Yay! We're now in double digits. Let's hope we make it to triple, because at the rate I'm going, I can totally see that happening. I've taken a few liberties with the events of this chapter – kind of stole Tara's spotlight a little (you'll see what I mean) – but I can honestly say I had a lot of fun writing it. Quick shout out to sillygabby for her offer to help me out on some of the stuff I get stuck with – much appreciated, as are your reviews. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks again for reading!

Series Content Warning: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor.

JAX (ii)

"Engine troubles?"

Alice stared at the ambulance parked in the garage, her 15k offering clutched in the bag in her hand.

"IQ troubles," Tig replied, jerking his thumb towards Half-Sack, who leaned back sheepishly against the vehicle.

He hadn't received the memo about Frankie's little contribution to their gun fund, opting to 'think outside the box', boosting the unattended vehicle during a towing job. Before Juice could mention anything about his friend's offer, the prospect had taken off across the street, leaving his patched accomplice to make a decision: either go after him and stop him from making a stupid mistake, or allow him to go ahead with the idiotic scheme, if only to give the club comedic ammunition to use against someone else for once. He chose the latter.

"Hey, maybe you can take it off our hands," Tig suggested.

"What the hell do I want with an ambulance?"

"I dunno, in case you have to go undercover during one o' your jobs or something."

She eyed him with a cocked eyebrow, catching a slightly different scenario unfolding behind his eyes.

"You know that nurses don't actually dress like that, right?"

The others chuckled.

She tossed him the bag, which he passed on to Clay. The club president took a quick look inside, then gave her a nod.

"We'll have it back to you as soon as we can," Tig assured her, but she didn't look too worried. There was no real hurry.

The men went their separate ways as they stepped outside, with Clay, Jax and Tig heading out towards their bikes and the others moving off towards the clubhouse. Alice followed the former group, falling in beside the Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Meeting's tonight?"

"Yeah, doll."

She nodded and he glanced over at her. She smiled.

"You look after yourself, alright."

Caught by the sentiment – the rare moment of what felt like genuine feeling from her – he stopped to pull her into a kiss, ignoring the looks he knew they were getting from the two club leaders. Alice wrapped her arms around his neck and he felt her smile against his lips. He had forgotten this feeling – what it was like to have a woman waiting for him, worrying about him. He had to admit he kind of missed it.

Gemma pulled up beside the group in her car as they parted, eyeing the enamored pair with a dubious expression. She turned to Jax.

"Hey, I've been calling you on the cell," she told him, with the light tone of a scolding mother, "They're taking Abel out of the incubation chamber."

Realizing what was going on, Alice clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, congrats, man!"

He smiled back at her. "Thanks."

Gemma threw her a look behind her back, but her son was quick to catch it, his expression in return asking her to go easy. He wasn't quite sure what it was about Frankie that his mother didn't like, considering she didn't know a whole lot about what the woman did for a living. Maybe it was simply having another woman on the scene helping to look out for them. Maybe she was just testing the girl's mettle. Or maybe she resented Frankie for being able to help them out with problems they just couldn't bring to her; dangerous club business, stuff like that. He knew Clay told her a lot more than what any other member would ever divulge to their Old Lady; that a lot of the time she landed knee deep in some of their shit without their intention – yet she could never be involved at the level she wanted to be; helping to make the decisions for the good of the club. At the end of the day, she was Clay's Old Lady and knew she had to remember her place. Yet here was this new woman, hands all over her Tigger, always showing up and hanging around like she was one of them. She didn't like it one bit. If only she knew how many holes Frankie had dug them all out of.

Jax moved off towards his bike, preparing to follow his mother out to the hospital, while Clay stepped forward for a private moment with his wife. Sensing their need for space, Alice hung back and watched Tig mount his own ride.

"You workin' tonight?" he asked her as he did up his helmet.

"Yeah," she smiled, "Why? Were you thinking of dropping by afterwards?"

"Yeah, thought I'd give you a tip for your contribution."

"Look, I'll tell you what I told the last guy. I don't take dick as payment."

He chuckled at her and she smiled.

