, you are never more in love with being clean. You head out to the front desk to complete some paperwork on the procedures and on your sign-off, and that's when a nurse approaches you, telling you that someone is there to see you. This comes as a shock - you don't really have friends outside of work, and even there your allies are few and far between. You check it out, deciding that there is little harm that a guest could do to you.

Tossing your hat and gloves into a rubbish bin, you make your way to the waiting room. Upon seeing the guest of mention, your heart nearly stops, but you count that as a good sign. The guest is Chibs.

Standing there, it's clear that he hasn't been kept waiting too long. Judging by the bouquet of daisies in his hand, you know that this is anything but a business call.

"It's only been a few days," you comment, crossing your arms over your chest. "Are you itching to get back in here that badly?"

He chuckles and approaches you, a sweet kind of grin creasing the scars on his cheeks. "I brought these for ye."

"I can see that." You take the bouquet and give them a whiff. "You remembered that I love daisies."

"Well, sunflowers aren't in season at the moment, so I hope these'll do."

"They're beautiful." You can feel the silence between you and know that there is so much more that he has to say. "I'm guessing that you didn't come by here to give me daisies."

"Well, that's part of it." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "You took amazing care of me in here - between keepin' my ex-wife at-bay and lookin' after my sick arse, I'd say that I owe you one."

You smile, the flattering offer enough to make you blush. You aren't used to getting this kind of attention, but you definitely like it. "I'm a nurse - I'm just doing my job." It hurts you to keep some of the truth from him, but it has to be done.

He sighs a bit and takes another step closer and that's when you can feel that your palms are starting to sweat. "Listen...I know that you were doin' yer job as my nurse and that I was just yer patient, but honestly...I feel like there was somethin' between us, somethin' that ain't under nurse and patient confidentiality." You laugh slightly at his turn of phrase, but you sigh nonetheless and take a hold of his arm, tugging him aside until you are both in a corner where no other personnel can overhear you.

"You're..." you begin, but stop short, your throat ceasing your tones as a bashful precaution. "...you're not wrong." He appears to look triumphant, almost smarmy about his correction. "I did feel something, but...but it's unprofessional. If I was to get involved with a patient, I could potentially lose my license."

He nods, hearing your words and remaining silent for a moment before speaking again. "I'm not in the hospital anymore. You're not my nurse. It's not unprofessional, not anymore."

You smirk, finding the catch in what he is saying as he is absolutely correct. With him out from under your jurisdiction, you know he's right. "What kind of payback did you have in mind?"

He grins, and it's all you can do to keep from melting. "Dinner and drinks after at the clubhouse. Whaddya say?"

You smile at him genuinely, and he does in return, the pair of you knowing fully-well that this is happening, that the two of you are going to go on a date and, from there, who knows?