In an ocean of noise I first heard your voice

Now who here among us still believes in choice? Not I

No way of knowing what any man will do

An ocean of violence between me and you

You've got your reasons and me, I've got mine

But all the reasons I gave were just lies to buy myself some time

Ocean of Noise – Arcade Fire

"You brought me fucking flowers?"

Yeah. That response was definitely why Mattie lingered in the gift shop for nearly twenty minutes before deciding upon an understated bouquet of white lilies.

"It was either these or a giant teddy bear holding a box of chocolates and a great big balloon telling you to get well. Your call." Mattie replied, tentatively stepping further into Gemma's room.

Hospitals were not one of her favorite places. Well, more specifically, St. Thomas was not Mattie's favorite place. Nearly every great tragedy of her twenty-eight years had ended there- Thomas, JT, her unborn baby and Book all passed within its walls- and the moment she walked inside, anxiety banded around her shoulders. Mattie wanted to run, wanted to run really badly. But she wouldn't, because she was done with all that shit. Because even though Gemma would never admit it, she wanted her loved ones to be there for her, just like she was for all of them.

For the woman who raised her, Mattie would brave St. Thomas, even if the hospital made her nauseous. Even if she couldn't remember what happened the night before. After her fight, after Bobby came home, there was just a big empty space roaming around in her brain. Shit, Mattie didn't even know how the fuck she got home. Waking up in her own bed wearing the same dress she'd walked out the door in hours before… it was not a pleasant experience. Her head was throbbing, her right hand was so swollen she couldn't open a bottle of Advil, and to cap it all off, her phone was missing. Mattie was batting a fucking thousand.

And then Jax had called her rarely used prepaid, telling her to get her ass to the hospital.

So yeah, it'd been just about the perfect day so far. Which was why Gemma's irritated reaction to Mattie's flowers didn't bother her in the least.

"Okay, smart ass." Gemma raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should see the good doctor about your hand, Sugar Ray Leonard."

"I'm fine." Mattie said, not fooled by Gem's attempt to steer the conversation away from herself. "Jax said that your Caddy was totaled."

"Don't give me that look, sweetheart. I'm going to be okay. Just… shaken up by the ordeal, I guess. Nothing that merits that little fidgety thing you do when you're nervous."

Mattie frowned. Her anxiety usually didn't manifest itself physically, but shit, between the hospital and the hangover, Gemma and the accident, there wasn't anything she could do to stop fumbling with her necklace. It was something Mattie almost always wore, a long silver chain with one of her father's favorite rings hanging off it, except usually it wasn't tangled up in her fingers.

Because as cool as Gemma was playing the situation, there was something seriously wrong. Mattie could feel the strange energy of the room. The secret, poignant gazes between Tara and Gemma. Gemma's injuries- Mattie had never seen airbags do damage like that before. And then there was something odd, almost timid about her. Something that Mattie had never experienced before, not in conjunction with the Queen, at least.

Gemma was regal. Powerful. The woman sitting on the hospital bed was not. She was defeated. Quiet. Almost… damaged.

Which Mattie would've liked to attribute to St. Thomas, the hospital stealing Gemma's strong nature, but at the same time, she couldn't. There was something serious, something deeper and darker going on, which Mattie was not privy to.

"I want Gemma on bed rest for a few days," Tara walked into the exam room, wielding a clipboard full of paperwork, "I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind taking control of the office at TM for a while, so that's one less thing that she has to worry about."

"Oh, please, talk about me like I'm not right here." Gemma clucked. "And no promises, Doc. I get restless pretty easy."

Mattie grinned. That was more like Gemma. "I'll be in the office bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Thanks." Tara replied. "I've got to get Gemma in for some more x-rays, so-"

"I'll get going." Mattie put her hand on top of Gem's. "I love you, okay?"

"You tryin' to make me cry, baby girl?" She teased. "Love you, too. Now get outta here."

Mattie walked back into the waiting room, which was empty besides Neeta and Abel. The Sons were out conducting business- the was the 'official' line she'd gotten from Jax- probably at Gemma's behest. Though Mattie couldn't deny that she really would've liked it if Tig was around. They'd missed each other, or so said Clay when Mattie first arrived at St. Thomas. That's what happened when she got so drunk that she woke at about half past one- not that she spouted that out to Clay while passing him in the hallway.

The President had also left shortly after seeing his wife, so the silence in the small space was completely overwhelming. Mattie had planned on sticking around for a bit, in case the guys came back, but shit, she couldn't deal with the hospital much longer.