"Alright, be safe, yeah?" she told him, stepping back as Clay got on the bike next to his.

"Yeah, yeah. No worries, Mom."

"Hey, what did I say about pet names?"

Tig laughed again and she watched them peel out of the lot and into the night, hesitating before she moved back towards her own awaiting vehicle. She knew she had a job waiting for her, but she was having one of her good days; what she liked to think of as the lull between the wave of mania and the crash of depression. She always felt like being in good company when she was in this rare mood, and with Tig out on the road, that left her with Juice in the clubhouse. Still, she had a job to do. She didn't have time for feel-good frivolities.

The meet-up with their Irish contact quickly went south. It seemed they had underestimated how low their Mayan friends would stoop in their new alliance with the Nords. As Clay and Tig sat inside the designated Irish bar with their latest True IRA business associate – a man by the name of Cameron Hayes – two Mayans stepped through the doors looking to crash the party. Thanks to Tig's fast thinking, he and Clay walked away unscathed; however the same could not be said for their contact. He was in a bad way when they called Jax and told him to bring the others down.

The ambulance, as it turned out, came in handy transporting the injured Irishman back to their clubhouse against the better judgement of the Sons, who could see that he was in dire need of a hospital. It was at Cameron's request – as a man wanted in multiple countries for acts of violence and terrorism – that he not be left at the mercy of legitimate medical staff. So instead they called in the Scotsman. One look at the positioning of one of the bullet-holes was all it took for Chibs to know that this one was out of his hands.

"This one's beyond me, Jackie boy," he said, when they had pulled back into the seclusion of the garage. "We're goin' to need surgical equipment to yank those slugs out and patch 'im up."

"Like what?" Tig asked, standing by the doorway.

"Scalpels, clamps, sutures, needles. All that kind o' shit."

"And who do we know with medical experience and their own vast collection of surgical equipment?" Jax asked, smiling as he threw a look to Tig.

Chibs looked to his VP, eyes pleading that he not call her in, knowing, yet again, that she was the only one who could get them out of this.

Jax looked to Tig again.

"Get her on the phone."

Tig popped her on speakerphone the moment she answered, so Chibs could relay the medical situation to her.

"Alright, lass. We got us a bloody problem here, quite literally. Could use your assistance."

"I thought you'd never ask, Chibby boy," she replied, her tone only slightly teasing, "What do you need?"

"Look, we know you're busy," Jax added, "But we could really use you at the club house."

"Yeah, sure. I mean, it's not like you already owe me or anything," she joked good-naturedly. Jax smirked. "You might as well have me on speed dial at this point. Hang on."

There was a brief pause, what they could have sworn sounded like a fist slamming into someone's face, then she came back on the line sounding ever-so-slightly winded from the exertion.

"Yeah, no problem."

The boys grinned at each other.

"We're going to need some tools," Chibs went on.

"Uh-huh. Like what?"

"Scalpels?"

"Please, I'm pretty sure she keeps a scalpel in her handbag at all times. Right next to her tampons," Tig joked.

"Got it. What else?"

"Clamps."

"The surgical kind, not the nipple kind," Tig told her.

"Thanks for clearing that up. That would have been a really awkward mistake," she replied dryly. Listening in from beside the wounded Irishman, Juice chuckled.

"Gauze, and plenty of it. Guy's got a bullet hole in his leg. May have hit an artery."

"Alright. I'll grab whatever else I think we'll need and I'll meet you there in twenty."

"Can't get here any faster on that beast o' yours?"

"Sorry, Scot. Don't need to give Hale an excuse to pull me over, now do I?"

She made a fair point, even if she was pretty sure she could sweet talk her way out of trouble with the young officer.

She arrived fifteen minutes later, slinking through the clubhouse doors with a pack of medical supplies and a calm demeanor. Juice met her by the bar. They had already transported Hayes into the Chapel, laying down a plastic sheet to protect the carved, redwood table and its wooden reaper that had been witness to so many club decisions over the past decades.

"Where's he at?" she asked her friend.

"Chapel." He stood awkwardly by the bar and she just stared, waiting.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go Nurse Ortiz."

