#. ♦ interaction ˎˊ˗

[gaveldefy]

jax laughs despite himself. absently, his free hand reaches off to the side for the pack of cigarettes and the zippo sitting nearby. with his own dancing against astoria's lips, the conversation prompts him to pull out another. he doesn't bother to let go of her hand, though. with the night being relatively calm there's no need to shield the flame ( habit as it may be ). several puffs later he's able to smoke as normal, exhaling off to the side to make sure the night breeze doesn't blast anything into her face.

his mind starts churning again. this time it's about the future they're playfully proposing together. messy didn't mean impossible, which the blonde files away for another time. for now, he's determined to start saving for the declaratiion of love she deserves. although, unless something serious changes in the next six months that isn't going to be the largest in the store. at least it'll be real, though. not the cracker jack excuse of a band he'd bought for wendy when they made the quick decision to do it.

" i'd rather we get this shit under wraps first, anyway. " pinched fingers rub at his temple. a sigh escapes from his lips right before jax shakes his head. the previous line of thought was so much more preferable. yet, this was why he'd abandoned her in the middle of the night to sit in the cold. only right that astoria be part of that conversation especially if they planned to be married one day. the more she knew the more informed she could be on whether or not staying was really the right thing to do for her. " last thing i want is for you to be a target and me not knowing which direction to cover you from. "

silence falls between them for a few moments. her questions weigh down heavily on his shoulders. he's a few puffs in before jax ends up shaking his head. " no stupid questions here, babe. " he uses his thumb to idly scratch his own jaw. " we're goin' tomorrow. er, later today i guess it is. plan is to blind side him to see if we can get the truth rather than set up a meet and have him craft the perfect answer. " not the smartest thing, going into niner territory and accuse their leader of murder. but, if they wanted the truth it was the fastest way.

" as for clay? i don't have all the info on that. feels like i'm missing something. tig's been acting weird but he's also a weird motherfucker. who knows if it's related or if it's his latest cock obsession. if he's covering for clay there's no getting the truth. " did donna know something she wasn't supposed to? that's hard to imagine considering opie wasn't in on everything. " if he's lying about this? it protects his life. that's what he has to gain. killing a member takes a fucking good reason to vote on and there's no vote. if he went rogue and made that decision on his own? killed someone's wife? " jax shakes his head rather than filling in the blank.

It's all so different from everything she knew. Her childhood was a long game of hide and seek, though the rules never changed: her mother hid, and Astoria looked for her everywhere.

The summer after she finished her first year of university, the summer after she met her father, she asked her mother about it, and Veronika's response had just been that she knew how to love a child, but not how to like one. It took Veronika too long to notice that Astoria had gone silent, only to rush in with, "Well, now I like you!" like it would soothe the wound. Astoria didn't ask the question she wanted to ask: but do you still love me? She already knew the answer. It's an old story: privilege doesn't buy love, doesn't buy emotional connection. And she got it eventually (from her grandparents, from the uncle she thinks of more as a brother than anything, from her father and her stepmother and her sister), but the lack of it so young left her ruined.

(Her ex once told her, rather eloquently, there's scar tissue in place of where your heart should be. He followed it by telling her that he couldn't keep spending his life trying to rebuild what wasn't there anymore, but she barely heard it: for a moment she'd simply basked in the sensation of being understood.)

The thought of that kind of family, that kind of devotion, born not from obligation and duty but by a choice made over and over again, it's intoxicating. It's exhilarating. Before meeting Jax she'd have said it was a faery tale. And it's not just in the way he trusts her to calm his son, or in the way Clay asked her after Jax filled him in on her secrets if she knew how to shoot: it's in how they all interact with each other, each laugh and jab and explosion of anger followed by such quick and unconditional forgiveness.

"It would be a little bit of a mess to manage, what with the whole false identity thing. But for the record—yeah." It's an insane thing to say, really: it's been, what? Less than a year since she arrived. A matter of mere months since she and Jax started calling this a relationship. Still, she supposes, when you know, you know. "I really do. I'd marry you tomorrow, to be honest. I mean, I wouldn't recommend that particular timing, all things considered, but the sentiment stands. And," she adds with a chuckle, "I love you enough not to hold you to any of this before we've talked it out after a good night's sleep for the both of us. But—yeah. Worth having that out there, I think."

The question of timing brings her back to Donna and Opie. Some part of her wonders if she's pushing her luck by asking questions and trying to talk through it, but this is her life too, isn't it? And Jax has carried so much of this on his own that offering to help him shoulder the weight can't hurt. "If we can't answer that question, then, there are a couple others that need to be asked. First, if it's not Leroy, who has something to gain from making it look like it is? And second, if Clay's story doesn't add up, what does he stand to gain from lying about it?" She pauses, then. "Maybe this is a stupid question, but has anyone actually talked to Leroy? Not that I think anyone's going to just own up to it to set your mind at ease, but you'd think a declaration of war would be acknowledged, right? If that's what it was?"

[gaveldefy]

tag drop

[gaveldefy]

     jax doesn’t want to save anyone.  he has no illusions about being a knight in shining armor or whatever the fuck the fairytales give you.  her shit was her shit to deal with until she asked for help because, in the club, there was a certain level of trust in the people you have around you.  trust in them to be able to handle themselves.  as far as he was concerned, if they did ask for help?  that didn’t mean they were weak in any way.  it simply meant they understood the weight was too heavy and it might start encroaching on their brothers.  

     that wasn’t to say no one tried to protect each other.  he was always a call away if someone needed a net to catch them.  hale had done it a number of times with both him and opie.  when shit got too heavy for his heart and he bit off more than he could chew.  jax could remember a specific time when hale stepped in front of too many fists and ope had to carry him into the truck like a wounded animal.  a giant carrying a giant.  now that was a sight to see.

     but, he has to admit, there’s a moment when astrid’s looking at the guns that he wants to make this all go away for her.  she’s not shaking when she’s picking up the guns but she handles them like they’re disgusting.  like they weren’t built for soft hands like hers.  and, really, they aren’t.  unfortunately, jax can’t be around all the time so it makes the most sense to give her the tools and the confidence to do something about danger herself while also reinforcing the idea that the club would be there to have her back whenever she needed it.  the things she’s been through and the things she will more than likely go through being attached to him, hale, and the sons means tools will always make the most sense.

     he’d shown her the shotgun in the closet because it’d take the least amount of practice.  aim in a general direction and let the pellets do the rest.  only two chances to do some damage but, at close range, you really don’t need more than that.  he makes a mental note to show her where the box of extra ammo is.  considering how wide her eyes got when he first pulled it out he didn’t want to overwhelm her with all the weapons in the house.  as it was, jax was regretting pulling out both boxes of guns.  he wasn’t sure which one the subcompacts were in, though.

     reaching over the side of one of the boxes, he picks up a glock 17, which was the same gun he carried with him on a daily basis.  this one was older.  nothing wrong with it.  jax loaned it to someone, started carrying the new one, and never changed them back.

     he pulls back the slide to make sure there wasn’t a bullet loaded in the chamber then ejects the magazine down the handle.  it’s also empty.

     “ clay started taking me to the range when thomas got sick.  something to keep me distracted, i guess.  focus on the future and not my brother’s defective heart. “  it occurs to him as he looks down at the black metal that astrid deserved to be in a better place.  running or not, a small town surrounded my criminal bikers wasn’t exactly the best place to build a life and he found that he loved her enough to ask her to go away.  this would be the perfect opportunity, right?  yet, jax is also selfish because he hasn’t felt anything like this in as long as he can remember.  the way she fits into his life is seamless, easy, and breathtaking.  usually gemma’s up in his shit trying to stir his thoughts because no one’s good enough.  “ i was scared the first few times i tried to go shooting.  it’s fuckin’ loud.  pinched my finger and dropped the god damn thing on my foot, “ jax chuckles and shakes his head.  fingers move to comb back the hair that’s falling into his face.

     he listens patiently as she continues her story.  “ no, “ the biker says gently.  “ that’s not fucked up at all.  you were fighting for your life, red.  never, ever feel bad for being the one to make it out alive. “  he, for one, would never judge her for doing whatever she felt she had to in order to survive.  in fact, he was proud that she’d had the courage to protect herself.  not everyone could no matter how bad the situation might be.

     “ it’s not going to make anything magically better. “  the magazine clicks back into place and he sets the glock back on top of the pile he’d pulled it from.  he leans forward, letting his hand rest against the blanket.  being smart and being safe could be very different things.  “ it’s also not going to make you magically safer. “  everyone in the club knew how to shoot better than the average person and they had holes put into their bodies all the time.  hale had been in the army as a sniper.  by all accounts he was the best shot in the club, and that didn’t make them any safer from the mayans or anyone else who wanted to push their luck.  when everyone had guns it was just a slaughterfest but he was also thinking like a member of the sons and not someone who was running from one specific thing.

     “ i will teach you whatever i can.  there’s a shooting range we can go to so you can practice and get comfortable.  but you can always change your mind and i will not think anything of it. “  not that he needed to tell her that.  she’s already been through hell and walked out the other side.  “ if we ask shay i also know he’d be more than happy to show you some self defense.  not as a one or the other, thing.  only you can decide what’s best for you.  i’m just trying to lay out all the tools we have to make you feel protected. “

     none of that had to be decided in the moment, though.  sleep first, let the stahl jitters get out of her system, then they could revisit everything.

     arms reach out when she steps close.  hands settle at the curve where ass meets thigh, giving a light squeeze.  under different circumstances he’d be getting her naked right about then.  between the bed being covered in guns and, honestly, liking the intimacy just as it was, jax didn’t want to push it.  so, he keeps stroking her thighs, instead.

     “ babe, i love having you here.  you never intrude, “ the blonde shakes her legs for good measure.  “ call hale.  tell him to get his amazonian ass over here for a sleep over.  i’ll order pizza and get a few things straightened out at the shop while you guys talk about everything, okay? “

And there he goes, making her laugh again. There's something wonderfully comforting in the tenderness he shows despite the topic of conversation, and Astoria follows after him quietly, a smile of her own tugging her lips upward and a warmth building through her body. It's a surprise, too, to be treated this way after revealing what she did; how many times has someone behaved as though she needed saving after hearing a story like that? Her grandfather and mother had both hovered, until she'd finally exploded at the both of them that she'd grown up too much in those few years to need parenting. She's long since forgiven her grandfather; he, at least, had the madness of grief to blame, and he loved her enough to stick around after she lashed out. Her mother had just headed back home to resume the schedule of seasonal phone calls and birthday cards.

Iain had gotten a more abridged version of the story than anyone else. He'd fussed and fretted, and had tried to assure her that he didn't think of her as broken, though it came up every time they fought, like a sort of catch-all excuse for her bad behavior or self-destruction. She'd hated him a little bit for it. If she's being honest with herself, and at this stage she might as well be, she'd wondered if Jax would do the same thing. She can't quite express the sheer relief that comes when his only hesitation when she asks for a gun is to, presumably, imagine her holding one and appreciate the idea. She lingers in the doorway of the bedroom while he starts rummaging in his closet, and when he withdraws the shotgun she's visibly startled, more uncomfortable than afraid, though she nods silently.

"You know, you're about the last person I'd imagine would endanger a child," she says faintly. She clears her throat, then nods at the shotgun. "You'll need to teach me how to use that, too." It's tucked back in its place (how did she miss it? she's gone into his closet more than once to steal a hoodie in the middle of the night when she can't find half her clothes and she wants a glass of water but it's too cold to venture past the bedroom door) and the shoe boxes follow. That prompts an audible gasp, and she shifts on her feet, a little uneasy but trying to push past it.

