She lay back in the bath, giving herself another minute before getting out. It had been a long, disappointing day. While her depression hovered, her anger was sparked in equal measures. Asshole. He was obviously made of stone. Did he not even care if she was breathing? He had literally saved her life. And then he couldn't be bothered to adhere to a request to see him. Bastard. She had wanted to thank him for what he had done. What did he think? That she would make a nuisance of herself? Pledge her life for his? She snorted indelicately. Bitch. Could she call him that? Too late. I just did.

Juice had dropped her at her apartment by late evening, being kind enough to bring up her bags and double check that there was nothing she needed. The apartment was a little roomier than Tig's place, but it wasn't large by any means. One bedroom, a bathroom that had a bath, an open plan kitchen and a little lounge. Once owned by her parents, the place was in a semi-decent neighbourhood. It was the only thing they had left behind. The décor, like her tastes, were a combination of practical and comfortable instead of over the top and fashionable. Colourful, cheery pillows, a welcoming and warm ambiance with old but comfortable furniture.

Almost a prune, she stepped from the bath gingerly and removed the towel around her head that had prevented it from getting wet. Operating without the sling, her muscles were warm so it didn't hurt too much. She took advantage of her limber state and lathered her body in her favourite lemon body butter. The fragrance soothed and made her feel better.

She pulled on her pyjamas; plain, matching white pants and a t-shirt. She was just about to untie and brush out her hair when the doorbell rang.

Perfect timing. It was almost 8pm and she had ordered take-out.

Shrugging into her gown, she padded to the door and pulled it open. Her jaw dropped.

"Catching flies?"

She snapped her jaw shut. Him.

"What are you doing here?" She drank in the delicious sight of him. "And what happened to you?"

Her anger simmered some and she ushered him in, refusing to give rise to gossip at the sight of a bloodied biker at her door. The big, sexy, dark devil stood in the centre of her tiny apartment, his feet planted on a colourful rug. The picture just didn't make sense.

But she was a medical professional and her training took over. She didn't think about it until the moment just before her hands would touch him. She hesitated, her gaze flicking up to his.

"May I?"

Besides a clenched jaw, his expression was blank. She felt his eyes fix on her as she proceeded to examine him.

She cradled the side of his face and turned his head. He made no objection. His hair was a tangled mess; she wasn't sure if it was dirt or blood caked in it. She brushed some curls away from his forehead and noticed a gash, but the blood had already begun clotting. His left eye was bruised, his cheek as well. She gingerly touched the skin. He winced.

"Sorry."

Beneath his goatee, his lip was split and there was dry blood in the corner of his mouth, some on his chin.

"You don't sound sorry."

She rolled her eyes and tried again. "What happened?"

She looked at his hands. When they touched, her gaze flickered up to his face again. Her cheeks burned and she was annoyed with herself. I'm not a bloody teenager anymore!

"I'm sure you didn't come all this way to be looked over by a med-student."

She ran her fingers over his knuckles, they were all bruised. In some places, the skin had split open. Three heavy silver rings had taken most of the hits on his right hand. Those fingers didn't look too bad. She turned his hands over, palms facing up. The pads of his fingers and the centre if his palms were rough and calloused. But there was no further bruising.

"I came to apologise." He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "I acted like a dick."

She noticed he didn't specify when he'd acted that way.

"There's been a lot of shit going down lately and I ur… I didn't mean to… fuck… just sorry. I'm sorry."

He obviously didn't apologise often. Morena knew this was the best she was going to get.

"Well, you did save my life. I suppose the least I can do is clean you up." She gestured to the sofa. "Have a seat. I'll get my first aid kit."

When she got back, he was standing right where she'd left him. He was looking around with curiosity, as if he couldn't make up his mind whether he was intrigued or disturbed. She moved to the kitchen counter and sat on a high stool, gesturing for him to follow.

"This is great," he said dryly. "Doctor sits, patient stands."

The tension dissipated.

"Oh shut up. You're much too tall and even if I sat down next to you, it's a long way up."

She made him stand in front of her while she sat on the high chair. It put her close to eye level. Being that close made her feel dizzy. Be professional. She wet some cotton wool and cleaned his gashes.

"You know, you look out of place." She gestured to his rings. "Off."

He grimaced but complied. "I'm afraid leather and tattoos don't gel well with the rainbows and sunshine in here. Christ, I think I need my sunglasses. I hope there are no fucking dolls around."

"Dolls? No." She laughed. "It's not polite to insult your host's decor."

She applied antiseptic, two tiny butterfly band aids to his cheek, but didn't wrap his knuckles.

"You need to let this breathe."

"I've been in more than enough fist fights sweetheart. I'll heal." He flexed his fingers and put the rings back on. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And ur... I'm sorry I told you to… fuck off." She blushed. "I was mad and... I don't quit by the way."

He hadn't moved and he was too close for comfort. Nervous tension again.

He raised an eyebrow. "Job description might have changed some darlin'."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to fuck Juice?"

Morena gasped in outrage, blinking at the rapid change of topic. By reflex, she raised her hand to slap him. He caught it.

"That's… its none of your damned business." She felt the colour rise in her face.

He leaned closer, his tattooed arms caging her in.

"You like him." It was a statement.

"What does it matter to you?" She could feel his breath on her face, his eyes were mesmerising and she couldn't look away. Her heart picked up its pace and she swore she could feel the throbbing all the way to her toes.

"It matters, Morena…" His lips hovered just above hers. "Because this once, I won't share."

She heard the words, but it didn't register. She didn't care any longer. Not about her dignity, not about being intimidated or shy. Not about being disappointed or angry. She did something she never thought she would do, but wanted so badly to.

She looked him in the eye, cupped his face and softly pressed her lips to his.