Once You're Gone, You Can't Come Back

by tellmesweetlittlelies

**Final sequel to Into the Black and Out of the Blue** After a drastic decision regarding her future, Tara finds herself unsure whether she'll ever be able to face up to the choices she's made. Meanwhile, with Opie in prison, Jax has his own crises, leaving them both in previously unexplored territory.

14. Chapter 13

"I love you, Tara. So much…"

It was all he was able to say at the moment, words dissolving into the kisses he trailed down her neck, across her collarbone. But it was enough to fill her heart, prompting the whispered answer that had him grinning against her skin. More than enough to have her own lips curling in anticipation as his hand skimmed down her hip, fingers dipping beneath the soft hem of the oversized t-shirt she wore and dragging it up until they paused, briefly, on the lacy edge of her panties.

Breathless, she waited for the series of touches she knew were coming- the moment when his fingers would tug down her panties, or maybe just slide beneath them…

And then, the whisper of his touch at her hip disappears, the delicious anticipation fading along with the last wisps of the dream receding into the drowsy recesses of her mind. Waking slowly, though not quite slowly enough, Tara's not sure whether the groan that surfaces as a result actually crosses her lips or is as much a part of the dream as Jax himself. Eyes still closed, she reaches out with the remaining shreds of her subconscious to try and regain her grasp on the piece of heaven she'd just left.

She'd been snuggled back into Jax, his strong arms surrounding her, and he'd been kissing his devotion down her body before reaching the part of her that was almost as ready for his attentions as her heart-

And as Tara wiggles that tiniest bit to press her body against dream Jax's, she sighs with pleasure when her attempt to slip back into bliss actually works. It's like his solid warmth is actually pressed against her back, his hips resting just behind her own. She can almost feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, and the goosebumps it inspires are so real she'd swear his lips are mere millimeters from the skin there…

He shifts closer, picking up her hand and tangling their fingers, resting them briefly near her hip before settling himself against her more firmly. And it's then that she realizes, caught somewhere between a dream land and reality, that the warm air rolling across her neck and down her spine isn't a figment of her imagination; his whispered touch is no more a dream than the hot rush of warmth it sends southward.

Apparently she won't be escaping back into the increasingly erotic scene her subconscious always seems to drum up whenever they're apart for more than twelve hours…

But this is even better.

Idly, Tara draws their joined hands to her lips, taking time to brush a kiss across every one of his knuckles. She smiles against his fingers when he nuzzles the nape of her neck, tries her best to suppress the resulting shiver, and revels in the feeling of him surrounding her as he sighs softly and stills. He's here, and still asleep she realizes- the run must have been a late one.

Or, she reasons, snuggling back against him and clasping his hand against her heart, he'd returned in the wee hours of the morning and hadn't wanted to wake her. While she's certainly game for the nights he drops into the bed naked, hard, and reaching for her, the beginning of a relentless pursuit of both her pleasure and his own, she can't help but love him just as much for the nights he does the opposite, too. The times he knows she's had a late night of studying or is scheduled for an early surgery to assist at the vet clinic, when he's content to slide under the covers and tangle their limbs until their breaths are even and heavy.

It's a courtesy Tara appreciates enough to return…most of the time. But now, she finds herself pondering a host of questions amidst the sleepy fog just beginning to lift from her brain. What time is it? Hell, what day is it? Do they have a lazy Saturday stretching out in front of them or will JT send Kozik or Tig knocking early? Does she have papers to write and puppies to feed, or hours to spend in the warmth of Jax's arms right here in this bed?

It's the latter possibility- and the liquid heat it inspires- that has her grinning to herself and shifting to turn in his arms, ready to welcome him back home properly.

Fuck it.

It's the searing bolt of pain that shoots up her right leg as she attempts to lift her foot that has her eyes popping open in shock.

What the fuck?

That last part must have been out loud, she realizes moments later, as the shimmering haze- and the wave of pain it accompanies- clears from her vision. She's still breathless but the words are still on her lips when she notices that Jax is awake too, their noses nearly touching and his blue eyes inches from hers, bleary but filled with concern.

"Shit, Babe, you okay? Try not to move-" And he's suddenly in motion, shifting away from her to tug something- a pillow, maybe two or three- underneath her leg, dampening the worst of the shooting pain. It still throbs- though that, too, improves as Jax continues to work his magic, whatever it is. And then he's back, head sinking into the pillow next to her, eyes searching hers, watching, waiting, as she tries to regain the breath whatever the fuck it was had stolen from her lungs. "How's that?" She can only nod at him and keep trying, groggily, to shove herself the rest of the way across that line between dream and reality.

Dragging her eyes away from Jax's, she scans what bits of the room she can without moving enough to risk the bolt of fire returning to her leg. And it's a strange sensation when the rush of disappointment is almost worse than the physical pain.

They're not in her- their, her mind supplies- cozy apartment over the vet clinic garage in Charming, but in her sparse studio in Tacoma. Jax hadn't been returning to her after a long run. Most importantly, though, they hadn't been sharing kisses and touches or reveling in physical reconnection after a separation.

They're still… this. Close in proximity, but leagues of uncertainty apart. Though, a memory gently tapping at the back of her currently scattered brain tells her they'd been making progress before whatever the hell had happened to her ankle had interrupted them.

Tara closes her eyes as flashes of the night before begin to play themselves out in her mind's eye. And though she suspects they're out of order, each one is already more precious than the last.

Dancing with Jax in the darkened depths of the Performing Arts Center.

Running hand-in-hand through the streets of Tacoma, shrieking happily as the rain pelted them.

Spotting Jax waiting for her beneath the soft amber glow of the street light, and watching his face practically light up when he saw her for the first time.

The way he'd kissed her knuckles, just like she'd done moments before.

Glancing over during the performance only to find Jax watching her instead of the spectacle onstage.

Kissing in the midst of a rainstorm.

The way they'd looked at each other, laughing in the rain, and she'd finally begun to let go of all the things that had been holding her back…

And the way, minutes later, she'd somehow managed to bring the entire evening to a screeching halt.

Shit.

"Babe, look at me-" Her eyelids flutter open without her permission, and once again, she's met with Jax's concerned gaze. Biting his lip, he reaches to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Is there-" He looks away briefly, then starts over. "How can I help you?"

Weakly, Tara shakes her head, as if to clear the fog that had descended over the last several hours of the night before. Even now that she's remembering what happened last night, more or less, everything is so goddamn fuzzy, almost like she'd gone to a frat party last night instead of a modern dance performance.

"I just- I can't remember much after the park. It's all one big blur…" Though some of the other pieces continue to come together in jumbled bits, she's not sure which bits actually happened and which belonged firmly in her earlier dream. Still, she can feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she glances down their bodies- they're under a blanket but decidedly not in the semi-formal attire she last remembers- and closes her eyes. And how the hell is she supposed to ask him that? Especially after the dream, both sleeping and waking, she'd been indulging in just moments ago? God…

"Did, um- did we…" Her voice trails off before she can manage to ask the question that would have once been so simple. But she doesn't have to, because she can see the moment it clicks in Jax's mind, too.

"Nothin' happened, Babe, I swear," he assures her, earnestly, "You were hurtin' and they gave you some perca-whatever for the pain, so that's probably why shit's not making a lot of sense. But I wouldn't do that to you… to us." He pats her hip, still resting beneath the blanket, doesn't jerk back defensively or hurry to prove he hadn't touched her all night. In fact, he doesn't move an inch- doesn't stop touching her even as he reassures her- just reaches up to run his thumb over her cheek affectionately. And she finds herself melting as she watches the part of him that's obviously concerned about her do almost visible battle with that familiar part of him that can't stop touching her no matter the time or place- so much so, that she can't help but put his mind at ease by turning into his touch just enough to graze her lips across his fingers. And she finds she needs to reassure him with words, too.

"I know you'd never do anything like that, Jax. I- well, I just know." Even as his expression tints with relief, though, Tara bites her lip. "But you might have to help me out with everything else."

"Well you definitely stepped in a hole and fucked up your ankle," Jax begins, obediently, nodding down the bed at the mound of pillows. "And I'm not sure how much you remember after that, but after we got to the clinic-" He stops short, an odd look on his face that's undoubtedly mirroring the absolute horror spreading across her own. "What?"

"Oh, God- we went to the clinic…" Tara whispers, the realization dawning. And, unbidden, more memories resurface out of the murky depths of her subconscious- only these at least seem to be mostly in order.

Jax carrying her through the clinic doors like some knight in shining armor.

Chris's hissed "You never told me you were dating a fucking Calvin Klein model," and Sarah's apple-cheeked squeals of "Awwwwwww," once they were alone in the exam room.

Jax taking care of her and the achy feeling of affection, want, and, yes, love he had inspired.

The way that love had seemed to fill her so completely that it had almost spilled from her lips as she'd asked him to stay- and her surprising lack of inhibitions as she'd done so.

Gathering the courage to ask him to just hold her, and the swelling of emotion after he'd slipped into bed behind her and done exactly that.

Finally throwing caution to the wind and whispering how much she loves him- to herself just as much as to Jax-

Jesus Christ…

Tara blinks, barely registering the way Jax seems to be staring at her quizzically as a fresh wave of mortification washes over her. Had she really said that? Like, out loud? Or was it another figment of her imagination like the truly awesome dream she'd just awoken from and the blissful haze that had followed it?

Feeling the hot blush rise from her chest and begin prickling her cheeks, she can't help but panic just a little. Hell, she'd only admitted to herself- while on pain medication, no less- that she still loves him, and she's got less than a clue what, exactly, to do about it. It's too soon, far too soon, to go back there with him… isn't it? And even if it isn't, shouldn't she be the one to decide that it's time to finally let him back in? Shouldn't he be the one to decide if that's what he really wants? And instead, she blurts it out to him in the midst of a painkiller-induced high?

