Bella Giornata

“Aye, looks like she's wakin’.”

The thickly accented voice sounded vaguely familiar, and another miserable groan quietly escaped as you fought to place it. You struggled to grasp onto your thoughts through the thick fog of confusion blanketing your mind in between the bursts of pain radiating around your skull, but latching onto something felt like the equivalent of uselessly grasping handfuls of air with how disoriented and jumbled your mind was.

“Good. Was gettin’ worried. She was out for a few minutes,” another familiar voice nearby replied to the first. “How's the bleedin'?”

At the mention of blood, a cold spike of fear shot through you and you strained to open your eyes. Fragmented bits and pieces started coming back to you between the penetrating, throbbing pain in your head as you grappled to make sense of what was happening. 

Through the haze of disorientation, a handful of things rapidly flashed through your mind–a black van, ski masks, and the screech of tires. Had you been attacked? Had you been thrown into that van and taken somewhere? Terror wrapped itself firmly around your heart as you abruptly realized that you had no idea where you were now.

“Just a bad scratch,” the first voice answered. “Looks worse than it is. Lass is lucky, shouldn't need stitches.”

Pressing your lips together to fight from making anymore noise and drawing your captors’ attention, your heavy eyelids fought to raise. You blinked them open briefly once and caught a glimpse of brown amid the bright light before your eyes fell shut again. It was difficult to blink them open a second time, your body lagging behind your brain's commands. 

Am I concussed?

Fighting through the exhaustion coating your body with a weighty listlessness, your eyelids flickered a few more times before you finally managed to keep them fully open. Squinting at the bright light which exacerbated the sharp pain in your temple, you examined your unfamiliar surroundings. After a few long, drawn out seconds surveying the space, you realized that you were laying in a bed in a room that you didn't recognize. A poster of a half-naked blonde taped to the back of the closed door across the room set your pulse frantically racing, making you wonder what sort of creeps had grabbed you.

Fighting the piercing pain as you slowly turned your head, your gaze swept to the side of the bed where you'd heard the two voices. Recognition slammed into you hard at the sight of the men talking to each other. Jax and Chibs were standing next to the side of the bed you were currently laying in, both their hushed voices now too low for you to distinguish what was being said. 

That's when you remembered the strange notes you'd been finding, the ones you'd thought were some sort of sick and twisted prank that Jax had been playing on you. Your stomach fearfully sunk as panic coursed through your veins. Had he really stooped that low and abducted you after you'd left work? Had all your arguing and insulting him finally led to him doing this?

But if that's what had happened, why were you waking up in a bedroom? And in a bed? The thoughts that rushed through your head in answer were all deeply unsettling, especially recalling all of Jax's vulgar comments and filthy lingering looks over the past year. Afraid of what he might have planned, your hands fumbled along the mattress as you tried to push yourself upright on the bed, your mind screaming at you to get out of here before they could hurt you any further than they might’ve already. The pain in your temple flared at the abrupt movement, your vision briefly swimming as you fought to sit upright.

“Whoa, easy there, darlin’,” Jax said.

The second his hand landed on your shoulder, you flung yourself backwards on the bed, swiftly moving away from him and losing your balance. You tottered backwards with a faint yelp, barely catching yourself with your hands before you could topple off the other end of the bed. Your breaths came in shallower now, adrenaline coursing through you as you as your eyes swept towards the closed door across the room–the only exit. You needed to get out of here.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” you shouted.

The warning sounded a little thick and slurred as your tongue struggled to make the sounds. Shuffling backwards along the messy brown sheets in an attempt to distance yourself from both men, you saw Jax's face contort into a look of confusion. He raised both of his hands up in front of himself, palms facing you as he remained in place.

“Hey, you're alright,” he soothed.

“Alright?” you repeated hysterically, voice raising an octave. “That's what you call assaulting and abducting me?”

Jax's face screwed up even further, a deep crease forming between his brows. “What? Darlin’, what the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“No, sweetheart,” Chibs calmly cut in with a shake of his head. “Ya got it wrong. We heard you outside screamin’ and saw some arseholes in masks tryin’ to stick ya into a van.” He gestured a thumb casually at Jax beside him as he added, “Jackie boy here personally smashed one of their faces in return before the pieces of shit got away. He pulled ya outta a movin’ van.”