She only speaks when he's finished and sat down, and she approaches the bed warily. "I've never even touched one before. My mother never kept one. My grandfather only had hunting rifles and he kept those locked up. My first real exposure was in London." No need to dig into the details there; the expression she wears no doubt sums up the important parts. "But given the circumstances I think it's—necessary to know how to use one. Long overdue, honestly. Besides. Look at the company I keep these days." She looks up from the boxes to him, and her expression shifts almost immediately, and entirely without her knowledge, to one of impossible fondness. "No better teachers, right?"

Her hands don't shake when she picks up one of the guns he'd selected for her, and she holds it carefully in her hands, careful to keep it aimed towards the floor. "Mm." She took self defense classes while she was in uni. After she graduated a girl she was briefly seeing taught her to use a knife. The years of ballet in childhood did nothing to prepare her for a fistfight, and between her size and her general strength, winning wouldn't be a likely outcome unless she was fighting a child. (Even that's not a guarantee.) Do the damage you need to in order to get out of there, the defense instructor had told them all in the first class. Don't try to be a hero or do anything flashy. If you can run, then run.

And she has. The problem with running is that this particular predator enjoys the hunt as much as the kill. The gun is heavy in her hand, and after a moment Astoria sets it down again and looks back at Jax. If Elyssa does find her here, this only ends with one of them dead, and she hasn't survived this long, hasn't stained her soul so badly, just to die at her first real stand. Some part of her still wants to run; but then what? She settles someplace else, and has to pick up and run again as soon as she starts feeling like she's doing more than just surviving the day to day? How long is that sustainable? But she's not sure she has a right to let it happen here, not when everyone's been so careful to try and keep the violence out of Charming. She may not know the details of their work, but she knows that is important to the Sons. She's a threat to whatever peace and stability they maintain.

Eyes flickering down again to the weapons on the bed, Astoria picks up each one, holds it in her hands for a long moment, stretches her fingers to see which is the most comfortable fit (or, she supposes, the least awful). "Honestly, they scare the shit out of me," she says after several long moments of silence. Her tone is almost confessional as she returns her attention to the ones he'd set aside for her. "I wasn't ever charged with anything I was involved in as a minor. Crimes carried out by a child under threat of violence or death don't really play well in a courtroom, particularly when said child is a little rich girl with big, sad eyes." A humorless laugh follows. "One of the expectations was therapy. Understandable, I think. I went to therapy. I was as honest as I could be, even if I wasn't as honest as I needed to be."

She hesitates again, and then it all comes out before she can stop it. "It felt good. Seeing him dead, watching her run, knowing that for once I had all the power. It felt really fucking good. Not like I wanted to do it again, but—I was crying, when the police arrived, and they all assumed it was because I was frightened, when I was really just... relieved. I was happy. I slept like the dead that night and I haven't lost any sleep about it since. I haven't actually said that out loud before," she adds, picking up one of the guns again. "I always felt like it should bother me more. It just never has. And I'm standing here thinking about what I might have to use this for and that doesn't bother me either. Is that fucked up?" She sets it down again, fingers lingering on the barrel for a moment. "These are good. I trust your judgment. And I'm ready to start whenever you are."

Then she withdraws her hand sharply, as if burned. Her attention shifts to him again, and carefully, she slips between his knees, and she taps two fingers under his chin, guides his face up so she can look him in the eye. It takes several long, silent moments before she can make her voice work. "Thank you." There is no better version of her; there is no Astoria or Astrid or whoever she becomes who doesn't remember watching Evander die without a sense of peace blooming inside of her. She wonders if it will trouble him, at some point. It should. Somehow, she doubts it will. Her hands settle on his shoulders, thumbs stroking gentle lines against the sides of his neck, and she takes in a slow breath. "You don't owe me a goddamn thing and I'm—I get that this is a lot and I'm grateful for it. All of it." Her hands tighten, just barely, fingers starting to press against his shoulder like she doesn't want to let him go. If there weren't guns spread out on the bed she'd be finding a better use for it.

It occurs to her then that he'd shown her the shotgun in case he wasn't there. She knows him well enough now to understand that it's an answer. "You're sure you don't mind me here for a few days? Just until things settle a bit. I don't want to intrude—and really, if you'd rather I didn't, I'll be okay. Hale would crash at mine if I asked."

[gaveldefy]

     hale’s growl and stiff shoulders make jax think, for a second, that the brother isn’t going to do as he was asked.  usually he jokes about the taller brother’s feline grace but ever since red got hurt he was more like a guard dog.  but, in the end, he listens to his best friend by leaning down for a kiss to the forehead.  jax may not have any idea what they were about to talk about but one thing was certain, she wasn’t going to be left alone.  both sons would agree on that front.

     with a nod and whisper he’ll be right back, jax walks with hale out into the hall.  “ ope, “ he motions over to his other best friend keeping watch then reaches up to put a hand on hale’s cheek.  “ she’s gonna be fine.  just don’t go do anything fuckin’ stupid or i’m telling alix. “  a glimmer of hale’s normal self peeks through in the way he manages to look offended.  “ yeah.  all your dirty little fantasies aired out like laundry because i’m tired of living in some fuckin’ romance novel, “ he grins to emphasize that all of it’s a joke.  well, maybe.  he had considered spilling the beans once or twice but that wasn’t his place.  

     to opie he simply asked that hale be followed, which earned him a roll of the eyes from one and a nod from the other.

     back in the room he’s met with the demand to sit.  at first all he can do is look at her stretched out on the bed.  half-sack’s body is an image that plays on repeat, along with all the apologies she’d given him when they found her in that chair.  jax gave himself a day to feel all of it before everyone had him pulling it back together to think about the next step.  the irishman was going to die he knew that much.  it was a calm feeling in the center of his chest.  what made his anxiety flutter was not knowing where his kid was.

     none of that came out his mouth.  instead he took his hat off and set it on the rolling table.

     when jax sits he takes astrid’s closest hand and brings it up to his forehead.  a heaved sigh falls out of him.  before the heat pricks at his eyes he holds in another breath, keeping all those emotions at bay.

     “ gemma got set up.  i don’t know the details.  tig and a few others are driving out to get her right now but it has something to with why cameron showed up at the house. “  he keeps himself occupied my pressing lips against her knuckles.  every so often he glances back up into those beautiful eyes and gets distracted by the giant bruise on the side of her head.  “ i’m… “  what?  were there even words for everything he was feeling?  “ very surprised hale didn’t make any jokes when opie picked me up like i weighed five pounds. “  the blonde managed to send a small smile astrid’s way.  “ i’m confused.  who the fuck takes a kid?  i’m mad at myself because you got hurt.  i’m scared we’ll never get him back  i’m even more mad at myself that there’s this tiny part of me trained to worry about what the irish are gonna wanna do with the guns. “

     a sigh pushes him back in his seat a little bit.  honestly, he’s surprised half that came out because he’s never been with anyone he was okay sharing that kind of thing with.  “ you know, if you want out….i wouldn’t blame you.  or stop you.  you didn’t sign up for this shit.  especially with everything else you got goin’ on. “

It's not as bad as it looks. Really, it isn't; head injuries bleed more than most, and a bruise from her temple along her cheek with a mild concussion had been the worst of that. She's a little purple, but fine. There is, of course, the gunshot wound to her thigh, serious enough that it had needed treatment but not so serious she won't be able to walk at the funeral.

(She's trying not to think about it. Then again, thinking about Half-Sack, dead in a pool of his own blood on the kitchen floor, is almost preferable to thinking about Abel, wherever he might be.)

As far as injuries go, it's not Astoria's worst. The pain is unpleasant, but manageable, and she's refused opiates. Soft-tissue damage, and she's on an antibiotic to make sure there's no infection after all of that, but they'd been more concerned by the potential concussion. They'd only kept her in the hospital this long because she started hyperventilating when Stahl arrived, more for show than anything, unwilling to talk to anyone about what happened until she had a chance to run it all by Jax or Clay. The intensity of her panic attack had been enough to buy her another day without law enforcement's involvement, mostly because she'd been sedated, but she'll take it.

Hale barely leaves her side. He's leaned on her uninjured thigh now, and she has a hand in his hair, unsure whether the contact is meant to reassure him, or to reassure herself. It's not her first serious injury, or her worst, but she's never been looked after quite like this. In any other circumstances she'd resent Jax's absence, but in a case like this, she can't blame him in the slightest.

And he's here now. Exhausted, but here all the same. Astoria lifts her free hand to catch one of his, and she squeezes lightly before she looks down at Hale and musses his hair to get his attention. "Do me a favor? Coffee and a muffin from that place I like?" She's sure Hale sees through it, knows it's a fairly transparent attempt to get a minute alone with Jax, and she knows he won't resent her for it; besides, she really could use some decent food. The responding growl makes her laugh; she's sore enough that she winces a bit, but he doesn't deny her. After a kiss to his forehead and a murmur of thanks, honey, I love you, she's alone with Jax, and she inches to the edge of the bed, making room for him to sit where Hale was.

"Come here." She's not above making demands in her position, and she pats the bed beside her. She's still tired, and she hurts, but she's in better shape than she would have expected. "Tell me what's going on. Tell me how you are. I'm worried about you."

[gaveldefy]

     flirting was nowhere near new.  both sides.  anyone who wanted to hang on to the club image in any kind of way threw themselves at any member they could.  jax did his own when he was in a range of moods but it was only ever surface level, as if flirting was the mask he wore.  kind of like opie’s mask was that stoic murder face.  his was a smile that made other people weak in the knees and there was also this part of him that enjoyed having that kind of power over people.  it was different and a little more thrilling than the violence and threats tossed around club activities.

     yet, this smile was different.  the smile this stranger managed to elicit out of him was about as genuine as anything he gave any of his brothers.  there were no walls attached to it.  simply a smile of pure joy.  that in and of itself was a novel concept, especially as of late.  jax was used to watching his back and trying to filter through layers of interwoven meanings.  could he just be himself for a while?  around her, anyway.  maybe he felt this way precisely because she was from somewhere other than charming.  the story could all be a lie as far as he knew.  the blonde didn’t care.  for a moment he was free and that was worth everything.

     “ all day everyday, darlin’, “ he smiles back.  both hands land on the bartop and his fingers splay as wide as he can.  there was a small cut on the back of his wrist that he pointed to.  “ this one’s from trying to take out a cracked radiator.  hand slipped on coolant. “  jax’s head tilts to the side, trying to remember where all the random little scars came from.  he points to a very faded one that starts at the left pinky’s second knuckle and goes down to the wrist.  “ this one was trying to help someone lift a transmission out the hood. “   both hands lift up again for another glance over.  “ but, unfortunately, no.  there is not a ducati dealership close enough to make that certification worthwhile.  i can make some calls, though.  see where you can take it depending on what it needs. “

     if the bike needed something basic he could probably swing it but he also didn’t want to ruin whatever this was by ruining such a beautiful vehicle.  “ you ride? “  when her hand lands on his there’s an electricity that climbs up his arms.  jax knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is captivated.  not by the story and certainly not by the ducati.  ever since the drink slide in his direction the conversation had been easy.

     his fingers curl up ever so slightly to maintain contact while her nails scrape along the inside of his wrist.  “ and i’m sorry your mom’s shitty enough to put a potential relationship above your safety, “ jax’s eyebrows pinch together.  he finds himself genuinely upset over that thought.  as much as he loved sex he would never, ever put that above his son.  family first.  family would always be first.

     he can’t stop his free hand from reaching out and cupping her cheek for a few seconds.  the calloused thumb draws a few light lines over her cheek before he pulls it back.  that right there helped him believe she was running from something.  maybe not the mother.  jax had no idea what but the way she said several little words were completely infused with survival.  he respected that.

     jax was honestly waiting for another question in the realm of the earlier food sphere.  maybe something like where to go for groceries or good coffee.  “ straight to the point, “ that earlier boyish grin comes back in full force.  it leaves him feeling a kind of lightness he’s not used to feeling.  everything with the club had been so dark and heavy.  was this what clay meant when he said a good ol’ lady will keep you afloat?  

     standing, he reaches over to the register and grabs a pen off it.  he makes a few marks on his own skin first, so he didn’t have to write so hard on her beautiful skin.  then, a number was scrawled on the back of her hand.  “ you can find me wherever you tell me to go.  how ‘bout that?  make it easier? “

"Be still my heart. I always love to see a man who works with his hands." If she had any aim towards subtlety at the start, she's abandoned it now—she was never much for subtlety, anyway. "I'll have to come by and hope you're working. I should probably get a car. Make grocery runs easier, at the very least." She says it almost without thinking. "It was a gorgeous ride across the country but I missed having a sound system. You work on Ducatis?" Too much quiet (if you can call that quiet) isn't good for her, Astoria's learned. She needs something, anything else to direct her attention.

