***

Sorry for the slow updates. I work full time, I try to have a life, and I'm in a bit of a dark head-space right now. Unthinkable things happen sometimes, and all you can do is clean up the mess and try to keep your head above water. I will shamelessly choose being outside in the sunshine with other people to being hunched over a computer right now.

I hope you're still enjoying the story. If there weren't people setting chapter alerts and leaving reviews, I'd never have gotten this far. I've got most of an ending written… now I just have to figure out how we're going to get there. I can't believe in either of these characters making anything easy on themselves, so there are some more bumps in the road before a resolution.

-B

***

After the garage closed, Tig avoided the clubhouse. He didn't trust himself not to intervene with whatever was going on behind closed doors. Gemma would, he had no doubt, make his life miserable if he meddled with her meddling. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop imagining Anne and Half-Sack writhing across the sheets, her lips and hands on the younger man's body. Gemma or someone else would have stopped them if they heard fighting, but fucking? They'd have left that alone.

Chibs agreed to hit the bars with him, which gave Tig a reason to ignore the smile that wouldn't quite leave the Scotsman's lips. Everyone seemed to think it was terribly amusing to see a girl with hooks in him.

They talked and played pool more than they drank, though Chibs struck up a lively flirtation with one of the waitresses. When bar closed their doors, Chibs headed home with the waitress perched on the back of his bike, her gleeful laughter drowned out by the engine. Tig watched them go, shaking his head. He missed the days when things had felt that simple; you liked it, you fucked it, you set it free.

Tig returned to the clubhouse. He'd pushed Anne from his mind, but without the lewd chatter of his brother and the distraction of flirtatious women, doubt came rushing back. He needed to know. And what if, after all that, one of them had hurt the other? Tense with dread, Tig unlocked the apartment door as quietly as he could. The kitchen light was still on, which gave him more than enough light to see both Anne and Half-Sack. He exhaled.

Half-Sack was sprawled on the floor in a semi-upright position, leaning back against the couch. He snored steadily. His head was tilted back and to the side, cheek touching Anne's out-flung hand. She lay on the couch, bandaged hand curled near her face and the other resting on Half-Sack's shoulder. All clothing was intact.

Anne still wore the librarian outfit from the day before. The skirt pooled around her legs in a spill of soft blue fabric. Tig touched her ankle, then ran his fingers up to the hem of her skirt. He withdrew his hand. This wasn't the time for giving into temptation.

Anne wouldn't be touching Half-Sack if they hadn't come to some kind of resolution, but she'd done it without fucking him. He realized that until now, he had never quite believed that she really wanted him, so much as the connection to an ally from Lodi. He had felt that if Half-Sack had come to her first, she'd have gone to his bed as easily as she'd gone to Tig's. Sure, there was something hot between him and Anne, but he suspected the same kind of tension lurked between her and Half-Sack.

But here they were, linked only the lightest touch. Tig brushed the hair from her face. He could smell the marijuana on her hair and clothes. It would have been nice to see her mellowed out on the high of Gemma's best green. His eyes slid to the bottle of 151 on the coffee table. It was nearly empty. Either both of them were going to be hung over in the morning, or Half-Sack was better at holding his liquor than ever suspected.

Tig stroked Anne's tangled hair, wrapping a lock of it around his fingers possessively before letting it fall. Over the years, he'd occasionally fucked women who were more beautiful, but Anne was prettier than most biker women. And unlike most chicks, she was useful for more than just eye-candy and a fuck. The astonishing fact was how she stayed strong without becoming brittle or angry. For all that had happened to her, she wasn't spitting poison at the world, like so many victims did. She cared about Half-Sack. And she cared about Tig.

Curiousity satisfied, it was time to get out of here. As an afterthought, Tig shrugged out of his cut and took off the jacket underneath. He draped it over Anne, covering her bare limbs. Sure, it was pretty much leaving a red flag that he'd been in the apartment, but it was also a way to let Anne know that she was, at least from him, forgiven for Lodi.

In the morning, Tig sat down with Clay in the clubhouse. The rest of the boys were out, or opening up the shop for the day. Gemma set a mug of coffee and a doughnut in front of him and placed her hand affectionately on his shoulder, then leaned down to kiss Clay's cheek.

She poured two more mugs of the dark, bitter brew and said, "I'm going to go wake up the kids."

Clay chuckled. "Be nice."

"I'm always nice." Gemma replied over her shoulder.

Clay shook his head at his wife and then turned to Tig. "This time, I don't want you going to Oakland alone. No more stupid cowboy shit. If Half is good with the girl, take him with you. I don't want to look at his miserable face."

Tig shifted in his seat. He wasn't sure if Clay knew the extent of what happened in Lodi. "Did Gemma tell you...?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." There wasn't much more to say about it.

"Happy rode into Oakland last night. He'll meet you near the hospital. I don't want any bikes or cuts in sight of the hospital, you hear? You do what you have to, but the Sam Crow banner flies no where near Stahl."

"Agreed."