Your mouth hung partially open as you sat at the far side of the bed, eyes switching back and forth between the two Sons. Through the pain in your head you felt the thick fog in your mind marginally lifting, trying to recall the black van and the ski masks more clearly. But everything after leaving the gym was a blur before it vanished into black.

“Wait,” Jax began, brows pinched as he slowly pieced it together. “Are you saying you think we did this to you?”

“Who the hell else would be leaving me all those fucking notes?” you shot back.

Wincing at the harshness of your own voice, your head throbbed harder at the volume. There was no doubt in your foggy mind that you were concussed.

Jax’s eyes tightened at the corners, his hands slowly lowering back down to his sides. “The notes you mentioned this mornin’?” he questioned. “The ones you said you thought were from me?”

“Yes,” you firmly replied. “The fucking weird ass cryptic notes you've been leaving on my car over the past few days. Your sick ass prank.”

Jax's head turned towards Chibs at the exact moment the older Son looked at him. Still unaware of where the hell you were, you watched some sort of silent exchange pass between them, your head still aching in protest at the entire situation. When their attention returned to you, you shifted a little further backwards on the bed, trying to keep your distance.

“What'd the notes say, sweetheart?” Chibs asked. 

“And when exactly did you start gettin’ them?” Jax pressed.

They had to be kidding, right? They already knew what they said and when you'd started receiving them because they were the ones behind them. Because who the hell else would be leaving you threats if it wasn't the Sons? 

“A few days ago,” you answered, gaze suspiciously switching between them. “One of your guys dropped my car off and I found a note in my car the next morning. You were the last ones with my car, so obviously it had to be a Son.”

Something furious and deadly passed across Jax’s features, his expression growing terrifyingly dark. In the year since you’d met him, you’d only ever seen Jax with that arrogant, smug smirk on his face or the look of utter annoyance etched along his features whenever you ran into him. But now his hands curled into fists at his sides, and his lips pursed firmly into a dangerous line. You'd never witnessed him like this before, as if each twitch of his jaw was proof of the struggle at keeping something heavier reined in beneath the surface.

“What'd it say?” he demanded.

His abrupt shift had you growing tense, tucking your legs closer towards yourself as you sat at the opposite end of the bed. Attention shifting down to the wrinkled sheets, you tried to recall what that first note had said. You'd thrown it away right after finding it, quickly dismissing it as bullshit, so you fought through the pain in your head to recall it now.

“That I was collateral,” you answered after a moment. “That's all it said.”

Jax's mouth thinned further, the muscle still visibly working in his jaw. Chibs’ expression grew grim beside his president as he crossed his arms over his chest. The hard set to his mouth made unease spark in your stomach. 

“What'd the other ones say, sweetheart?” Chibs gently pressed. “Anything more specific?”

“No,” you answered, eyes sweeping back and forth between them. “They just kept saying that my time was running out. This morning there was one telling me to pass on a message. But I have no idea what the hell they were talking about.” Your gaze darted accusingly back to Jax. “I thought they were from you. Just another way for you to fuck with me.”

“Me?” he repeated incredulously. “Why the fuck would I be wasting my time leaving you fuckin’ notes? What would I gain from that?”

“I have no idea!” you answered, tossing your arms up in exasperation. “You like tormenting me, that seemed a good enough reason for you!”

The corner of Jax’s mouth dipped into a frown, but he didn’t deny it. Though Chibs shot Jax a curious side-eye, one of his brows raising questioningly onto his forehead at his president. Maybe the Sons didn’t know the full scope of what a jackass he’d always been to you after all.

As you started to suspect that maybe you’d gotten this whole thing with the notes seriously wrong, you glanced around the room again, still unsure of where you were. It was a small bedroom with a dresser butted up against one wall and a worn, lumpy couch positioned beside another wall. A door to your left was partially opened beside the couch, and judging by the tile on the floor, you assumed there was an attached bathroom.