After running her hand over Abel's soft blonde hair and murmuring a quick goodbye to Neeta, Mattie headed towards the elevator. What she wouldn't do to see a pack of leather clad bikers making their way down the hall…

Instead, she just rode downstairs, taking the long way out the parking lot, since she'd been forced to take a spot about a thousand miles away from the adult examination rooms anyway. St. Thomas was such a small hospital that it was usually filled to the brim on the weekend, when visiting hours were extended until ten PM instead of the usual eight o'clock.

The fact that she knew such a thing was definitely a sign she'd spent way too much time there.

Mattie approached her Mercedes, fiddling around in her purse for her keys. Tig had suggested that she trade the car in for something not as- what was his exact wording?- asshole-y. She had to admit that the automobile looked severely out of place parked outside TM. But his other proposal, that Mattie use his pickup instead, well, that wasn't exactly her favorite idea. Not because she didn't like his Ford, just that it was a little soon to be sharing cars, especially after the massive shake-up their relationship was barely out of. She didn't share that particular view with him, however.

Picking a fight with Tigger was like playing a carnival game. It was nearly impossible to win.

"Excuse me, miss?" A voice called out, and Mattie turned. "I think you dropped this."

A man held out a familiar silver chain and ring, and Mattie instinctively patted her throat. Sure enough, her necklace was missing, and the stranger had been nice enough to track it back to her. Must've seen her drop it, since the massive reaper ring wasn't something normally associated with a woman.

"Jesus, thank you." She sighed into the warm late summer air. "You don't know how broken up I'd have been if I'd lost it."

"No problem, ma'am. Just doing my good deed for the day."

Relieved, Mattie looked up to take a better look at her savior, refastening the chin around her neck as she did so. And what- who- she saw, well, it didn't exactly still the nerves that'd been set free the moment she'd stepped inside St. Thomas.

It was the man from the beach in San Diego, the one she literally ran into. The one with the camera that'd been knocked into the sand. There was no way seeing him in Charming was a coincidence, not at all. This time, all the tattoos that'd been mostly hidden by his buttoned-up shirt were revealed, an upside peace sign by the base of his throat, symbols of white power up and down his arms. None of which had been displayed in San Diego.

This is an issue of black and white. Hadn't that been part of the message attached to those emailed pictures? Why hadn't she put two and two together before? Whoever this asshole was- not a Nord, the whole email thing was far too clever to be attributed to Darby and his boys- he had to be associated with those photos. He had a fucking camera in his hands when they ran into each other in San Diego, for Christ's sake. Why didn't she think of him the moment that Tig showed her all those candid shots? Why wasn't she more worried back then?

Ten fucking years later, and another Nazi prick was way too close for comfort. Mattie's heart beat out of control, so goddamn hard that she could feel it in the palms of her clenched fists. But her thoughts were organized as she met the man's dark eyes, even as she registered the smirk on his lips.

"I think we know each other." He said, his voice too confident. "I didn't realize that you lived in Charming, Miss Cardinal."

Motherfucker. She needed to get the hell away from St. Thomas, but didn't trust herself behind the wheel. What if he followed her home? With SAMCRO away, what chance did she really stand? Mattie had no gun- she did, but what were the chances he'd let her run down to the basement and get it out of the safe- and no security system. Shit, Willow was more interested in napping and drooling than actually trying to be a guard dog.

"I think you did." Mattie replied, not betraying the tremendous fear gathering in her chest. "Can I have a clue as to your identity? Since you're so well-versed in mine."

"A.J. Weston at your service, ma'am." His smirk deepened into a smile. "I must say, you women are very, very steadfast. I almost didn't expect it."

Alarms clanged inside Mattie's head. Women. Not woman, singular, but women. Plural. Gemma… Weston couldn't have anything to do with the reason she was in an exam room upstairs. Right? Shit. Mattie didn't know anymore.

There were a lot of cards that Mattie could play. Did he know who her man was? Did he know how her father raised her? How Gemma raised her? Did he know that she'd already killed one white supremacist and was perfectly willing to try it again?

"I don't break when the people I love are threatened." Mattie leaned in a little further. "And I don't sure as shit don't break when I'm threatened."

"And who's threatening anybody, Miss Cardinal? My associates and I don't particularly like the men you're allied with, but you are perfectly safe." He waited a beat before adding, "For now."