"What?"

"You're going to help me."

"I am?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

She tossed him the pack.

She caught Tig leaving the room as they approached and hung back, searching his face to make sure he was okay. They hadn't exactly told her what had gone down, but it didn't take a genius to make a guess; either the meeting had gone sour, or some unexpected guests had shown up.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm as she stopped beside him. He was in a bit of a trance.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm good, doll," he assured her, eyes coming back into focus as he looked up at her. He wasn't very convincing. Must have been a close call. "You need any help?" he asked her.

"I got Nurse Juicy scrubbin' up," she joked, happy to draw a small smile out of him. "Go get a drink or something. I've got this."

He gazed at her a moment, eyes searching hers as if he were trying to figure something out. "You're too good to me, you know that."

"I know."

She smirked and accepted a quick kiss, then stepped into the Chapel, avoiding the way Juice was looking at her after witnessing the entire exchange.

"Alright, what have we got?" she asked Chibs.

"One Irishman with a fucked up arse," he replied. They had managed to cut open the man's jeans along the back of his thigh and the Scotsman was in the process of splashing alcohol over the bullet wounds to clear away some of the blood and clean them out.

"Who's this?" Cameron asked, glancing over his shoulder at her, his skin pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Your new doctor," Chibs informed him.

"Aye, and what training have you had?" he asked, as if he had asked the same question of Chibs. She almost laughed at the idea of him turning her away for lack of credentials.

"Ten years as a medic in the US Marines," she replied as she slipped on a pair of latex gloves. "Most of it putting people back together."

Hayes stared at her a moment then looked to Chibs. "Interesting company you lot keep."

"Trust me, you don't know the half of it."

"Juice," she ordered, holding out a pair of gloves to him. "Today you're gonna learn, kid," she grinned. He didn't seem quite as eager. He glanced down at the man's bleeding wounds, hesitated, and then accepted the gloves. "Pass me the clamps, will you?"

He opened her bag of supplies, impressed by the collection she kept, and dug out the requested item.

"Have you tried finding the bullets yet?" she asked Chibs.

"With what? Me fingers?"

She shrugged. "You were a medic on the field, right?"

He glared at her and threw Juice a look.

"Any exit wounds?"

"One."

"Well, that's some good news," she told the man beneath her.

"Is it?" he asked, not sounding at all like he agreed, voice strained against the pain. Juice opened the bottle of whiskey they had on hand and went to pass it to him, but Frankie caught him by the arm. He and the Scotsman threw her a questioning look.

"Thins the blood," she told them. "Do you want him to bleed out?"

Juice set the bottle back down, but not before Chibs reached out at grabbed it, taking a swig himself.

"Pass it here," Hayes told him.

"Doc says no."

"She what?" He looked back over his shoulder.

"Look, I know it's probably hard for you to hear that, but-"

"She makin' a racist joke?"

Frankie glanced at Chibs, mouth open to protest, then bit back her retort. The last thing they needed was to offend their already-wounded IRA soldier. Who knew what kind of hell that could bring down on them or their business deal.

"No," she defended, looking at Juice and giving an amused-but-apologetic shrug in response to the unimpressed look he threw her, "I meant because of the amount of pain you must be in." Juice just shook his head at her. "Now, I'm going to apologize in advance for this, because it's going to hurt like a bitch, and I didn't have any painkillers on hand."

"Aye, you wouldn't, would ya?" Chibs commented. It was Frankie's turn to throw him a look, but there was a smile beneath, sarcastic though it might have been.

She looked down at the positioning of the bullet holes to see what she was working with, not liking the look of the top one. Though it wasn't bleeding much at that moment, Chibs was right; it looked as if it were sitting right on top of an artery. The bullet was probably the only thing plugging the flow. She went to work on the hole under it first, finding the bullet easily – it wasn't lodged too deep inside. Yanking it out, Hayes cried out in pain.

"You know, a bit of music might be good right about now," Frankie suggested, bullet clutched between the clamps as she looked over at the two bikers.

"No," was their resounding response, all too familiar with what happened when her work came together with a soundtrack.

