***

So here's a relatively long chapter with some borderline smut. Sorry. I didn't mean to be away for so long. I've been poking at the story almost every day, but parts of this were slow going, and I'm a bit over-committed. I know this looks like the end. It's not. Anne isn't gone for good. I just wouldn't like her so much if she weren't strong enough to go be a complete person without a man.

I'm aiming to have another update for next Sunday. Ironically, it may not be possible due to my writer's group, in which I pretend that I would never, ever write anything so derivative and wish-fulfilling as fanfiction.

The C&C song of the day is Ian Brown's Keep What Ya Got. Good shit. It's got a good vibe of resolve and endurance, which is a theme for this chapter.

"When your halo slips for good you'll have to wear your hood
Could you feel the breeze of fear on all the cynics, I'm ya mimick
All you losers, all abusers, wasting all my precious energy

Keep what ya got by giving it all away."

Anyway, I hope the editing quality hasn't slipped too much. Reviews are welcome and encouraged. I'd probably have stopped working on this by now without the lovely comments to motivate me. Thanks guys.

-B.

***

Tig dropped Anne at the clubhouse and went right back out on the road. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts, though during the ride into Charming her hold on him was just as firm and trusting as it had been on the way to Camanche. She didn't seem to mind being left at Teller-Morrow without him.

As he pulled back out of the courtyard, he saw Gemma intercepting Anne. He didn't want to think too hard about that. He hoped the queen was still playing nice.

It was hard to not draw comparisons between the women, however. Anne had a deceptive softness to her, all still and passive in the face of threats, patiently waiting for the moment to act. It wasn't just stabbing Connor; it was also in how she handled Opie when he threatened her. She acted when she needed to act, and didn't tip her hand until she'd decided what was needed. Gemma, on the other hand, rarely hesitated. She had more bark to her bite than Anne, wielding her voice—and occasionally a manicured fist—as a vicious weapon. Even so, both women were capable of an icy decisiveness. It was admirable.

Tig realized that he was trying to imagine a place for Anne within the world of Sam Crow. No good could come of that line of thought. He hit the highway and pushed the bike to sweet place between loss of control and the enticement of speed. In that state of suspended bliss, he didn't have to think about anything at all. The wind obliterated thought, and it was good.

By this time tomorrow, Anne would be in Canada. Safe from him, and out of reach. He drove faster.

Several hours later, Tig returned as the last rays of sunlight were slanting directly against the windows of the clubhouse. Happy greeted him in the courtyard with a smirk and the offer to take Anne to the airport in the morning. Tig laughed darkly and ignored him. The Nomad clearly thought it was hilarious to see him interested in a woman for more than one night. What a shithead. Tig stepped around Happy and into the clubhouse. His eyes immediately fell on Anne, who stood with Tara near the pool table. Both women held cues. She was still wearing Gemma's jacket, and her hair shone like copper against the black leather. Tig wondered if she was any good at playing.

Gemma intercepted him before he got halfway to the bar, stepping in front of him with crisp click of her heeled boots.

"Evening, Tigger. How's it going?" The sweetness in her tone made him cringe.

"Oh, you know. Healing up good." Tig's eyes drifted to the game of pool. He forced himself to focus on Gemma, whose knowing smile twitched.

She raised an eyebrow. "And how's little orphan Annie doing?"

He nodded towards the game of pool, where Anne was lining up a shot. She looked composed. No joy in her narrowed green eyes, but resolve and confidence enough focus on something other than the men around her. Tig smiled. As Anne leaned over the table in a low-cut shirt, her breasts lookedfantastic. "Looks pretty good to me, Gem."

"She does at that, doesn't she?" Gemma cast a cool gaze over her shoulder at Anne and Tara. "And how does Half-Sack look, d'ya think?"

Tig frowned and looked at the prospect. Kip leaned against the wall behind Anne, drinking beer with a morose expression on his face. Now that Gemma had called his attention to it, he noticed the gauntness to Half-Sack's lanky frame. He'd lost a lot of weight in a very short time. The boy's eyes were shadowed and he looked both alert and wary in ways he never had before Lodi.