It only strikes her after she's said it that she might be giving too much away. It might narrow her origin down from the entire country to the east coast, and if anyone's had her declared missing it's only a matter of time before her face is getting plastered on the news. And it's not like she's seen all that many women matching her description on the way here: the red hair, the very visible tattoos, the hint of Swedish and Icelandic in her accent. Then again, maybe it won't reach her here, three thousand miles away; maybe they'd assume that for all her snobbery and her love of luxury she wouldn't endure the travel time, the inconvenience. Or maybe they'd assume she went back to Europe. The clever thing would probably have been to put an ocean between them.

Or maybe she's being paranoid. Maybe it's not that rare for women to run from the lives waiting for them and land here. He seems sensitive enough, she supposes, and if he grew up with a single mom (in effect if not in name) then he might simply assume that a lady's entitled to her secrets and the safety that comes with them. I'll be good, she silently promises the world. Keep my head down. I just want to survive long enough to figure out how the fuck to deal with this. If she wanted to cause trouble, she could have gone anywhere else, found herself a major city and settled there. All she wants now is a bit of quiet, a bit of peace. Her eyes flicker down to the lovely curve of his mouth, and her own lips curl up slowly. Maybe she wants a bit of company, too.

The train of thought makes her reckless. Again, she speaks almost without realizing she's speaking at all. "I'm so sorry. It's really rough, growing up without being able to rely on him being home." Her hand settles over his again, and this time she scrapes the inside of his wrist gently with her fingernails before beginning to trace vague patterns there. She wants to settle into the familiar patterns she knows so well, and flirt and tease and lure without having to bare anything real about herself. But this bubbles up and spills from her mouth, and there's nothing she can do to stop it. Worse, she doesn't want to stop it, for the moment.

"My mother was the same. When we were in the same place, as I got closer and closer to being out on my own, she'd pretend we were sisters, so it didn't scare anyone off who didn't want to worry about landing himself a child if they took her out for dinner." Her smile softens. "I'm sorry you get it. It's a shitty thing to understand."

It's hardly the most pleasant topic of conversation. Feels too intimate by far to have at this particular moment. Astoria tucks the information she's learned away in the back of her mind and lets herself change the subject without fuss. "Hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions to get the local's perspective? Like—where should I consider going if I wanted to keep running into you?"

[gaveldefy]

" not the worst thing anyone's ever said to me, " jax can't help but tease, leaning into astoria's shoulder to emphasize the budding playful mood. all the time they'd spend together only served to strengthen his resolve to make the club a better place. clearly, his father had different ideas of where everyone was supposed to go, given the manifesto he'd found in the storage unit.

had tara been around, maybe he'd consider leaving the club as opposed to making it less bloody. all jax could think of were the positives he felt in growing up in such an environment. for one, he was never alone. whenever either clay or gemma were busy he could stay with piney with no problem. there was always someone around just like one big extended family. how many people had that out in the real world? but, jax did agree that they'd veered off course somewhere. a bubbling down in the pit of his gut said that was because clay got greedy. every bump the club hit meant the old man was trying that much harder to make up for lost space. but, why? just to retire?

jax doesn't respond to the question right away. his own thoughts seemingly plucked from his brain and put out on display for only red to see. he lifts his head from where it'd settled down on her shoulder, allowing himself to fidget with the fingers twined with his as a way of working through his thoughts.

although, all of it stops at four little words. almost like a hiccup in his movements because he goes right back to feeling over one of her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. " enough to marry me? " that playful streak back with a sleepy vengeance. the biker lifts both their hands to his lips, allowing the kiss to linger before setting everything back down again. " i love you, too, red. looking back, i can see how much i was just floating through life before you came along. one great fuck to the next. that shit don't mean anything, though. this, " his index points down at the porch. " being able to talk to you like this...lean on you...trust you with all my secrets. that shit means more to me than you'll ever know. "

for the first time, jax could honestly say he trusted a partner with his life. he'd never felt that before.

" as for clay, " a train of thought that brings the fidgeting back. " story doesn't add up. the beef we have with leroy right now? doesn't need blood. why escalate even if opie was the intended target? he says we're being greedy and i'm inclined to agree with him. but, he also knows starting a war with us only sandwiches him with the mayans and threatens to cut off his gun supply in the process. so, maybe it wasn't leroy and it was just someone trying to make a statement cause you certainly don't look at that piece of shit truck and think to steal it. "

there it was, only a fraction of the monologue he'd been having with himself since they found donna on the street. shaking his head, jax takes his free hand to rub up and down his face. " all that to say, yeah, i think ope was the target. what i can't wrap my head around is why. "

She lets out a thoughtful hum around the cigarette before she puts out out on the step beside her and slips her hand into his. Gently, she raises their linked hands, presses a kiss to his knuckles first, then the soft underside of his wrist, just over the flutter of his pulse. "Looks like you're stuck with me, love," Astoria says with a little laugh, and she lowers their hands, nestles closer to him. It's so simple to say—a statement of fact more than a declaration of war against anything that wants to uproot her now, including her own cowardice.

For several long moments, she's silent, her lower lip caught in her teeth and the fingers of her free hand drumming against a bare knee as she thinks. His confession pulls her back to the present, and she lets out another laugh, bright and warm. "Must be a hell of a woman, to get you thinking about that again." She raises her eyebrows, nose scrunching with the width of her smile. "Better keep that one around.

"I get it, though." Her voice is softer, and despite the steady grip of her hand around his, she's lost in the memory for a moment. "I was engaged in uni—after everything that happened I was so afraid of being alone, and then I just felt like I was being suffocated. And it was so overwhelming and terrifying that I just started self-destructing, like I wanted to make sure I could still feel anything else, because if being loved wasn't enough to fix me, then there had to be something really fucking wrong, right? I was twenty-one when we split up, after four years, and it was like coming up for air. Haven't been serious about anyone since, really. Well." Her smile grows crooked, and she's fully present again, eyes bright as they meet his. "Until now."

Astoria falls silent again, and her fingers slip between Jax's, lacing tightly into his as if she means to ground herself. She's thinking about it again, the funeral and Jax's brief appearance, the ever-growing distance between him and Clay, the tension so tangible she sometimes thinks she could hold it in her hands. "So if wives and kids are off-limits, either all the rules are changing, or Opie was the target, and Donna was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." There's plenty he can't tell her, but she asks anyway, just in case. "Which do you think it was?"

And then, voice softer and almost hesitant, like she's not sure what to expect in response: "I love you. You know that, right? I'm the kind of in love with you that feels really, really big. And I'm all in. None of this changes that for me."

[gaveldefy]

" i was expecting you to, if we're being honest. " not that he ever lied to astoria. ommissions of truth here and there but, so far, they hadn't been for long. not saying the whole truth had more to do with club obligation than it did anything else and he'd never felt so carefree in his life. having someone to lean on through all the hard shit? most importantly, an outside perspective who isn't muddled by all the fuckin' politics and money.

turning his head to the side, jax presses his forehead against astoria's temple and pushes very similar to a cat. he does it once more for loving affect. on the second time the blonde doesn't pick his head up immediately. instead, he pushes again, closes his eyes, and breathes in the scent of her shampoo. any and every reminder that she's whole, in his hands.

" all that's different, though. those are out of our control but beef with other clubs? " a small shake with his head finally lifting up into the air. " it's very fifties, i know, i get that, but wives are supposed to be off limits. no women. no kids. crossing that line opens a whole world of shit. " being called home was not lost on the biker. sad and scared, he still manages to grin at the sentiment. " you feel like home, too. didn't think i'd ever find that. "

even pulling back, jax stays angled so he can watch astoria's features. the moonlight puts an ethereal glow all over her as if she were his guardian angel. the flush in his cheeks urges him to look down at his ring finger again. jax tilts his head to the side, mulling over the way to answer. more specifically, how much truth he wants to put into it.

" it was a shit show, " the biker can't help but smile. it's not a particularly bad memory but also not a great one. their whirlwind was full of arguments, drugs, and non-stop cheating. " we're better friends but i was so fuckin' lonely. opie had donna since high school but tara left and i never found anyone after. i stupidly thought it was going to settle something in me but it only made me feel more constrained. having said all that, " jax's head tilts to the other side. " been considering it again here lately. got someone that makes me think it just might work. "

"Mm. Wasn't you who woke me. Abel was getting fussy while I was coming back from the bathroom. Figured I might as well head that off. He likes Fleetwood Mac." Astoria grins, despite everything; that little boy is pure sunlight, especially now. "He was out before I even got to the good part of Crystal." There's a thrill shooting up her spine that she's felt every time she successfully soothes the baby, or that he reaches for her when he wants comfort, or that his face lights up at the sight of her red hair. She's spent so long destroying everything around her that such simple and honest warmth and love leaves her reeling.

The affection doesn't surprise her; neither does the worry that follows. With someone else, Astoria would rush to reassure him that she wasn't going anywhere, that she'd never even thought about it. Assuming, of course, that she didn't simply answer it with thanks, but no thanks, I'm out of here. She lets out a slow breath, brings the cigarette back to her lips. She owes Jax honesty, at the very least. She intends to deliver.

"I gave it some thought, you know. Back when Stahl first showed up and figured out who I was. I thought about taking off. It seemed like too much happening all at once, you know? Like there would just be trouble if I stuck around. But this place feels like home." She bumps his shoulder with her own. "You feel like home. The way I see it, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Or I could get shot driving home. I've spent enough time running to know how it feels and wherever I go, there's a risk that it'll happen. If I'm running on borrowed time, I'd rather spend it with you. Besides, you have to be a whole new kind of stupid and suicidal to fuck with Jax Teller's girl, I think." Astoria presses a kiss to his shoulder, leaning into him. "So if you're good with it, I'm not going anywhere."

Her eyes follow the movement of his hands, and she speaks before she can think better of it. "You ever think about getting married again?" The question is asked with honest curiosity; it would be a little early to start angling for a proposal. They might have jumped to living together quickly, but even she doesn't move that fast. "What was it like, bringing Wendy in like that?"

[gaveldefy]

the way things are going, jax can't say he's particularly surprised about donna. doesn't make it any easier or even ease the pain in his chest. worse, was all the thoughts swirling around in his head that made him feel guiltier than sin. he's not sure if it's those particular thoughts keeping him up or the fact that he's not surprised someone innocent got hurt.

he's also not surprised when he hears silent foot falls headed his direction, nor when the door creaks open and a small body settles in next to him. " i was trying not to wake you, " the blonde's voice is a little gravelly from a mix of disuse and chain-smoking into the star-filled night. after tossing around for several moments he decided to get out of bed completely. better one of them got a full night's rest to take care of abel than neither of them.

turning to the side, lips press against red's forehead where they linger while thoughts churn. seconds or even minutes later there's another quick kiss. then, jax turns to look at his own hands. his forearms are resting on his knees, fingers stretched out as if trying to reach together.