There was a low rumble in the distance, coming closer. Shit, the Sons had never arrived at more opportune moment. Not since Tig picked her up from Pope all those years ago.

The Harleys sped through the entrance, heading towards the front of the hospital. Didn't really care about designated parking spots for visitors and the ones for doctors and nurses.

"I have to go, Mr. Weston," Mattie said, taking a few steps backwards. "But it has been an absolute pleasure making your acquaintance."

"Yes. I agree." He bowed, pretending to tip his hat. "Hope to see you around this beautiful town, Miss Cardinal."

Mattie didn't breathe until she was safely back inside St. Thomas' walls, following the same route to the waiting room up on the fourth floor. The Sons were already congregating in the small space, most of them plunked down in the uncomfortable seats, a few stretching. Tig wasn't amongst them- Mattie tried to tell herself that was okay, but it wasn't very convincing.

"You alright, baby?" Neeta asked when she walked back inside. "Thought you were on your way out?"

"Yeah… I was. Heard the guys, though." Mattie fumbled, couching her agitation by plucking a magazine from the cluster on the coffee table.

"Thought yours was with them?"

"Maybe." She replied, scanning the room. Jax had gone out- probably went to find Tara, since the door to Gemma's room was wide open instead of closed up tight, like it'd been before when the Queen was inside.

Chibs' brown eyes were the first to meet hers, narrowed and inquisitive. Concerned. Mattie would've went to sit by his side to talk about anything else but what'd happened outside, but bile steadily rose in her throat. To answer Neeta's question, no, Mattie wasn't fucking alright, though she still wasn't willing to declare it in such an apparent fashion.

Quickly as she entered the waiting room, Mattie stumbled frantically out of it- even if she tried to make her movements as smooth as humanly possible.

By the time she was bowed over a toilet that was probably less than clean, she hadn't heard the clatter of boots following her into the restroom. But she couldn't miss the hand that ran in soothing circles against her back as she heaved. Chibs' hand. Mattie didn't have to turn around to know that it was him.

For the first time that day, Mattie was glad she'd overslept. The shower she missed meant her curls were tied in a bun on the top of her head, that the meals she'd hadn't gotten to eat weren't making their way back up her esophagus.

Small miracles, she supposed.

She'd ask for larger ones, although she knew better.

A.J. Weston carefully lifted his cell phone to his ear, smiling broadly. Zobelle picked up on the second ring.

"I assume you have good news."

"The Cardinal girl is back in Charming like you thought she'd be. And she's almost as stubborn as the old bitch we took care of last night."

Matilda was different than Weston originally thought she'd be. He knew all about her history, how her father was a dead Son and her boyfriend was live one; she was some kind of shyster lawyer who fled from New York like her ass was on fire. Zobelle managed to find her divorce papers- probably paid somebody off- and a copy of her house deed, and well, one happened before the other.

Matilda was just another biker whore. A pretty one, maybe, but a whore nonetheless.

"At least we have all the women in one place. Makes things easier." Zobelle summed up, though his tone wasn't victorious.

"Want me to do anything else with her?"

"No. Leave the Sons alone for a minute. Either the matriarch or the girl will squeal. Just a matter of time."

"Should I stay at the hospital? Keep an eye out?"

"Yes. Don't spook anybody else. Surveillance, Mr. Weston, surveillance. Do you understand?"

"I do."

Weston hung up then, a little irritated with Zobelle and his orders. But at least two jobs were over and done with.

Chibs had never seen Mattie like that. He'd never seen her look anything less than put together.

Chibs wasn't sure whether he was supposed to be relieved or scared shitless.

By the time she scrambled to her feet and pushed past him to the sink, the tears on her cheeks were all too apparent. Chibs got the distinct idea that Mattie wasn't a girl that cried too often, but shit, he had no fucking clue what to do. Comforting a crying woman wasn't exactly his forte, much less one that he was very much attracted to.

"Mattie." He said simply, watching her methodically rinse out her mouth with tap water. "Mattie?"

She shook her head. Don't, the movement replied, as did quick flick of her hazel eyes. Don't.

"What happened?" Chibs pressed, saddling up to stand beside her. He thought that Mattie might flinch out of the closeness, but all he got was another glare as she spat out her mouthful of water.

"It's nothing." She bit out, putting up one hand, wordlessly asking him to back away so that she could free herself. He didn't move, however.

"No, it isn't."

