Chibs schooled his expression while he worked on the bleeding Irishman, but his head spun. McKeavy's dead. The words reverberated in his brain. McKeavy's dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Chibs never called Michael a friend while he was alive, but a shudder of grief ran through his body as he thought of the man being beaten and left to die. The two taciturn men had spent sporadic evenings over the last decade in comfortable silence during McKeavy's business visits. And then there were the photographs of Kerrianne. McKeavy's unexpected kindness over the years had brought tears to the Scots' eyes, and he felt a little sick to his stomach that his first thought when he heard of McKeavy's death was disappointment that there would be no more candid shots of his baby girl.

Chibs drained the bottle and roared for the prospect to bring him another one. He was drunker than he usually let himself get while working on a patient, but the second slug was buried in the meat of Cameron's ass. He hadn't run through all his options yet, but he already suspected that this was beyond his abilities. He was trained as a field medic, not a fucking surgeon, he grumbled to himself.

When Juice showed up with another bottle, this one filled with vodka, Cameron reached for it. "Give it to him," Chibs commanded, and Juice opened the bottle and helped the patient take a hefty swallow. "Is there something I can do?" Juice asked.

Chibs nodded curtly. "More clean towels."

Juice obeyed and was back in a moment. He cleared his throat and stepped from foot to foot. "It's like a tomb in here."

"If you're trying to be comforting, you're fucking failing." Cameron complained, his words slurred by booze and blood loss.

"Just saying, I've read that a positive environment benefits patients." Juice mumbled. He paused, and then said with forced cheeriness, "Chibs, how're things with A-" Juice's voice stopped as the Scot made a slicing motion with his finger. "With your new apartment?" Juice covered.

"Fine," Chibs answered through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing. He mouthed, "what the fuck?" to Juice. He pressed another towel on the wound. "Hey, Tiggy!" he yelled through the open door. "Can you come here for a minute?"

"Sure, man, what do you need?" Tig leaned against the doorframe.

"Just stay here with him while I take a piss. Keep pressure on that towel there." Chibs caught Juice's eyes and jerked his thumb at the door. Juice followed.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Chibs turned and gave an open handed slap to the back of Juice's head. "What the fuck was that? Asking about Aoife in front of Cameron?"

"I told you. I was trying to lighten the mood. Talking about Aoife puts you in a good mood. What's the problem, Chibs?"

Chibs stared into his brother's eyes for a long minute. "How can you be so fucking smart and yet so thick?" Juice blinked. "Let me break this down for you, Juicey. Who does Cameron work for?"

"The Irish," Juice replied, his voice uncertain.

Chibs' voice came out in a hiss, and his pointer finger stabbed the air in front of Juice's chest. "The Real IRA. Jimmy." Chibs traced the curve of his right cheek scar with his finger. "Cameron works for Jimmy O. Hayes can't know about Aoife. Because Jimmy can't ever find out about her."

"Shit. I'm an idiot." Juice rubbed his scalp. "I'm sorry, man."

Once Tara arrived to work on Cameron, Chibs finished off the bottle on the table with one long swallow and headed for his dorm room. He stripped off his blood-spattered clothes, creating two piles - the ones he thought he could salvage and those that were unquestionably bound for incineration. He cranked up the hot water and stepped into the steaming shower, watching as the blood on his face, arms and hands tinted the water. After washing his hair and scrubbing his arms twice, he picked up the nail brush from the shelf and worked at scraping the dried blood from under his fingernails.

He turned off the shower and squeezed the excess water out of his shaggy hair before rubbing it with a towel. He wrapped a towel around his waist and mechanically brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and shaved. The doc could save Cameron's life, Chibs was sure. He wondered if that was a good thing. Who was Cameron, really, and where did his loyalties lie: with the True IRA, or with Jimmy? Would he be another ally like McKeavy, or would Chibs spend every visit on his guard, keeping Cameron from gaining the knowledge that would allow Jimmy to destroy Chibs' family another time? As the steam dissipated and he could see his whole lean, muscled upper body in the mirror, he stopped and stared at himself, reading the story of his life in the scars and tattoos. What was it Aoife had said to him early on - "our scars make us who we are"? "Our scars and our ink," Chibs said to his reflection. As his eyes roamed over his reaper, his iron cross, Kerrianne's name over his heart, the phoenix over his ribs, and healed wounds of all kinds, he realized one of the few truly happy chapters was missing. He hoped Hap was still in town.