" shit's not usually this bad, " jax licks his lips and shakes his head. " sure, there's ups and down. several years ago we got in bad with the mayans but, i dunno, this feels different. " tig's been on edge and clay felt on the otherside of ruthless. could it be as simple as the clock ticking down on his hands? did the old man want to leave some specific legacy before he couldn't ride anymore? whatever happened with donna had nothing to do with money. pride, maybe.

" all i can think is about you bein' next. what if it were you driving that truck? what if it'd been you at that light? " again, jax shakes his head. only, this time, his fingers manage to reach together and the pads of his right hand dust over the space where a wedding ring used to be for all of several days. " if you wanted out i wouldn't blame you. "

@gaveldefy / plotted starter.

She's learned a lot, these last months in Charming. How to become a new person and shed old skin. How to budget. How to become invisible. How to aim a gun. The weight of the weapon is familiar, now, even comforting, and that in and of itself is enough to make Astoria wonder how much of herself is what it was two years ago, before any of this started.

Her family wouldn't recognize her, she knows, and she lets out a humorless huff of laughter at the thought. It's not just the new tattoos, the different makeup, the changes to her hair and her clothes—it's in everything. She carries herself differently, and even though she has more to fear now than she ever did back home, she thinks she's less afraid.

Abel is asleep again, soothed by the sound of her quiet singing, and she could go back to her empty bed and hope that Jax will actually get some sleep tonight, but she's never been a particularly patient woman, and even Charming hasn't changed that. He doesn't sleep enough. Hasn't slept enough since before Donna's funeral, but that day seemed to change something in him. She's still not sure what. She'd be a liar if she said she wasn't worried.

He doesn't turn around when he hears the door opening, and Astoria steps out of the house, wrapped in one of his hoodies and with the baby monitor tucked in her pocket, the silence of the night broken by the gentle static from the speaker. Her legs, bare except for the underwear she slept in, scrape against the cement as she sits, but she barely notices, and when Jax doesn't immediately move away from her, she winds an arm through his, and she plucks the cigarette from between his lips to bring to her own.

"You don't have to talk about it yet," she says quietly, and she slips her hand into his, laces their fingers together. "But if you want to, you can. I'm on your side, love. That's not going to change, whatever it is that's on your mind."

[gaveldefy]

      jax can’t help but shake his head as he shuts the door.  under normal circumstances he would think of a very colorful way to tell hale to fuck himself only for some kind of retort to be thrown with equal creativity.  probably along the lines of bending him over first.  too much brain on that one but it came in handy from a club perspective.  the taller brother had gotten them out of a few close calls simply by thinking out of the box.  a main reason why, past all the flamboyance, everyone took him very seriously when time came.

     half-sack was another matter entirely.  first, he got flustered over gemma.  now astrid.  jax had half a mind to wonder if he got flustered over all the pretty ladies but remembered there wasn’t too much trouble when the croweaters came swarming in.

     weird.  all of them.  weird in ways he didn’t think possible when he was a prospect himself.  yet, a wonderful change from all the stuffy old men stuck in their stuffy old ways.  he saw them as a change of the times and a way to make the club an even better place for those who needed a place to rest.  the ones who wanted a family, weren’t afraid of a little heat, and walked away from all faces of authority.

     “ hale would like you to call him as soon as you’re ready so he can fuel whatever wet dreams are gonna get him through the rest of his evening, “ the blonde tacks on playfully.  it was an attempt to distract himself from the hungry look on astrid’s face.  was he supposed to call her  ‘ astoria ‘ now?  or just stick to ‘ red? ‘  they could figure that out later after she was settled and feeling more like herself.  he wanted the space free of stahl.  free of stress.  free of whatever nightmares her asshole family laid at her feet.  more importantly, jax wanted to bury his nose in her gorgeous hair and hold her until he felt her fall asleep.

     once, he didn’t think protective instincts like this would ever creep up again.  not since tara stomped on his heart and moved out of his life.  the past few years a nice long string of faceless fucks that meant nothing more than physical satisfaction and distractions from whatever was making him upset  or sad.  but she - this incredible treasure standing before him - changed all that.  slowly.  surely.  red  reminded him how important it was to have an actual concept of family rather than just a fraternal one.  for her he wanted to be better.  smarter.  

     “ probably clay and tig at the very least. “  as much as he wanted to confide in his best friend there was so much going on with donna that he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.  she’d gone on a number of  verbal sprees in his absence but his freedom only seemed to make it go up several notches.  jax had offered the couch several times but opie declined, stating he didn’t want to make things worse by disappearing again.  besides, he was still trying to limit his time around club members despite also wanting to get back in for the sake of bills.  “ clay to keep him in the loop and tig because of his position as sergeant.  then we’ll see what they say about who else might need to know.  i imagine we keep the circle small right now and if stahl does decide to make it a problem we’ll go from there. “  as it stood he didn’t anticipate clay making too much of a problem out of it.  considering how much gemma liked astrid there wasn’t any way he’d risk the ire of his wife by endangering the younger woman.

     “ as for the gun.  are you kidding? “  his lips form an ‘ o ‘ in silent appreciation of the mental picture of astrid with a gun.  granted, in his mind all she had was the gun but, still, the image was sexy as hell.  he never wanted his partner weak or helpless.  he liked strong and confident; an equal in all aspects of his life.  “ come on. “

     after a kiss to the temple, jax gently tugged on her hand so she’d follow behind him.  he walked the short distance down the hall, right into his ( their? ) bedroom.  the closet door swings wide open and the first thing he reaches for is behind a few baseball bats ticked into the small corner next to the door.  “ shotgun’s here if you ever get scared when i’m not here.  and, before you say anything, i fully intend on moving all this stuff before abel can walk around.  there’s a safe in the garage with a few more pieces.  i dunno if that’s the play but, “ with a shrug of one shoulder the shotgun gets tucked back right where he’d found it.

     his gaze redirects towards the shelf on top where a few things are randomly shoved.  there’s a few adidas shoe boxes.  one’s easily pushed to the side as it has a real pair of shoes in it.  another is pulled down and set on the edge of the bed.  followed by a second.  since they’re shoe boxes he’d placed a second piece of cardboard on the bottom to make it a little more rigid.  when he opens the lid to both they reveal a mix of small hand towels and small caliber pistols.

     “ if you want, we can talk to my mom about something smaller.  all of these are just my own personal extras.  all stripped. “  a logical part of his brain screams how stupid it is to reveal all this to a woman on the run.  at the same time, she’d had enough faith to tell her story.  only right to return the favor.  plus, he’d accidentally mentioned guns on more than one occasion.  no doubt gemma dropped a few hints, too.  “ it’ll be a decent start, though.  something to teach you and have close in the house. “

     pushing aside several glocks, and a ruger, jax moves to the second box to find what he’s looking for.  he pulls out two smith & wessons smaller than the gun he usually carried.  “ these are subcompacts.  still nine mil but in a smaller package. “  they’re pulled out and set on the comforter.  but, then, he decides to sit on the bed so she can do her own looking.  “ see what feels comfortable.  whatever you pick we’ll start practicing with whenever you want. “

Funny enough, the interruption is a welcome relief—a little reminder that, despite how awful things were, that's no longer how things are. Astoria's lips quirk into a smile and she releases the front of Jax's shirt when the door opens, Half-Sack bursting in with all his overeager enthusiasm, Hale pouring into the space left for him with a feline grace. Half-Sack's stumbling and nervousness is, as per usual, endearing in a way that (funny enough) reminds her of a bashful child. It always warms her, the knowledge that there's still some innocence to be found even here, even despite everything.

It strikes her then, as Jax ushers them all out through Hale's teasing, that this is exactly what she's been missing, that this is exactly what made this place feel so much like home so soon. They are a family, unquestionably and without reservation. It's in the way they interact with each other, even when they don't say a word, like real brothers do, like fathers and sons. Half-Sack might trip over his words whenever he makes eye contact with her but between Jax and Hale he'd never dream of crossing a line. Chibs' obvious and paternal affection for Jax rivals Clay's. Every last one of them loves Abel like he was their own; same with Ellie and Kenny, and if she showed up tomorrow and told them all that Jax or Hale had knocked her up they'd love even the potential there.

It's the kind of unconditional love she's always imagined wasn't real outside of a rare and precious few—the kind of love she suspects her father has for her but doesn't know how to explain, the kind of love that her stepmother extended despite the circumstances of her conception. The possessiveness there is a warm and welcome one: you are mine and I am yours and we are better together. And it's clear then that this was what frightened her, why Stahl's veiled threats were so deeply, desperately terrifying. What if they knew and didn't want to extend something so unconditional to her? More frightening than that: what if they did?

Her eyes settle back on Jax; there's something feline in him, too, unconsciously but perpetually on the hunt. She's still surprised that she's never felt like prey. Good girl gets another laugh out of her, and the moment his hand settles on her hip she's reaching for him again, moving forward to meet him. "You're cheating," she accuses warmly and entirely without displeasure, and she leans into his touch with naked hunger on her face. However she flirts and teases, though, the hunger is for something beyond sex. There's a tremor in her hands again, but this time it's from the relief, overwhelming as it is. It comes over her slowly, but by the time Jax has finished speaking she's leaning into him, face buried in his chest, the shaking in her hands stilled only when she fists both hands tightly in his shirt.

When she tries to speak she can't manage it; she takes in several deep, shuddering breaths before she can, each time pulling Jax closer, somehow. If she tried she could break it down into the terms her first therapist used—a lifelong fear of abandonment has her running from real commitment to anyone, because it's infinitely less painful to assume that she's inherently unworthy of it than to try it and risk that being the case. And all of that is less frightening than finding out that she deserves more, and some people simply didn't care enough to do better.

"I don't know who in the club needs to know, but I'm okay with leaving it to you to determine if anyone does need to be told. I trust you with this." She's assuming Clay. Probably Chibs or Bobby. Maybe Opie, if he needs someone to talk to, though she'd prefer Hale—she'll probably tell Hale anyway. "And if you trust them, I trust them." Once it's out of her mouth, she waits to see if she feels any regret or fear, but none comes. She means it. She shifts back only enough to meet his eyes, her hands releasing his shirt only to settle possessively against his sides and keep him close. "I like being here, too," she says, voice barely above a whisper, and it's been too much honesty all day but this is terrifying in a way she can't quite explain. "And I don't want to put anyone in harm's way, but—fuck, I don't want to leave. I really don't want to leave." Translation: I don't want to leave you.

Even under the best of circumstances, it's complicated. Too complicated. Single dad is one thing; so is career criminal. But the nuances in everything—Abel's recovery, Wendy's recovery, Jax's own pain in watching his son struggle and being able to do nothing about it, the threat against the club, his sense of powerlessness, it's all so much even if everything else is perfect. And it's exactly the sort of thing that would have sent her running but she knew exactly what she was getting into with this, with him, and she doesn't want to run anymore. It makes her feel a little bit dizzy to think about. Part of her wants to ask him where this leaves them, what they are, but she's pretty sure she'd be pushing her luck if she did.

(Besides, what does she even want? She's hoping it's a complicated question but it really isn't. She wants this, him, wants him to stop being so completely okay with it when she ends up in someone else's bed, wants him to stop filling her absences with anyone who isn't her. Wants fewer absences at all. Wants to stay, wants so badly to stay.)

