Hey look, I'm not dead. And the new season of SoA is coming up in a couple months. Spiffy. Sorry for the huge hiatus.

I like to think that the song The High Road by Broken Bells was playing on the stereo in the car during this chapter. "The dawn to end all nights, that's all we hoped it was. A break from the warfare in your house."

-B.

Tig hated hospitals. It was the smell of them, the indignity, and the way the staff always acted so goddamn smug. He felt doubly uncomfortable without his cut; both he and Half-Sack had left them in the trunk of the Chevy. It was hard not to envy Happy, who was hanging out with Tig's bike and a pack of cigarettes at a gas station a few minutes away.

At least they had a place to sit. The hospital must have provided the bench for the cops guarding Stahl's room. No uniforms were in sight now, however. Not much point protecting a corpse. In the end, even Stahl's coworkers had left her. So sad. Anne and a doctor were the only ones present at her death bed.

He had expected Half-Sack to be twitchy and annoying, but the boy had gone still in a way that was disturbingly like Anne. It was like sitting next to a ghost. Eyes hooded, arms folded across his chest, Half-Sack barely seemed to be breathing. One of the nurses walked past them, and Tig noticed that she adjusted her path to put a little more distance between herself and the two Sons. For the first time, he realized that Half-Sack had become—at least to others—intimidating. He didn't look like a kid anymore.

It wouldn't be long now. Anne had gone into Stahl's room twenty minutes ago. Tig didn't like the way the doctor had rested his hand consolingly on Anne's shoulder, but he bit his tongue and stayed in the hallway with Half-Sack.

A tall, dark-haired man in a business suit came down the hallway, his eyes scanning room numbers as he made his way towards them. His brown eyes took in Half-Sack and Tig before settling on the window to Stahl's room.

"Losing family is always a difficult thing." The man said meditatively, seeming to not notice how Tig was straightening in his seat or the way Half-Sack's lazy posture tensed. "I gather that's the sister?"

"Are you family?" Tig asked. Anne had said there wasn't any family to come.

"No. Just a friend of Agent Stahl's. I came to pay my respects, but I see I'm too late."

Fantastic. The man was probably ATF. Tig forced himself to relax.

"June was a very good agent. She gave her life for it." The stranger shrugged. He didn't seem upset. "But such are the risks of law enforcement. A pity."

Silence fell. Half-Sack watched the hall, Tig watched the man, and the man gazed into the room where Anne was witnessing her sister's death. It was, for Tig, deeply uncomfortable.

"It's over." The man said at last. He cast a hollow smile towards Tig and withdrew, walking back the way he'd come with the easy stride of a confident man. The two Sons exchanged a look, but there wasn't time to talk. The door handle turned, and Anne stepped into the hallway.

Tig wasn't sure what to expect of Anne. Grief made even calm people volatile. He watched her with some trepidation as she turned towards them. Her eyes were glassy, but she wasn't crying. She looked first at Half, then Tig. After the barest hesitation, she reached for him. He wasn't sure it was a good thing that he'd become a comfort for her, but he liked knowing that she trusted him.

He heard the rattle before he saw the bottle of pills in her hand. He plucked it from her unresisting fingers and looked at the label. It was the Ativan he'd seen in her purse.

"How many did you take?"

She gave him a weary but dark look at the concern in his voice. "Two."

Tig exhaled and tightened his hold on Anne. It was a high dose, but as far as he knew, a safe one. She leaned into Tig, and let Half-Sack take her purse and the insurance papers.

"I don't want to be here anymore." She said quietly.

"No more bullshit paperwork to do?"

"We can leave."

"Then let's get the fuck out of here." Tig said. Half-Sack nodded.

Tig couldn't pin down how he felt. On the one hand, he was frustrated that he hadn't been able to protect her from this pain. On the other, he felt deep relief at knowing that Stahl would never, ever, darken the Sons doorstep again. It brought an end to one sad story, but showed him how terribly open he was to feeling for Anne. Anger, worry and affection waged war as he unlocked the Chevy.

Anne was silent on the way to the gas station. Every time he glanced over at her, she was calm and remote. He had the sense that she was pulling away from everything, including him. Tig sighed. She hadn't liked her sister, but on some level, Anne must have loved her. Family was complicated… but now Anne didn't have any family at all.

Before turning the wheel over to Half-Sack, Tig reached out and touched Anne's face, lightly pressing his palm to her cheek. He wanted to see her react. Anne blinked, and then turned towards him as if only just remembering that he was there. Her green eyes searched his face, and she smiled. It was a small smile, barely a quirk of her lips, but it was real.

"I'm okay, Tig. Just… processing." She put her hand over his. She was quiet, then spoke with a solemn weight. "Thank you."

He ignored Happy's amused stare as he retrieved his cut and bike. He felt better as soon as his cut was across his shoulders and his bike was under him. They let Half-Sack get a head-start before following, bikes side-by-side on the highway back to Charming. On the last stretch into town, as the sun threw long shadows across the road, they left the car behind and opened the throttle to fly the rest of the way home.