When Half-Sack stepped into the clubhouse, Tig glanced up, but Anne wasn't with him. Gemma followed the prospect, carrying Tig's leather jacket and wearing a smirk. She draped the jacket over the back of his chair without a word. Clay rolled his eyes.

"You cool?" Clay leaned back, casting a narrow eyed look at Half-Sack.

The prospect winced as if the sound of Clay's voice was too loud. He rubbed at his reddened eyes and shrugged. "Yeah… yeah."

"Stahl's sister is going back to the hospital today. You say the word, and she won't come back here. We'll find somewhere else to keep her till she goes home." Clay said.

Half-Sack's bleary eyes met Clay's with a sudden sharpness. "No. She can stay."

"I don't want you in the shop this morning." Clay said. "You look like your head would explode if we put a power-tool in your hands. Go to Oakland with Tigger and the girl."

Nodding unsteadily, Half-Sack pulled a pack of cigarettes from the rumpled pocket of his shirt and headed outside to light up.

"If she's half as badly off as he is, I'm going to be babysitting their hangovers all morning."

"Don't look at me. It was Gemma's idea."

"An idea that fucking worked, gentlemen."

"All hail the Queen." Clay said dryly. Gemma tossed a doughnut at his head, which Tig snatched out of the air.

"Still got your back, boss."

It was another half hour before Anne emerged, bearing the coffee mug clasped on both hands like it was the source of all her strength. Her damp hair trailed loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing jeans, suede leather boots, and an oversize green sweater that draped teasingly over her curves. The sleeves fell past her wrists, partially hiding the bandage. Clay laughed out loud at the look of perplexed pain on her face as she blinked at the lights. She winced at the volume, which just made Clay laugh harder.

"Some of us have to work today. I'll leave you to the babysitting." Clay said, patting Tig on the shoulder. He put his arm around Gemma's waist and the two of them left for the garage.

Anne approached Tig, set her coffee down, and leaned over the back of his chair. She lowered her head so that her cheek brushed his and slung her arms loosely around him. It was an endearingly sweet gesture; the kind of thing Gemma did with Clay. Anne's voice, close to his ear, was quiet.

"Sometimes, I'm really stupid." She touched the bandage. "I'm sorry."

Tig put his hand on her arm. The sweater was too librarian-like for his tastes, but it was soft. "You okay?"

She thought about it before replying. "Yeah, I am."

"How's the hang-over?"

"My head hurts." Anne said plaintively.

"Gemma brought doughnuts, if you can handle food."

She gave a sound of raw disgust and hid her face against his shoulder. Tig laughed and petted her hair. "Poor baby."

Anne took the seat Clay had left. She moved slowly, as if in pain, but her grace remained. She drew one knee up to her chin and wrapped her arms around herself, regarding Tig pensively. When she spoke, it was matter of factly. "Today, I need to kill my sister. With a pen, of all things."

"She's already dead. All you're doing is letting her body go." Tig leaned back, narrowly watching Anne's face for weakness. He wasn't sure he could handle tears. All he saw, however, was a dark calm. She was in pain, but this was the same woman who'd stood over him while bullets flew around them. She was serene. "Are you ready for this? It doesn't have to be today."

"She would hate being stuck where she is now. I should have done it yesterday." Anne rested her chin on her knee and peered at Tig from behind a lock of her hair. "Are you coming with me?"

"I'll get you there, yeah. Half-Sack's coming. Happy will meet us in Oakland." He took a sip of coffee and looked at Anne over the rim of his mug. He wasn't sure how safe his next question was. "Is there anyone else in your family who should be there?"

Anne gave an enigmatic little smile. "No."

"Parents?"

"Died years ago." Anne shrugged. "Neither of us have kids, and June wasn't much for making friends."

"Hm." Broken families were nothing new to biker culture. In a way, Tig found it comforting that there weren't any more meddling Stahls around to give Anne or the Sons a hard time. If she'd had relatives, they'd take a dim view of her fucking a biker. It was sad for Anne to face something like this alone, however.

Looking at the girl across from him, Tig understood that this was where so much of her strength came from. Anne relied on no one. She did what she did because in her world, there was no one else. That made her vulnerable, but not fragile. It explained a lot about how she survived Lodi—instead of waiting for a rescue, she'd looked to her own resources. She expected to do things alone.

Which meant that if she was with Tig, it was because she wanted him, not because she needed him. It was with painful certainty that the idea crystallized; he wanted Anne to stay.

When it was time to leave for Oakland, Anne flinched at the sunlight in the courtyard. She covered her eyes with her unbandaged hand and regarded the world as if it were a grave insult. Gemma, who'd been watching from the office, joined them. It was, Tig reflected, a deep stroke of luck that the two women seemed to get along.

Gemma said something quietly into Anne's ear. The two embraced, and Tig nearly choked on the sudden mental picture of the two engaged in more passionate exchanges. Gemma stepped back and pulled a pair of sunglasses from her purse and set them on Anne's face. Both laughed. Tig looked away before either could notice the expression on his face.