A practical offer deserves a practical answer. "A gun," she says honestly, after a moment. "I need a gun. Like I said, I don't want anyone else to have to clean up my mess. It's my problem to solve, and I'm not taking advantage of anybody else. But to do that, I need a gun, and I need to learn how to shoot. And I've never used one before so I have no idea where to start." Her lips curl up in a playful smile of her own to match his. "What do you think, sweetheart? You want your girl a little deadlier?" She sobers just a bit, tugs him close enough that there's no space left between them, closes her eyes as she leans her forehead against his chest again. "And you don't have to say yes, I won't be upset if you aren't up for it, but—would you mind if I stayed here for a few days? Just until things settle. I just—" Hard to admit, but it's true, and it needs to be said. "I don't want to be alone."

[gaveldefy]

     it’s an old rule, based in all the wrong ideals of testosterone and repressed emotions, but women and children were always off limits.  no matter the violence, no matter the reason, it all stayed far away from them.  didn’t matter if they knew how to shoot like his mother did.  didn’t matter if they knew how to protect themselves.  club business didn’t damage those who weren’t members of the club.  jax always held it close to his heart.  from a personal perspective, that rule extended to anyone outside the club that held a place in his heart.  so, as astrid ( astoria? ) tells her story it’s hard to stay quiet.  after she takes a step back to put distance between them again, jax sees the way she’s trying to curl in on herself.  this isn’t someone proud of what they’d done.  this speaks to years of trauma and damage, which angers him to an extremely violent level.

     good thing all this started halfway across the world.  if any of these assholes were closer jax would’ve gone on the road to end them himself.  he hoped the rage etched into his features wasn’t translating into any anger at her.  all he can focus on is the idea of using a teenager, a small teenager, to do your fucking dirty work for you because you’re too god damn incapable of making a living for yourself.  he’d set them on fire and roast marshmallows over their screaming bodies.

     at one point he needs to run his palms down over his face.  something to do with his hands.  jax wanted to reach out and bring astrid back in but he also knew that some things just needed to get out.  there were times when his own emotions were so volatile he didn’t want anyone touching him as he was vomiting them onto the floor.  last thing he wanted was to interrupt her story or make her feel self conscious for telling it so, he shoved his hands down into his pockets and let his fingers skim over the cool metal of the zippo.  the smooth, cool sensation helped him keep focus rather than run away with his rage.  if this were a club matter she wouldn’t even need to finish the story because they’d be riding out to make things right.  unfortunately, it sounded like this whole thing was going to need more finesse they as a group usually facilitated.

     he can’t decide whether or not the mother deserved to go, too.  astrid said he was allowed to ask any questions he had but these would stay with him.  did she know what happened to her daughter?  did she even give a shit?  people like wendy cared but didn’t necessarily have the circumstances that allowed for staying a parent.  based on everything he’d just heard jax is inclined to think her mother didn’t give a shit which told him all he really needed to know about the majority of her family.

     his lips part so he can, at the very least, answer that last question for her but as soon as he does the backdoor of the kitchen flies open.  half-sack runs through like a confused bat out of hell.  “ hi, “ he waves,dazed as he ever is when looking at either gemma or astrid.  hale steps in behind, filling the frame in a much more lithe way then opie tends to.  at times jax is certain the taller man is part cat.  his fingertips wedge above the door frame so he can lean forward without his feet passing the threshold.  with his eyes focused on the prospect it takes an extra second for him to see astoria standing there.  the blonde shakes his head and nods his chin back at the third biker.

     “ we didn’t have to break the door or nothin’.  window, “ half-sack shakes his head.  “ we didn’t have to break the window.  it’s all good. “

     “ thanks, man. “

     purse and keys are held up in offering.  it’s like he’s suddenly starting to wonder if he’d walked into the middle of a fight.  jax can see the wheels turning behind those eyes.  “ i’m just gonna- “

     “ let’s go, limp dick, “ hale finally enters the kitchen to grab the other by the back of his kutte.  right before a tug pulls him back the purse and keys are set at the edge of the table.  jax started following the other two men step by step with the intention of locking a door that should’ve been locked to begin with.

     “ tell her to call me when you’re done, “ hale yells from outside the house.  “ so we can gossip about what an asshole you are.  love you.  mwah. “

     the door lightly slammed on the kissing noise followed by a low click that was accentuated by jax’s sigh.

     “ some days i worry about being a father and then i remember i’ve been a dad all along, “ he shakes his head.  whatever his frustration, however, it was the relief he’d needed to calm the fuck down.  focus on the important thing standing right in front of him.

     jax plants himself right back in front of astrid.  his posture is relaxed and his head tilted to observe everything he can.  “ good girl, “ the blonde whispers in reference to part of the story that didn’t need to be elaborated on.  one hand reaches out to experimentally land on her hip.  “ nothing’s changed, red, i can promise you that.  you ran to protect yourself.  if stahl’s desperate enough to use it then we’ll deal with it later. but, i want you here.  i like you in my shirts.  i like you in my bed. “  a gentle squeeze on her hip is punctuated by a playful grin.  “ thank you for telling me.  it means a lot.  and, if there’s anything i can do, anything at all.  i want to do it. “

Little princess prompts a laugh, uneven and hiccuping though it is, and she lets her hand fall from her mouth to rest against his chest, fingers curling possessively in the fabric of his shirt. Astoria hesitates, trying to sort out what to say to all of this—it's a fine line to walk, giving him the information he needs without giving him anything that could come back to bite him in the ass. He has a son to think about, too, and her thoughts fall on Abel in the NICU, how small he'd been the few times she saw him, the grip of his little fist around her finger while she sang him nonsense songs as Jax and the doctors discussed his progress.

She's about to get into it when she catches a few words clear as day—so, you didn't kill anybody, right? It prompts another laugh, this one nervous and humorless, and she clears her throat, flattens her palm against his chest and pushes gently, just enough that they can meet each other's eyes. "I'll answer any questions you have," she says slowly, hand coming back to her lips, fingernail resuming its earlier movement. "And I'll tell you anything you want to know, but you have to say you want to know it. I'm not doing anything that might come back to haunt you, not without you knowing exactly what you're signing up for.

"Some of it's a matter of public record. Most isn't, but—mm. I moved to London when I was fourteen. I was living with my godparents, at the time. I'd only stayed with my mother until I was seven, but she didn't want a kid, and it was clear. My father didn't know about me until I was about twenty. So from my mother, I went to my grandparents, and just before I turned fourteen my grandmother died. And my grandfather, he wasn't—he wasn't right, for a little while after that. So when my godparents offered to take me, they managed to convince him, along with my mother, that this was the best for everybody."

She shivers, though not from cold; it's simply an unpleasant story to tell, and as much as she would love to sink into him and beg for comfort, she thinks that if she's touched, she'll fly into a thousand pieces. "For a few months it was fine, and then it wasn't. I was a pretty teenager," she says suddenly, and her expression twists into something almost animal, eyes burning with fury, lips drawn back in a snarl. She settles after a breath, but the hand at her mouth stills and her other hand clenches into a fist, fingernails digging viciously into her palms. "Delicate. Smaller than I am now. And it was clear I came from money. At first I didn't know what was happening, not really, but cops, they don't stop girls who look like I did to search their bags. And suddenly Evander and Elyssa got in with people who hadn't looked twice at them before."

She feels her fingernails pierce the skin of her palm, leaving bloody crescent moons behind, and she lowers both hands and stretches her fingers wide. All that does is make it visible when they start to shake, and she crosses her arms over her chest again, gripping the fabric at her sides as though she's clinging for her life. "If I asked questions, or I said no to something, it—went badly. So I learned to be obedient, and the other thing about girls who look like me is that if you're quiet and you don't give anyone reason to think there's anything in that pretty head, they don't—they don't really pay attention. And they say an awful lot more than they should. I was fifteen when I graduated from delivery girl to bait. I didn't look like a threat, and Evander had a temper, even when I didn't talk back, so they could use me to get someone's guard down if, say, somebody didn't pay back money owed, or sold subpar product." She pauses, then clears her throat, and her voice is thicker when she speaks again.

"I'm only saying this because it's all part of my legal record. Things escalated." She smiles suddenly, crooked and tired. "That—" She tightens her arms around herself, and her fingers press against the scar on her back, before she tips her head to that side. "Wasn't a bar fight like I said. They stitched me up after. I was seventeen. And not too long after that healed, it got worse, and I ended up with a compound fracture in my left elbow that needed surgery. The doctors obviously suspected something, but they didn't do anything at that point, not yet. And when I got home—"

She pauses again, casts him an inscrutable look. "This is on the record, too. See, they were starting to rack up their own debts, and things were getting tense. And one morning I come into the kitchen and Evander, he's dead." Her voice has changed, now—it's dispassionate, detached, even cold. "The coroner said it was rat poison. When the police got there Elyssa was gone and I had a few new injuries to show for it. When Elyssa's things were searched, and it lead to a few arrests with her colleagues, it seemed pretty clear she'd done it. Deal with some of that debt by eliminating anyone she had to split her take with."

She clears her throat, and she offers him a listless shrug, but her gaze is steady and sharp. "I mean, what malnourished teenager in a sling could manage all of that on her own? And I guess I seemed pretty pathetic, because after a few minutes of talking to me they'd eliminated me as a suspect. I was a witness. I couldn't tell them much. And my grandfather came to London, and I went back to school and spent ages in therapy and going to support groups, and Elyssa never turned up." She pauses. "And then four months ago she was standing across the street when I left my apartment building. Took me two days to get a good enough look to see it was her, and then another two days to finish packing everything and getting the documentation I needed to be Astrid Vogel. My grandfather wants me back because he's worried and he loves me, but—well, you can't let slip information you don't have. If he gets a call, I don't doubt she'll find out about it. And then it's a matter of time before she's here."

Astoria's quivering hand settles against his chest again, and she pushes herself away from the sink and closer to him. "Anything change yet? I won't hold it against you if it has. You didn't sign up for all of this."

[gaveldefy]

     the ride back to his house gives jax a little time to think about anything but the implications of one piece of paper.  red’s arms were around his waist.  wind was flowing through his hair.  it’s tempting to forget the house and just keep driving.  drive up and down the coast until whatever’s bothering her is nothing but a distant memory.  unfortunately, by all implications, what she’ running from could come chasing after so riding off into the sunset would only push off the inevitable.  still, there’s an ache in his chest that trembles up to his face as if his own set of tears were going to stream down his cheeks.  easy to be strong to her face.  harder when he knew she wasn���t looking.

     truth be told, he’d wanted the figurative ride-or-die for as long as he could remember.  for a time, he thought that was tara.  someone he could turn to no matter what.  the rock he could hold onto through all the storms and the shelter to hide beneath when he couldn’t hold his own umbrella anymore.  he didn’t want to be opie.  as much as he loved his best friend, that relationship with donna hurt him right down to his soul.  anytime he got close to that house there was nothing but screaming.  either it was bills or it was the club.  

     jax didn’t want that.  especially with abel around.

     once inside the house, he tosses the keys onto the center of the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen.  black leather gloves are pulled off finger by finger and set on top, mostly out of habit.  since he’s not sure how or how long the conversation’s going to go he turns the corner to head into the master bedroom.  kutte off and set on the bed to be dealt with later, leaving him in the white shirt with SONS emblazoned across his chest.

     two letters pulls him back down the hall, towards the sound of running water.  much like he had back in the office at the shop, jax walks up to the counter between the cabinets and leans against the edge.  he still had no idea where his emotions were going to settle.  at that particular moment he wasn’t angry in the least.  well, not at astrid.  he was plenty fucking pissed at stahl but that was a different thing entirely.

     again, all jax can think about is the idea of her leaving.  nights he’d wake up cold and alone because she left just as fast as she’d arrived.  it’s even weird that hale chooses that moment to pop into his head and the blonde just knows the other member is going to be just as distraught.  maybe even moreso.  but, he wasn’t going to beg someone to stay if they didn’t want to and he certainly wasn’t going to ask if it was going to put her at risk.

     walls slowly start erecting around him.  emotions curl in on themselves as if able to make some kind of defensive shield around his heart.  the biker’s arms come up to cross over his chest.  teeth gently bite down on his bottom lip.  he listens, mostly by focusing on one of the table legs but he is, in fact, listening to every word.  there’s a protective huff beating against the bubble he’s made around himself.  thinking all the different things ends badly could really mean and again he goes back to the office where she’d mentioned she wasn’t a fugitive.  nothing legal was going to land at her feet.  then, what?

     and still, by the end of everything, jax can’t find it in himself to be upset with her.  should he be?  he has no idea since he’d come into this with a gut feeling there was a secret.  then again, everyone had those.

     i’m not telling you now because i want something from you…

     which takes him back to tara and asking why the fuck the doc came all the way back to charming when she hated it here.  he’d accused her, one way or another, of wanting something.  this felt miles different, though.  the tears, the foot tapping.  jax has seen enough displays of emotion to understand this was real.  both the fear and the sadness were very real, which helps him unfurl a little.  his arms uncross and he closes the little distance between them to take astrid’s cheeks between his hands.  one kiss gently lands on a cheek, then he moves to the other side for another.