“Where the hell am I?” you demanded, focusing back on the men. Your left hand reached up towards your temple, and you winced as your fingertips just lightly brushed over the place that’d been hurting since you’d woken. Carefully lowering your hand, you glanced down and spotted smears of blood along your fingertips. “And why am I not in a hospital? Talking to the police?”

“You’re at the clubhouse,” Jax told you. “In my room.”

Nose scrunching up in disgust, you abruptly sat even straighter on the bed and drew your hands into your lap. You gave the bed sheets a disgusted, horrified grimace as you imagined the disgusting things probably dried on them. Jax scoffed at your reaction, but Chibs chuckled heartily in amusement at how you tried to have as little contact with the mattress as possible.

“The sheets are clean,” Jax added flatly. “Don’t gotta be so dramatic. And you can’t take this shit to the cops.”

With your nose still wrinkled and your skin feeling itchy at the thought of whatever you might’ve just been laying on despite his claim that the sheets were clean, your eyes narrowed back at him. “This is the exact sort of shit you’d take the police,” you disagreed.

“No cops,” Jax repeated firmly with a single shake of his head. “No hospitals. You're concussed but you're fine.”

“Got a medical license I don’t know about now, Teller?” you snapped.

“Easy, lass,” Chibs soothed, uncrossing an arm and raising a hand towards you as if you were a dog about to bite. “Jackie boy means well. You’re mixed up in some serious shit, though. Which means if ya go to St. Thomas, they’ll stick you in a bed somewhere. Unguarded. And I bet whoever the hell attacked ya earlier, the ones who did it in broad daylight downtown, might not mind attackin’ ya in a hospital next.”

That thought hadn’t crossed your mind, but now that Chibs threw it out there, you felt a pinprick of fear at the truth in it. He wasn’t wrong, you’d been attacked during the day, not late at night in a dark side alley. Whoever had been in that van hadn’t been trying too hard to remain unseen, which was unsettling. Either they were very stupid, or very dangerous.

“But if–if I was attacked,” you said slowly, trying to come to terms with whatever the hell was going on, “I mean, surely the police would do something. Right?”

Jax rolled his eyes as he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his feet at the ankles and expelling a heavy breath. There was a stern line of annoyance creased across his forehead, and that muscle was still feathering in his cheek as if he was still fighting to keep a handle on himself. Which made you realize that he was being somewhat civil with you for once, and you wondered if that’s what was taking all of his effort to keep himself under control right now.

“Right,” Jax bitterly replied, “‘cause Charming PD are the good guys, yeah? Maybe you’d be safe while you were getting patched up at St. Thomas if the cops were there questionin’ you, but I doubt Roosevelt would put a guard on your house because of this. He doesn’t have the fuckin’ manpower to let his guys babysit you all night.” 

His eyes narrowed as he held your stare, tipping his head back and letting it rest against the wall behind him. There was nothing arrogant about him now, he was all hard lines and pent up fury with a storm raging behind his eyes that had you thinking twice about pissing him off. 

“You really wanna tell me you’d feel safe goin’ home tonight, Peaches? Knowin’ they know where you live after what they just did?” he questioned, his tone increasing in volume the more he spoke. “You think they won’t show up again? You think a single cop car parked down the street is gonna fuckin’ scare them off? You’re fuckin’ lucky that shit happened in front of the goddamn clubhouse and that we were there. Because you were–”

He broke off abruptly mid-tirade, his teeth gnashing together as a sharp hiss of breath cut through the room. You froze on the bed as he pushed away from the wall, barely breathing in case you did one thing wrong and it pushed him over the edge. You’d never seen this side of Jax before. This wasn’t a guy who made idle threats, and he looked on the verge of entirely losing it. It was terrifying, and you weren’t entirely certain whether that rage was directed at you or the men who’d attacked you.

“You were half in that van,” he continued, his voice suddenly eerily calm as he jabbed a finger in your direction. “I barely got you outta there, darlin’. Ripped you outta the fuckin’ thing as it started movin’, and that’s only ‘cause the asshole holding onto you couldn’t get his gun out before I smashed his face into the fuckin’ door.”

