I based Anne on things I've seen in others, or experienced myself, but I'm only guessing at what the events in this story would do to a person. What happens when you take someone who survived a whole lot of shit, got strong and healed themselves… then throw them in a bigger pile of shit ten years later? Anne had to make the conscious decision to revisit some pretty dark places in her soul in order to stand up to the Nords. I imagine she feels a bit like she sacrificed the bright, shiny person she thought she'd become. Is that how it really works? Who knows. I am over-thinking again? Indubitably.

Song pick: Failsafe by New Pornographers. The lyrics are a bit vague but the song has a powerful sense of enduring hope. It's the kind of song you play at the end of a shitty day when you know you get to sleep in tomorrow.

Next chapter is probably going to be another Anne-view bit. The idea of her and Happy alone together is something I can't resist exploring. Obviously they didn't kill each other, but Happy's been trying to provoke her ever since they almost fought in Lodi.

-B.

Half-Sack's welcome was a lot warmer than it had been the last time Tig brought Anne home. The prospect caught Anne in a hug moments after she stepped in the club house door behind Tig. She winced when Half's arm came around her left side, but she said nothing and just hugged him back.

"Alright, alright, enough." Just because he trusted that Half wasn't his competition didn't mean he liked seeing other men's hands on Anne, especially when it was causing her pain.

Anne smiled and kissed Half-Sack's stubbled cheek, but moved back to Tig's side. He stroked her hair possessively. "Go chill. I'll send the doctor over."

She touched his hand and said, "Thanks."

In the club house, he found Happy sprawled on the couch, looking tired but satisfied. The nomad pushed a familiar but nameless leggy blond off his lap and assured her that he'd come for her later. Hands now free, he passed Tig a bottle of beer and raised his own without bothering to sit up. "Here's to dead Nazis."

"I'll drink to that. Thanks for looking after Anne." He narrowed his eyes. "Even if you did try to jack my girl."

Happy's smile widened. "I behaved."

Tig wondered how Happy defined the word behave. "Yeah? How come she ditched you in the airport?"

"Too much man for her."

"Uh-huh." Tig eyed narrowly Happy and took a deep drink from the chilled beer. "Never again, brother. She's officially hands off."

Unable to resist, Juice jumped into the conversation, "So does that like, make her your old lady?"

Tig rounded on Juice, leaned in, and stared the boy down. "That makes her hands off."

Unthreatened, Juice leaned back. "Okay, okay. Just ask'n. She's pretty mysterious, is all. She's only really friendly with Half-Sack. Er, and you, of course. Very friendly with you."

"Once she's used to us, it'll be different." Half-Sack said, without looking up his glass. "She's scared, not bitchy."

Tig scowled. "She ain't a bitch."

"Aye." Chibs commented as he came over to slap Tig on the back. He grinned. "If she were, more of ye would be bleeding. It true she's a medic?"

"No, but she learned some stuff for her job." Half-Sack answered. His eyes flicked to Tig, then away. "She patched up Tig pretty good after the wreck. Said it was way beyond what she should have been trying, though."

"Well, can't hurt to have another body around who won't faint at the sight of blood." Chibs said, satisfied.

Tig smirked. Anne might be jumpy about a lot of things, but if she saw a bullet wound, he'd bet money that she wouldn't freak out until after the bandages were set. He looked at Half-Sack. "She tell you anything else interesting in all your heart-to-hearts?"

"Not much, man." Half-Sack shrugged. "She's not a big talker."

Tig watched Half-Sack over the rim of his drink. Anne had spent a lot of time with the prospect, and the boy probably knew more about her than he did. Sure, he knew the important things—like how well she handled chaos, violence, and imminent danger… but what else? What else mattered?

Tara stepped into the room and caught Tig's eye. He met her by the hallway. The doctor didn't look particularly worried, but her eyes were stern. "She's just bruised, but some of them are second degree. I think she's going to be in a world of pain tomorrow. Looks like her arm to the worst of it, though that probably saved her from a concussion. I don't think there's any internal bleeding, but if she gets sick or dizzy at all, take her to the ER."

"Can you give her anything?"

"She's too stubborn to take any painkillers right now, but I think she'll change her mind later. I left some oxycotin." The doctor's eyes hardened at the look on his face. "For her, Tig."