     “ the way you rolled into town, i figured something was up.  you never once held a gun to my hand and forced me to stay, “ his head tilts to the side to make sure she’s hearing him.  “ i’ve wanted this.  i’ve wanted you, red.  none of this changes that. “  as he tries to take in her facial expressions, he’s still trying to work out everything she’d said.  “ so, you’re running from, what?  grand daddy’s money?  he’s upset little princess ditched town? “  realizing what he said and how it could be taken, jax leans forward to bump the tip of his nose against hers.  “ i’m sorry.  i didn’t mean it that way.  i guess i just don’t understand all of it.  you said you’re not a fugitive and that’s the part i keep getting stuck on.  so, you didn’t kill anybody, right?.  what was so bad you had to run?  i’m not asking for specifics here.  i’m just not getting the part of why he’d fight so hard to get you back. “

That he doesn't immediately send her packing is a good sign, she thinks. She hopes. And that's what really gets her, that this place that was meant to be temporary has its hooks in her, that these people who she never imagined she'd see again after she left have become so necessary to her. It's a physical sensation, the hollow in her chest that only fills when he's there, and she's tried to consider it from every angle. She's outgrown faery tales; he's not there to rescue her, and god knows she'd rather crawl over broken glass than let herself be rescued. She still has a lifetime's worth of abandonment issues and she's not looking to be fixed. When she considers the woman she is, she still counts more sins than virtues.

It's so much simpler than that: he makes her laugh. Over the coffee he brings by the shop, when he took a look at the piece of shit car she bought with a brown paper bag full of cash and didn't tell her it was, well, a piece of shit. Most recently, in her bed—or, more accurately, from where they'd landed on the floor after a particularly acrobatic bout, a cheap lamp broken not far from them. She'd laughed so hard she shook, and even as they picked up where they'd left off (floor's as good a place as any, she'd managed between fits of giggling) she didn't stop. He'd laughed, too, and for a moment she'd imagined that the dull off-white walls had blossomed into bright and brilliant colors at the sound. A new name, a changed reflection, and she feels more herself than she'd ever imagined she would feel again.

His hands on the paper are distracting, and her eyes trace the scars he'd pointed out that first night they talked in the bar. She notes, belatedly, that he's just said her name, her real name, and she can't help but like how it sounds. The knock on the door beside them has her nearly jumping out of her skin, focused as she is on the frankly terrifying task at hand, and she crouches down to check the zipper on her boot just as the door swings open. Even this office feels comfortable to her, as much as the clubhouse does, or even Jax's place. Tig doesn't question it as he leaves, doesn't call her on the obvious attempt to avoid eye contact, and for what feels like the thousandth time since she landed in this godforsaken town she thinks that there's something special in this place.

She stands again, and Jax reaches for her, his fingers slipping into her pocket with a warm familiarity. When he tugs her closer, she doesn't resist, and she very nearly melts at the touch that follows, gentle as it is. She snatches a tissue up as he trades the shirt for his keys, says a quiet prayer of thanks to the makeup gods for whoever invented waterproof eyeliner when she dabs the tissue under her eyes and it comes away damp but otherwise clean. Jax shouts directions to the others as he leaves and she follows after him, mouths an appreciative thank you when Half-Sack nods at the command tossed his way.

Astoria, she thinks when she sees her own distorted reflection in the black plastic of the helmet he hands her, Astoria Grim, and she wonders if the sick dread in her stomach whenever she thinks her own name will ever fade, or if this is something else that's been taken from her. He's as affectionate as ever and she's careful not to push it, not until he's got the whole story and not the fragments she's given him so far, but when she winds her arms around him from the back of the bike she feels that particular hollow start to fill.

They're at his house all too soon, and she waits until they're inside before she speaks. "So." She hovers uselessly in the doorway for a moment before she heads to the kitchen sink and turns on the faucet, filling a glass that's been drying on the counter once the water's sufficiently cold. Her stomach is tying itself in knots. So. Like they're about to discuss the weather. She's suddenly too aware of the photograph in her pocket and she fishes it out, tosses it onto the table, averts her eyes at once.

It takes a couple of tries before she manages any further sound, and when she does, her voice is hoarse, almost raw, like she's been swallowing razor blades. It actually hurts to speak. "There's a long version of this. I'll tell you whatever you want to know from the long version, if you want to hear it. For now, though, the basics: three and a half months ago I packed everything I owned into storage, sold my car for cash, and bought a new identity and the means to get out of England without anyone knowing. When I got to New York I bought the necessities and the bike and I took off. I didn't leave a note. I didn't tell anyone where I was going. The only person who knew I was leaving at all was my uncle, and that was just so he could tell everyone, once I was gone, that I'd left of my own free will. I haven't seen or spoken to my family since then. That number, that's my grandfather's. And if I go back to London, or if the wrong person finds out where I am, it ends badly.

"Stahl's been going after the girls, I know. Wanted information on the club. I just kept asking if I was under arrest and refusing to answer any questions. After about half an hour of that she pulled out that picture and asked me if I recognized her. Said that it was a hell of a coincidence. Said that she wasn't sure what I was running from, but—" Seems like my civic duty, to call him, she'd said. He must be worried sick about his granddaughter. Not the age you want to stress someone out like that, you know? "I told her it wasn't me, and I doubt she bought it, but she's got no real evidence. Even without evidence, though, anyone knowing where I am, it's not good.

"I would have told you," she adds after a beat, and she sniffs again, is horrified to realize that her throat feels tight and her eyes are starting to burn. The water is forgotten on the countertop, and she crosses her arms over her chest before lifting one hand to her mouth, her thumb nail running back and forth across her lower lip. Somewhere during all of this she started leaning against the sink, tapping the toe of one foot on the linoleum below her in a frenetic rhythm. "I swear I would have. I just couldn't figure out how, so I kept putting it off, and putting it off. And I'm not telling you now because I want something from you."

She takes a step forward, closer to him, then shrinks back with a halting laugh. "It's not—I never wanted to take advantage, or use you. When I saw you that night I had no clue what the fuck SAMCRO even was. And the last thing I want is to bring any trouble to Charming, or to draw attention to the club. I'm telling you this because I didn't want you hearing anything this insane from anyone but me. You deserved to hear it from me." Astoria, Astrid, Red, whoever she is, she's lost now, watching him and trying to gauge his response. "Ask me questions, tell me to get lost, whatever you need, but that's the gist of it."

[gaveldefy]

     between wendy, abel, and tara, jax hadn’t anticipated an emotional attachment.  or, if he’d had one, he figured it would’ve been tara.  back when they were teens it’d been a whirlwind and he’d genuinely thought she was the only one he would ever love.  seeing her in the hospital sometimes holding his son did something to his heart, just not quite what he’d expected.

     the pain of her leaving suddenly compacted with everything he’d been through since she’d left made him realize all that attachment had been teenage angst.  he’d married wendy because he was lonely; because he’d wanted to reconnect with that feeling he had with tara.  being older meant he could look back and accept that she was never going to be okay with his life.  with the conversations they’d had since her returned he was able to see she still wouldn’t be okay with his life.  whatever jax thought was wrong with the club, it was still his family and none of samcro were going anywhere anytime soon.

     then this little lady swept into his life as unexpected as a flash flood.  astrid.  red.  someone who was slowly reminding him what it was like to be genuinely and completely emotionally attached to someone else.  the weirdest part of all was just how well she’d gotten along with his mother right from the start.  he had no idea if they’d had a secret cat fight at some point or if one of them had a death threat over the other but the blonde wouldn’t be surprised if he walked in on them doing weird shit like…bonding.

      it didn’t take any time at all for her to start integrating into his life.  at first, because he was having fun.  then hale got attached.  then shay.  not to mention the way astrid was able to handle both tig and bobby with grace.  jax  couldn’t pinpoint when it started happening but all of a sudden he was constantly reaching for  her hand and hoping she’d stay over for the night.  

     the second fuck put him on edge.  the tone didn’t strike him as fear.  it was closer to frustration.  then there was the slightest wedge between them as she reached back into her back pocket for a folded piece of paper.  his eyes focused on her facial expression while it unfolded.  everything was shifting too fast, he was trying to process what she was saying while also trying to think about what this had to do with stahl.  of course they’d protect her.  why wouldn’t they?  but what did she need protecting from?  based on how they first met he’d always figured she was running from something.  hadn’t been his business to ask.

     “ astoria grim, “ his voice is flat.  the hand from his hip raises from her body so he can hold the paper with both hands, as if that would magically make him understand what the fuck was going on.  “ hold up, “ absently, jax pushes the cup of pencils to the side and they fall to the floor.  he leans against the corner of the desk to go over everything again.  a name.  description.  another name.  money.   it wasn’t the norm in terms of wanted information so his first instinct didn’t land on crime.  his brain also seemed to be stuck on the part about leaving.  what about anything on the piece of paper meant she had to leave?  and why did the thought make his chest so tight?

     a knock brings his attention up.  tig pokes his head in and the latter part of what astrid - astoria? - said is starting to catch up.  not a fugitive.  so, his instincts were right.  hey, jax, man, that flat’s gonna need a rim-  “ not right now, tig. “  we might be able to order it bef-  jax didn’t need to raise his voice before the older man held up both hands and closed the door.

     his brain wants to go down a dangerous rabbit hole of being left behind.  it triggered when she mentioned leaving and not his brain was trying to put a wall between it and the emotions bubbling inside his chest.  that weird blankness he sometimes felt when shit got too hard.  but standing there, watching the tears, jax held on to the idea that maybe astrid wanted to stay.  did she want to stay as badly as he wanted her to?

     “ i’ll have the prospect get your car.  bring it to my place, “ the paper gets folded back up and shoved into one of her front pockets when he reaches to pull her between his legs.  he tilts his head to the side, using his other hand to brush colored strands from her cheek.  “ let’s have a conversation about this away from all these knuckleheads.  if we stay in here much longer they’ll try to see if i’m fucking you on the desk. “  the playful smile isn’t what it usually is but he’s trying to lighten the mood.  “ if you want to stay i already know my mom’ll go to bat for you with clay.  so will i.  club doesn’t need to know all of it.  whatever it is.   i know they won’t call in for the money.  c’mon.  we’ll talk about it. “  both hands lower, patting a light pattern against her ass until there’s enough room for him to stand.  the keys for his harley are taken from a hook on the wall, replaced with the light blue mechanic shirt.

     as he walks through the bays he shouts to both tig and shay that he has to leave for a little bit.  tell half-sack to take the lock pick set to astrid’s car on main.  key’s locked inside.  with that settled he grabs the kutte off the toolbox and heads over to his harley.