"Actually," they heard Hayes mutter weakly beneath her, "Bit o' music'd be nice."

Frankie grinned.

"Can't promise any U2," she joked. "I got wireless speakers in the bag," she told Juice, and he went back over to dig around for them, "iPod should be in the front pocket. Just click the next song. Playlist is lined up."

"Playlist?" he asked, glancing down at the small black device in his hands. He spotted the name of it and threw her an incredulous look.

"Unrelated," she assured him, but he didn't seem convinced. He sat the speakers down and set the system up, stepping back as he pressed the play button, not taking any notice of the track.

Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun filled the room, loud enough to guarantee it would be heard outside. Groans sounded from each of the men.

"Please turn it off," Hayes begged, voice strained.

"I don't even want to know," Juice told her as she shook with laughter. He shook his head. As he moved to change the song, Tig opened the door looking like his night had just been made.

"You girls having fun in here?" he asked, grinning. Chibs and Juice each threw him a look, but it only made Frankie laugh harder as she patched up the first two bullet holes. Juice pressed the skip button and Queen's Don't Stop Me Now came on, an apparently more acceptable choice if the lack of complaints were anything to go by.

"How we going in here, anyways?" Tig asked, stepping towards her, craning his neck for a look over her shoulder. He watched her as she worked the suture through the Irishman's skin, impressed by her steady hands.

"Two outta three ain't bad," replied their doc, throwing him a smile over her shoulder. Tig glanced over at Chibs, who had since taken a seat to watch her work, and the man just shrugged, arms folded. She wasn't doing too badly. "It's this last one that's got me concerned." She attempted to flick her hair out of her face, but it spilled back down again, restricting her view. Tig reached out and tucked it back behind her ear, eyes never leaving the sutures. Juice watched the two then glanced at Chibs, who had caught his expression. He quickly looked away, embarrassed to have his obvious bitterness witnessed by a fellow brother.

"What's the problem?" Tig asked her.

"That's what we're gonna find out."

Setting the first bullet down on table, she allowed Hayes a little breather before sticking the clamps into the third and final hole. She dug around a little, her expression full of concentration as she waited to strike the solid metal of the slug. Nothing.

"What's the matter?" Chibs asked her.

"Can't find the little fucker," she replied, changing her angle. She dug a little deeper, drawing a pained grunt from the Irishman with each movement. He finally bit down on his fingers, fighting to remain conscious against the overwhelming pain. Suddenly, her expression lit up. She ushered Juice over just in case, and was glad she did. The second she dragged the bullet out, blood began to spurt out like a great, red fountain. Hayes screamed bloody murder.

"Sorry for the high school flashbacks, Juicy," Frankie said, quickly grabbing his hand, "But I'm really going to need you to stick your fingers in there."

He threw her disgusted look – it seemed the bloodier and more chaotic the situation, the more inappropriate her humor became – then proceeded to gag as he felt his fingers engulfed by the wet, warmth of the Irishman's ass. Tig was busy laughing at her comment, not to mention the predicament Juice now found himself in, and it was then that Jax, Gemma and Clay burst in, concerned by the screams and thinking the worst.

"Oh my god," Gemma cringed. She glanced up from Juice's occupied hand to meet his gaze and he gave a sheepish shrug, still fighting to not throw up. Jax could only frown at what he was seeing.

"What the hell's going on in here?" Clay demanded, the music playing over the background – now Queen's I Want to Break Free – only adding to bizarreness of the scene in front of him. He looked over at Chibs. The Scotsman cocked an eyebrow.

"I think she's actually got it under control," he admitted, and when Clay turned to his Sergeant, Tig just nodded his assent, a smile still on his lips.

"Jesus Christ," the club presidents muttered in unison. Clay exchanged a look with his wife and the pair were quick to exit the room, glad to leave the bloody scene behind them.

"Alright, hold it there," Frankie ordered her makeshift-nurse, whose cringe only deepened. Curious about her actual medical abilities, Jax stepped closer, watching her carefully, brow still creased.

"Really?" Juice asked, sounding as if he'd rather be doing anything but that.