Still wrapped in the towel, he sat on the edge of his bed and plugged in his phone to charge. He then dialed Aoife's number. She answered cautiously, "Aye?" Chibs realized he didn't even know what time it was or how long it had been since he left her at the apartment door.

"Hey, darlin'. I'm sorry if I worried you. We had a bit of medical emergency and I just got relieved by the doc about 15 minutes ago."

Aoife sighed with relief. "I was a bit worried," she admitted. "Tig stopped by a bit ago to get coffee and let me know that he wasn't sure when you'd be able to call, but it's not the same as hearing your voice and confirming for myself that you're fine."

"I know exactly what you mean. There are a few things I need to talk to you about ASAP."

Chibs and Aoife had barely kissed hello when his phone began to ring. "Fucking hell," he snarled, his exhaustion shortening his fuse. "One minute, love." He flipped open his phone. "Aye. Church. 1 hour. I'll be there. Don't even think of calling again before that."

"Your phone won't stop ringing lately," Aoife teased, her hand sliding down his muscled forearm.

"Club gets this way sometimes. Things get hot for a while, and then they calm down." He kissed the tip of her nose. "We know we have to keep a better eye on our families during these times. You don't have to worry." His voice thickened on that promise. Please, Heavenly Father, he prayed. Don't make me a liar.

"You said you needed to tell me some things?" Aoife prompted.

Chibs briefed her on Cameron, the new IRA contact, and the arrival of the ATF. "We don't know Cameron's alliances yet. I suspect the ATF will come sniffing around for information on the club."

"I know what to do," she assured him, her voice confident. "This isn't my first go-round with the cops." Chibs looped a stray curl around his finger and tucked it behind her ear.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, lass. When you stand there, all confident about talking to the cops, it's fucking sexy as hell." He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth to his, channeling his desire into the kiss. "I'm going to do my damndest to get things done at the clubhouse and spend tonight in our bed."

"Good. Because I've been working on ideas for what my crow should look like."

His pulse quickened. Her enthusiasm for indelibly marking herself was a jolt to both his heart and his groin. "I can't fucking wait to see them," he said before he captured her lips in another hot kiss.

Clay raised the gavel, and Chibs spoke up. "I've got something, Prez." He felt surprised eyes on him, and he knew why. He couldn't remember the last time that he brought something up in chapel. "What I'm about to say won't be a surprise to most of you, but Aoife and I have made things official. She's my ol' lady." Bobby's face was all smiles, Jax gave a thumbs-up, and he felt both Juice and Tig clap him on the back. Further down the table, murmurs of congratulations drifted to his ears. "I need to ask all of you for something a little unusual. Aoife and I have decided to keep our relationship quiet."

Clay narrowed his eyes and barked, "Why?", around his cigar.

Chibs had given a lot of thought as to how to present this. "Some of Aoife's relatives have IRA ties. It could hurt the club if the ATF is able to tie Aoife to us, even though she really isn't involved in our business."

"That it?" Clay pressed.

The next evasion had taken some time to craft. "No. We deal with the Real IRA. There are numerous splinter groups who all consider themselves heirs to the Irish Republican Army. Aoife's family was IRA, but doesn't seem to have been True IRA. I want to keep her away from our Irish contacts so that factional disagreements can't impede our business relationship."

"And to keep Jimmy from finding out about Aoife," Clay finished for him.

"Aye," Chibs agreed.

Clay's jaw was tense, but he smiled grimly and said. "Any issues with Chibs' request that we keep his old lady under the radar?" He surveyed the table. "Seeing none, meeting adjourned." He slammed down the gavel harder than usual, shooting Chibs a glare.

The MC shuffled out of the room. As a unit, they lined up at the bar and started yelling for the prospect to serve up some booze. Chibs felt Clay at his elbow before he saw him. "Chibs," the President growled. "You should have told me about the IRA connection as soon as you knew." Chibs lifted the bottle of beer the prospect slid to him and took two long swallows. He returned Clay's steady gaze and nodded his head once. "Don't let it fucking happen again."

"I won't, Clay."

"Good." Clay stalked away to discuss something with Bobby. Chibs looked down the bar, where Hap was perched on a barstool swapping tall tales with Tig. Chibs grabbed his beer by the cold neck and climbed up on the third bar stool. Hap nodded at him.

"Congrats on you and your old lady making things official. She got her ink yet?" Hap asked.

"That's what I came to talk to you about," Chibs confirmed.