Really, Tara?

God, what she wouldn't give to just go back to that dream, sleeping in Jax's arms, the one place on this earth she wouldn't have to worry about any of this-

"Tara?"

Except that's exactly where she is right now. Jax is looking at her with a mixture of concern, confusion, and- love, the voice in the back of her head supplies- evidently wondering what the hell is wrong with her now. She tries for embarrassed- which isn't that hard, honestly, given the direction her thoughts had been veering.

"I just…" she clears her throat. "I can't believe you actually carried me into the clinic." He smirks at her then, and she tries not to let the relief show on her face.

"Had to, Babe. You definitely weren't walkin' in there yourself." He dips his head closer to hers, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. "Can't say it's how I'd imagined meetin' your friends, but beggars can't be choosers." And Tara feels her breath catch for an entirely new reason.

"You… I mean, meeting my friends- you want… that?" And she can't help the shy smile from spreading as he nods, earnestly.

"'Course I do. It's like I said, Tara- I ain't here to try to convince you to go back to Charming. I know you got a life here, and it's the one you need right now. Hell, it's the one I need right now, too. But it won't do either of us any good if we just sorta fall back into how we were… before." He looks away, briefly, a shadow of something passing across his beautiful features, and it takes everything in her not to reach up and smooth the wrinkle of worry away. Then, his gaze is back on hers, honest and sure and true. "It's just like… we- we need to be different, here. Better. And gettin' to know who you are here is part of it."

Tara's speechless for a moment- because really, what the hell does a person say when the one they love most says almost word-for-word what they've been practically willing them to say for months? It's also, she realizes, slowly,that she doesn't trust how what he's just said makes her feel, what he makes her feel- like leaning in and kissing him for all she's worth. Despite the fact that they shared many such kisses the night before, and probably because of the fact that they're currently lying in bed together, noses nearly touching.

And so, it's beyond her control when her hand leaves her hip and drifts up slowly to touch his cheek. The shaky breath he releases as she does so rolls across her own lips and it would be so, so easy to close that final few millimeters and press them to his…

Instead, she shifts just that last little bit to brush her lips against his cheek instead. Tries to ignore, once again, the flash of something that crosses his face before he closes his eyes for a long moment.

Jax clears his throat.

"Let's- uh… Let's see how that ankle's really doing."

The chill that washes over her the moment his warm, solid form leaves her side is almost overwhelming. But so is the sight of Jackson Teller gingerly sitting at the foot of her bed and carefully resting her wrapped ankle in his lap, not to mention the pained concern that mars his features as he gently releases the wrapping. His eyes dart up to hers as the brilliant purples and blues of her skin- and the way the ankle itself is nearly twice its normal size- are slowly revealed, then back to her misshapen leg.

It hurts like a bitch without even the most minimal pressure the wrap had provided- had he done it or had the clinic, she muses briefly. But as he trails two fingers up the most vibrantly colored streak and rests a warm palm on her calf, Tara finds that the shivers that continue traveling up her leg and on through her spine have nothing to do with the pain or how terrible her ankle looks.

Needing a distraction from the way he makes her feel- even with a fucking soft-tissue injury- Tara flexes her ankle. Ignoring the way Jax's gaze flies up to meet her own, she winces and pushes through, rotating it as far as she can manage, which is pretty damn far if you ask her. Satisfied with that at least, she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Should you be moving it like that?" Jax's expression is filled with concern, and that's the only reason she doesn't shoot him the withering glare that is pure instinct at this point.

"I'm just trying to see how much movement I have," Tara explains, and when Jax raises a brow, she continues. "I have full movement even though it hurts like a bitch- which usually means the worst damage, the kind that needs surgery, is unlikely."

"Usually. So you're going to have it checked anyway, right? I…" his voice trails off when she does glare at him this time. "I mean, aren't you? Uh, shouldn't you?" And in the end, his fumbling is just so cute that she can't help but roll her eyes and give him a break.

"Yes, Jax, I'll follow the doctor's orders Monday when I have to go back to work." Pleased, and seemingly a bit relieved, Jax removes his hand from her calf to rub the trailing end of the wrap between his fingers.

"Well, I guess we should get it wrapped back up again." He smirks, a teasing glint alighting in his eye. "Hopefully, you'll be more help than you were last time- I had to do it all myself."

"That much is clear," Tara shoots back, enjoying their banter. "I'm surprised that disaster stayed on my ankle at all, actually. You'd make a terrible nurse." He grins at her, clearly taking no offense.

"Shockingly enough, that's exactly what you said last night. But you're forgetting that without my help, you'd probably still be on the sidewalk, Babe-" he's stopped mid sentence when she twists to kick out at him with her opposite foot, a move he dodges with ease. Unfortunately, it's a move that also sends another jolt of fire up her injured leg. Seeing her wince, Jax settles right back onto the bed, wrap in hand. "Okay, come on, you need some compression and ice. Let me help you-"

Ignoring the remnants of the pain and the absolutely endearing concern that once again settles onto Jax's features, Tara shakes her head. There's another need she's been ignoring for far too long- the dried mud she knows is spattered up her legs and smeared across her hip where she'd landed, hard, on the ground, the absolute rat's nest that had become of the gentle curls she'd coaxed her hair into after spending upwards of thirty minutes in the rain and a night on a damp pillow, and the smeared mess she knows her makeup had turned into even before she'd managed to put an early end to their evening.

"I should, you know, take a shower. Before we re-wrap it, I mean." And she knows the expression that replaces Jax's concern all too well.

"Oh, I can help you with that, too Babe," he leers, his eyes dancing. "You can barely put weight on your right leg, let alone stand in the shower." Tara can't help the glare she directs his way any more than she can the laughter that quickly follows it- nor can she help the way she melts just a little bit more as his expression softens. "I'm kidding, Tara," and he averts his eyes again, swallowing thickly before he returns his gaze to her. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Once again, she finds herself speechless in the wake of his words- more so, in the familiar look of genuine care in his eyes. And so, she obligingly takes the hand he reaches out to help her to the edge of the bed, doesn't resist the arm he slips around her shoulders or the way he takes most of her weight as they slowly, deliberately, move across the room to her closet. After tossing the tee and soft shorts she'd selected over his shoulder, she once again accepts his sturdy support as they make their way to her bathroom.

It should be awkward, Tara muses, idly, as he leads her to the toilet, closes the lid and helps her sit, then reaches into the shower to start the water- but somehow, it isn't. Maybe it's because of the night they'd just spent wrapped in one another's arms, or the mysterious emotional hurdle she can't help but feel they'd managed to cross before this had all happened… Or maybe it's the delicate, loving way he's treating her, as if she's made of glass, like she's the most precious thing on Earth. Hell, maybe it's just because this is Jax, and being here, in his presence, feels more like home to her than her apartment here, the one in Charming, or even her father's house ever had.

"Do you, uh.." He blushes just a bit, and it's so endearing, she's sorely tempted to grab fistfuls of his shirt and pull him to her, sore ankle be damned. He gestures towards her awkwardly. "Do you need help, uh, getting in?" It's so sweet, Tara can't even bring herself to tease him about trying to help her undress like she normally would, even though she hadn't yet worked out how, exactly, she plans on getting naked and into the shower- let alone washing her damn hair- without eventually knocking herself unconscious. Almost instantly, the slight frown that settles onto his features in response to her hesitation tells her he's having the same thoughts.

Sitting back on his heels, Jax studies her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the steadily darkening purple of her ankle before lifting to meet her own. Then, apparently coming to some sort of decision, he rises, taking her hands and urging her to her feet… well, foot.

"Hold onto me for a moment so you can take off your shorts." Jax colors, visibly, his earlier bravado gone, and nods to indicate the oversized flannel shirt she's wearing, which hangs halfway down her thigh when it isn't knotted at her navel like it usually is. "Shirt's long enough you don't have to uh… worry, you know? Then, I can help you into the back part of the shower and you can hand me the rest." And Tara's surprised to find that the lack of a question in his voice- that and the sheer comfort she feels at having someone here to care, for a change- has her obediently reaching under her flannel shirttails to undo the metal button at her waist and tugging down the barely-there panties she'd been forced to wear under her champagne-colored dress.

When both drop in a heap at her feet, she doesn't miss the way Jax's eyes seem to snag on the panties as he takes her hand again- or the way his Adam's apple rises and falls immediately afterward. But she has only a moment to think about it before another need- more pressing than the one before- makes itself known. And all it takes is her imploring "Jax…" before he's wordlessly lifting the lid once again and looking away as she sits.

"Let me know when you're ready, and I'll help you into the shower," is all he says before taking the few short steps across the small bathroom and closing the door behind himself. And several brief moments later, he's back and helping her to the far end of the small shower.

"Wait just a minute," Jax cautions, letting her go so he can reach up to direct the stream of hot water sharply downward, leaving just enough room for someone to stand against the far wall and not get wet. And suddenly, he's at her side once again, taking her hand and helping her step over the ledge and into the shower. She's able to catch the briefest glimpse of his face before he draws the curtain closed and the steam billows around her. "Take your shirt off, Babe, then let me know when you're ready and I can take it from you and fix the shower head."

Hastily, Tara unbuttons the shirt and releases the front clasp of her bra, shrugging awkwardly in an attempt to take both off at the same time without getting them damp. True to his word, Jax is there, waiting, when she peeks between the curtain and the wall. Biting her lip, she hands him both items, but he's all business as he drops them atop her shorts and moves to the front of the shower to adjust the water again.