They watched as she took some gauze from her kit and took up her position by the patient's side once more.

"Okay, on three, pull out," she told him, and as he looked up to meet her gaze, he could see the humor dancing behind her eyes once more. He couldn't believe she could find anything funny about this situation. "Alright. One. Two. Three."

He pulled his hand away, releasing the pressure on the dark red stream, sending it squirting out once more. The guys all took an unconscious step back, but craned their necks to watch as she jammed the gauze into the wound with the clamps, pushing it until it was all the way in. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, managing to leave a streak of blood across her skin, then reached down to pick up another suture, keeping the wound clamped shut with her other hand.

"Holy shit!" Juice exclaimed, sounding genuinely impressed despite his pale complexion and the nausea that had settled in his stomach. The blood had completely stopped.

Tig grinned, taking hold of her shoulders. "Beautiful work." He let go as she got to work on sewing up the last hole. Even Chibs looked a little impressed, not bothering to hide his own little smile.

"How we doing over there, Paddy?" she asked her patient, but there was no reply. Slightly concerned, she stepped back to look over at his face, seeing it pressed flat against the table. "He out?" she asked Juice, who confirmed this with a nod after a quick check of his own.

"I think he went out right after you yanked the slug," Chibs told her, and the nod he gave her then was not only his own confirmation, but one of slight respect. She smiled to herself as she finished up.

"He's gonna need meds," she said, glancing around, unsure where they would go about getting these. "Antibiotics for sure, maybe some painkillers. He could still develop sepsis after all that, even if I do keep my tools sterilized."

"What for?" Tig asked, wondering if it wouldn't add to her victims' suffering if they were clotted with the bits of her previous work. She frowned at him as though offended.

"Because I'm a fucking professional," she replied, and he cocked an eyebrow. Couldn't argue there, even if her method was more 'back-alley butcher' than 'certified surgeon'.

Chibs looked over at Jax, who seemed to be already thinking along the same lines. "Do you think yer doctor lady can get them meds for us?" he asked. Jax nodded.

"I'll go ask," he replied, "Shouldn't be a problem."

With that he left the room, leaving the others to clean up.

"Can I go wash my hands and stuff now?" Juice asked, grimacing down at the mess on his skin and clothes.

"Yeah, sure," Frankie smiled, her voice softening when she noticed the state he was in. "Come here a sec, though."

He stepped over, expression uncertain, as if he thought she was about make him stick his fingers somewhere else. Instead, she leant forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, holding her hands away from him to avoid any cross-contamination. His expression brightened dramatically, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he smiled.

"You did good, Juicy."

He was still smiling as he left the room.

"Aw, that was touching," Tig teased, with a hard glint in his eye. He moved towards the Irishman's head and looked down into his face, as if expecting him to wake up at any moment.

"Other charters on their way?" Chibs asked him.

"Yeah. Should be here by the afternoon."

Frankie checked her watch. It had only been about an hour, but it felt like so much longer. She was exhausted, and she still had her other job to get back to.

"You good?" Tig asked her, noticing her tired expression, glancing up at the streak of blood across her forehead.

She sighed. "Yeah. I might go take a shower. Wake myself up a little bit."

"I can probably help with that."

She chuckled and glanced over at Chibs, who still had his arms folded as he sat waiting for the Irishman to regain consciousness. He gave a very subtle shake of his head, but remained silent about their open flirting.

"Alright." She placed her implements down and sighed, stripping off the bloody gloves and tossing them into the trash. "You right to watch him?" she asked the Scot.

"Yeah, lass. Thanks for the help."

Knowing that this was likely as much recognition as she was going to receive from the man for now, she smiled to herself and stepped outside as Tig held the door open for her.

"How is he?" Clay asked from over by the bar. Gemma looked over from behind it, her expression difficult to read. She seemed caught between her usual distaste for the woman, and gratitude for her help.

"It might be the first time anyone's ever said this, but the Irishman's stable. He's out at the moment, but he should be fine. Jax is tracking down some meds for him. Someone should probably keep an eye on him while he heals, too. Sepsis can be sneaky like that."