"Maybe I'm still fucking drunk from last night." Mattie offered, twisting in the small space between Chibs and the paper towel dispenser. "Maybe that's all."

"Matilda." He tried her full name, which felt strangely clunky between his teeth. "Don't."

"I'm fine, Chibs, really."

"You absolutely are not. Don't lie to me. Neeta said you'd already gone, I heard her. Must've been a reason if you needed to come back in and I'm sure it wasn't just to vomit in the fourth floor bathroom." He pressed closer, boldly crossing the small space between them. Mattie's chest rose and fell too quickly, her hands shook. Not because of the imposition on her personal space, no, she was far too cool to ever betray that sort of feeling, but because of something else. Something that must've occurred between leaving the hospital and walking out to her car.

Mattie was a goddamn mess, a word that Chibs wasn't sure he'd ever attributed to her before. She was normally so fucking thoughtful about her own actions that sometimes he could almost see the machinations behind her eyes. Cautious, composed Mattie was gone. Here, in the dimly lit, light blue tiled bathroom, she was replaced with a frightened girl who was close to having a panic attack. She wasn't the beautiful, biker-raised non-practicing lawyer anymore. No, some of that was wrong. Even shaken up, Mattie was beautiful.

Damn it. He shouldn't be thinking about how her breasts looked underneath the low cut of her tank top, how the narrow of her waist was practically built for the palms of his hands. He shouldn't want to press her up against the bathroom stall and just…

Her voice was enough to distract him from the end of that thought.

"I- I…" Mattie cast a look beyond Chibs. "Come to my car with me?"

"Will you explain what the fuck is going on?"

"Yeah, sure, if that's what you want."

He expected her to be detached as they headed towards the parking lot, but those hazel eyes were alert, scanning their path, evaluating every stranger that walked by. Letting him lead just a little bit, lingering close enough that her hip grazed his every once in a while. Chibs liked the contact, wanted to stretch his arm protectively around her shoulders, though the shit show that'd occur if Tig made an unexpected entrance was not really worth it.

Because, honestly, Chibs had no fucking idea what was going on between Tigger and Mattie. They didn't speak for months, for practically the whole goddamn summer, and that was perfectly fine with Chibs. After Jax had accused Tig of putting his hands on Mattie… there were no words for the kind of rage the Scot experienced. The Sergeant-at-Arms had pretty, intelligent, SAMCRO-versed Mattie and he hit her? No excuses for that. None. If Bobby had been around to hear what Tig allegedly did, well, there'd be a lot of blue-eyed brains decorating the walls of the clubhouse. The Secretary didn't react violently very often, but when he was provoked- and Mattie's abuse would've been a definite provocation- all he saw was red.

Jax's confrontation didn't make much an impact, though. Tig was a loose cannon, and very rarely held accountable for his own actions. Not by Clay, not by Mattie, and sure as hell not by anybody else. Half-Sack had been the only one to timidly bring up the subject while behind the bar one morning, fidgeting his way through his uncomfortable question.

"Do ya think Tig really did that? Ya think he really, ya know, hurt her?"

Chibs had shrugged in a defeated way. "If you have to ask, Prospect, I'm pretty sure you already know the fucking answer."

"But… I dunno." The kid chose his wording surprisingly carefully, "Tig's not the… nicest guy, but I think he actually… I dunno, loves her."

"I'm sure a lotta assholes love the women they beat." Chibs replied irritably. "It's none of our business anyway, kid."

It wasn't. Their relationship, in general, was none of Chibs' fucking business, but he just couldn't keep his nose out of it. Because for once, he'd thought that rift between Mattie and Tig was too deep to ever close. She left Charming for Christ's sake. And yeah, Matt might say it was for her brother's wedding, she might lie about a lot of things, but Chibs could see right through that particular untruth. Something had shattered the bond between the two of them, the one that'd been formed eleven years ago, the one that Chibs had thought was unfathomably unbreakable.

But then they had to get that fucking email, and Tig had to become Prince goddamn Charming. Happy could've easily gone to San Diego. Any one of them could've. It didn't need to be Tigger. Clay agreed, though, and that had been the end of it. Three days after that long discussion, Mattie was back, and the Sons were no closer to figuring out who the hell had gone after her so directly.

Those photos… Chibs didn't know what to think at first. Shit, he was so goddamn distracted by all that rarely shown bare skin that he couldn't fathom the danger implied in the images. Pale curves hugged by a red and white bikini, hidden tattoos on open display, wet bathing suit clinging to firm tits, it was like a gift from… somebody. He probably stared at those pictures far longer than necessary, but damn, wasn't like any sane heterosexual man could blame him. Even Happy's eyes had an uncharacteristic sparkle in them as they roamed over the photos.