It's—well, it's humiliating, truth be told, and infuriating. She's not sure what prompted the tears (anger at Stahl, for putting her in this position? anger at herself, for not knowing what to do? relief, for not having to figure it out alone, for once?) but she knows she's pissed about their presence. For a moment she wants nothing more than to fall back into a lie. It'll be so much simpler, so much more familiar, if she doesn't have to get this out.

There has been an unexpected joy in being Astrid Vogel. Truth be told, she's not sure she wants to go back to being Astoria Grim at all.

"Fuck," she says quietly, and she reaches into her back pocket to withdraw the folded paper. She doubts that he meant to mention the guns to her, but now that he has he can't take it back. Given that this particular secret has the potential to make life difficult for him, the whole of the club, and he's trusted her with this (intentionally or otherwise) she can't help but feel that she owes him the truth. She drags a hand under her eyes impatiently, runs her damp palm against the thigh of her jeans, and she holds the paper out for him to take.

Rip off the band-aid, she thinks miserably, and at least now she can't back out of it. "Before you look at this—I didn't tell her anything. And I don't intend to. You've all been good to me." You've been good to me. "And I don't fuck around with cops, for any reason. So I'm not—I don't want anybody protecting me, I'm not looking for anyone to clean up after me. This is my mess. Not anyone else's." She hesitates, presses the paper into his hand. "And for what it's worth, I did plan to tell you, and soon. She just got there first. I don't know how. But you deserve to hear it from me."

The information below the picture is nothing new. Astoria Ileana Grim, 28 years old. Last seen in London only a few months before. The tattoos he knew about are listed, but those don't really look the same. What she was wearing when she was last seen. Her grandfather's contact information, and the promise of money, if anyone has information on her. It's not illegal to run. The worst Stahl can get her for is falsified documents, and given her family and the money she'd have at her disposal, a fine, even jail time, would be the last of her worries.

Part of her wonders if it was actually her grandfather's doing, putting a flyer like this together and distributing it to anyone. If she's been officially declared missing, then that's a whole new pile of shit to sort through. Could always be Elyssa, trying to get a direction for where to look. "I didn't anticipate it getting here this fast. I don't know how she got hold of this. Could even have been chance.

She takes in a slow breath, sniffs hard. What will change, if anyone knows this about her? Will she change? Or just how they see her? "All my shit's in my car. I'll either need somebody to break in and drive it back, or to bring me out there. And if potential attention on you all puts you in any sort of danger, I'll be out of here by morning." She doesn't want to leave Astrid behind. She doesn't want to leave. "And we can talk anywhere you want to go. I'll answer any questions you have, but—you need to know that bitch can use this, and possibly make real trouble for you. And I don't want the shit I'm in to hurt you. Any of you, but—especially you."

Astoria—Astrid—whoever she is these days bites down on the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. "I'm not asking for anything," she insists quietly. "You just—you deserve to know. You've done nothing to make me think I can't be honest with you." She runs a hand through her hair, lets out a watery laugh, sniffs again. "I'm sorry you're getting dragged into my shit. I really am. But you're not harboring a fugitive, or aiding and abetting, or anything like that—it's a personal thing, and I'll tell you all about it, anything you want to know. But she can make things much harder for you. You need to know that."

[gaveldefy]

     clay had a huddle up earlier in the day to tell everyone present that gemma got a call.  well, several actually.  atf was starting to circle girlfriends and loved ones because several attempts to some at the club head on all but failed.  based on the intel they were gathering on questions asked, this was pure scare tactic, too.  none of the family members had anything to worry about other than close ties to motorcycle enthusiasts.  meaning, as soon as impatience over the current path wore off, they were home free.  about damn time because the savings was starting to wear a little thin with abel being in the hospital.

     music was blasting from jax’s station.  shay was standing beneath the lifted altima, letting oil drain for a change.  a bay over, chibs was elbow deep in a corolla to work on a belt tensioner, and opie was just pulling in with the tow truck.  flat tire by the looks of it.  pretty peaceful day, all things considered.  as long as none of tig’s freak one night stands didn’t decided to dump sugar in his gas tank things would be wrapped up on time for once.

     when the phone rings, he grabs a towel hanging from his back pocket and wipes his hands.  his head nods over at shay with a promise to be right back with the filter.  it’s an easy call to take, too, just someone letting them know they won’t be able to pick up their car after work.  no problem, jax tells them, and hangs up the phone.  being in the office gives him the opportunity to look through all the paperwork while gemma’s gone.  she needed to go to the grocery store or….something.  he wasn’t paying attention.

     he’d thought she was the one who opened the door when his gaze floated up to see astrid crying.  the rest is a blur because his body moved on it’s own.  next thing the biker knows she’s wrapped up in his arms like he’s trying to be a physical cushion against the world; against whatever the fuck dared to make her cry.  she’s always so playful, his red.  always a knowing smile stretching those painted lips.

     “ it’s okay, “ he whispers into her hair.  a kiss is pressed halfway through the words and he guides her head back down again to take another look.  nothing physical.  so, whatever this was hurt from the inside.

     to hear atf is the catalyst makes his hair stand on end.  if he hadn’t wanted to put that bitch six feet under at the start of all this her sure as fuck wanted to do it now.  fuck, jax spits out with a glance out the small window that looked out towards the yard.  it was profane frustration and not anger directed at astrid in any sense.  he simply wished stahl wasn’t trying to crawl up everyone’s ass and make a home there.  she really needed to find another hobby.

     “ babe, whatever she’s got…she’s blowing smoke.  she’s desperate because she can feel her career on it’s last breath.  you got nothin’ to worry about, you hear me?  whatever it is.  she’s pissed off the gun shit isn’t landing. “  jax steadies himself with the hand still cupping her cheek, using it to come in for a chaste kiss to the corner of astrid’s lips.  as pulls back he does his best to try and gauge where her head’s at.  “ we can talk about whatever you want, though.  we can go up to the roof, go back to my room…wherever you feel comfortable doin’ it. “

@gaveldefy said: [ FOREHEAD ]:          sender lowers their head to press their forehead against the receiver’s, trying to comfort them in the process.

"What I can't figure out is what would make a girl like that cut and run?"

The woman in the picture in front of her is laughing, joyful, her eyes bright, her smile wide. She looks straight out of old Hollywood, or maybe a faery tale, her long curls brushed out into soft waves and flowers clumsily woven into her hair by her nephews, all piled on top of her. She looks younger than she is. She looks almost at peace. It's a temporary state, of course, in the way that most things are, but she doesn't look half so tormented as she is.

The woman in the picture is at once too familiar and utterly unknown. Astoria doesn't let her gaze linger, but it's been a while since her reflection looked back at her and looked like that.

She offers a dispassionate shrug. Years of practice keep the fear from showing on her face, but she feels cornered, now, in a way she hasn't in ages. "I didn't know ATF was responsible for runaways," she yawns, and she slouches in her chair, painted nails drumming idle rhythms against the tabletop. "But good luck, I guess. Am I under arrest?"

"Loving family," Stahl continues, "stable job, good money, the whole world at her fingertips."

"Good for her. Am I under arrest?"

"Don't you think it's strange, Astrid? Leaving all of that behind?"

"Am I under arrest?"

"You're not," Stahl concedes, though her eyes are shining, as if she's telling a joke that Astoria doesn't quite get. "We double checked that warrant and it wasn't for you. You have the department's sincerest apologies. But I have one more question. Rhetorical, really, but it's something to think about all the same."

"Then if I'm not under arrest, am I free to go?"

She leans forward, palms flat on the table, tips her head to the side. "How do you think Sam Crow will feel about finding out they've been used as a shield?"

"Am I free to go?"

Stahl waves a hand towards the door. "Be my guest. But take the picture with you," she says, and she pushes the printout closer to her. "Just in case it jogs your memory. Face like that sticks out, you know?"

Astoria stands in a slow, fluid motion, and she picks up the sheet of paper, considers it with idle boredom. At the very least, she's not shaking yet. "I'm gonna be real with you, June." Her tone is overly familiar, even friendly. "You might want to find a less weird hobby than whatever this is."

"Give the boys my best," Stahl tells her. "You think they'll keep passing you around when they find out how much you're worth if they call your granddaddy?"

She laughs at that. She hears Gemma's voice in her head, guiding her next words. "Oh, baby, is that what it's about? I don't fuck cops, but I'm flattered. Tell you what." She flips the photo around and raises her eyebrows, grin growing wicked. "I'll show this to the boys and see if they see the resemblance. And if they do, I'll see if any of 'em think I've got pussy worth turning down that kind of money."

Sitting at the table beside Stahl, Officer Hale coughs uncomfortably, and Astoria folds the paper and tucks it into her back pocket. "Let me know what they say," she drawls as Astoria leaves.

The paper feels heavy in her pocket and the warm California air feels suddenly oppressive when she steps outside. It's a short walk to Main Street, her car no doubt still on the side of the road where they left it when Stahl pulled her over and said they had an outstanding warrant. Her jacket and bag are still sitting in the passenger's seat, along with her phone, and if she heads to the shop she can no doubt call the garage and ask for a tow. Or maybe one of the boys will feel generous and give her a ride and pretend not to notice her breaking into her own piece of shit car. She can lie. She can laugh this away. They're predisposed to disbelieve law enforcement, and even among career criminals, she's the best liar she knows. She knows she can survive this, will survive this. The smart move is to get ahead of it.

Or she could run. She's good at running, she's learned. The act of creation becomes easier and easier when she is her own canvas. She hasn't really got anyone here—who would notice she was gone after a week? Hale might miss her, she thinks ruefully; it's her own fault for finding a friend. And Jax has plenty to keep him occupied. She'd swept into their lives quickly and without warning and none of them would be particularly shocked if she left in the same manner. Despite Stahl's insinuations, she's not a groupie. It's only been those two, and in very different ways.

(She almost wishes she was a crow eater; there's no shame in knowing what you want and going after it, and if they really had passed her around, maybe she wouldn't be so ready to bolt.)

Maybe that's the smart move. Cutting and running would mean that at least one person knows who she really is and knows where she's been, but she could be gone before Stahl knew she was thinking of leaving. Astoria turns another corner and notices, rather dispassionately, that her hands are shaking. Main Street is just ahead. But—god, if she leaves, she'll be tearing a hole in her heart where this town should be, and she hates it. She hates that she'd miss it so badly. She hates that she'd miss them so badly. She hates that she wants to stay.

She hates that she's thinking of anything right now besides surviving at any cost, by any means, no matter who or what she leaves behind. Her head is spinning. Instinct urges her to stop, and she takes a moment to let herself breathe, but each breath comes in a painful gasp that she feels like a knife between her ribs and the shaking in her hands won't stop.

The question, then, is whether or not she can trust them enough to tell them the truth. There's no question about Hale; they are two halves of a whole, she sometimes thinks, and she feels as though she knows him inside out already. If she told him the truth he would keep her secrets. But Hale doesn't have much power, all things considered, or much influence, and Stahl is right. There's reason to wonder if the Sons will be angry if they think she used them as a shield. There's reason to wonder if they'd hand her over rather than take their chances on her loyalty. Hale trusting her, Hale deserving her trust, it's a comfort but it's not enough, and that leaves Jax.

She thinks of the weight of his hand in hers, the careful way he pins her down, the consistency of his attention. She thinks of the tone of his voice, hoarse from sleep, when he murmurs Mornin', Red and she thinks of his smile when she tucks herself against his side and she thinks, inexplicably, of sitting up in his bed, legs tucked under her and borrowed shirt slipping down over a shoulder while she recounts, with growing excitement, how different the sky looks here. She thinks of how he watches for the shifts in her expression, and how she reaches for him in her sleep when she starts to dream of the things better left forgotten, and the warmth that blooms in her chest whenever he calls, and the way her day feels like it only really starts right if he swings by the shop with a coffee or she stops at the garage on her way to work to drop off breakfast.