Because he'd turned, Tig was the first to see the police car approaching the open gates of Teller-Morrow. He groaned. It wasn't Unser at the wheel. Hale had come for Anne.

"Gem." He said, and jerked his head towards the gate. She nodded and left Anne's side at an unhurried but long-legged pace, straight to the clubhouse.

He caught Half-Sack's eye. The prospect ambled up to Anne's side and leaned against the car. Tig turned to intercept Hale as the deputy stepped out of his car.

"Morning, Deputy. Car trouble?"

Hale's glare could have peeled paint. "Hoping to have a word with Mrs. Harris."

"Her sister's dying." Tig said flatly, ignoring Hale's emphasis on the Mrs. "You wanna bother her now? That's cold, man."

"Tell me what she's doing with the Sons. Explain to me how an ATF agent's sister just happens to fall in with you right around the time her sister gets gang-raped and beaten."

"Shit like that isn't our way, Hale."

"Your way?" Hale echoed, his eyes hardening. "I've seen your rap sheet, Trager."

Tig heard Anne's soft footstep the moment before her hand lightly touched his arm. She looked... innocent. Her eyes were wide and concerned. She seemed smaller than she had moments ago. She had never looked so timid under Nordic hands.

"I remember you. You pointed a gun at me." It should have sounded snarky, but Anne said it in a hushed voice. Her hand lingered on Tig's arm as if for comfort.

Hale was used to being treated like the badguy by bikers. He clearly wasn't used to having pretty women regard him as if he was dangerous.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you. I was concerned for the safety of Agent June Stahl."

"I appreciate that." Anne said. It was impossible to read her tone.

Hale's shoulders were tense, and his tone was defensive. "I was friends with her."

"Not many people were." Anne said softly.

"Can we talk in private?"

Anne shrugged stiffly. She was behaving as if she were intimidated. It made him grit his teeth until he remembered that she concealed her true feelings much better than this. Anne was deliberately acting frightened of Hale.

Hale glared at Tig. "Give us a moment, Trager."

Anne let her hand fall from Tig's shoulder. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It's okay. He's just doing his job."

Hale was rattled, but he concealed it with an irritable shrug. "Thank you, ma'am. I won't take much of your time."

As much as Tig wanted himself or Clay to call the shots in any situation involving the Sons and Hale, this was for Anne to handle alone. It was important that it didn't look as if the Sons were controlling her at all. The situation was bad enough without giving Hale any added suspicions that Anne was either complicit in Stahl's death, or at risk from the Sons. He wasn't happy, but surprisingly, Tig felt calm. He trusted Anne to not do anything stupid. Sometimes, he didn't even trust Gemma to not throw sparks and rile things up.

Rolling that idea around in his head, he nodded. It was hard to resist the urge to stare down Hale to make the deputy remember that badges didn't make a man, but that wouldn't have helped. If Anne could be smart, so could he. Tig went to stand with Half-Sack.

From a distance, they watched Anne. She led the deputy to the picnic table outside the clubhouse and sat across from him. Without seeming to move quickly at all, she took the bench facing Tig, which put Hale's back to the majority of the Sons. Tig smirked. He also noticed that she was sitting sideways on the bench with her arm resting on the table; it seemed casual and relaxed, but it kept her bandaged hand out of sight and meant that she could easily step away from the table at any moment. Clever girl.

They talked. Anne's eyes were downcast for most of it, as if she was weighed down with grief. At one point, Hale reached out to take Anne's hand in a gesture of compassion. Tig glanced across to the office windows and saw the shadow of Clay, also watching. That was good—let the president see that Anne had Hale wrapped around her finger.

It wasn't long before the deputy stood, nodded at Anne, and returned to his car. Once the car was out of sight, Anne rose and walked towards Tig. He wasn't used to women coming to him for comfort, but that's what she did, without hesitation or concern that he'd push her away. Her arms came up around his neck and she leaned into him.

"That guy thinks he's Superman." Anne said after a moment, her voice reproachful. "He wants to be a hero so badly that he'll get me killed if I can't convince him to drop it."

Tig looked down at her. She was shaken. "I thought you were just pretending to be scared."

Anne shook her head. "Not scared of him. Scared of him finding out about Connor. Yeah, I was playing it up for his benefit, but Lodi needs to stay a secret for all kinds of reasons."

"What did you tell him?"

"Same thing I told people back home." She shrugged. "Burned out on fighting the good fight with troubled kids, hopped in a car and went to visit my sister. One thing led to another and I met you in a bar."

"You told people you had a nervous breakdown?" Tig blinked.

She shrugged. "Yeah, it sounds bad, but people are more likely to believe an unflattering lie."

"Do you care at all what people think about you?"

Anne frowned at him. "And what do you think of me?"

"That you make a hangover look good."

Her smile—a sincere one this time—lit up her face. Tig kissed her firmly. If he could make her smile on this day of all days, maybe there was hope for the monsters after all.