She was quiet for a long uncomfortable minute that became five, then six. She could feel him waiting. Finally she sat back in her seat, turned to him, searching his face, his gaze, the set of his mouth.

"Please, do we have to talk about that now? Here?" She shook her head, indicating the tight quarters of the jet. "Please?"

"No." Simple. "We don't have to."

"We don't have to what?"

"Talk about it."

"That's not what I'm saying. We should talk. I wanted to talk before this all started. You told me it sounded boring. Dull. Whatever. You didn't want to. But now you want to."

"Thought you didn't want to do this here?"

"You're making me upset."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're making yourself upset."

"I'm not playing a game. I know we need to talk." She looked at him slantwise. "We haven't been doing a lot of that, have we?"

He looked out the window that was steadily blackening. "Nope. And I guess that's what this is. I should shut it and be happy." He sucked on the corner of his lower lip. "Get it while you can."

She sighed, exasperated. "Are we going to have a fight about this? Really?"

"This isn't fighting, luv." He looked back at her, then away again. "You'll know it when we're going a round."

"Fine. This isn't fighting. And you're upset and I'm upset now. And we're going to land and you're going to get on your bike and split. For the rest of the weekend. And you'll show back up in the middle of the night like that's cool and you just know I'm waiting and alone. And god forbid I should go into the ER and save some poor kid's life who drank himself into a coma because his girlfriend left him. I need to stay home like a good Old Lady. Even though I technically can't be your Old Lady because I once belonged to someone else, like chattel." She was hissing at him, striking at him with her words.

He was watching her, head tilted, brows drawn. "You done?"

She nodded and shrugged. Breathing in deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. He reached for her and she shook her head.

He laughed and put both hands firmly on the balls of her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. He was much stronger than her stiffened spine. He moved one hand up to the back of her head, holding her fast and tight until she gave in and relaxed. "You don't shake your head at me, baby girl. Hush now." He shushed her, mouth buried in her hair.

"Don't. This isn't funny," she told him. He let her rear back in his arms and look up at his face.

"I'm not laughing," he said, pulling her back to him. He kissed her. "I'm sorry. We'll hash it out later. Look, there's the seatbelt light now. We're almost home. I'll let you take a swing at me when we're back on the ground, aye?"

"I might do that."

"Super. And there's you sayin' you don't wanna be an Old Lady."

Back in Charming and he was gone. Reluctant, but still she could feel his dissatisfaction with their conversation on the plane. He told her he had no choice in the leaving. He had to check in. But that they would talk, talk until they heaved if necessary.

She settled in for a long night and a Sunday that would probably also prove to be empty and vast stretching into its own night as well. For the first time since she was a teen-aged girl tangled up in the throes of love, she didn't want to be alone. Didn't relish it, hold onto it selfishly, and wait impatiently for it. Without him, she was fiercely lonely. And she wondered if he was missing her just as much.

Or if, instead, he needed down time, guy time, or club time. She knew SAMCRO was a lifestyle; they even referred to it as the Life. Capitalized. And part of her, the part that had outgrown her immature love for Jax, was dismayed by that. But asking him to leave it and adopt a lifestyle that was centered on her, them, create another life would be asking more than he could give. If anyone was going to make a concession it would have to be her. And she wasn't going to.

He surprised her the next morning. She was in the kitchen debating eggs or cold cereal when she heard his Harley. Her heart stuttered to life. She was out the door just as he keyed off the bike and toed down the kickstand. As soon as he had swung his leg over she was in his arms. He bent lower and with an arm around her waist, coaxed her legs up and around his waist, holding tight, while he unbuckled his helmet with his free hand. She was kissing his neck, his ear, the long scar on his cheek. Finally, he had both arms around her, and their mouths met.

Slowly she lowered her legs, feet back on the ground. "I can't believe you're here," she told him.

He took her hand and led her back into the house.

"Breakfast?" she asked.

"Please," he answered quietly, dropping his body into one of the chairs. "I'm feckin done in. Damn, it's good to see you."

She furrowed her brows at this, looking at him closer. Exhaustion seemed to be etched into his skin, the sagging of his shoulders, the slow drumming of his fingers on the table top. He smelled of gun oil, smoke, and something that could be blood if she considered it long enough. She chose not to, turning away and beginning eggs, toast, and bacon.

She poured him a glass of orange juice, set out plates and utensils, absently folding a cloth napkin, studying him. "Should I even ask?"

He was leaning back in the chair. "No. No, you shouldn't."

"Okay." She continued to work, feeling herself relax knowing he was there. As she moved around the kitchen, he leaned over and unlaced his boots, shrugged out of the cut, and the brown leather beneath it. He definitely smelled of something he shouldn't have. He would need a shower.

She piled his plate with food and sat down across from him. "Not quite like our room service and champagne breakfast."

He laughed. "Nope. But it's perfect. Thanks."

"I'm sorry you're so wiped out, Fil."

"Me, too, doll. I just need some food, some sleep, and you wrapped around me."

She smiled. "The club fresh out of crow eaters, I guess?"

He looked up sharply, but she was teasing him, and he smirked at her. "Right. I don't hold to tha'. Why would I shag some nasty gash when I've got a queen on my arm?" He mock shuddered. "I don't have to prove anything to anyone." He was watching her, the expression in his eyes filling with laughter. "Now gettin' head, tha's different. Aye?"

She had been nodding slowly, listening to him. But then she narrowed her eyes. A small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Yes, of course! I am so glad you said that. There's this male nurse who's just been begging me to let him go down on me."

"Sure, luv. Female nurses, too. Orderlies, doctors." He cocked an eyebrow. "Paramedics?"

She blushed, studying her fingernails.

"There it is. A paramedic. Who is he?"

"You're ridiculous."

"I told you, you give yourself away, Tara. Your face."

She scowled at him, serious now. "I'm not seeing anyone and you know that."

"But there is this one toss-and-go driver who twists your knickers." He finished the last of the food on his plate.

"No." She stood and carried the dinnerware over to the sink, turning the hot water on, letting it play over her fingers.

"Nooooo. Oh. It's the other way round. I get that. What medic in his right mind wouldn't want to be slipping it to the young smokin' hot doctor?"

"Doubtful. You didn't seem to think scrubs were a sexy look." She stoppered the sink, squeezed in the soap, and watched the water fill.

"Girl, you'd be deadly in a burka."

She turned back to him, laughing. "I'm sure you have a bevy of women hanging around, too."

"A bevy. Absolutely. How many, exactly, is a bevy?"

"How many do you need, Filip?"

"I'd have to ask Tig for certain, but three? Four?"

"You go to Trager for sexual advice, huh." She turned off the faucet, wiping her hands dry on her hips. "So what? You're like the vanilla brother?"

He had to think about that for a moment and then he grew serious. "Call it what you like. I've had my fair share of freaky, but I'm more a one-woman-man kinda bloke, aye."

"Mmmm." She walked over to him and kissed him, until he lifted her onto his lap. "I know. I know that now. You're a romantic."

"No, Tara. I'm not. I have no right to this, to be here with you. I'm not a good man. I've done unspeakably bad things. Unforgivable things. I thought I was straight with all that. But this, whatever this is, it's screwing with me. Binding me up inside. I told you it's complicated."

She was nodding, cheek to cheek with him. "And you don't like complicated things. Then why don't we uncomplicate it? Make it simple?"

"How's that then?"

"Time for that talk?"

He scrubbed both hands over his face, shaking his head. "Yeah. It is. Past." He staggered to his feet with her in his arms. "But I gotta get some shut eye first, Tara."

"Alright. I slept like hell without you. Let's go to bed, lover."