Tig had laughed at the doctor's warning. He gave her his saddest puppy dog eyes. "Aw, shucks, doc. So little trust."

Tara visibly swallowed whatever she wanted to say and just patted his arm. "I'm glad she's safe, Tig."

Tig nodded. If it hadn't been Anne jumped in the morning, it probably would have been Tara, Lyla, or Gemma. The doctor was smart enough to know that. "Thanks for looking in on her."

"Ain't no thing for a sister." Tara said, mimicking Tig's drawl.

He laughed. When Tara first reappeared in Charming, he figured she'd bail once she saw how messy Jax's life could be. Instead, she not only stayed, she helped. Having a doctor loyal to the club was priceless. Having a doctor who was hot and had a sense of humor was beyond priceless.

"Hey doc?" Tig hesitated. "You think she'll be okay with us? Like, you think she can hang with Sam Crow for real?"

Tara's smile turned gentle. "I don't know. My guess is she'll stick around as long as she's got a good enough reason to stay. You want her to be your old lady?"

It was the question that kept coming up. His knee-jerk reaction was always to deny and play down the idea of putting labels on Anne. Somehow, it was easier to hear the question from Tara than it was from his brothers.

"Most girls around here love the MC life." He met Tara's reserved blue gaze. "Anne's not like that."

Tara nodded. "If she's here, she's here for you. Not for your cut, not for your bike, and not for your patch. You."

He rubbed at his eyes. Tara had cut right to the heart of it. If he was the only thing keeping Anne around, how long would she really stay? "Thanks doc."

"Hey. It's not a bad thing." The corner of her mouth tilted in a smirk. "And for what it's worth, I think she's got enough guts to stick it out through everything Sam Crow throws at her."

"Yeah, she's a fighter." Tig said, feeling a bit better.

"I'll bring some things for her tomorrow, help make her feel welcome." Tara's lips twitched. "Just remember—until those bruises heal, be gentle."

"Yes, ma'am."

As she walked away, Tara shot him a look that managed to be both warning and affectionate. Jax was lucky to have her. Tara never flirted with Tig, but she treated him like he mattered. In fact, she wasn't intimidated by anyone in the club. She knew her place in it, and had no doubts that she was completely safe with Tig or any of the other members.

How long would it take to get Anne to that point? If Anne couldn't be good with the club, any relationship they started probably wouldn't last very long. John Teller had always said that you told an old lady everything, or nothing—it was the shit in between that got you in trouble. Anne was too smart to know nothing, but could she handle everything?

Tig rubbed at his eyes again. Too many hours riding, not enough sleep, and he was turning into a giant goddamn girl. Anne was the woman who fought Nords. She'd be fine with Sam Crow.

It wasn't much later before Tig set his last beer down and went down the back hall to the apartment. He let himself in quietly. The lights were still on, but Anne was asleep in bed, curled up on her side, half covered by a blanket. She was wearing a club t-shirt and pink pajama pants. Someone must have retrieved her suitcase from the wrecked Chevy. With the bruises hidden and her hair splayed across the pillow, she looked both wholesome and wickedly tempting. He'd had fantasies like this—seducing some clean college co-ed in the night.

Then he noticed the knife on the bedside table. Was that Happy's knife? Christ. How the hell had that happened? Now she was sweetly sleeping, waiting for him, wearing pajamas with teddy-bears printed on them. Adorable and dangerous.

He wanted to tear away the blanket and wake her with his hands and mouth, but after the doctor's warning, he knew he had to let her sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and admitted to himself that just lying down next to Anne wasn't a distant second when it came to desires. He killed the light, shed his clothes and slid into the bed next to her. As he settled, liking the unfamiliar feeling of getting under a blanket that was already warmed by someone else, Anne stirred. She snuggled up against him, catlike and soft. Tig fell asleep with her breath on his arm and her hair twinned around his fingers.

Hours later, Tig woke alone. For a moment, that felt right. Then his hand went out to where Anne had fallen asleep at his side. Nothing but rumpled sheets and her scent. Tig groaned.