The ache in her chest grows and grows and all she can think is that she wants him right now, because the truth of the matter is that she's fucking terrified, and she just doesn't want to lie to him anymore. She is painfully aware of how human she is and how much she wants to just be seen, be held, be told that she'll be okay.

God, she just—wants him.

"Shit," she murmurs, and she's moving again before she knows it. The walk to the garage is longer than the walk to the shop would be but the pain in her chest is becoming unbearable. (She wonders, vaguely, if the walk will be enough time to make her change her mind, but it isn't. Of course it isn't. All she wants is to reach him.)

Tig sees her first, greets her by name, tells her Jax is in the office—she manages to keep herself from cracking until she's turned her back. She doesn't knock on the door, doesn't announce herself, simply walks in with a disregard for boundaries that's unlike her. Her hands are shaking again.

And there he is, hair a mess and that infuriating, intoxicating smile on his face at the sight of her, until he gets a good look at the expression she wears and the quiver in her hands. The phone call he'd taken is wrapped up quickly, and she closes the door behind her as he moves around the desk to her.

For a long moment neither of them move, or say anything. She breaks first, trembling fingers curling around his wrist, and he closes the distance between them at once, looking troubled by whatever he sees in her, and she wonders what it is. Resignation? Despair? Fear?

Weakness, supplies a cruel corner of her mind. He sees weakness. She feels a kiss pressed to the top of her head and her eyes fall shut, and she's horrified to realize that there's moisture clinging to her eyelashes. One rough hand cups her face, tips her head back so he can get a good look at her again, and she expects questions, she expects demands—

—instead, she has to bite back a strange, dry sob at the utter tenderness with which he leans forward, rests his forehead against hers, a gesture of impossible affection and warmth. Her own hands move to grip the fabric of his shirt and only when they've stopped shaking does she manage to make her voice work.

To her dismay as much as her relief, she feels soothed by his closeness. And it occurs to her now that telling him the truth, especially like this, might ruin whatever this is between them that she's come to rely on so much.

(Would she tell him if she didn't have to? The answer comes quickly: yes. She would. She would in a heartbeat. Damn her, she wants to be known.)

"ATF picked me up today," she says, voice so soft she's nearly inaudible, and she pulls back from him just enough to meet his eyes. "I want—fuck. We've got to talk."

[gaveldefy]

     “ like that shit you hear about college kids.  roam europe before settling down or some shit, “ he’s not sure why he’s smiling but he is.  jax never had any aspirations to leave california for any extended amounts of time.  over a decade later and he’s still sour over his old man spending all that time in ireland when his brother was sick.  where’s dad?  tommy would ask.  almost every night like clockwork.  he’ll be home real soon jax had to lie every single time.  his mom never knew the answer and asking clay only seemed to piss off the man who would become his step-father.

     so, maybe, there was this weird part of him that equated traveling to abandonment.

     “ my dad disappeared for a few years in ireland, “ the biker surprises himself by letting the bitterness come forward.  he’d never done that before, not even with opie.  as far as his best friend knew the absence of jt was purely related to setting up the belfast charter with.  realistically, that’s all jax knew, too.  but he also knew that as soon as his dad came back the dynamic in the house changed to hard it made his head spin.  arguments all the time.  john looked like he was guilty of kicking a puppy every single day and no one could figure out why.

     worst part?  he was still out of the country after tommy died.

     “ it was a work thing.  can’t say he pointed at a map or anything.  maybe that’s why it took him so long to get back.  “  eventually the blonde shrugged and found that smile deep down, bringing it back to the surface.  thinking about his dad in such depth never led to anything good.  more questions than answers, in all honesty.  besides, there’s a beautiful woman in his presence.  can’t have a frown on his face, now can he?

     “ it’s very nice meeting you, too. “   his head inclines as if ready to take a sip of the drink she sent his way but the touch prevents him.  electricity moves down his spine and settles right at his hips.  at least he’s not upset enough to do something stupid.  still, he can’t help but feel intrigue bubbling in the back of his mind.  who points at a man, rolls into charming, and still decides to stay?  old man aside, he fully understood all the reasons why he stayed.  norcal was all beige, dirt, and dying weeds.  nothing remotely interesting to see or do until you hit ocean.  not that it was any of his business.  yet.  if she made it a club problem then it would be his business.  whatever it was.

     “ lucky for you, i happen to work at the best mechanic shop in town, darlin’. “  a wink emphasized his smile.  “ i’d offer you a card but we don’t really carry any.  most everyone in charming knows where to find us.  teller morrow.  food?  everything in town is decent.  not great.  not god-awful.  oh, but the pie at the diner is exceptional.  romano’s on third has a pretty legit pizza crust.  lasagna on wednesdays. “

Ah, there's the smile, and it looks as natural on his face as she would have guessed. She's been on edge for months, now, and for the first time she feels her own edges blunted by the relief of a stranger's smile and the knowledge that, for a moment, she has nothing to fear. (There is a new fear growing, like a tendril of smoke, weaving itself around her spine, around her ribs, an intruder in her blood. She ignores it. She has grown skilled in ignoring the things she cannot let herself feel.)

"Closed my eyes," she says, "pointed at a map. It was time for a change." Astoria smiles appreciatively at the bartender and shakes her head; she's still nursing her own drink, and she has made a habit of late not to let herself lose track of where she is and what she's doing. "And I figured if I was moving, might as well move far, right? No plans, no direction. The sort of thing you daydream about as a teenager. Felt like if I was ever going to do it, might as well be now, you know?"

It's a spectacularly vague answer that forgoes enough details that she isn't actually lying all that much. She did choose Charming at random, her finger landing on the outdated map at the motel's front desk a few states over. She knew it would be somewhere in California, and that was about it. And she has been trying to tell herself that she's living out all her teenage dreams of rewriting her own history so she can start fresh, without carrying so much weight. Astoria takes the offered hand, her touch slow and deliberate and her handshake perhaps a touch more familiar than it should be. His hands are calloused, rough with the evidence of a lifetime of work, and she likes that. Her middle finger strokes an idle line against the inside of his forearm.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jax." Her voice is warm, like she doesn't have a care in the world besides this right here. It takes less effort than she might have guessed to block the rest of the world from her consciousness. "I'm sorry for your rough week. Here's hoping we can turn that around." Her touch lingers a moment longer before she withdraws her hand, and she pushes a few stray curls back from her face. And it strikes her that she really is someone new, here: not Aleksi's granddaughter, not Veronika's daughter, not Iain's ex. Not the fucked up girl who disappeared from school for weeks on end without warning, only to come back each time with something colder in her eyes.

She'll say this much for America: she has never before felt so beautifully, frighteningly anonymous. And there's that fear again, though she spares it a moment's thought: she is afraid of being found. She is afraid of never being found, and realizing that she has enjoyed creating a new version of herself more than she ever enjoyed being Astoria.

"I've managed the unpacking, but I appreciate the offer. Very neighborly of you. I wouldn't say no to recommendations, though. Good places for dinner. Decent dentist, decent mechanic." Her eyes flicker to his hands, his mouth, back to meet his own. "I think I managed to find a good place for a drink." Certainly good company.

[gaveldefy]

     new in charming wasn’t that rare.  it was new staying in charming that was more of an enigma.  people saw the market value on housing and property then thought hey could get something closer to oakland without having to pay the price.  thing was, charming was a special little town with some very special people in it.  if someone looked dangerous in any kind of way, clay weaseled them out.  usually unser helped.  if they were stubborn enough the sons would pay a visit and go from there.

     miss astrid did not seem to be the kind of new face they’d have to worry about.  instinct said running but there was nothing else in the conversation to even remotely back that up.  all he had was a drink and a name.  a name that, should his suspicions be true, would not lead him anywhere.  not that it mattered.  jax suddenly realized he was entirely too on edge if he was so hellbent on over analyzing a drink from a beautiful woman.  sometimes a drink was a drink.  jax needed to remember that.  the politics of the table didn’t encompass the entire town.

     “ well, if you need any additional assistance moving boxes around.  i know a whole group of strapping young men waiting to do charming a service, “ the playful grin summons forth again, upticking at one corner of his lips.  he holds up the glass, nodding, and takes another sip.  since he had interest in the conversation, one way or another, jax takes one last drag from his cigarette and stamps it out in a nearby ashtray.  he holds it in his lungs for a heartbeat when blows it in the opposite direction of his company.  “ hey, “ his chin nods at the bartender.  “ whatever she wants. “  only fair to reciprocate the beverage.

     all that out of the way, jax angles his stool to look at astrid from a better angle.  still, in that shitty lighting, she looks like nothing but a temptress.  intelligence sits behind those eyes.  he definitely likes what he sees.  

     “ interesting choice of relocation.  what brings you to our fair city? “  he’s not judging.  whatever it is really isn’t his business but the answer interests him, regardless.  at the same time, he had no illusions that charming was a piece of shit.  but, it was their piece of shit and the sons took pride in keeping it safe.  

     the comment on friends finally hits him.  now that his mind of slowing down and he’s taking everything in.  his grin shifts into something a little more tempered.  problems with leroy (nothing new there).  lin was being a pain in the ass for no reason at all.  from where jax was sitting, anyway.  plausible the old man knew more than he did.  the vp patch didn’t mean being privy to everything right away.  “ rough week, “ jax mutters with a surprising amount of control.  

     finally, with a shake of his head.  “ i’m sorry. “  his hand extends for a shake, “ jax. “

The name takes getting used to; Astrid is similar enough that she looks up at the first syllable anyway, and Vogel, at least, is her own private joke. She'd wanted to go with Hawk, but that might have been too obvious. The tattoos are a challenge, too, her left arm still sore when she sleeps on that side, and occasionally almost painfully itchy where she'd blacked out some of the flowers to make the remaining ones bolder. She'll cover her right arm when she can, but for now, it's just the crow on her hand, in flight against a crescent moon. She lines her eyes differently, darkens her eyebrows, wears a darker shade of her usual lipstick. The face that stares back at her in the mirror is familiar enough to leave her uneasy with the differences she knows shouldn't be there, but it's the hair that feels the most wrong.

It's shorter, now, her curls skimming her shoulders, and a few shades darker, just like her lipstick. For a box dye, it looks natural, so she can't complain too much, but she just doesn't feel like Astoria anymore. Which, she supposes, is a good thing in the long run: it means that she can keep herself in character, playing the role of perfectly normal woman not recovering from a beating that left her with a few new scars. She'd done her recovery on the road, from motel to motel, biding her time while she figured out her next stop. And here, on the other side of the country, in the sort of little town she'd never willingly settle into, Astoria Grim simply doesn't exist.

"Just moved in." She settles onto the stool beside him. Leather with those kinds of patches means biker, which means he knows his way around, which means that he'll have the kind of reliable advice for moving through town that you really only get from those perpetually in motion and the most vicious gossips. If he's unfriendly, she'll try her luck looking for a paper boy. "Spent all of yesterday unpacking. I'm brand new." Unpacking mostly meant buying some detergent and dumping her clothes from her bag into the washing machine before picking up a few necessities: sheets, food for a few days, a couple of cheap paperbacks to pass the time. "Figured it's time to make friends. You look like you could use one." He's pretty, with those bright eyes and a face she's sure is plenty accustomed to smiling. Broad shoulders, powerful hands. She wants very badly to wash his hair. Astoria extends a hand, and when she introduces herself, the name sounds more natural than it did the last time she said it. "Astrid."