Clay and Gemma exchanged looks.

"We could keep him up at the cabin," he suggested, and she nodded.

"Maybe Piney can stay with him. Place'll look like a goddamn hospice."

Clay chuckled at that as he set down his drink.

"Thanks for your help," he told Frankie, and even Gemma managed a nod. "I'll be sure to add a little extra to what we owe you, for your services."

Frankie smiled and gave a quick nod of her approval before moving off towards the dorms with Tig close behind. Clay shot his Sergeant a look and the man just shrugged, adding in a wolfish grin that made Gemma roll her eyes.

Alice turned back to look at him, her expression thoughtful.

"So when Chibs was saying all charters," she began. He glanced at her looking unimpressed, already knowing where she was going with that.

"Don't even go there, babe," he warned her, and she laughed.

She was lying naked on the bed, spread out and enjoying the stretch in her tired muscles as she waited for Tig to return from the bathroom. Their little romp in the shower hadn't done much in the way of waking her up; the warmth of the water and sweet ache between her legs only tiring her more. The relative comfort of the bed beneath her wasn't helping either, and just as she closed her eyes and began to doze, allowing herself to forget for a moment the man still tied helplessly to her chair, her burner began to vibrate. Groaning, she rolled to her stomach and reached over to grab it.

JAX.

She wondered if he'd had problems getting the meds. If that was the case, she knew she could probably pull a few strings. The guy who supplied her Etorphine, the drug she used to knock out her victims, probably had access the kinds of stuff they needed.

"Hey," she answered.

"Hey." She knew immediately that something was wrong. His voice was hushed and without its usual playful tone. "You done with the Irishman?"

"Uh, yeah. He's still unconscious. Chibs is watching over him. What's up?"

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and she could feel him debating whether or not to even tell her – there was still time to hang up, pretend he had never even dialed.

"You might be right about that speed dial thing," he joked, though his voice was still without humor. "I got a job for you. I'll text you the address. But I'd appreciate it if you don't tell anyone where you're going. Don't let them know that I called."

She frowned, but nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there as soon as I can." She glanced up as the bathroom door opened, smiling as Tig stepped out naked. He threw her a questioning look as he glanced at the phone and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring shake of the head. Nothing to worry about.

"Also, you might want to bring your car for this one."

"On it. I'll be there soon. Bye."

Tig took a seat on the bed beside her, fingers playing with her hair as his eyes moved over her body.

"'Nother job," she told him as she hung up.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

He looked so disappointed by that, and she couldn't help but chuckle, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"I thought we already pulled you away from one."

"Such is the life of the gun-for-hire," she told him, gazing at him a moment before planting a kiss on his lips. She made to turn away to begin collecting her clothes, but he caught her by the hand and dragged her back for a much deeper kiss, as if trying to convince her to stay. Feeling that familiar throb start up between her legs once more, she knew she was in trouble.

"Just stay a little while longer," he suggested, running his fingers down between her breasts, down over her sensitive scar, sneaking down between her lips. He began stroking her softly, smirking at the way her cheeks flushed before he slipped a finger inside her. She buckled a little against him, groaning as she let her head fall forward to press against him chest. She felt his chest rumble with dark laughter.

"Oh, fuck. No." She regained her composure, remembering Jax was in trouble, and pushed herself back away from him. He stared at her with his shit-eating grin and she watched as he sucked his finger clean, tensing her jaw to keep another moan from slipping out. "You're gonna fucking get it," she warned him.

"It's what I'm hoping, sweetheart," he countered.

She stared at him for a moment, body battling logic as she debated staying once again, then shook herself out of it.

"No, I have to go," she told herself, earning another chuckle from him. He collapsed back onto the bed, hands resting behind his head as he watched her get dressed.

"It's probably going to get real busy around here, later on. All the other charters coming down."

"That to do with the attack tonight?"

He nodded.

"Mayans?"

"Yeah."

"Should I be worried?"