Tara sighs in pleasure and relief as the soothing, hot spray washes over her body at long last, easing the throbbing that had again set up in her ankle. She leans against the cool tile to take the rest of her weight off the offending joint and closes her eyes. Long seconds turn into minutes as she rests, stock-still, letting the water thrum against her scalp and shoulders, stream down her back and legs, and swirl into the drain below.

Then, the flecks of mud scattered across her legs and the telltale itchiness of her scalp seem to beckon- and, sighing once again, Tara retrieves the netted sponge and body wash, massaging the soap into a pouf of lather. The cursory washing of her upper body proceeds without a hitch, but as she bends, gingerly, to scrub at her legs, she can't help shifting more weight than she'd intended to onto her ankle.

She hadn't wondered, until now, what Jax was doing or whether he'd excused himself into the main room of the apartment, but she finds that she doesn't need to ask when she gasps sharply at the pain.

"Shit- you okay in there?"Tara also doesn't bother to wonder what it says about her that, instead of being startled by his voice, she's flooded with relief. Resting her head against the tiled wall, she does her best to draw the curtain aside just enough, and can't help but laugh when she spots Jax seated on the closed lid of the toilet, the Rolling Stone magazine from her nightstand that had been delivered to the previous tenant firmly in hand. He stands, uneasily, looking as if he's about to dive right into the shower with her.

"I'm fine, Jax. It's just…" Tara sighs, frustrated, closing her eyes against the ridiculousness of the situation. "I'm having trouble keeping my balance while I get this mud off, and-"

"I got you, Babe." Jax's voice sounds significantly closer, and Tara opens her eyes to find him hovering near the gap between the curtain and the wall. She can't help but smile despite herself at the way his eyes are politely averted even as he extends a hand in her direction. "Hold onto my hand and do what you gotta do, okay?"

Together, they navigate the slight awkwardness of the rest of her shower routine exactly the way they should have navigated everything else- Ope's prison sentence, SAMCRO, and even college- Tara thinks, absently: hand in hand. When she finally releases him so he can twist the shower handle once again, he's right back at her side to hand her a towel mere seconds later. And, wrapped in the cozy haze of steam, she can't help but feel like something shifts into place- something that had been missing all those months both before and after she'd left Charming. Can't help but feel as if now, finally, he's really here… With her instead of just existing in the same space. She'd needed him then in a different way than she needs him now, but what's different isn't his presence- it's more than that.

Actually, she realizes vaguely, as Jax silently guides her across the room and lifts her onto the small counter next to the sink, she couldn't describe this… shift if she tried. It's… everywhere, everything about him, all at once.

It's in his eyes, the way their delicate mixture of blues, grays, and greens darken steadily as he surveys her mostly-naked form, still covered with the towel. In the way they snap up to study her face the next beat, and in the way he watches her as he reaches for a second towel and throughout every move he makes thereafter.

It's in his hands, the way he steadily moves the towel and smooths away the remaining water droplets from her exposed arms and shoulders, the way he cradles her injured foot as if one hasty move could send it shattering against the tile below. Even the way he gently tilts her chin so he can lift her mass of damp hair from her shoulders and wrap it securely in the towel.

Most of all, though it's in his mouth, in the everyday words he gives her to soothe the awkwardness as he works diligently to help her into the items of clothing she can't manage herself then pulls away the towel that had bunched up underneath. It's the subtle crinkling at its corners as he teases her in an effort to put her even more at ease, the gentle brushing of his lips on her forehead as he finishes the work she hadn't had to ask him to do. And, the sound of her name crossing those same lips a moment later.

"Tara?"

She realizes, too late, that it's actually the second time he'd said her name- that he'd set her gently on one foot a few moments before. It's just that the realization that it's truly him- her Jackson, once again- has her at a loss for words. And so, as he takes her hand once again to lead her back into her bedroom, all she can say in return is-

"Thank you, Jackson."

The way he pulls her just a little bit closer to his side is response enough.

When she's settled back onto the freshly-made bed- when had he had time to come out here and do that- the afghan that had been at the foot of the bed floating gently over her, Jax almost immediately busies himself with propping her leg up with the same amalgamation of pillows as before. She's helpless to do anything but watch, fondly, as he bends a blonde head to inspect his work. Frankly, she's a little relieved he's got something to keep him busy while she comes to terms with the way even the air in the room seems to have changed since they were last in here.

As the invisible force pressing against the most painful part of her ankle eases, however, Tara herself is distracted by just how much better it feels when it's elevated. She sighs in relief, drawing a small smile from Jax.

"Feel better?" he asks, peering up at her and resting a warm hand on her other calf. She ignores the electricity- pleasurable, this time- zinging up her leg in favor of smiling at him in return.

"Much," she responds, honestly, both uncertain whether he's referring to her elevated ankle or her freshly-showered body and unwilling to distinguish between the two.

"Good," is all he says in return, his grin broadening as he reaches for the roll of pressure dressing that's now on the nightstand right next to her- a grin that drops almost instantly as she snatches it up, herself.

"Oh no you don't," Tara warns, snickering. "I may have been a little high last night-"

"A little?" he deadpans, narrowing his eyes and looming over her from his vantage point on the edge of the bed- but she waves his comment away.

"But even I remember that while you have a great bedside manner, your wrapping skills are… subpar. Besides," she continues, her expression softening as she reaches up to rub the tangled ends of his hair between finger and thumb, "you could use a shower yourself."

It's no understatement, Tara realizes as he draws back to study her. His nearly shoulder-length blonde hair is sticking out in all directions, cascading past his chin in uncharacteristic kinks and knots. He has a smattering of fine droplets of mud cast against one cheek- she wonders how in the world she'd missed that before- that continues on down his neck. The shirt, too, is a stark contrast from the way it had appeared under the golden streetlights, last night- it had clearly been sopping wet and allowed to dry in a series of stiff creases. And yet, somehow, she's more drawn to him, in even this disheveled state, than she can recall ever being before. So much so, that it takes everything in her to stop her hands from reaching up to grip his hair, dirty and tangled or not, and pull her down onto the bed with her.

Christ, Knowles, control your damn hormones…

Thankfully, Jax's smirk, both infuriating and endearing, has her inner snark rising to the occasion just in time.

"And no, I'm not joining you," she mutters, rolling her eyes both to emphasize her point and to drag them away from his mouth. She gestures at her swollen ankle. "I'll be out here wrapping this monstrosity that used to be an ankle."

"That's not what I was gonna say," Jax protests, laughing. "Though I'll happily get naked in your shower if that's what you want." He waggles his eyebrows at her as she only semi-successfully suppresses the pink in her cheeks that his comment inspires. "I was just wondering if you wanted some ice on that ankle first."

Now she does blush, and he's kind enough to ignore it in favor of rising after her slight nod and crossing to the kitchen. Captivated by the unfamiliar sight of Jackson Teller entering her kitchen, she looks on, a faint smile on her lips, until he disappears to rummage through her freezer.

"Ice cubes're gone, Babe," he calls out as she hears the plastic trays clatter, uselessly, onto the counter. Muttering to himself, his voice grows muffled, likely as he leans even deeper into the freezer to continue his search. "Ah! Got it!" he crows a moment later, triumphantly brandishing a white bag over his head and re-emerging into the main part of the room.

"Blueberries?" Tara muses skeptically as he nears the bed and places the bag in a position of pride on the pillow next to her, just as carefully as she knows he would have draped his kutte itself. Jax only shrugs, drawing back once again so she can take in his expression.

"You forgot to refill your ice cube tray," he responds, looking away. "Besides," he continues a beat later, sobering inexplicably, "you deserve the best, Babe."

And with that, he's disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts- and her blueberries- once again.

It's a strange sensation, she decides several minutes later- knowing Jax is in all his nude glory several feet away. And somehow, it feels much more intimate than it had several minutes ago when their roles had been reversed. Hell, he'd been in the same room when she was the one naked and wet, and now, a great deal more space- and at least the flimsy bathroom door- are separating them. Still, though, she can't help but imagine him as she's witnessed him countless times before- bracing himself against the tiled wall, muscular arms flexing with the effort. Feet planted a tantalizing distance apart, sculpted ass gracefully curving up to a chiseled back and toned shoulders, muscles bunching and moving under the soft, smooth skin she'd happily sunk her nails into every time he crowded her against the corner of the shower and impaled her with his hard, hot-

Jesus Christ…

Unfortunately, closing her eyes doesn't provide the escape she'd hoped it would, especially as the heady scent of steam and soap escapes from beneath the door and drifts the few feet to her bed. Her memory's just too full of him- of them- for her to ever truly avoid being haunted with the mental snapshots she'd taken of all her favorite moments. Jax, sprawled naked on the cheerful quilt at her apartment in Charming, extending a welcoming hand and a cocky grin in her direction. Looming above her, eyes darkening with desire even as the sunlight glanced off the golden locks of his hair, as he pressed her more and more firmly into the hood of the Cutlass with each thrust. Running his shaking hands over her body before dipping his head to whisper words of love into her ear as he pushed into her for the first time…

Apparently, whether it's despite the fact that he'd been the only one she'd ever seen nude or because of it, she should have known before she suggested he shower in the first place- and she'd been all too aware since the first lonely night in this room without him- that every part of Jackson Teller would forever be ingrained in her mind's eye no matter what she does to try and fight it.

