Early morning. Again. And she couldn't help but think back twenty-four hours. They hadn't really talked about the situation; Jax, the tattoo, SAMCRO, her personal history, and yet she felt relieved. In an inexplicable way, his presence was calming her, centering her. Empowering her. She felt completely accepted and deliriously wanted. She worried at her upper lip thinking it through. He was the most grounded person she had ever met. There was no question he was as taken with her as she was with him, and although she didn't have a lot of sexual history to compare and contrast to, she felt that they were connecting on a heart level as well as a physical level. She rolled up onto her elbow, looking down at him sleeping beside her.
He slept large, pressed against her, or holding her hand, or with an arm slung over her, a leg between hers. He was on his back now, slightly turned towards her, an arm over his chest, fingers curling into his palm. If she felt relaxed then he seemed nearly comatose. He was snoring slightly. She knew he was fifteen years older than she was, but he was obviously in a prime decade of his life. He was comfortable inside his skin, seemed to relish the limits with which he pushed his body. Large-boned, heavy, solid and extremely masculine. He was a modern day Viking, a displaced Celt. She considered her own Irish blood, even Jax claimed Celtic ancestry. Out-of-work Berzerkers, the lot of them. Poets with lilting tongues. Warriors who named their blades. Looking down into his scarred face was looking through aeons of those who had come before them. She leaned in and kissed his sleeping mouth. He stirred and reached for her.
"Just a minute," she whispered and quickly got out of bed. In the kitchen she fished through her bag and found what she was after.
Back in the bedroom, he had turned onto his side and was waiting, watching for her through slitted sleepy eyes. He smiled crookedly when he saw what she had and he rolled onto his back as she climbed back in beside him.
She fitted the earpieces of her stethoscope, breathing the cold bell warm, and then she held it against his chest. She closed her eyes and listened. Hard. His heart beating. The sound filled her head and her own heart began to beat in sympathetic time. She smiled and he laughed.
"How long I got, doc?"
She opened her eyes and looked down at him. "A lifetime," she said softly.
He motioned for the stethoscope and she pulled it off and handed it to him. He leaned up and she fitted herself beneath his arm, on her back. He pressed the chest piece to her flesh. His face intent.
"This isn't recreational for me, Filip," she said quietly not knowing why.
He moved the bell, listening, shushing her, then pressed it against her carotid.
"You probably need more recreation," he said, gently placing the stethoscope on the bedside table.
"You should be on an ambulance, saving lives," she told him. "You really seem suited to that kind of work, you know."
He nodded, squinting one eye and looking at her. "I got a job, darlin'."
She frowned. One-shoulder shrugged against his ribcage.
"Can I take you to breakfast?" he asked. "Drop you at work after?"
"Yes. Shower?"
He grinned. She pulled his head down, tracing the long thin scar on his left cheek from the corner of his mouth up to his ear with the tip of her tongue. With her hand on his back she felt his skin goose-flesh beneath her sensitive fingertips.
They filled the remainder of their first week together with long hours in her bed. Long rides on his bike. They went grocery shopping and stocked the kitchen. When she was alone she baked and when they were together they cooked. They didn't speak of the past, spin out the future, or probe at one another's secrets. They occupied the present fully and she was blossoming in his warmth and attention.
On Thursday evening, he convinced her to lay out quilts and bedrolls in the backyard and they lay side by side, staring up at the starry skies. Dimmed by the lights of Charming. Listening to the suburban neighborhood putting itself to bed. Dogs barking, cats on the prowl, a mother calling for a child. TVs blaring. Soon it all faded and he pulled her closer to him.
"Ya ever go camping?" he asked.
"Once, when I was a kid. My parents had a fight," she was quiet remembering the drunken shouting, "but I loved it. I wanted to disappear into the woods. You?"
"Not so much. Tented it in the army, of course. But not like auto camping, parks, and such. I like the sea."
"We should go. Sleep on the beach."
"Moonlight on the waves. Aye."
"The stars were so amazing, you know, when we went camping. I was awed. My father sat up late with me and he told me about the constellations. I wonder how he knew all that. We are so small."
"Aye. But our lives are so big."
They woke to the sound of a garbage truck in the street, dogs barking, and the smell of freshly watered lawns. In the house, she brewed a pot of coffee and they stood leaning against the counter, warm mugs in hand, looking at one another across an expanse that she knew was rapidly filling with hope and love.
"I want to tell you something," he paused, his expression was intent. "You're such a wee rabbit of a girl, tho, I dunno."
"And what does that mean, exactly?" She was laughing but feeling a prick of tentative anxiousness.
He put down the coffee and walked the few steps over to her, kissing her. "It's good, Tara. Stay calm. And that's what tha' means, aye? Your rabbit heart is just thumping crazy like and you've got that flight or fight thing going. But still." The look in his dark eyes was warm. "I do wanta tell you."
"Then tell me. Okay," she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, "I'm ready."
He stroked her face, pressing her hair back along her temple, kissing her eyelids. "Naw. I will but not right now."
She opened her eyes slowly, looking at him. It could be anything he wanted to tell her. She could not imagine. And yet, that was the problem, her imagination could run screaming wild into dark corners populated with monsters.
He was nodding. "I'm so sorry, luv, that someone busted your chops in the trust department."
She screwed her lips closed, she would not cry.
"Oh, darlin' girl." He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against him. "S'okay."
She wept into his shoulder.
In the driveway, he was straddling the bike, fastening the helmet. She still had her cup of coffee in hand and was barefoot. When the neighbor across the way came out to fetch his newspaper at the bottom of his driveway, she had to smile to herself at how domestic she and Chibs had become. Out in the early morning air, saying goodbye, wishing him a good day. And yet, the dichotomy of the leather, tattoos, and motorcycle with the neighbor in his robe and the Honda in his garage was not lost on her.
"Things are going to be busy for me this weekend." He was watching the neighbor studiously avoid watching him.
She nodded. "Alright."
"I can't promise, exactly, when I'll see you again, Tara. As soon as I can. You know that. And don't worry yer head. You can text me."
She laughed. "But will you text me back?"
"Come here," he told her. They shared a passionate kiss and both of them heard the neighbor slam his front door.