Mattie turned on her heel as they reached her Benz, twisting so suddenly that Chibs was instantly sure that his trip outside wasn't to get away from the hustle and bustle of St. Thomas. Whatever they were doing, it had an importance that he hadn't been able to see before. Impulse was not a word in Mattie's vocabulary- at least, not that Chibs had seen.

"Who are you looking for?" He asked carefully, as she scanned the parking lot again.

"I'm not sure."

"So you are searching for somebody, then?" Chibs gently grabbed her chin, pulling her attention towards himself. She seemed to bristle slightly at the contact, eyebrows narrowing, lips pursing with unsaid complaints.

"I..." Mattie stopped for a second, then pointed to her car. "I wish that you could follow me home. But I know you guys are busy with club stuff and-"

She was scared. Holy shit, Mattie, the girl who'd kicked some bitch's ass not even twenty-four hours ago, the girl who was involved with a man who was half-asshole/half-psychopath, was scared. Hands shaking, shoulders pinned forward- anxiety filtered through her carefully constructed armor. Did she come to Chibs because out of all the Sons currently in St. Thomas, she was closest to him? Or was there a chord of trust that had been struck between the pair? Surely, it was the second- Jax, her surrogate sibling, had also been in the building, and yet, he wasn't out here with a nervous mess of a woman.

"You're shaking," Chibs said, not knowing whether Mattie would respond or not. "You're fucking shaking, Matt."

"I know." She sucked in a deep breath. "I can't help it."

"What happened? Who did this, love? Who?"

Chibs wanted to demand answers, but the wide, far-off look in Mattie's eyes warned him that pressing her too hard might be worse than letting her answer in her own time. But by the same token, he couldn't wait. Knowing that somebody had created the terror in the one of the strongest women in Chibs' life… something clenched tight in his chest. He needed to take care of her, not because she was Mattie, who'd he'd been subtly- or really, not so subtly- attracted towards since the moment she dropped her Benz at TM, but because she was Mattie, who'd been inside the umbrella of protection that SAMCRO offered since she was a very little girl. In a way, Chibs was responsible for her safety. All the Sons were. Just like he needed to keep an eye out for Tara, for Gemma, even Luann, Chibs was also Matt's protector.

That was how he justified their closeness. The arm looped around her back. Her head tilted on his shoulder. Their hips creating friction between denim and denim.

"He's part of the AB, I think. Had the tattoos." Mattie whispered. "He followed me to San Diego, Chibs. He followed me eight hours and I had no goddamn idea. My dad would be so fucking proud of how oblivious I am."

Chibs clenched a fist. Those photos, those threats, now there was a man, an organization to attach to the mystery. And this asshole made his way back to Mattie, had all but confronted her in the town in which she should feel most safe. What would Tig do when Mattie told him what happened? How would irrational, hair-trigger Tig Trager react to his girl being endangered in the parking lot of a hospital?

"Do you got a gun?" Chibs asked finally, not sure how to proceed. There were things he could say, things he could declare, but shit, none of them would make Matt feel any better. None of them would restore her confidence like the presence of a loaded gun.

"At home, inside a lockbox in the basement."

"Get it, and go to the club. Stay there, okay? For the love a'Christ, stay at TM until we're all done with what needs doing." He ordered, twining his stubby fingers with her longer, softer ones. Illicit, perhaps, but Chibs thought the little touch might ease her mood a bit.

"I… I'm just shaken, I guess. I don't fucking know." Mattie sighed, flicking her eyes to his. "I'll go to the club, but you should know… I can take care of myself."

"I don't have any doubt of that, love, but-"

She interrupted him, jaw tight, hands steadier, a determined sort of look crossing her face. "I'll be okay, Chibs. I'm just in a weird place right now, but when I mellow out, I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe. Did it before."

"What's that mean?"

"When I was seventeen, I… A man broke into my house and I killed him."