And so, the roll of pressure dressing lolling, forgotten, on the blanket, Tara indulges herself for once. Revels in the fact that Jax is here, finally, with her; his white sneakers are right where they belong at the foot of her bed, his smokes and keys are next to her own in the bowl on her desk… Better yet, his gloriously nude body, those talented hands, and those endless blue eyes are just on the other side of a single wooden door. Sighing, she lets herself slip into the imaginary world that once hadn't been imaginary at all- the one where he's mere moments away from emerging, shrouded in a cloud of steam and little else, ready to stalk across the small room and tumble into the bed next to her. Determined, she focuses on those familiar seeking hands and hungry lips, injured ankle- and everything else that's come between them- be damned.

Imaginary Jax is running his hands up the soft, scented skin of her legs and shooting her a sinful grin- and Tara's own hand is drifting its way to the same destination- when the gentle creak of the bathroom door jolts her out of her waking dream. She snatches her hand from beneath the fringe of the afghan just as flesh-and-blood Jax fills the doorframe.

Goddamn if the sight of him doesn't make things worse.

He's clad only in a towel and a hundred droplets of water- and other than the pesky scrap of terrycloth and the way he lingers in the door instead of heading straight for her bed, he looks even more enticing than Dream Jax had a moment ago. And as her brain does its best to catch up with the rest of her body, it's all she can do not to stare. Christ, she's been without him for so long…

Jax's voice, sincere and rough with apology, is the only thing that stops her from thoughtlessly blurting out whatever-the-fuck-it-is she really wants to ask him and she says a silent prayer of thanks for the distraction.

"Sorry, Babe- but I just realized I don't have anything to change into." He shrugs, and Tara does her damndest to ignore the way several water droplets dislodge themselves from his shoulders and form rivulets that run down his broad chest before disappearing into the terrycloth fastened below his navel.

"I, um…" She clears her throat in a desperate attempt to quell the tremor of pure want in her voice, but her cheeks flood with red at what she's about to admit. "I might have a couple things in my duffel bag you can wear." And though he shoots her a look she doesn't have the wherewithal to decipher in return, it's to his credit that he asks no questions, just crosses to her closet to open the door.

"In here?"

"Yeah on the, uh.. On the floor." Blushing furiously- both at the sight of Jax in a towel and at the knowledge of what else has been left in that same bag these past months, Tara does her best to avert her eyes as Jax stoops in his towel to retrieve it.

After leaving Charming, she'd thought it best to keep all the mementos of their relationship hidden away. At first, it had simply hurt too much to look at the framed photos of the two of them- plus Donna and Ope on many occasions- laughing and smiling without a care in the world or pressed close on the sofa at the clubhouse like nobody else existed. Then, after she'd finally given in and retrieved the flannel shirt currently tossed over the back of her desk chair- if only to wallow in Jax's scent in an attempt to ease the steady ache in her chest- she'd fervently zipped the bag closed, as if the rest of the items threatened to march out of her closet themselves and haunt her until she relented and returned to Charming.

More recently- since she and Jax had become whatever they currently are- she'd had less occasion to dwell on her bag of memories. Still, she's not entirely prepared to have this discussion again- the one involving the way she'd cut Jax out of her life with surgical precision and attempted to cauterize the bleeding wound. They'd thoroughly covered that ground the last time he'd been in here, a conversation that had ended with shouted words and a flood of tears.

To Tara's surprise- not to mention her relief- Jax says nothing about the contents of her bag, his handsome face expressionless as he emerges from the closet with the one other article of clothing she'd taken from her old apartment in hand- his navy blue SON tee. Silently, he snags the pants he'd worn last night from somewhere unknown to her and steps into them, pulling them up quickly underneath the towel much like he'd helped her do in the bathroom earlier. She tries not to think about the absence of his boxers as he zips and buttons, then tosses the towel onto the top of her overflowing hamper in favor of the shirt he'd found moments earlier and pulls it on.

Tara's staring at Jax's muscular back, studying the way the ends of his hair are dampening the shoulders of his shirt when he turns back to her. A slight smile is playing at the edges of his lips and she doesn't have time to consider its source before he jerks his chin up in that way he does and breaks into her incessant inner monologue.

"So now what?"

"What?" She raises an eyebrow in confusion but can't help smiling in return. She'd forgotten how contagious his smile can really be. Hell, at least it's interrupting this incessant swirl of lust and worry over what she'd potentially mumbled while drifting off to sleep last night.

"What now? I mean, what does Tara Knowles usually get herself up to on Saturday morning?" She chuckles softly, her mind clearing a bit further- thank God.

"When I'm not processing students with ridiculous injuries caused by whatever they did on Friday night-"

"You included-" Jax interjects, nodding at her swollen leg, still propped up on the pillows with a bag of blueberries drooping off either side. And Tara realizes, suddenly, that she never had gotten around to actually wrapping her ankle,

"Me included," she smirks in return, shifting to adjust the makeshift ice pack- as if she'd meant for it to be there all along. "But when I'm not at the clinic, I've been going out to breakfast with some guy-"

"Hmmm," Jax muses, a dimple denting his cheek as he sinks his teeth into his lip. "Should I be jealous?"

"Probably," she volleys back. "He's tall, blonde, and mysterious- says he rides a motorcycle, but I've yet to actually see it."

"To be fair, it's been rainin' lately- as it does up here in Washington- so you might wanna cut him a break."

"Maybe," Tara shrugs, lazily, enjoying the playful banter- maybe even more than she had Jax in a towel a few minutes earlier. "But still- he promised me a ride and there's no bike in sight."

"Sounds like a dick," Jax proclaims, his lopsided grin in full force, now. "But don't worry- I got it covered." Tara narrows her eyes, suspicious.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," he says, pushing his damp hair out of his face, "It means that I'm makin' up for the other part of your routine instead." At her quizzical look, he rises, heading towards the kitchen, his strides purposeful, winking at her as he calls over his shoulder, "I'm makin' breakfast."

"Jax…" Tara groans, trying to shift around on the bed so she can see further into the kitchen, but from her vantage point, she can't see much past the fridge. It doesn't matter anyway as he yanks the door open and begins rooting around inside. "I don't really have anything easy…" He chuckles in response.

"Don't need much to make eggs, Babe." Groaning, she's reminded of how much of a disaster he'd always been in the kitchen, even with Opie there to supervise. While Ope had cooked for himself and Piney for years after Mary left town, adding Jax into the mix had always resulted in bits of shell, rubbery yolks, slimy whites, or all three- and she'd never understood how. And so, she's tempted to grill him on what, exactly, he planned on making, maybe remind him just how terribly his prior attempts at breakfast had turned out.

Instead, though, his confidence and the way he whistles to himself under his breath as he putters about in the kitchen, rattling cabinet doors and sifting through utensils, has her tentatively staying put in her bed. Hell, just having him here with her at all has a shadow of a grin playing at her own lips. God, she'd missed this- these everyday interactions, mundane to anyone who wasn't them- just as much as she'd missed his body. And she'd gladly take one even if she wasn't sure they were ready for both just yet.

Humming along with his familiar tune- one she winds up knowing by heart though she can't quite put her finger on its name- Tara sets about wrapping her ankle. Over, around, under, over around under… Despite the fact that it's a process she's completed more times than she can count on other people- including both Jax and Opie- wrapping a swollen joint proves a bit more difficult on her own leg, and she curses and starts over twice before she's finally satisfied. Thankfully, it also serves to distract her from the niggling questions currently occupying her overactive mind- that and the continued clinks and muffled thumps emanating from her kitchen.

Tara's reclined against the pillow, which is propped against the wall that serves as her headboard, by the time Jax's voice sounds once again.

"Uh… Tara?"

"Yes?" she replies, cautiously, narrowing her eyes although he can't currently see her.

"So I mixed together all the shit Gemma usually does when she's makin' French toast."

"Okayyyy?" Then, after a brief pause… "You know how to make French toast?" There's a telltale moment of silence before he answers.

"Sorta… It's just- I guess I just realized I'd never stuck around long enough to actually watch her, you know, make the toast… French. Or whatever."

It's a moment before she can respond through her laughter.

"Tara?"

'OK, hold on… hold on." Stifling another series of giggles, Tara takes a deep, steadying breath.. "What do you have so far?"

"I got the bowl with eggs, milk, and sugar, and I stirred 'em up." There's a pause. "Uh, that's about it."

"Okay… so now, you'll take slices of bread and soak those in the egg mixture for a few seconds. Wait-" Tara interrupts herself, suddenly realizing she'd missed a step. "Is your pan hot?"

"Uh… I think so? I just finished scrambling our eggs."

"Okay, so make sure the pan's hot, maybe put some butter in there, too." Silence. Then-

"Got it."

"Now all you have to do is put the soaked bread in the pan and wait for it to get brown on one side. Then, flip it over."

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

She's met with silence for several long seconds. She's about ready to swing her legs off the bed and hobble into the kitchen herself when the telltale sound of sizzling emanates from the kitchen.

It's a strange moment, Tara thinks as she settles back into her pillow- what with the waves of pain emanating from her ankle and the odd clunks and muffled curses emanating from her kitchen- to return to the feeling that one of the missing pieces of her life here in Tacoma has finally fallen into place. To realize that this is the first time her small studio apartment- still devoid of any of the personal touches they had given her apartment over the vet clinic garage- has ever felt anywhere near like home.

Sure, it had been her refuge, in those early, dark days when she'd first left Charming- a place to hide away from the world while she cried herself to sleep over all she'd lost. Eventually, it had become a place to escape to when the demands of her newfound academic career and social life grew overwhelming; a place to lose herself in the safe, predictable logic of a periodic table or a set of physics equations. And still, one thing had been missing from her place here- and it hadn't been treasured photographs, framed concert tickets, trinkets, and mementos of her life in Charming…

And as he rounds the corner, tenuously balancing two heaping plates and two glasses of orange juice, what had been missing is clearer than ever before.