The bedroom door was open, and there was dim light beyond. Ignoring the protests of his tired, aching body, Tig slipped from the bed on quiet feet and stepped into the living room. Anne was sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, holding her cell phone. She wasn't using it, just turning it over in her hands, eyes focused on nothing. Tig was practically standing over her before she noticed him. She tensed, eyes flashing feral before she recognized him. She shook her head ruefully and looked up at him, apologetic.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart." His annoyance at waking alone evaporated at the sight of her. Curled there, a blanket pulled up around her shoulders, she looked both innocent and profoundly sad. "Bad dreams?"

"No dreams." She shook her head. "Everything just hurts more than yesterday."

"You take the meds Tara left?"

"Twenty minutes ago. I've been waiting for them to start working." Anne set her phone on the coffee table. "I'm sorry I woke you."

He touched her face with his fingertips. Gently, he tilted her chin so that she had to look him in the eye. He looked for regret, or fear, or guilt. All that he saw in Anne's eyes was trust and weariness.

"Were you going to call someone in Calgary?"

Anne's head tilted. She looked at him with those deep green eyes that gave away nothing. Her bandaged hand reached up and took his arm. She firmly pulled him down so that their noses almost touched.

"I knew I was making a mistake before I even hit the highway, yesterday. I just needed the space to breathe and figure out how to feel." She spoke calmly and levelly. Her hand stroked the back of his neck, then he felt the edge of her fingernails lightly digging into his skin. "I'm your girl, Tig. At least for now. But if you ever send me off alone with that creepy knife-crazy bastard again, we're going to have words."

It was challenging to laugh and kiss someone at the same time, but Anne made it possible. He said, "No second thoughts?"

"It was never you I was running away from. It was me." Anne held his gaze. She frowned thoughtfully. The tone of her voice turned self-mocking and she glanced at the hand she'd cut on the mirror days ago. "I'm pretty sure I did mention at some point that I'm really stupid sometimes."

Tig closed his eyes, bowing his head just enough to touch his forehead to hers. He had thought that the way she'd left would linger between them, a bitter point of distrust. But with her confession, he understood. It was all about chains. She had them on him, he had them on her. He walked around the couch and sat by Anne's side. Gently, he took her left hand and pushed back the blanket she was wrapped in. The bruises were a painful-looking mess, and she held the arm stiffly. She inhaled sharply when he moved it, but didn't protest.

He cradled her wrist. In his large hand, it looked delicate and pale. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from this."

Anne's eyes were gentle. She touched his face lightly with her other hand. "You can't protect me from everything."

The idea that he couldn't made Tig wince. He bowed his head to hide it from her. Now that she was here and it was in the open that she was something he wanted, he felt vulnerable. If anything had happened to her...

"Tig." She frowned, sensing that his mood had shifted. "I'm fine. Really."

Tig thought about the knife next to the bed. Anne was hurt, and he'd sent her off with the brother who scared her. "I shouldn't have told Happy to take you, yesterday. He said he made a move on you, but he wasn't bleeding when he told me. You sure you're okay?"

"He heard me when I said no." Anne gave him a wry smile. "Then he laughed his head off, said you and I were both idiots, and drove me to Oakland. Longest four hours of my life."

"Anne, he's a brother. He'll never hurt you. I promise." He wasn't sure Anne could understand club life yet, but she would. "Actually, it's a bit weird how much he likes you."

"Lust, maybe. Dunno about like."

Tig tried to think of how to explain Happy without making him sound even worse than Anne was figuring. Hell, he'd probably make himself sound like a psychopath in trying.

"Nah, he likes you." Tig said. Anne didn't look convinced, but as long as she stayed long enough to know the Sons, she'd learn the way a chapter worked. "Good thing for me that you like me more. Come back to bed, baby. You're not going to want to walk far when the oxy kicks in."

"I don't want to walk far now." Anne protested, but she let Tig help her up, stepping into his arms like it was something they'd done for years. She kissed him, a gentle, sleepy kiss. More affection than passion, but that was okay for tonight. He knew she wasn't going to run again, and a girl who'd fuck on a hotel balcony wasn't going to get boring any time soon.

Anne lay down at his side, her injured arm resting on his bare chest and her head on his shoulder. He kept himself awake, lazily threading his fingers through her hair. Within ten minutes, he could tell the oxycotin was starting to work. Her injured arm relaxed and she sighed. Knowing that she wasn't hurting anymore, Tig let himself sleep. She'd be with him when the sun came up. She'd said it herself—his girl.