He glanced up from her bare ass to meet her gaze as she slipped her t-shirt over her head. He thought it over for a moment. If anyone had anything to worry about it was Clay. The hit had obviously been intended for the president – cutting the head off the snake, so to speak – but as Clay's right-hand man, it also put him directly in the firing line. When it came right down to it, he was basically the man's human shield.

"Nah, doll," he lied, seeing the worry creep into her eyes after his long pause. He knew she was smarter than to believe him, but she didn't argue, instead going back getting dressed. "Come by tonight," he offered

"Another party?" she guessed.

"Bigger than last time, that's for sure."

"Nice."

He smiled at her enthusiasm. She approached him by the side of the bed, now fully clothed, and leaned down over him, her hair spilling down to tickle his cheek. He ran his fingers through it and fought the urge to pull her on top of him. She gently smacked his hand away as they kissed, knowing exactly what he was thinking, and felt him chuckle against her lips.

"I'll see you soon," she promised, and just like that she was gone, leaving a quiet emptiness in her place.

The house was average-looking, set on a stretch of middle-class suburban street. The area wasn't as nice as the one she lived in, but she had never been one to judge. A comfortable home was always more welcoming than an expensive one. Jax met her by the front door, closing it behind him as he ran a hand back through his hair, looking stressed.

"Thanks for comin' so fast," he told her.

"What have we got?"

"Look, before we go in, there are a few things I need to explain," he said. She paused, listening carefully. "This house belongs to an old girlfriend of mine. Tara. She's inside right now freaking out."

Frankie frowned but didn't interrupt.

"You remember that ATF agent you told us about? Kohn?"

She nodded and Jax stared at her a moment. Her eyes went wide as she put two-and-two together. He was glad for that.

"Oh shit. So she's the one who took out the restraining order."

"Yeah. He's been here for her all along. She met the guy in Chicago when she was working there. Abusive piece of shit wouldn't leave her alone when she tried to call things off." The amount of venom in Jax's voice as he said this give Frankie a clear impression of how he still felt about the woman in question. She wondered then what scene awaited her behind that door.

"He was here tonight," he went on, watching as her brows pulled together, "He tried to force himself on her. She shot him." He paused, expecting a reaction, but Frankie gazed at him calmly, waiting for him to finish. "He was still alive when I got here."

He didn't need to say anymore. She could tell from the angry, nervous energy about him, the way his jaw continued to tense even as he finished talking, that he had taken things into his own hands.

"I take it I'm just here for the clean-up?"

He nodded.

"Look, I'm sorry to keep dragging you into this shit. We already pulled you away from your business tonight. You don't owe us any favors."

She just smiled and shook her head. "I'm capable of saying 'no', Jax. I'm-"

"Happy to help?" he finished for her, and they exchanged smiles.

"Alright, you lead the way." She gestured towards the door and he held it open for her. An attractive young woman, around the same age as her and Jax, was seated on one of the couches in the living room, her expression worried and distant. She looked up startled when she heard the door close. Seeing a new face, she looked to Jax for an explanation.

"This is Frankie," he told her, "She's a friend of the club. Helped us out with a lotta shit." This didn't seem to calm her in any way; if anything, the sudden glint of tears in her eyes had Jax moving to her side. He crouched down in front of her, taking her gently by the shoulder as he looked at her. "Look, she's here to help. I trust her." He looked over at her pointedly, a silent exchange of gratitude, then turned back to Tara.

"You don't have to hang around," Frankie assured them, knowing in these situations it was often better for the victims to give themselves some space from the place of the incident. She hadn't had to deal with the fallout of many situations before – emotional comfort wasn't exactly part of her repertoire – but she'd had enough experience to know the right thing to say. Tara didn't exactly look comfortable with the idea of leaving her place in the hands of a stranger, but Jax was already nodding.

"I'll show you were he is," he said, getting to his feet. He led her down a hallway towards the main bedroom at the end, pushing the half-open door wide. Frankie glanced down at the dead man on the bathroom floor, eyes moving around from the blood splatter on the walls to the pool of blood beneath his head. None of it seemed to bother her. After a moment, she gave a nod.

"Okay. This won't take too long. You want anything in particular for him?"