There weren't any words to counters hers, nothing that Chibs could say without feeling like an idiot, feeling like he didn't know the woman standing in front of him as well as he thought. Mattie, innocent, pretty Mattie, had shot a man before her eighteenth birthday? Had been in such drastic danger as such a young girl? For a moment, he understood her strange tie with Tig. At first, Chibs thought Mattie's natural appreciation for Tig's status as Sergeant-at-Arms had something to with growing up within the club, but now that he knew about her own little murder…

But seriously, how could you just not know that about somebody? How could you bond with somebody over the span of a few months and not know that they'd killed another person? In self-defense, just because, whatever, it didn't matter. The hands that'd been touching his only moment ago had taken somebody's life- not that his own were all that innocent.

Perhaps it wasn't the fact that Mattie had killed a man but rather she'd done it seemingly without feeling. No guilt, no fear, nothing that Chibs could see in her pale but resolute gaze. No emotional fallout. Not that he could outwardly observe at least, as her armor had reassembled itself since her little admission. Damn, he could see Gemma's motherly touch in Mattie, clear as day. Strength- even if it was denial hidden in strength- despite adversity.

I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe. No, Chibs was sure she wasn't, because her lips quivered in a barely conspicuous way when they formed the word safe. Danger always seemed to find Mattie, Jax had said once. He hadn't elaborated, but Chibs thought the VP was talking about her relationship with Tig. Now, though… Maybe there was a deeper meaning that he'd completely missed.

When it came to Mattie, hidden meanings were practically a given. Girl had been taught to lie like a pro, hold secrets tight and most of all, emotionally protect herself from the outside world.

And physically protect herself, as she'd demonstrated the night before. Chibs hadn't seen the fight- damn, was he disappointed about that- but had heard about it plenty. A possessive croweater fighting for the right to Tig, forcing Mattie into a confrontation. It was almost laughable, but then again, the bitch certainly didn't know very much about Matt's background, had no idea about the boxing or Book. That seemingly small mistake had turned a normal celebration into something of a legend, had elevated Mattie's position from hey-ain't-she-with-Tig to hey-ain't-that-the-girl-that-beat-up-tha-cunt-and-walked-away-like-nothing-happened? Chibs was proud of her in his own sad, odd way, especially when she told him later that she wished she'd been wearing the hot pink boxing gloves he'd given her for her birthday.

But whatever happened last night had nothing to with had occurred in the parking lot, with the danger that was slowly but surely creeping upon Mattie. Even if she thought she could handle it all on her own, it was still club business. Those pictures of her were sent to the MC, the threats were directed to the Sons just as much as they were to her, and so Mattie needed to stop playing the hero and let the club do its job. Let Chibs do his job.

"One asshole, sure, you can take care of him. But, Matt, what if it's two? Three? A whole gang of Nazi assholes coming after you? Tell me your chances then. Tell me how successfully you can use one gun against a dozen men." Chibs was tempted to hold her chin between thumb and forefinger to reinforce his point, but instead put a solid hand on her shoulder. "You're not invincible, not alone. Don't do something stupid because you don't want to ask for help. That's something Tig would do. Don't make a mistake because of your pride. Because of your fear."

That seemed to strike a chord within Mattie, and as soon as he'd finished his speech she'd straightened her posture and taken her keys from her purse.

"You win, okay? I'll go to the club. Maybe work in the office for a little while, get things a little more organized. But I can't stay there forever."

"I know. We'll figure things out, love. For now, for today, just please-"

"I'm going. Don't worry about me." Mattie smiled, not as broadly as she normally might, and added, "I'm sure you've got more important things to attend to."

He watched her unlock the car, back to him, chestnut curls drifting across mostly bare shoulders. Emerald green tank top emphasizing freckled, pale skin, jean cut-offs making Mattie's legs look long and shapely. Her body, dressed in just a simple, everyday outfit, made Chibs so fucking uncomfortable in such a warm, strange way, made his thoughts race and his palms sweaty. Damn it. Whatever boundaries he'd been crossing to calm Mattie down were coming back to bite him in the ass. The feeling of her flesh close to his, her clean, floral scent filling his nostrils… shit. The time in San Diego was supposed to ease Chibs' tension around Mattie, not send it into fucking overdrive.

"See you later?" Matt asked, turning around suddenly. It was just a simple question, a friendly one, but Chibs couldn't help reading into it- seeing meanings where there definitely weren't.

"Sure, love. Be careful?"

"Of course. Careful is my middle name."

He raised an intentionally skeptical eyebrow. "Matilda 'Careful' Cardinal? Does sorta have a ring to it."

"Yeah, guess so." Mattie squeezed his hand before getting behind the wheel.

"What is it really?"