You had no idea what’d happened after you’d left Iron Pulse and headed to your car. It was a massive missing spot in your mind. But hearing Jax retell the situation was chilling, a shudder running through you at how easily you’d been overpowered and nearly dragged off to who knew where.

He wasn’t wrong, either. The idea of going back home tonight scared you, especially since you knew they knew where you lived. You’d seen that van parked down the street the other day. Whoever they were, they’d been watching you. What happened if they came back and tried again? You doubted you’d find your way out of the situation twice.

“I never saw any of their faces,” Jax continued, taking another step towards the opposite side of the bed. “So I don’t fuckin’ know who we’re dealin’ with, and it seems you got no idea, either. Which means I don’t exactly know how to fix this shit, and the fuckin’ cops here are gonna be even less useful.”

“So–so what’re you saying?” you questioned weakly. “I just…can’t go home?”

He inhaled a deep breath, his eyes briefly closing like the question somehow caused him pain. He ran a hand over his mouth and you glanced back over at Chibs. The older Son was standing quietly beside the cluttered dresser, silently watching the entire situation unfold as he let his president handle it. 

“No,” Jax finally answered, drawing your attention back to him. “You can’t. Not unless you wanna end up dead or worse.”

While you already knew that’s what he’d say, your stomach still sunk like a rock down to the bed. Feeling your mouth go dry, you glanced away, staring down at the brown crumpled, wrinkled sheets. If you couldn’t go home, where were you supposed to go? Surely if you stayed with a friend, you’d just draw whoever these people were to their doorstep, and you couldn’t do that. 

“The Sons got a safehouse,” Jax informed you. “You can stay there.”

The uncharacteristic softness of his voice had you looking up beneath the line of your lashes, distrustfully eyeing him. The last thing you ever wanted was to get tied up with the Sons in any capacity, and a safehouse for the Sons of Anarchy sounded like the last place you’d ever want to find yourself. 

“It’s a cabin in the woods about an hour from Charming,” Jax explained. “It’s nothin’ special, but it’s safe and remote. Unless you’re leading a double life, I gotta feeling this shit is somehow tied to us, so I’ll look into whatever the hell is going on. But in the meantime–”

“I have to go hide in some remote cabin?” you finished skeptically. “Because your club somehow dragged me into its shit?”

Those stormy eyes narrowed further at you, and you quickly pressed your lips together to keep quiet. He was offering help when you felt like you had limited options, but the idea that this was all his fault because of his club had sparked a new frustration within you. It was the only logical explanation. You worked as a trainer at a gym, you’d never even had a speeding ticket, so you highly doubted you were being targeted for any other reason than something to do with the Sons. Though you couldn’t understand why since you weren’t exactly friendly with the club. 

“I’m not exactly thrilled about this shit either,” he spat. “But you don’t really got another fuckin’ option, do you?”

He had a point, unfortunately. You didn’t have too many other options, even if this was beginning to feel like it was entirely his club’s fault. 

“Now I gotta go settle some shit with my guys, but I’ll drive you back to your place with Juice and Chibs in a little bit,” he told you. “You can pack up some of your shit so you're comfortable at the cabin, and afterwards we’ll head out there. Until then, I’ll have Rat bring you some water.” He tipped his head towards the partially opened door to your left. “There’s a bathroom if you need it while you wait. I’ll send someone out to bring some basics to the cabin for now, and I’ll stay out there to keep an eye on things for tonight.”

Shifting uneasily on Jax’s bed, you shrunk into yourself a little at the idea of being alone in a cabin in the woods with Jax. You didn’t have a friendly relationship with each other, and you didn’t necessarily like or trust him much, either. Not after the past year of him sexually harassing and insulting you. 

“Relax, I ain’t gonna fuckin’ hurt you,” he snapped. “And there’s two bedrooms, so you won’t have to be near me. I won’t be stayin’ there the whole time anyway ‘cause I got shit I gotta deal with out here, but I’ll have someone checkin’ in on you, a’ight?”