One day, Tig decided, he was going to find out what happened to Half-Sack in that warehouse. It was too easy to forget about the screaming and the marks on Kip's body—Tig didn't want to remember them. Remembering didn't help. Once revenge was dealt out, you walked on with whatever you had left. But Half-Sack might be carrying far too heavy a burden. Tig realized, with painful certainty, that for all the appearance of Anne hiding behind Kip, the reverse might be just as true.

"He looks like shit."

"He's not happy to see your little angel flying away. He asked her to stay. She said no." That was news to Tig. He shifted his weight and said nothing. Gemma continued. "So I'm wondering here, how much of a stake do you have in that girl?"

Tig tried not to let his eyes betray any hesitation. It was useless; Gemma could read him like a goddamn book. "We just, y'know, have fun."

Gemma's eyebrow twitched. "Fun."

"She's not some crow eater. She's like you." Tig said, a moment before realizing it was probably a bad observation to say out loud.

Thankfully, Gemma didn't take offense. She acknowledged the comment with a slight nod.

"The girl has claws, I'll give her that." Gemma said with grudging respect. "But I'm all about family. And that's just not how Anne thinks. I don't know what kind of house that chick came out of, but no one's going to be accusing the Stahl sisters of being too clingy any time soon."

He knew Gemma was smarter than he was. He'd known the queen long enough to sense when she was yanking his strings, but he couldn't always tell what her intentions were. "What are you telling me?"

"Honey, I'm not telling you anything except to open your eyes. After what she did, that girl deserves better than to get dicked around by a bunch of bikers—but she's got an affect on you that ain't such a bad thing." Gemma's eyes slid to Half-Sack. "And she might be the only thing holding Kip together right now."

"Aw Gem, she's just a girl. She's sweet, but c'mon..."

"I see the way she looks at you. It ain't the way she looks at Half-Sack, that's for sure. And you're look'n right back at her. But Tig, she's not some needy hanger-on. She'll walk away from you to prove that she can."

"What am I supposed to do about that?"

"If you want her? Catch her. If not, get out of her way and let her go. She's been hurt enough. We can put Half-Sack back together without her if we have to."

"You like her, don't you." Tig said. It was unexpected, but there it was.

"I get her. Doesn't mean I like her." Gemma said with some warning in her tone. "But she got you and Half-Sack home. Girl's earned mercy. She gets it from the club, and she gets it from me. If she decides to stick around, I'm okay with it. God knows I could use another woman around here with more than three brain cells to click together."

"What changed your mind?"

"What she does to you." Gemma smiled and placed her delicate hand on Tig's cheek. Darlin', there's light in you I haven't seen in a long time. Maybe it's just getting laid more often, but it's good to see you happy."

"The club makes me happy. Anne's just... fun."

"Well, suit yourself." Gemma patted his cheek and sauntered away, her heeled boots clicking loudly on the floor.

He wanted to go to Anne. It was as if there was a chain pulling him into her, but he resisted and went to the bar instead. The black-haired woman pouring drinks gave him a smoky-eyed look of invitation. He thanked her and moved on. It was hard to take his eyes off Anne.

From across the room, Tig watched as Jax joined the two women. The VP put his arms around Tara's waist and the doc leaned back into him, an effortless smile softening her face. Jax laughed at something she said briefly pressed his cheek against hers. Tig tried to imagine what it might feel like to have that kind of thing in his life again. It hurt.

Anne had stepped back when Jax approached. Tig saw the betrayal of tension in her hands. It hurt her too, he guessed. Or maybe she was just frightened of Jax. Her eyes flicked up and met Tig's. He expected to see blankness on her face. Instead he saw pain. Then it smoothed away, and she turned to hand the pool cue to Juice. Anne walked away from the game and down the hall towards the apartment.

Tig closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't have to go to her. He could take the black-haired bartender instead and fuck her. He could get drunk. He could leave. He put the beer bottle down and followed Anne.

When he walked through the door, she was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. She looked up as he came in, but recognizing that he was alone, her eyes dropped back to the small bundle of paper in her hands.

"Hey." Tig said.

He came to stand in front of Anne, close enough to smell the soap on her skin and hear the sound of her breathing. She didn't react. Tig took the documents from her unresisting hands. They were the forms to replace her missing passport and get her back to Canada. He set them on the counter behind her. She didn't flinch away from him, but he felt her shiver when his hands touched hers.

