***

Busy life, but writing when I can. I'm trying to keep the quality from slipping too much while still updating something that isn't pitifully short.

A couple notes on authenticity: I've spent time in So-Cal, but never this region. I found a Camanche Reservoir on google maps, but the park is fictional. Calgary, on the other hand, really does have a problem with white supremicist crap. Alberta tends to be more conservative and right-wing than the rest of Canada, and for whatever reason, Calgary is a hotspot for neo-nazis. The demonstration/counter-demonstration dance is getting tedious. Good people by far out number the trash, and it's a lovely city on the whole, but I can't think of anywhere else in this country where someone would parade around with a swastika banner. Lame. If she stays in Calgary, poor Anne is probably going to see a neo-nazi demonstration once or twice a year.

"Lightning strikes
Inside, my chest to keep me up at night
Dream of ways
To make you understand my pain

If you want more love,
why don't you say so?

Drop his name
Push it in and twist the knife again
Watch my face
As I pretend to feel no pain"

John Mayer ain't usually my thing, but Heartbreak hit my music stream at work today and really resonated. It's a good song for conflicted lovers. Assassin is another Mayer song that I listened to while finishing this chapter. Highly recommended by this cynic. With only slight embarassment, I will admit that I have a playlist of stuff that seems appropriate for this story.

Thanks again for the sweet reviews. They're motivation to keep forging ahead with this.

-B

***

Looking pale but lovely in the bright afternoon sun, Anne regarded Tig, her face full of trepidation. He laughed out loud and pressed the helmet into her hands. She bit her lip. Her reproachful gaze slid to his new Dyna, a sleek black beast of a bike that had arrived the day before.

"You wanted to get outside. This is how I do outside."

She looked at the helmet in her hands as if it was a mysterious foreign object. Her voice was plaintive. "After all I've survived I really don't want to get killed on a motorcycle."

The woman who'd told Nords to go fuck themselves was scared of a motorcycle. It was deeply amusing. He echoed her tone. "After all you've survived, you're too chicken shit to get on a bike? Don't you trust me?"

Tig had thrown it out as a joke, but Anne considered the question carefully. Then she nodded slowly. "No crazy stuff, okay? No showing off."

He raised his eyebrows and tried to look innocent. He couldn't quite keep the mocking tone from his voice. "Is fast okay?"

A smile lit Anne's face. "Fast is always okay. Just… careful fast."

"Careful fast." Tig repeated.

"Promise."Anne waited, mistrustfully holding the helmet, looking at him with a level green stare.

"Fine, careful fast." Whatever that meant. The sooner Anne manned up and put the helmet on, the sooner he could show her what his kind of freedom looked like.

Anne was calm and resigned, but when she mounted behind him he could feel her tension. Poor kid really was scared of motorcycles, but was going to trust him anyway. Or maybe she just wanted out of the clubhouse badly enough to chance it. Tig smiled. Either way, it was sexy. When he started the motor, she held him tightly, arms clasped around his waist as if for life. He reached back and ran his hand down her leg as reassurance and turned the throttle.

Gradually, he felt Anne's fear fade as they hit the open highway. She relaxed into him. He hoped she was enjoying the ride and not just enduring it. It would be very disappointing to find a woman he liked who didn't appreciate the joy of a motorcycle and the open road. Not that it mattered—she was leaving anyway. But he wanted to give her this before she left. After all the time she'd spent trapped, the best gift he could give her was freedom.

When he increased the speed, her arms briefly tightened. He knew it was a hug, not panic. The highway slipped away beneath them and it felt like flying. Tig felt whole and happy. Over the roaring road and the engine, he heard the music of Anne's delighted laughter.

Anne had wanted him to take her out, away from the clubhouse. He'd asked where she wanted to go, and her only answer was, "Anywhere."

So he aimed towards the Camanche National Park. It was only a half hour away, but would give Anne a taste of fresh air and California beauty before she stepped on a plane and away. Tomorrow. So little time before she vanished.

It felt good to have her warm and close, riding with him. The weather was clear and cool for summer. Perfect weather for a ride. The bike didn't quite have the seamless feeling of being a part of him that his old one had, but that would come. It was more powerful than his last bike and he pushed it to devour the asphalt. Tearing along, far faster that the speed limit, there was no protest from Anne.

Tig picked an empty patch of parkland near the water. It wasn't much more than a stretch of verdant grass overlooking the water, but the view was free of urban clutter. The reservoir stretched before them, vast and vividly blue. When he killed the engine, the immediate silence was striking and welcome. Nothing but wind, water, and a few birds. Tig had spent more than a few evenings up here drinking and smoking, or getting fucked up with brothers. It was a good place to get away.

He tilted his face to the sun and sighed in satisfaction, then dismounted. As he'd hoped, Anne's eyes had lost their haunted look. With one of Gemma's leather jackets thrown over jeans and a t-shirt, she even looked like an old lady, completely at ease on the back of a bike.

