The MC kindly offered to help the pair of you move in together, but you adamantly refused to allow them to do that. What you wanted was for the two of you to do this together, claiming for the record that it was all part of the process of a couple wishing to take the step that you two were, but that was something you left out of the information you gave them. For their sanity, you refrained. You knew that they just wanted to help, but this was between you and Bea.

Boxes were stacked seven feet high and took up most of the space in the front living room of your new abode. You were thankful that she had agreed to be with you in this way, especially since living out of the clubhouse just wasn't cutting it anymore. You wanted something real, something substantial, and the fact that you'd found that with Bea was more than enough to want to keep her around. You wanted this. You wanted this life. You wanted her.

As you are carrying another share of boxes into the front room for sorting purposes, you notice that she has begun unpacking, but not quite the items that you expected. She is busy arranging photo frames on the mantlepiece, careful in the placement of candle votives and the doilies she has been saving since childhood.

You smile, placing the boxes in your arms onto the wooden floor before wiping your hands of the debris found on your skin and the fact that you want to touch hers without tainting it.

"Why the pictures first?" you question, your hands slipping around her waist to pull her back into yourself.

She chuckles, placing one of her hands along yours. "I want something to feel like a home right now, you know?" she explains. "Photographs are the best way to do that."

You nod, resting your chin against her shoulder. "I get tha'." You press your lips to the side of her neck and she murmurs approval. "Y'know, the club is gonna go underground soon enough. A week, we're lookin' at." She turns around within your arms, her eyes meeting yours and her hands resting on your biceps. "Yer mah old ladeh. I wan' ya there. You'll be safe with me in there. With the Irish deals goin' down, I cannae le' ye stay here withou' me."

"I don't want to be here without you," she says, allowing one of her hands to caress your cheek. You melt within her grasp and your eyes flutter closed. The bewitching hold she has on you is overwhelming and your entire body relaxes. "This is our home, Filip. I'll be wherever you are."

"Protection and family. That's wha' you'll have there."

"That's what I have here, right now."

Your lips find hers before her tone is able to finish the last syllable. You adore her and the fact that she adores you is more than enough to keep you on your toes and remind you of why you've come out of the shell you'd once build. Real happiness is here with you, and its name is Bea.

::::

The lockdown is moved up by more than a week after some precarious situations force you to change plans. You assist Bea in packing up the necessities required for transferral to the clubhouse life. You don't leave her side by your own choice, staying with her because you fear for her safety before anyone else's. She knows that and she is clearly comforted by your presence.

Together you leave for the clubhouse, driving her in a TM vehicle to bring her there safely. As the bikes belonging to the MC are now targets, you know that a normal transportation unit is the safest way to move yourselves to the safehouse.

She is shaking from her place in the passenger seat, her knuckles white as she tugs on her own skin in an attempt to free herself from the nervous breakdown that her muscles are experiencing. You notice this, but you remain silent, knowing that sometimes she prefers the silence. Instead, you show your support in a different way by stepping outside of your own comfort zone and taking her hand into yours, squeezing tightly to let her know that you are, indeed, beside her in all things.

Her head turns and her eyes meet yours. Her chin quivers as she smiles at you and you return the expression, pushing your fingers through hers and locking them together.

The lot at TM is bustling with the arrival of the families and loved ones belonging to each and every brother and member of the MC. You help her into the room the two of you will be sharing for a bit of time, and even settle in with her. She is still nervous, you know, but being there with her is the first step to your own recovery.

Clay addresses everyone in the clubhouse that they are all family, and that SAMCRO takes care of their own. Bea is by your side and she seems somewhat comforted by the president's words, but there is still some uneasiness inside of her that you can't quite place.

When the pair of you are alone once again, you step close to her and take her hands into yours. "Everythin'll be alright, darlin'," you state in the most transparently comforting way for her nerves.

She nods, her expression remaining serious as the grip on your hands tightens from her end. "It had better be," she reminds you, only half-jokingly.

::::

Kip is dead. Half-Sack. A brother. A member. Murdered in cold blood by a vengeful Irishman. This news is difficult to hear and even more difficult to process. You want to get revenge. You do. However, there are other matters to deal with. Abel, Jax's infant son, is missing by the hand of the same Irishman who killed a brother.

You can't kid yourself anymore, realizing that no one is safe inside or outside the club. You want to believe that some are immune to it all, but the fact that Tara was also nearly killed on the same night and in the same moment as Half-Sack was more than enough to not only set your teeth on-edge, but also was more than enough to keep your tensions aflame.

The lockdown becomes more heated and much more tightly-wound than you were prepared for, but you are grateful for the extra precautions. The wake for your brother is in full-swing when you realize that Bea cannot leave your side for your reasons and for hers.

She is lovely, especially now in all-black, respect unwavering as she continues to keep her head held high in spite of what all has happened. She is as stoic and adamant as ever, her curls flowing loosely over her shoulders as she chats with some of the other old ladies. She holds your hand decidedly, her eyes wanting you to understand that she is there with you and that she loves you. This reminder is much-needed, particularly after what happens next.

A dark van's attack on the wake startles all. Masked figures all in darkness shoot up those attending the wake and run over an officer. A small boy is killed in the drive-by shooting that ensues and your nerves are on-end as you fall to the ground and take Bea down with you.

The pavement is rough and your hand grips a portion of her leg where her hose has torn and you feel the scrape on her skin. Of course, that's when the worst happens.

"My God," Bea groans, and your eyes follow hers. Her hand is gripping her thigh. The blood seeps through her fingers, and her expression turns to one of worry. "Oh, God, Filip..."

"Bea...?" you say, your hands flying to her limb to help as if two sets of hands can keep her from bleeding out. The worry is almost enough to make you pass out, but you don't. Not now.

Right now, the love of your life is bleeding onto the pavement, the black dyes of her clothing now stained with iron-strong blood.

She won't die. Not here. Not like this. Not Bea.