"There are about five people in this world that know my actual middle name, and it's going to stay that way. Sorry, sweetheart."

"We'll see, girly, we'll see."

Those were the last words Chibs spoke as she turned the engine over. Diligently, he watched Mattie pull out of St. Thomas' parking lot and onto the street, making sure that there were no boogie men following the woman who had the terrible habit of making his pulse pound inside his ears.

Tig or not, Jax or not, Bobby or not, Chibs was still responsible for Mattie's safety. Not as openly maybe, but he felt a duty towards her that he'd not felt for a very long time.

Duty, attraction, who was Chibs to mince words?

Tig watched Mattie with Bobby, her head cocked to the side, exhaustion very evident on her delicate, pale features. They'd all had a pretty shitty day overall, starting very early in the morning with Gemma's accident to Bobby's gunshot wound much after nightfall, with all sorts of awful adventures in between.

Jax said that Matt stayed at the hospital for a little before heading out with Chibs- if Tig weren't so goddamn tired he might've ruminated on that dig for longer than he actually did- but he implied that her exit was more of a frenzied rush than her normal thoughtful composure. Tig didn't like that one bit- his girl didn't lose her head for just any reason. The Prince implied that it had something to do with seeing Gem laid up, but Tig had his doubts. Mattie had seen countless loved ones in the hospital, had seen people pass in front of her very own eyes. There was something greater going on that Tig couldn't see, or at least, wasn't quite able to. Not yet.

I know it ain't really my place to ask, but… Did Matt really kill somebody? Chibs spit it out like a goddamn rumor, like he was asking whether it looked like it might rain. Tig's mind seized up for what felt like hours before he was able to answer, words that were tethered together by denial. Mattie was fucking seventeen when she needed to take actions in her own hands, and fuck Chibs if he thought there was something wrong with her because of it. Mattie handled things in her own way, quietly and calmly, and didn't ask for help. Guilt management was part of her genetics, for fuck's sake. Tig'd heard Book say that Matt was 'the first Cardinal in three generations not to kill on command.' Didn't mean she didn't have the temperament for it.

But how, exactly, was Tigger going to explain that to Chibs? The asshole thought he knew everything, that he and Mattie were somehow cosmically connected, but Chibs had no goddamn idea what sort of woman he was dealing with. And what the fuck was Mattie thinking telling him that she'd killed Hirsch? Didn't she think that adding the words in self-defense might've made a difference to her little admission?

Because Tig could see the residual shock, the slight disgust in Chibs' expression when he'd asked that question. Fuck him. Mattie, even with blood on her hands, was innocent. That man, that Nazi prick, came after her, and she chose her own life over his. A grown man went after a seventeen year old girl because he was slighted by her whore of a mother, and Tig had been damn proud to see Matt alive after that terrifying exchange.

So when he told all that to Chibs, his tone had been too harsh, his words sharp, his emotions- his instinct to protect Mattie, even her reputation- barely veiled. Chibs didn't have the right to the information he'd been gifted, and so Tig wasn't about to let him abuse it. Facts were facts, and the fact was-

The fact was that thinking about what nearly happened that evening more than ten years ago still made Tig's blood run cold. He didn't know exactly what went down- Mattie never elaborated and somehow, he was quite fine with that- how Hirsch's gun ended up in her hands, but he wouldn't have it any other way. The police report said that Mattie was just defending herself, and it was the fucking truth. Unser didn't have to edit that one.

Tig sighed, tired. The day had been too fucking long, too fucking loaded, and he didn't think it was going to end any time soon. But Mattie was there, at the club, sitting just yards away from him. Lending him some sort of support that he didn't expect, or honestly, wasn't really entitled to. Tig did irreparable damage to her life only months ago, and yet, she hadn't gone anywhere. Well, she did, but she came back. To him, to the club, to her family, and Tig still hadn't figured out a way to acknowledge her decision.

Because it meant fucking everything. It wasn't forgiveness, but Tig didn't need that. He needed Mattie, and that's exactly what he got.

You ever tell Mattie about her? About the girl you lost? Opie asked that during a long lull in conversation, after Tig told him about Annie's death. A question not quite as sharp as Chibs', but just as invasive. Ope wasn't trying to pry, Tig knew that, but it'd placed a sizeable lump in his throat nonetheless.