"Careful. You'll probably be stiff." Tig offered her his hand. It was a long trip for someone who wasn't used to riding.

"Nope." She stood on her own, graceful as ever. Her gaze was wide and entirely focused in the distance, drinking in the view.

"Thought you'd never ridden."

"Not a motorcycle. I have a horse." She smiled wistfully.

Tig raised an eyebrow. He remembered the horse charm on her gold necklace. "And you're a good rider, I bet."

"Haven't had too many complaints. I'm not bad with horses, either." She delivered the innuendo deadpan, still focused more on the shimmering water of the reservoir than him. Tig grinned.

"How did I not know this?" He asked.

"It never came up." Her eyes slid to Tig. She offered a half-smile. "There's a lot more to me than just stabbing Nazis."

Anne walked towards the water. Around other Sons, she always stayed close by him or Kip. Here, with no one else around, she was unafraid to stand alone. Stopping just before the grass gave way to sand, she sat with a happy sigh. Anne leaned back, running her hands through the blades of grass. At her beckoning smile, Tig joined her, bemused and pleased by her happiness. The mother of his girls wouldn't have been impressed by a picnic table; she'd never have cheerfully sprawled on the grass. White trash with pretensions. Anne, on the other hand, was demonstrably not afraid to get messy.

Tig lit a cigarette and joined her. There was a serenity and isolation here that he appreciated, but his mind was stuck on death. Anne bringing up the stabbing meant it was on her mind too. Connor was the kind of killing that men like Tig were supposed to do—not innocent women. "You regret it?"

"Regret that he's dead? No." Anne shrugged, but her posture tensed slightly. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and looked out over the blue water. She spoke without emotion. "But I'm scared that I care so little. Shouldn't I feel terrible?"

"He deserved it."

"Yes. It doesn't undo the things he did, though." She touched her neck. "It feels strange to not wear the chain. When I dream, it's still there."

"The chain bothered you more than getting hit." Tig guessed.

"It all bothered me. I can't find my way back from it." Anne bit her lip thoughtfully. "Would you have killed Connor if I hadn't?"

"Oh yeah. Or Sack would've."

"And it wouldn't bother you at all."

"Not a bit."

Anne seemed satisfied with that. She looked at him sidelong through a lock of auburn hair. "Are you pissed I got him first?"

"Only a little. You can make it up to me sometime."

Anne laughed and rested her head on his arm. It was such a trusting gesture, and one he noticed she usually did when she felt vulnerable. After a long moment of silence, she spoke again. "Not much time left till I'm gone. I don't think I'm going to stay in Calgary, though."

"Isn't that your home?" Tig asked. The concept of home mattered to him. It wasn't just something you threw away.

"I've made fresh starts before. It might be time for another." Anne plucked a blade of grass and began meticulously shredding it. Her tone was casual. "I don't know. Maybe I'll feel like myself again after I get that goddamn swastika off my skin. Right now, I feel like a monster."

"Never feel bad about what you did. You were brave."

Anne was quiet for a long time, her eyes fixed on the water. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and small. "I'm scared that I'm turning into June."

What could he say to that? It was ridiculous. Tig scowled at her. "Last I checked, you weren't a giant goddamn bitch."

Anne smiled and said nothing. She took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. There was a deep comfort in that, but it was layered with guilt. This was the kind of comfort his mistake had taken away from Opie and his children. He didn't deserve this.

"Did, uh, Kip ever tell you what your sister did?"

Anne's head lifted. "No. She killed someone, didn't she?"

Tig withdrew his hand from Anne's. He didn't want to feel her pull away from him when he told her what he'd done. If she thought of herself as a monster, what could she possibly think of him?

It hurt, but once he started talking, he couldn't stop. The truth came hard and without mercy. He didn't play down his part in it. It drowned him and he couldn't look at the woman who sat quiet and still at his side. He told her about trying to kill Opie, and failing. Then trying again and killing Donna. And, at the heart of it, the horror of learning that it was all a trick. Agent Stahl playing them all like puppets, then walking away unscathed.

Anne listened. She did not pull away. In fact, she went perfectly still, as if she was back in the warehouse waiting for violence to seize her. Tig felt sick. But he kept talking, spilling the ugly secrets of Sam Crow.

When he finished, Anne didn't say a word. She sat quietly for a moment, then she shifted towards him and calmly wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his like a living bandage. When he didn't push her away, she held him as tightly as she had on the bike. Her lips were soft on his neck as she embraced him.

There were no words. Anne was a silent channel for his grief, feeling it with him. When Tig composed himself, he felt less burdened. Less alone. It wasn't absolution, but it was something. He wrapped his arm around Anne and pulled her around so that she was tucked under his chin. He stroked her hair and listened to the soft and steady sound of her breathing. No words.