"What?" Jax asks, raising his chin questioningly even as he places her plate gently on her lap, then sets the glass of juice on the nightstand. Unable to find the words to explain the muddled mess that is her emotions at this point- the awareness that like it or not, Jax is her home mixing with the low simmer of her physical desire for him, the suspicion in the back of her mind that she actually had said those three little words out loud, and the remaining shreds of guilt, anger and betrayal that served as a reminder of why she'd left him in the first place- she sends him an affectionate smile instead.

Suddenly, she's surprised to find herself blinking back tears that are suddenly stinging her eyes as he turns to drag the desk chair nearer the bed. Unfortunately, they're nowhere near dissipated by the time he unceremoniously flops onto the folding seat and returns his attention to her. As his blue eyes fill with concern, she manages to chuckle self-consciously and swipes at her eyes.

"I just- thanks for being here, Jax."

He studies her speculatively for a brief moment- and then returns her shaky smile. And she's not sure whether she's more appreciative of the sincerity in his eyes or the measured "'Course, Babe" that effectively ends the conversation.

She's fucking starving, Tara realizes for the first time, taking in the mountain of scrambled eggs and stack of french toast piled on her plate. Shooting Jax an appreciative look- evoking an adorably broad grin from him in return- she's about to dig in when she notices something she hadn't through her tears moments earlier: a powdery, white smear spanning his cheekbone, made more prominent by the grin he's currently sporting.

A grin that slowly fades as she reaches out almost by reflex, closing the sparse distance between them until her palm is resting on the day-old stubble dotting his chin. Her thumb slowly but surely rubs away this first bit of telltale evidence of this new Jax even as his steadily darkening blue eyes remind her that every bit of her Jackson is still here. And for some reason unbeknownst to her, once the mark is gone- once her hand leaves the familiar warmth of his skin- it's mere instinct to taste it… taste him, because last night is now far too long ago. The distinct salt of his skin, despite his recent shower, mixes with the-

"Flour?" Tara can't help the word that flies from her mouth any more than she can the way she mentally kicks herself for breaking the brief spell they were under a millisecond later. The intense emotions that had been swirling in Jax's eyes are almost immediately replaced by just one- confusion. It's comical, really, and she can't help but giggle as he sits back in utter bewilderment. God, he must think she really has lost it- her mind's been everywhere and back, it seems, and now she's interrupting what had been a nearly-intimate moment with… this.

But still, the question begs to be asked.

"Jax, you made French toast and eggs. Why the hell would you use flour?"

And his confusion isn't nearly as amusing as the stark realization and embarrassment his expression melts into a moment later.

"Ah, shit, Babe. I thought-" Jax's cheeks pinken as he smiles, ruefully. "I thought that shit was powdered sugar." He motions toward her plate and then his own with his fork, where a healthy sprinkling of the same white powder resides atop both stacks of French toast. "I didn't see any syrup, so I loaded us up with powdered sugar instead- well… what I thought was powdered sugar."

Tara can't bring herself to answer- probably because she's laughing too damn hard. Jax just shakes his head, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm glad you find this so funny, actually- it'll distract you from the burnt-ass eggs." Tara can't help but laugh even harder, as Jax leans forward to poke a fork at her pile of grayish, rubbery eggs.

"All the times we showed up at Ope's for breakfast," she giggles, "and he always, always made you stand there and scramble the eggs-" Jax rolls his eyes.

"This fairytale goin' somewhere?"

"It's just- how are you still so bad at these?" Jax shrugs, affronted- but only manages to hold onto his false indignation for a moment before they dissolve into laughter again, together.

When their giggles finally die down, Jax- who's always had an appetite to rival pretty much any Son, even Bobby- digs into his enormous pile of food with gusto. And, despite the burnt eggs and questionable French toast, Tara's rumbling stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten in hours- so she pushes the flour-covered top slice aside and cuts a large wedge out of the stack. It's not bad, actually, she realizes, chewing thoughtfully. When she glances up from her plate, she catches Jax's eye and gives him a small nod and a shy smile, only to be rewarded with another proud grin in return.

They eat- Tara reclined on the bed, Jax posted up on the desk chair- with only the occasional clink of a fork against her mismatched plates to interrupt the comfortable silence. And despite the nagging question in the back of her mind, and the way things seem to have shifted between them in a way she's not sure she's ready for, it's…

"This is nice," she murmurs to herself more than anyone else. But Jax is agreeing almost before she realizes she's spoken aloud.

"Yup- even better than the diner." His eyes crinkle as he smiles up at her. "But it sure as hell ain't the food." She raises a brow at his plate, which is nearly empty.

"Doesn't look like it was too terrible."

"Oh I got no complaints, Babe- but it's the company that really made it all worthwhile." His grin turns mischievous. "Guess that other guy's gonna have to step up his game."

"Guess so…" she replies, smirking and placing her fork across her own half-empty plate.

"Maybe he'll start by clearing these plates," Jax counters, rising out of his seat and reaching to take both plates, his and hers, into a large hand- continuing their banter, only to put an abrupt halt to it a moment later. "But then I better reach out to Kozy."

And that's all it takes to have Tara's own smile slipping- though she forces a tight grin and a nod just in time. But as Jax disappears back into the kitchen, she can't help but feel her earlier sense of content slip away, as well.

God, what does it say about her that even now- in the muddled, murky territory that is their relationship- the thought of him leaving so she can go back to spending Saturday afternoons without him is nothing short of fucking depressing? What does it mean when every bit of Jax's presence- hell, even his dirty clothing draped over her chair- is so comforting, so familiar, such a welcome contrast to her typically-silent apartment that the prospect of its absence has her wanting to sink back into the pillows and close her eyes against the impending gloom?

Not feeling up to facing the answers to either of those two questions, Tara does, in fact, settle further into the pile of pillows instead, determined to enjoy his presence while it lasts. She's drifting, so effectively ignoring all they have left unsolved in favor of reveling in his soft humming and the rattle of dishes in the background that she doesn't even notice when it stops. And suddenly, his lips are once again grazing her forehead- albeit too briefly- and she doesn't even have time to force her eyelids open before she hears the telltale clack of the cordless phone lifting off its base. Not needing him to see just how pathetic and needy she's feeling at the moment, Tara keeps her eyes closed as Jax punches Kozik's number into the keypad and waits; the heaviness of the sigh that fills the room a moment later reminding her that he doesn't seem to want this to end, either.

"Hey bro. Just givin' you a call back to-" Jax pauses, and she can tell he was interrupted by something Kozik says on the other end of the call, though she can't quite make out what he's saying. Then, Jax is rising once again, his voice moving further away and into the kitchen- likely so he doesn't wake her.

"She's fine, thanks for askin'. Still hurtin' and she's asleep right now, but she says it ain't serious." There's another brief pause as Kozik responds, interrupted by Jax's chuckle. "I know, she's bein' stubborn, but she's gettin' checked out again Monday at the clinic just to be sure… So, how's the run?"

They go on this way for a few minutes, back and forth about club stuff Tara can't even begin to wonder about in her current state, before Jax asks the question she's been dreading.

"You still okay with comin' to get me in the truck when you guys get back into town?" Silence. Then- "Late's fine, long as there ain't nothin' Lee needs from me before Church." And though Tara knows she should feel… something- shame, embarrassment, weakness, maybe- at the wave of relief that floods her at the knowledge that Jax, at least, won't be leaving until whenever "late" is, she just can't muster up even a scrap. Because, no matter how unhealthy their love has been in the past, it's still just that- love.

God, she still loves him- she's sure of it, now. Loves him for everything he's done for her over the past 24 hours, loves him despite all they've put each other through over the past several months, and loves him for all she knows they can be if they can just stop getting in their own way. It's just far too early into whatever they are right now to go there… isn't it?

Which brings it all back to the question that's been burning in the back of her mind all morning. Had she, her inhibitions lowered by pain medication, sleep, and the almost indescribable well of emotion Jax's arms wrapped around her when she needed them most had inspired, actually said those three words aloud? More importantly: had he heard them? Christ, most importantly: does he feel the same way? She's almost certain- 99 percent sure- he does; he hasn't been shy about showing his affections and laying his heart on the line since she'd found him on her doorstep weeks earlier.

But there's still that tiniest bit of uncertainty, somehow weighing on her just as much as his absence had seemed to those last days in Charming. If he loves her, he hasn't said so since their first, emotionally-fraught encounter here in Tacoma- at least not in so many words.

And it's that stark dose of reality, that fear of losing herself in them just to wind up trapped in that same desolate space she was in back then, that has her rationalizing with herself. She has to make the right choice, the smart choice, and make it at the right time this time around.

When they do get around to hashing this all out - if you get there, her mind scolds, too late. Okay, if they're able to sift something real out of what she's come to think of as "whatever this is"and if she and Jackson both really and truly still love each other, she needs him to say it. Just as he probably needs her to say it- preferably out loud and while they're both more than semi-conscious.

Right?

Both her train of thought and her false- though previously-uninterrupted- bout of sleep are cut short by a thump on the door.

Tara's eyes fly open just in time to see Jax emerge from the kitchen, and he shoots her a brief glance before crossing the small length of the apartment to pause in front of the door. His brows raise in question and it takes just a brief nod to spur him into action. The heavy white door creaks a bit as he opens it, inciting a shadow of a frown that disappears the moment it swings wide and their visitor is revealed.

"Hey, Jax." Juan's voice sounds loud as it enters the sudden quiet of the apartment, only to get a bit louder as Jax takes a step back so he can peer around him and wave sheepishly. "And, uh, hey Tara."