Her reaction, subtle as it was, told him enough. He slid his hand under the soft weight of her hair and stroked the back of her neck. Still, Anne remained silent, though she inhaled sharply. She'd closed her eyes, and Tig watched her eyelashes tremble as he trailed his hand down her back. With his other hand, he smoothed her soft hair back and rested his palm on her face. Her skin looked pale and delicate against the roughness of his tanned mechanic's hands. Anne made a soft sound and for a brief moment, her body swayed into him. Then she pushed at him half-heartedly, as if trying to break free.

Tig sensed that the thing she was fighting was herself, not him. He wasn't holding her tightly enough to stop her if she really wanted to get away. He tilted her face upward and kissed her. She was perfectly still for a half second, then she kissed him back. Instead of pushing him away, her hands clenched in his shirt.

It was hard to stay gentle. She made him feel strong, and he wanted to make her scream for him. If there was a chain between them, it pulled her as well, and that was a power he wanted to taste. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the counter so that her legs went around him for balance. She gave an arousing sound of surprise, but couldn't say anything with his mouth ravaging hers. Tig slid his hands under her shirt and down the smooth and silky line of her back.

Under his fingers, he could feel the healing remains of the welts Connor's hand had left. He broke the kiss looked down at her, searching for a sign that she wanted him to stop. What he saw made him growl with pleasure, wrap his arms around her and carry her to the bed.

Anne was intense. She fought him for control, and seemed to be fighting herself just as much. She fucked like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Tig felt the desperation and grief in it, echoing his own. He tried to be gentle, but she wasn't content with that. She demanded strength and savagery, which he gave her. She mirrored it back, and for a time, everything went away except the heat and flesh of their bodies. In this moment, there was only Anne, fierce and willing and entirely focused on him.

Later, when they lay together, salty with sweat and past the point of exhaustion, Tig could not imagine ever letting her go.

Deep in the hours before dawn, Tig knew she was awake when her head lifted from his shoulder. It wasn't how she moved in her dreams. He lay still, eyes closed. Her weight shifted, and he felt her sitting upright in bed, her breathing slow and even. He was considering sliding an arm around her and pulling her down against him again when he felt her fingertips lightly touching his face. Her lips brushed his forehead as softly as butterfly wings, and he felt her leave the bed.

In the dark, Tig opened his eyes and watched Anne's shadow slip away into the washroom. A moment after the door closed, he heard her uneven but quiet sobs. It was heartbreaking. She had plenty of reasons to cry; he knew he was one of them.

When Anne returned, her steps near-silent and sure in the dark, Tig didn't pretend to be asleep. He sat up to lean against the headboard and reached for her. Anne went to him without hesitation and curled up against his bare chest, her head tucked under his chin. She'd put on a SAMCRO t-shirt, but under it, her naked body felt chilled.

"What if you stayed?" Tig immediately wished he hadn't said the words out loud. He knew from the catch in her breath that Anne understood the significance of the question.

"I can't."

"You stick around, your sister couldn't touch us again. Conflict of interest. ATF wouldn't let her near Charming." As he said it out loud, he realized that Gemma had already followed that line of thought. No wonder she'd given Anne the blessing to stay.

Anne kept her face hidden against his shoulder, but he could feel her lips twitch with a smile. "ATF repellant."

"Why not?" He didn't want her to love him, but he didn't want her gone either.

Anne lifted her head and kissed his throat. Her voice was low. "I want you. But if I stick around now, half-broken and hanging onto you and Kip, it'll go bad."

It was the same thing Tig had thought a dozen times, but it was hard to hear it from her. She was right. He could feel her fear, but also her stubborn determination to walk on through it. It was almost funny—he'd been worried about her getting too attached to him, but she was the one adamant about leaving. She would pick the harder path if it lead to what she needed; that quality saved Half-Sack's life and kept him from being crippled. The only woman he'd ever met who so cleanly separated needs from wants was Gemma.

It wouldn't stay good if Anne hung around. He nodded slowly and swallowed back a spar of anger at the rejection. She was still hanging onto like she'd fall apart if she let go.

"You gonna be okay, kid?"

She thought about it and nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."