Honestly? Mattie knew nothing about Annie. Why should she? What could she possibly gain knowing that one of Tig's girlfriends had passed away more than two decades ago? Before Mattie was fucking born, before Tigger was even thinking about the Sons of Anarchy, when he was still riding that sorry excuse of a bike that'd had since his sixteenth birthday. They were both nineteen fucking years old when he'd slid, when her body was dumped into oncoming traffic. He was going to marry that girl- and not just because she was pregnant.

How was he supposed to explain a heartbreak like that to Mattie? How did one convey heartbreak, anyway?

And knowing Mattie, and knowing how well she knew him, fuck it if she didn't already suspect something already. She didn't meddle in what happened in Tig's life before she was introduced to it, accepted whatever little bits of information he was willing to lend- which, admittedly, weren't very much. Tig had Matt's life story practically mapped out on the inside of his brain, and yet, he was very much… nervous to provide any details about his own.

Did Matt deserve to know about Annie? Perhaps. It would probably explain a shitload of things about his personality, about his temperament, answer a lot of latent questions.

Now, did he want Mattie to have access to that sort of information? Not necessarily. Tig trusted Mattie with his entire fucking being, but… He had a rigid, uncomfortable grasp on his secrets. Especially when she already knew far too many. Like that he'd been the one that killed Donna, not the Mayans, not the Niners, just Tig. He wasn't solely to blame, but he'd pulled the trigger, and no matter how he justified it inside his head, the facts always read one way: guilty.

But Mattie had not looked at him that way in a long time. Not since she'd been back in Charming. Order was slowly but surely restoring to their lives.

"Hey, you're awful quiet, Tiggy." A soft, familiar voice declared, a long-fingered hand poised on his shoulder. Mattie didn't call him that very often- Tiggy was mostly used by his brothers when they were trying to be cute- but it caught his attention just the same.

"You say quiet, I say mysterious." He teased, stifling a yawn. "You okay at the hospital today?"

Tig didn't want her there alone, however, he wasn't left with many choices. Club business came first, and Mattie knew that, but there was still this vaguely apprehensive look gracing her face that set him ill at ease. St. Thomas was more than just a hospital to Matt, it was a place of foreboding, of misery and death.

After all, Tig would rather it be anybody but Chibs holding her hand in comfort while she was inside the building.

"It was… not horrible, I suppose." Mattie brushed a rogue curl from his forehead. "Missed you, though."

Something clutched at his throat- an urge to agree, to admit that he'd missed her too- but all that escaped was an apathetic grunt. There were too many brothers around to delve into his rarely exercised sentimentality.

"Wanna go to bed?" It was all Tig could force through his lips.

"Sure thing, cowboy."

Tig's hand clasped around Mattie's, her fingers tangling with his. A brief, quiet indulgence of her presence, a display of affection that he considered neither too public or too intimate, just enough skin against skin to remind him that Mattie was close enough to touch. For six years, she wasn't, for a whole summer, she wasn't, and now, here she was, all tired grins and easy words.

Some of it was an act, and Tig knew that, but for now, for what they both needed, it was enough. Mattie was still hurt, and she probably always would be. He knew that her new, completely devastating instinct was to flinch away from him. He knew that by being in Charming, by being with him, Mattie was sacrificing part of herself, and there was nothing he could possibly do to change it.

Tig should resent the very notion that a bitch made him feel so goddamn guilty. That she made him feel like he was the one crawling back to her. That he'd relinquished some of the power in their strange, so very fucked up relationship.

But as Mattie slept soundly next to him- she always seemed to sleep better at the club rather than her own bed- chest rising, soft sighs escaping her lips every so often, Tig couldn't explain what sort of contentment settled against his heart. He'd loved three women and lost two, one to death, the other to… his own foolishness, and there, wrapped up in his covers was the third, who'd had more than enough opportunities to leave.

Something, whether stupidity or bravery, nostalgia or love, still kept Mattie close.

And Tig was secretly glad about that in more ways than he could possibly count.

A/N: Sooo… My policy is usually that I have to finish a new chapter before I can post one, but I decided to cheat this time since I've been pretty distracted by the Olympics since Friday. They're sort of my favorite thing. Added the Weston/Zobelle part last second to explain why the pictures were sent- I reread it and wasn't sure if I ever made it clear. But anyway, I'm not sure if the next chapter is going to be present or past- I'd have to write something fresh if it's a flashback- but if things stay steady, I should have it out in about a week or so. But thanks for reading, and please leave a comment! Questions, concerns, feedback, etc- to keep me focused on MS Word instead of beach volleyball or swimming or gymnastics or diving…