"Hey," both Jax and Tara respond, together, which sends a faint hint of pink rushing into her cheeks. God, she knows what this looks like- her in the bed well past noon, Jax wearing his pants from last night, his hair still slightly damp from his earlier shower.

"So, uh- I just wanted to check in, see how you were feeling." At what's apparently a confused look on Tara's part, Juan rushes to fill in the blanks. "I saw Jax here this morning while he was out havin' a cigarette and he told me what happened." It takes her a moment to wade through the brief flash of relief that Juan wasn't under the impression that he'd interrupted something more risque.

"Oh… I'm okay, thank you for checking." She smiles, briefly, her eyes roving over Juan- as sweet and awkward as always. Then Jax, who's leaning casually against the door frame, a faint grin on his own lips- one that widens significantly as she continues. "Jackson's been taking good care of me."

"Good," is all Juan says in return- though she doesn't miss the look he and Jax exchange. Still, while there'd been a thread of animosity between them- mostly on Jax's part- that she hadn't been able to ignore the first time they'd all been together, they seem almost friendly now. Thank God.

"I actually had other reasons for coming by," Juan continues, somewhat to Tara's surprise. He raises his arm, and for the first time, she notices the large plastic bag dangling from his fingertips. "I uh, deliver for Paravincini's- you know, that little Italian joint on campus? Anyway, the owner thinks he owes me a favor 'cause I helped him set up their computer system a while back and his wife's always loadin' me up with food before and after my shift. So, I get by on lasagna and chicken parmesan most weekends." Juan shrugs, shuffling his feet. "They called me in this morning to reset the cash register and Mrs. Paravincini handed me like three dozen cannoli. So I wanted to see if you, uh… like- wanted some?" He again indicates the bag, which Tara can see now is packed full of those square, styrofoam takeout containers.

And despite the fact that she's almost uncomfortably full, Tara can't help but smile appreciatively at Juan.

"Thanks, man," Jax is saying, already, taking the bag from Juan's outstretched hand with a friendly grin that's a stark contrast to the hostility that had seemed to ooze from him the last time he'd met Juan at this very door. "We're stuck here for the afternoon, at least, since Tara here can't drive- and we're gonna need somethin' to eat, for sure." Ever the diplomat- typically except where she's concerned- Jax, like Tara, doesn't mention the fact that they'd just eaten, just sets the bag on the nearby desk.

For his part, Juan breaks out into the biggest, warmest grin Tara's ever seen from him. Apparently, a little positive feedback had been all it took to help him shake any uncertainty he'd had about knocking on her door. It's a feeling that's all but confirmed when he speaks up once again.

"Last thing, I swear. But, uh… about what you were sayin' this morning- y'know, your bike still bein' on campus? Well, I got a little time before lunchtime delivery hours start, so if you need help picking up your bike and everything, uh- I can help."

Jax's brows lift, but he's pretty successful at masking his surprise. Still, Tara can tell he's biting the inside of his cheek as he responds.

"How? I mean, don't you ride? Unless you got a car around here somewhere I ain't noticed-"

"Well, yeah, I ride- just figured you wouldn't mind riding bitch since you're in a tough spot," Juan deadpans, shrugging and eying Jax loftily. And for the first time all day, Jax is speechless- and Tara thinks she's the only one who's noticed the telltale tugging at the corner of Juan's lips, but even that fades moments later at Jax's blank stare.

Then, Jax is cracking up, cuffing Juan on the shoulder before slumping back against the doorframe again. Juan's laughing, too, and it's a fair few moments before their bout of mirth passes enough for Jax to swipe a hand down his face and level an assessing gaze on Juan once again.

"A'ight, you got me, man," he smirks, shaking his head.

"Wasn't that hard," Juan returns, his own smirk playing at his lips- and Tara can't help but smile in relief as Juan seems to hold his own in their much more relaxed conversation.

"But if I ain't ridin' bitch and you don't have a secret ride out back…" Slowly, two gazes- one an intense sky blue and the other a friendly chocolate brown- drift her way. And before she can connect the dots, Jax is chuckling and shaking his head at Juan. "No way, man- she barely let me drive her back here last night."

Oh…

Juan's shrugging his shoulders and grinning her way before she can respond.

"I know the Cutlass is your baby, Tara. But I also know you never ever sit on another man's bike." Jax is nodding in approval already, even before Juan finishes laying out his suggestion. "I figured Jax could drive us back to his bike in your car and then I can bring your car back here."

Tara raises a skeptical brow- Jax hadn't been exaggerating: he's the only person she'd ever allowed to drive the Cutlass, and it had almost always been by necessity. Not even Ope or Donna had ever gotten behind the wheel, though they'd really never had a reason to. In many ways, the Cutlass is her baby- she'd grown up riding in its spacious backseat, it had been a graduation gift as the result of one of the few pleasant interactions she'd had with her father since her mother had died, and it had served as an important bit of freedom both when she was happy in Charming and when she'd needed to escape it. But that's not even the issue- and she can't really bring herself to express her disappointment that Juan's idea helps them solve the problem of getting Jax back to his bike hours before she's truly ready for him to leave.

Sensing her hesitation, Juan raises his hands in surrender. "I get it, Tara- I do. Rides like that- they mean a lot. My Ma had a cherry 1965 New Yorker hardtop- it was her ma's, actually- and Nana, she never drove it above about forty miles an hour. By the time we inherited it, it was practically a freakin' shrine to the 1960s- as good as the day it rolled off the lot. And we rode like kings all over Queens- only I was never allowed behind the wheel. At least, not until Ma got sick and couldn't take the subway to her treatments…" Juan's smile flickers to sadness and back to pride in a heartbeat. "One of the biggest cities in the world and not a scratch on her. Ever."

Tara can't help but smile, softly, at the boy who'd quickly become her only friend here in this apartment complex in one of the worst areas of town and occupied mostly by married grad students. Even without the ever-growing thread of commonalities they share he's just a nice person who wants to help. Still, though, she's more than content to let him assume her hesitation is due to her love for the Cutlass instead of the fact that going to get Jax's bike now will effectively pop their happy little bubble. The realization that this makes far more sense than she wants to admit has her sighing as she responds.

"It's fine, really. And I know you'll take care of her…but I have one condition." The mild surprise on Jax's face and Juan's pleased nod are amplified a moment later when she continues. "Take me with you."

---

The windows of the Cutlass are down, allowing the crisp, rain-fresh air to fill the confines of the old car, curling around the pleasant chatter drifting from the front seat. Tara smiles, resting her head against the door and listening to her not-so-ex boyfriend and her upstairs neighbor finding common ground in bikes and cars, all while ribbing one another about their differences- namely, Juan's upbringing in Queens versus Jax's in Norcal, Juan's fondness for foreign bikes versus Jax's devotion to Harley Davidson, even Juan's interest in computers versus Jax's reluctant admission that he's always excelled in English. It's easy, pleasant, and downright comforting in and of itself- and she can't help but feel pleased that Jax seems to be getting on so well with Juan after a rocky start.

They reach Jax's bike far too quickly for her liking, and her bleak mood threatens again as Jax guides the Cutlass to a halt in the parking space behind it. Campus is relatively quiet for a Saturday afternoon, and with it, somehow, comes that all-too-familiar lonely feeling she'd experienced far too often those early days without the business of classes, work, and studying to temper it. It's a feeling that simmers somewhere in her chest, threatening to bubble up into her throat- into words she can't predict. All she knows is that it's probably a bad idea, asking him to stay twice in under 24 hours-

Until Jax twists his body to face her, leaning over the front bench seat to capture the hand currently resting on her right knee and dropping a kiss on its palm…

"I'll see you at home, Babe."

…and leaving her staring after him curiously as he exits the Cutlass and saunters towards the Dyna.

She can't help but watch, intently, as he hastily swipes at the seat before reaching into his pocket for his keys. A strange ache- not unpleasant, this time- settles in her chest as he retrieves his helmet from a saddlebag, buckles it beneath his chin, and swings a leg over. God, what she wouldn't give to be standing next to him, strapping on her own helmet, taking his hand to settle herself just there- in the familiar place behind him that had been hers since his first ride on his sixteenth birthday. What she wouldn't trade to be wrapped around him, her hips securely settled against his backside, her arms firmly holding his midsection, her cheek resting against his strong back.

Instead, she has to settle for swallowing, roughly, as he starts the bike and kicks it into gear. Consoles herself by waving in return as he twists, briefly, to lift a broad hand in her direction, and sighing deeply as he throttles up and roars away. Without her.

"You ready?"

Tara jumps at Juan's voice- Christ, she hadn't even noticed him taking Jax's place behind the wheel, she'd been so focused on something that had been almost a daily occurrence up until several months ago. And, as Jax disappears around the corner, she can only catch Juan's eye in the rearview and paste on a smile she's not sure she'll feel until Jax is within her sights again.

It's a matter of minutes, spanning across several city blocks, before Juan speaks again.

"You good, Tara?"

"I'm feeling a lot better today-"

"Ain't what I meant," he interrupts, his eyes flicking up to meet hers in the rearview briefly, before returning to the road. "You and Jax- that all, uh… okay?" He's uncomfortable, she can tell, even from the backseat, and she can't help but smile to herself, both at his concern and the lingering warmth these past several hours with Jax had left behind.

"I think we are, actually. We-" the heat rushes to her cheeks as fragments of the past twelve hours float to the surface. "He's trying, you know?" Of course he doesn't know, her inner monologue scolds, almost instantly. But she can't help the sudden rush of affection for the slightly awkward kid upstairs any more than she can the brief touch she lets rest on his arm until he meets her eyes in the rearview one more time. "Thank you," is all she can say, before Juan's nodding along from the front seat, his momentary discomfort gone. And that's good enough for her.