Fuck it. Tig had taken off his rings and bracers when he'd started to fall asleep next to Anne. Now he reached over and picked up one of the leather bracers. It had steel studs on it and was one he'd recovered from the Lodi warehouse. To him, the bracers were a kind of spiritual armour—part of his persona as the Sergeant at Arms.

"Take this. When it gets bad, if you start making yourself crazy over what happened, and can't tell anyone—you hang on to it and remember that I was there with you. I know how strong you are."

Anne sat fully upright and looked at the leather bracelet as if she didn't entirely understand what it was. Then she closed her eyes. She looked as if she might cry again, and Tig immediately regretted the impulse to give her the damn thing. She visibly struggled to push back emotion, and succeeded. She slipped the oversize bracer around her slender wrist and put her arms around him.

At some point, Tig fell asleep again, propped up against the pillows and headboard with Anne practically curled up in his lap like a cat. When he woke, she was gone. He could hear the showering running. He looked at the clock and then at light pressing in from the blinds, and sighed. It was time to be the Sergeant again.

An hour later, standing in the courtyard at his side, Anne was distant. It wasn't quite the blankness she showed when she was scared, but she'd turned inward. She was either oblivious or indifferent to the conversation around her. She didn't even flinch when Happy smiled at her—she just kept looking off at nothing, holding a small pack Gemma had given her. Tig's bracer was around her wrist, but hidden under her jacket sleeve.

The run to Oakland's airport included Tig, Half-Sack, Happy, and Clay. The President wasn't comfortable with Anne at all, but felt that it was important to honour what she'd done for the club. Happy, however, had some bullshit excuse about checking in on Nomad buddies outside Oakland.

Tig called Happy on it, letting some hostility show. He liked Hap—hell, it'd be a good day if Happy ever decided to join the Redwood Chapter—but pushing in on Anne was a dick move.

"She's your girl. I respect that." Happy grinned. "But I like her. She's a survivor. Ain't gonna touch, man."

"Better fucking not." Muttered Tig. Then he thought about the words your girl. Fuck.

Some awareness had surfaced in Anne's eyes. Her gaze flicked from Tig to Happy. She looked away while pushing a lock of her hair back behind her ear. The movement briefly flashed Tig's bracer as her sleeve shifted.

Happy started to laugh. Tig handed Anne her helmet and stiff-shouldered Happy out of the way to get to his Dyna.

Half-Sack frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Tig and Happy said simultaneously. Anne's mask of serene indifference slipped enough to show a slight smile as she climbed on the back of Tig's bike. Her arms tightened around him in a fierce hug before she relaxed against him.

The ride to Oakland barely took two hours. From there, another half hour to reach the airport. At the Departures Gate, Clay and Happy withdrew to have a smoke, leaving Tig to watch as Anne threw her arms around Half-Sack. He would have been jealous, but Sack looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he was hanging onto Anne like a kid clinging to mom, not like he was holding a beautiful woman.

Anne whispered something to the boy, who shook his head. Tig couldn't hear everything Kip said, but he did catch the firm and weighted words, "I forgive you."

Reluctantly, Half-Sack released Anne and went to join Clay. Anne turned to Tig. Her voice was soft but plaintive. "Is there anything left to say?"

He started to ask her what Half-Sack could forgive, but it was too late to make a difference. Instead, he closed the distance between them and kissed her. She let her pack fall to the ground and flung her arms around him. He broke the kiss to breathe and looked into her mournfully sad green eyes. Tig had been afraid she'd lose her shit and cry, but she was steady in his arms.

"I wouldn't have made it out alive if you and Kip hadn't been there." Anne said, unprompted. "I'd given up. So you don't owe me shit, okay? We're even. All of us got our lives back."

"Yeah. Even." Tig repeated. He rubbed at his temple. "Go home and forget it, if you can."

Anne bowed her head for a long moment, and when she looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes. "One monster to another, Tig, I wish things could be different."

And then there were no words left. Anne reached for him and pulled him into a kiss that was deep, but somehow cold. It was a silent goodbye. Her hands tightened briefly in his cut, as if she was wrestling with herself to release him, and then she stepped back. With a brief smile of resolve, Anne picked up her pack and walked through the airport doors. She was gone.