"Just get rid of him," he replied, his voice a little sharper than he had intended. His expression softened as he looked at her, and he clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks again."

She nodded and watched him go, then remembering called, "The Irishman still needs those meds, by the way."

Jax turned back for a moment.

"We'll get right on it. Might take her mind of things for a little while."

Frankie nodded and focused her attention back on the job. She spotted the speakers atop Tara's dresser and smiled to herself. It wasn't long before Phil Collins' In the Air Tonight was playing softly through the room.

First thing was moving the body. She pulled a tarp from her trunk and wrapped him up inside, grabbing what she needed for the clean-up before placing him inside the car, then she set to work scrubbing. By the time she was done, the room was spotless. She cracked open a window to air out some of the bleach smell, and sprayed her favorite choice of air freshener – a light, citrusy scent that she found covered the chemical smell best. Satisfied that there was no sign any altercation had ever occurred, she grabbed her iPod, grabbed the remainder of her gear, and stepped outside, waiting for the click of the front lock behind her.

She slipped back inside her Dodge and paused a moment, readying herself for the next part of the journey. It was on to the junkyard.

By the time she had also taken care of her waiting cargo, it was almost morning. In an impulsive decision, she decided to head back to the clubhouse. She gave Gemma a nod of greeting as the woman stuck her head out from the kitchen, where she and some of the other club women were busy preparing things for the arrival of the other charters. For a moment the older woman seemed troubled, then she gave a curt nod and disappeared once more.

Alice then decided to quickly check in on the Irishman, finding Chibs asleep at the table. He stirred as he heard the door close.

"Hope you're not taking those recreationally," she told him, nodding to the pill bottles by his head, noting that Jax had already been through.

"Very funny," he replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He reached across for the bottle of whiskey and took a swig as he leaned back in his seat.

"He been awake yet?" she asked.

"Yeah. In and out. Looks like he'll probably pull through. Guess that's thanks to you."

She held his gaze for a moment and smirked. "Guess so. Tig still around?"

"Haven't heard him leave."

"Thanks."

She headed back towards the dorm they had been using, and was about to open the door when she heard one open a few rooms down behind her. Jax stuck his head out, glancing the other way before spotting her. He was dressed now in white boxers and a white t-shirt, a big difference to the jeans and leather she was used to. It made him look more relaxed, and when he closed his door behind him, she realized he must have brought Tara back with him. Relaxed indeed.

He gave his usual nod of greeting as he came towards her, voice soft as he spoke.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah. He didn't give me much trouble," she replied, drawing a gentle snort from him. "It'll be like he was never there."

Jax nodded. "Thank-you. I'll make sure you're compensated for that. Hope it didn't lose you any business."

"Nah. Work can always wait."

"No one escapes that chair, huh?" he smirked.

"Not yet."

They shared a laugh and he threw her one more smile before turning back to his dorm. She gazed at him a moment, then stuck out her hand.

"Hey, Jax?"

He turned back upon hearing her use his first name for once, glancing down at the offered appendage with some confusion.

"Alice."

His brows quirked together as he realized what this was, and he took her hand without any further hesitation.

"Glad to have you on board, Al," he smiled.

She was glad to find Tig still asleep on the bed when she slipped into the room, stripping off her boots, jeans and jacket and she slid under the covers with him. He smiled in his sleep and draped an arm around her, pulling her back against her. Then he began to kiss along her neck, hand slipping down over her breast as she felt him harden behind her.

"Hey?"

He opened his eyes as she turned over to face him, electric blue eyes searching hers carefully in the growing morning light.

"Can we just- Can we stay like this a while?" she asked, resting her head on his chest as he rolled to his back. His arm moved back around her, fingers brushing gently along her arm as he stared at her with concern.

"Yeah, of course. What's the matter?"

She wouldn't meet his gaze for a moment, and when she finally did, he recognized that same haunted look that met him in the mirror every morning. Needing no further answers, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, drawing her in closer as she closed her eyes. It was such a comfortable sensation having her against him like that; it wasn't long before he too had drifted off, thoughts of his growing feelings for her leading him away from the usual nightmares and into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.