They fall into another silence- this one pleasant- as they travel the last few blocks back to the apartment. But despite the company, the sunshine, and the relative peace of the day, all the questions that had gone unanswered earlier- where she and Jax stand, what (if anything) she'd whispered to him in a medicated haze- and his imminent departure seem to loom. He's got no reason to stick around this afternoon, she reasons, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach as they make the last turn off Pacific. And she really should-

Thoughts of studying fade as Jax comes into view, helmet tucked under an arm and leaning, casually, against his bike in her- his- shirt and a pair of dress pants, rumpled from their time together in the pouring rain… and her bed. A cigarette dangles from his full lips, but as they approach, he hastily flicks it away, reaching to hang the helmet from its usual spot on a handlebar before pushing off the bike with a foot and heading their way.

"Brought her back, safe and sound," Juan's saying as he opens the door. Tara doesn't miss the way Jax's eyes soften a bit as they both silently acknowledge the double meaning until he turns his attention to Juan.

"Thanks, man- for everything." And Juan's grinning broadly as he tosses Jax the keys across the hood.

"Any time."

Jax bends to open the back door, taking her hand, gently, so she can scoot to the edge of the backseat. The prospect of actually pushing herself up and out of the seat and hobbling across the lot on her own is daunting, and Tara can't help but feel thankful he's here to help her at least settle back into bed before he has to go take care of… whatever the club gets up to here in Tacoma. So, she's surprised- and more relieved than she'll ever admit, especially to herself- when his next words are,

"So what are we doin' with the rest of our afternoon, Babe?" And the way Jax rakes his free hand through his hair- usually a sure sign he's a little nervous, despite the quirk of his mouth and way he leans, languidly, against the door frame- belies his casual question. He doesn't want this to end, either!

And it's that realization- and the genuine, infectious smile they share in it a moment later- that has her peering up at him in wonder. Those familiar blue eyes are searching her own before crinkling at the edges in pleasure, and it's almost as if he can't help but bend so he can take her other hand and bring both to his lips. And suddenly, the re-emerging pain in her ankle, the lingering questions, the noise… it doesn't seem to matter. He's just happy to be here with her- just as she is with him.

"What?" Jax says, lowly, with a subtle jerk of his chin, a line emerging between his brows. At her puzzled look, he continues, "You got this… I dunno look."

"Oh…" Tara muses, dropping her gaze to their joined hands and skimming a thumb over his knuckle. "I guess I'm just-" Not used to having you all to myself, she doesn't say. She meets his eyes, then, and even though she hadn't given him the words, she knows he knows them, anyway. "I'm just… happy," she finishes, finally. And the way his eyes flare as he crouches beside her and reaches up, ever so slowly to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear has her own drifting closed.

"Oh, hey, I know!"

At the sound of Juan's voice, Tara's eyes fly open, locking with Jax's, now mere inches away. Laughing, Jax sits back on his heels to call out to Juan, who is now sitting astride his own bike on the other side of the Cutlass. "What's that, bro?"

"I mean, I dunno if you got a TV, Tara… But if you guys wanna, you know, watch some movies or something, you could always go to that like, lounge thing they got set up. They got a VCR and everything."

Jax lifts a brow, his lips quirking in that familiar smirk.

"Well? Is it a date?" And Tara's helpless to do anything but smirk right back.

"Lead the way Teller." And she'll be damned if he doesn't look even more insufferable- and adorable- as he winks at her, then reaches for her once again.

"I'll do better'n that, Babe," is the last thing she hears before he's scooping her up in his arms once again. Then, he's hip-checking the Cutlass door and nodding happily at Juan's goodbye- shouted over the din of the Yamaha firing up- before they set off across the lot, together.

---

Please conjugate the verb laborare- to work.

Groaning, Tara drops her head into her hands- half in determination not to peek at the conjugation table in the book spread out in front of her, and half in utter helplessness. Not only is Latin not her strong suit- hell, she's only taking it to fulfill a requirement and to prepare for Medical Terminology next year- but her mind just doesn't seem to want to focus on Latin verbs. Especially not when she's got a whole slew of fresh, vivid memories to contend with.

God, she'd thought it was hard enough to study those early days in Tacoma, mired in heartbreak and haunted by memories of her sixteen-year-old self content and in love. Now, though, the sensation of Jax's lips on her own lingers anew. His touches- though fairly chaste compared to those in her more distant memories- seem like they're still firing all her nerve endings, bringing pleasant, distracting heat to the areas of her skin they had grazed. Even more, though, the way she feels about him- the way she always had- seems as if it's been fighting its way to the surface, without her permission, all day.

It had begun with… whatever she'd let slip in the midst of a Percocet and pain-induced haze- what she's almost certain now, are the three words she hadn't been able to say to him since his appearance in Tacoma. Then, it had continued throughout the day as Jax had shown her in a hundred little ways just how much he still loved and cared for her… Even if he hadn't told her so in so many words since their last confrontation right here in this apartment.

Sure, he'd told her he loved her the day he'd shown up on her doorstep- in the midst of their argument, he'd then demanded to know if she still loved him and then told her in no uncertain terms how much it hurt him that she couldn't even say it aloud. But as things became easier between them- and even as they both gave in to lingering touches, intoxicating goodbye kisses, and the sheer need to see one another as often as possible- neither of them had willingly volunteered to take that leap again. In fact, Tara suspects that he's waiting her out- not because of some game he's playing, but out of a mixture of self-preservation, care, and caution. If she knows this new, more level-headed Jax- and she does, now- he's simply waiting for her to decide for herself that she wants him… And, just as importantly, the when.

It's just that her heart's already decided for her, before she's been able to get her rational brain to agree.

To his credit, Jax hadn't called her on it all day, even when he was practically bending over backwards to show her how much he cared; not when he was helping her into the shower, not when he was making them breakfast, and not even during those precious final hours of the afternoon they'd spent much like they had in high school. They'd been holed up on someone else's couch- this time, the apartment complex's lounge couch instead of Gemma's or her father's- some old movie playing in the background, fully aware that they could be interrupted at any moment and not much caring.

Sure, it wasn't exactly like they'd been at sixteen…

They hadn't been models of restraint back then, and this time, her swollen ankle and the lingering months of separation and uncertainty between them had definitely tempered their usual inability to keep their hands and mouths off each other. But instead of simply placing her on the couch and sitting next to her as she'd expected, Jax had carefully set her at an angle near the generous corner cushions and settled her in, then taken care to prop up her foot before sliding on in behind her. And so, with Jax's legs bracketing her on either side, his firm chest supporting her shoulders and head, and his arms wrapped around her, they watched… whatever it was, as the hours trickled away.

And for once, she was content to just… be.

Well, Tara corrects herself, she'd at least kept her vision trained on the old TV's screen most of the time, though she had been no better at concentrating on what was on it than she currently is at Latin verbs.

Jax, too, had been utterly too preoccupied to focus on whatever cable movie they'd chosen. Whether it was the lazy circles his left thumb was drawing beneath her t-shirt or the way his right hand would drift up and down her arm before pulling her hand to his lips, he never seemed to tire of touching her. If the way his heart- pressed against her right ear and buried beneath inches of fabric, skin, muscle, and bone- picked up a beat every time she ran a hand up his side, across his pectoral, and back down his arm, was any indication- he was paying no more attention than she was. In fact, she was sure of it, because he hadn't had to shift once to press his lips against the crown of her head- proof he hadn't even bothered to turn his head toward the TV. And after a while, with the warmth that was his gaze focused on her, coupled with his breath rolling continuously down her hairline and across her neck- well… she just couldn't resist the pull of him, the promise of them, anymore.

The nervous back-and-forth Tara had been agonizing over most of the day had vanished as she'd shifted back, her head resting against his left arm instead of his chest, to find his dark blue gaze locked on her own. And it had been nothing to reach up and press her lips against his… just like she always had. Their kisses were slow, almost lazy, delicious in their simplicity- in this complex-yet-uncomplicated world they'd created for themselves. And where once, the graze of Jax's teeth against her lower lip would have had Tara turning in his arms, sitting up to straddle him while she reached for his belt buckle and he pulled his shirt over his head- she wouldn't- couldn't- take it that next step. So instead, she'd simply let her hand drift up to run her fingers over the re-emerging stubble on his jawline and he'd brought his up to bury his fingers in her hair as they kissed and kissed and kissed…

Until, with a soft sigh, he'd drawn back to rub his nose against hers before grazing his lips across her forehead. Then, he simply returned them to how they'd been- her with her cheek pressed to his chest and him with his lips whispering against the crown of her head.

It's a routine they'd almost never fallen into over the course of their relationship, but one they'd happily repeated a half-dozen times- or maybe more- while the TV played on to its oblivious audience.

Until the serious sounds of the six-o-clock news finally managed to burst their content little bubble.

"Shit…" Jax had cursed, softly, even as his lips rested against hers. "I got to go, Babe. The club-"

"It's okay," she'd countered- hell, she'd been expecting this moment to come all day. "I need to get some studying done anyway."

And just like that, they'd been unceremoniously tossed back into the real world- the world where he lives across town and spends his days with the MC he'd practically grown up in; one where he has to drop whatever he's doing if the club comes knocking. Even if that means she's alone.

But it's fine, Tara had told herself, even as he carried her the short distance between the lounge and her apartment door. It's not like she'd let living alone bother her before- and really, he'd gone above and beyond what she'd ever come to expect of him. And so, she'd put on a brave face when he asked about her appointment Monday, about how she planned to get to her classes. Then, she'd smiled gratefully at him as she watched the struggle to leave her there, alone, play out upon his face.