When Half-Sack pulled into the lot with Anne's rental Chevy, Tig was there to meet them. The prospect climbed out of the car alone. Anne was curled in the passenger seat, pale face tucked against her arm and half hidden by the drape of her sleeve. Half-Sack looked down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "She fell asleep before we hit the highway. She looks so… I dunno. Innocent."

Tig shook his head and opened the passenger door. Anne didn't wake when he gathered her up in his arms, though she did stir enough to make a sleepy sound of protest. He carried her into the clubhouse, deliberately not looking at anyone at all.

Gemma appeared before the apartment door closed. "She okay?"

"Doped herself up on tranqs, but that might be for the best." Tig laid Anne down on the bed and sat wearily next to her.

"She might be the only one in the whole goddamn world to give a shit that Stahl's dead." Gemma said, approaching the bedside. She rested her hand on Anne's forehead, but her eyes were on Tig. Her face was both sad and loving.

"You're in over your head with her, aren't you?" Gemma's voice was dry. "No bullshitting me this time."

Tig shook his head and avoided Gemma's eyes. He realized he was staring at Anne. It was enough of an answer. There wasn't any point in pretending he had any kind of objectivity when it came to Anne. Gemma leaned over the bed and kissed him lightly, her soft lips just touching his cheek.

"Tomorrow, her pride will be back, and she'll remember falling apart today. She'll push you away. She'll throw up walls." Gemma predicted, her voice low and her eyes unblinking. You can't make this girl chase you, Tig. She wants you, but she won't say she needs you, or anyone else."

"How do you know that?"

"She's a proud bitch. I get that." Gemma's eyes lit with amusement at the look on Tig's face. "All the rest, yeah, she's not like me. She's too quiet, she lets people think she's weak. Fuck that. But the pride? She's got that in spades, Tig. If she didn't, you wouldn't want her so bad."

"You think she'd stay in Charming?"

Gemma shrugged. "What else has she got? You, and a whole lot of nothing."

Tig stayed silent as Gemma fetched a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over Anne. He watched the queen stroke Anne's gleaming hair before quietly leaving the apartment. When the door shut, Tig rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

Even with a chain around her neck, there'd been something dignified about Anne that the Nordics couldn't break. He remembered the pride burning behind her angry, hurting eyes. Vulnerable, yes. Fragile, no. He'd only ever seen her fighting one battle or another. What would she be like if she felt secure? How strong would she be then?

There were no answers from the sleeping woman at his side. No guarantee that if she stuck around, things would stay good. The last time she left, she'd made the choice to run before the passion between them went bad. If he let her, she'd run again. It was all about the pride. Tig ran his fingers across her cheek and down to her throat, where the chain no longer rested against her skin. Her pulse was slow and steady under his hand. If he told her to stay, she'd feel the chain tightening and run. And if he asked? What would she say?

He leaned over Anne, eyes searching her face for any sign of consciousness and seeing none. Anne's lips were cool and soft under his. His hand tangled in her hair as he tilted back her head, baring more of her pale throat. There were faint scars there, pink against the whiteness, where the chain had chafed against her skin for weeks. He tasted the scars, feeling a strange sense of ownership of them. She'd been staked out by the Nordics as temptation, and he had taken her away from them.

Tig pulled away the blanket and let his hands wander over her body. She wouldn't have stopped him, if she'd been awake, but the thought that she couldn't stop him was enticing. He slid his hand under the oversized sweater, closing his eyes at the pleasure of her silken skin, firm and warm.

Lowering more of his weight over her, Tig lightly bit the skin where her shoulder met her neck. His hand found her breast and he shuddered, lust and temptation warring with consequence. Mouth still at her neck, he bit harder, not breaking the skin but hard enough to hurt if she'd been awake. He needed to stop, or he'd leave marks on her. Pulling back from her bare throat, he saw her lips part. Tig stilled, but Anne was remained asleep. He kissed her lips, more gently, lowering his hand to her hip.

As his hand roamed down her leg and more slowly up her inner thigh, he wished she'd worn a skirt instead of jeans today. But maybe that was for the best. Anne's eyelashes trembled at dreams. There was no pride between them in this moment. He pressed his forehead to hers, and as his hand brushed across her breast before encircling her throat, she moaned softly.

A smirk twisted Tig's lips. He trailed his fingers along her arm, then back under the hem of her sweater. He put his lips to her ear, nipping at her earlobe, and was rewarded by another breathy sound of arousal.

"Dream of me," he commanded, voice soft and his lips touching her skin. Better to have her dreaming of a righteously good fuck than of her sister, or about Lodi.

It was hard to pull his hands away from her body, but he needed to put distance between them before he went too far. Anne was deep in her dreams, and by the look of her flushed lips, she was having good one. Even in her sleep, she gave herself to him. He felt powerful. He felt an overwhelming sense of both ownership and protectiveness for the woman under him.

Tig stood and looked down at Anne. He adjusted her sweater so that it was less obvious she'd been touched and retrieved the blanket from the floor. His hand lingered by her face for a long moment, and he growled quietly in frustration. Clothes and pride, always in the way.

He left Anne to her dreams. Tomorrow they could figure out where things stood.