She'd be fine, she'd told him in a mirror image of what she'd told herself, earlier- Sarah and Chris would be more than willing to drive her, both Monday and all the days after when he'll have important things to do for the club. And when he still looked conflicted, she'd reached up to cup his chin, to tell him exactly how much it had meant to her that he'd been there for her, thanked him both for today and for the night before.

Jax had smiled, then, and grazed his fingers over hers, but she could tell he wanted to say something else, that something more urgent was on the tip of his tongue. She'd only allowed her mind to wander for a brief time- when you told him you loved him and then never acknowledged it- before he'd turned his head away, sharply, and swallowed. And when he returned his gaze to hers, the moment was gone.

"You know where to reach me if you need me," is all he'd said, clearly referring to the club cell phone. "And I'm still seeing you this week, whether I got to carry your ass down that hill or not."

Instead of relieving the tension, though, his words had had the opposite effect. The urge to tell him how much she cared- how she really felt- bubbling to the surface, stronger than ever. She loved him for being there, for wanting to stay, for caring-

Really, she just loved him.

It was suddenly clearer than it had ever been in that moment. But still, Tara couldn't bring herself to say it, out loud, clear and conscious- and risk rushing things just as they're settling into something that was new yet familiar, solid yet shaky, simple yet the most fucking complicated thing in her life.

Almost as if he'd known what she was struggling with, he'd waited- a long moment that had turned into two, then three… And then he'd kissed her, brief, firm, and possessive, and left her reclined on her bed. She'd had but a few seconds' glimpse of his back before he'd closed the door gently behind him.

And she's still not convinced she'd made the right choice. Hours later- and surrounded by textbooks full of thousand year old words- she's still not certain she'd chosen the right ones.

Christ, Knowles- enough!

Even Latin is somehow less complicated than the mess you've helped make of your love life.

Returning her gaze to the chart and rubbing her temples, Tara makes another halfhearted attempt at committing the sea of text swimming before her eyes to memory. It's minutes before she's got a shred of conviction it's at least partially there- wedged between the nagging worry and the lingering image of those impossibly blue eyes- but still, she closes the book. Haltingly, she recites the conjugation, her confidence waning with every syllable.

"Laborare, laboro, laboras, laboramus…labor-... labor-... Shit!" Tara curses, shoving the book off the bed without ceremony. The workbook, notebook, and the assortment of pens and highlighters Jax had set her up with before he left nearly- she checks the clock on the nightstand- five hours ago soon join it.

Sighing, she gingerly eases herself into a sitting position and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, before resting both feet on the cold floor. Slowly, painstakingly, she uses the nightstand to push herself up into as much of a standing position as she can manage, then hobbles the short distance to the bathroom. It's the second such trip she's made this evening, and while she's encouraged that it seems to be getting easier with time- she can put at least a tiny fraction of her weight on her toes- she can't help but kick herself a bit for refusing the crutches Chris and Sarah had all but insisted on. But it's not like she'd needed them with Jax around to help…

Pushing that thought away, Tara does her best to take care of her business in the bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth with one hand while firmly gripping the towel bar in the other. Then, it's slow, hesitant progress back out into the main room of the apartment. She's just pausing at the foot of the bed, wincing and steeling herself to hobble the rest of the way to the door so she can flip the deadbolt and latch the chain before collapsing back into bed, when it happens.

A brief rap at the door sends her jolting upright; worse, a little too much weight on her injured ankle has her biting back a yelp. Hissing under her breath, she has but a few moments to realize there's no way she's going to be able to make it to the eyehole before whomever it is gets impatient. The knock comes again- this time, a terse tattoo that seems to echo in the small room before she manages a strained, "Who is it?"

Her mind has about a half-second to sift through the strikingly few candidates for who could be at her door at nearly midnight on a Saturday night- Sarah, Chris, maybe Juan- before the doorknob is turning, and the door opens on its own accord.

Jax fills the doorframe, clothed now in his usual zip-up hoodie, flannel shirt, and jeans, though she can just barely see he's still wearing the navy blue tee he'd snagged from her closet earlier in the day, a realization that unexpectedly has her breath catching. Still, she has even less time to take in his appearance than she'd had to wonder who was at her door a moment earlier before he's stalking across the room and slipping an arm around her waist.

"What the hell are you doin' out of bed by yourself, Babe?"

Her mouth would have dropped open at the audacity of his accusation, except it already is- but in sheer astonishment at his reappearance here, with her, when he should have been with the club. And so, as Jax helps her back into bed, her first thought isn't to roll her eyes, or snark at him that she had to pee and that she can get around her apartment by herself thankyouverymuch. It's to stare up at him in shock, even as he gently guides her back to the bed and helps her lie down.

He's oblivious to her dumbfounded gaze at first, as he- for the dozenth time today- makes her comfortable. But then, as he steps back and meets her eyes again, his brows lift in playful challenge.

"Don't tell me you're not happy to see me?" And all she can do is raise an eyebrow and point at the small duffel bag clutched in his far hand, which itself is still covered in a black, leather riding glove. Jax chuckles, holding up the bag in question. "Ah, this. I went shoppin' Babe- got us all set up." Grinning, he sets it on the bed next to her, peeling off his gloves and tossing them aside before unzipping the bag. Then, he's pulling out item after item, proudly listing them for her benefit. "Ice packs since you got no ice maker, ibuprofen for the pain… They even had a movie rental counter, so I got us a couple tapes so we won't have to watch those shitty cable channels. And…" he pauses, dramatically seemingly unaware of the tears stinging her eyes before brandishing the final item above his head like a trophy, "powdered sugar."

And at first, Tara can only laugh- and he joins her, squeezing her hand as they settle right back into the same, comfortable rhythm they had earlier in the day. But it's only a matter of time before the worry sets in once again- and only so long she can keep her hesitation and disbelief off her face.

"What?" is all he says, his easy grin fading just a bit. And it's so similar to the way he'd asked her exactly that, earlier in the day, that she finds herself answering- truthfully, this time- without hesitating.

"Why are you here, Jax? I thought you had Church-"

"Church's over. Lee just wanted to set us up for this week, hash out the new shit he learned from this run."

"But-"

"I wasn't sure what he had planned, whether I'd be able to make it back," Jax explains, turning to drape his hoodie over her desk chair, then shrugging out of his flannel shirt, as well. Then, he rakes a hand through his hair before capturing her gaze with his own once again- and there's sincerity, honesty, and maybe a bit of apology shining behind them when he shrugs, saying "Guess I'm tired of makin' promises I can't keep." He pauses, briefly- and she has no earthly clue what to say in return- but then he nods at her bedside lamp, the only light in the room. "I wasn't even sure you'd still be up, but I saw the light on and I…" he looks away for a moment. "I knew I had to be here, Babe."

Tara shakes her head, slowly. "You just… left? Isn't there usually a party after Church?" Jax shrugs again.

"Yeah, there was a party. It's no big deal-"

"But…" God, how is she supposed to ask him this without seeming a total bitch? "I mean, if you're going to transfer up here- don't they, um… expect you? You know, to be social, get to know the guys?" At his blank look, she struggles on. "It's just- I don't know…" God, why is this so hard? Just say it! "I mean, if it's part of what you have to do to um, stay- then I want you to do it." Jax's face registers surprise for a brief moment, then softens, the lines of confusion and worry seeming to melt away as he sits down on the bed next to her and takes her hand.

"Most times, yeah, there's a party. And you're right. If I'm gonna stay- and I am gonna stay- I need to make sure I cross all my t's and dot all my i's with the club. But tonight- I'm right where I wanna be, Babe." And maybe he can sense her concern, because he's quick to explain. "After a run, just like with SAMCRO, the parties are a little different than the usual ones. There's drinks with the patched brothers right after church, but mostly these nights are for the old ladies to- you know… welcome us home. And, well-" Jax shrugs, smiling ruefully. "I just really wanted to be with mine."

Tara can no more stop herself from leaning up to kiss him than she can stop herself from breathing. It's a gentle kiss, but she pours every bit of her gratitude, her relief- and everything she just can't say to him quite yet- into it, until they're both breathless. And when it's over, it's far easier than maybe it should have been to settle back into the pillows and let her eyes flutter closed for a moment, the ghost of a smile alighting where Jax's lips had been just a moment earlier. Far too simple just to ask him-

"Then can you lock the door, please?"

No more words are said, but Tara watches in what she can only describe as fascination as the emotions play out across his face. Then, he crosses to the door one last time, sliding the deadbolt home and fastening the chain, before pausing again at the desk chair to toe off his shoes, strip off his shirt and shuck down his jeans.

Tara smiles as she always has at the sight- can't help the slight blush that colors her face at seeing him shirtless once again after months of not having the pleasure. When he moves in her direction, though, she's spurred into action and does her best to shift to the near side of the bed, widening the space she'd subconsciously reserved just for him. Then, he's sliding into the bed next to her where he's always belonged, floating the quilt and top sheet over them both before reaching across her to switch off the lamp.

When he's settled, draped over her- though mindful of her injured ankle- and holding her close just like he'd done last night, Tara smiles and turns in his arms… just like she'd dreamed of doing first thing this morning. Only this time, the familiar sensation of their lips meeting, the soft sighs and warm breaths mingling between the two of them are real- even though somewhere in the far reaches of her mind she wonders if it all really is a dream. Long moments seem to stretch into minutes before Jax finally drags his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged, trailing kisses across her cheekbone before he rests his forehead against her temple- but his soft smile remains long after he settles into sleep. And together, they drift off into the waiting night, content.