Not knowing how else to respond, especially since everything felt as if it was entirely out of your hands, you simply nodded mutely at Jax. He tipped his head at you once more before turning and heading over to the closed door, twisting the handle before disappearing out into what looked to be a hallway. Chibs sent you a sympathetic smile before he followed in Jax’s footsteps towards the exit.

“It’ll be alright, lass,” he assured you. “We’ll figure this shit out and you’ll get to go home soon.”

Disconnected. Always disconnected. 

All the extra noise inside of your head faded and muted up here. There was no mask to wear, no smile to fake, no fumbling through small talk. You didn’t have to constantly wonder what to do with your hands, or if your nervous laugh came out a little too often, or if you were talking too softly. You didn't have to explain or make excuses for yourself up here, you simply existed.

It’d never been lost on you that the only place you felt comfortable was somewhere that left you quite literally looking at the world from the outside in–sitting on the top of your apartment building staring down at Hell’s Kitchen below. While time stood frozen for you, everyone else was out there living their lives as time moved forward for them. Falling in love while on a date, or falling asleep after a long day of work. Drinking away the sting of heartbreak, or celebrating the excitement of a wedding proposal. Catching a flight for a business trip at the airport, or bringing a baby home for the first time.

Not you, though. It'd been months since you'd last gone out and celebrated anything with anyone, or felt as if there even was something worth celebrating. You had two best friends, but both of them were busy with their own families and reaching milestones that you felt like you’d only get to dream about. Occasionally you’d get invited out to grab drinks with your co-workers, and you'd awkwardly accepted a few times, but you knew the invitation was only ever given out of politeness and not a genuine desire for your company. Because that's what happened when you were the strange girl–you were never truly wanted. 

You didn’t fit in anywhere.

Growing up, you’d often wondered what was wrong with you. With the way you felt among your classmates, you'd always known that something was off with you even if you didn’t exactly understand why you were different. Now that you were older and more self-aware, you’d wondered how life could’ve been different if whatever that thing inside of you that was missing didn't separate you from everyone else. Maybe if your brain didn’t function the way it did, you wouldn't have spent every night for nearly the past month sitting on the ledge of your apartment building contemplating succumbing to gravity. Maybe everyday wouldn't be a constant game of pretend, a game which left you exhausted from a lifetime of playing it.

This world wasn't made for people like you. 

“You're crying.”

He materialized straight out of the shadows of the night itself, an odd feat he managed to accomplish every single time he visited you now that he was wearing his old black suit. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been iffy on the details about what’d happened to the other one that offered more protection, but you were too polite to push for details. 

He melted out of the darkness without a warning, returning tonight like a stray cat seeking out your company. He’d spent every single night sitting on the ledge of your apartment building with you as you stared down at the city, oddly showing up ever since that very first night you’d decided to sit up here. He came without fail except for last night, but last night he’d sent his surly friend in his place. 

“You're back,” you greeted him.

Daredevil lowered himself down to the ledge with a fluid grace you’d never achieve as he crouched to sit. Your eyes remained fixed on the lights of the traffic moving along the street below as he casually tossed both black booted feet over the side of the building and took his usual place next to you. The familiar and heady scent of his sweat mingled with the faint tinge of exhaust fumes and something slightly sweeter as you absently reached up, fingertips gently wiping away a few of the tears you hadn’t noticed snaking wet trails down your cheeks. 

“Of course I’m back,” Daredevil replied in that gravely tone, pitching his voice a little lower and huskier than its natural register. “I apologize for my absence last night, but I didn’t leave you entirely alone.”

A soft snort met his apology. “No, you sent your friend, Frank,” you said, hand lowering to your lap. “An interesting choice of company.”

“I imagine he gave you reason number five?” the Devil inquired. 

Almost a week ago, Daredevil had decided to personally undertake what you deemed an absurd initiative to bring you what he called Reasons Not to Give Up. You’d flatly dubbed them Reasons Not to Go Splat, but he wasn’t particularly fond of hearing you call them that. 

So far he’d brought you a handful of fragrant daylilies from one of the nearby parks as a reminder about the beauty in nature, which you’d found entertaining since he’d illegally plucked them himself just for you. He’d also shared a recording on his cheap flip phone of a cellist he greatly enjoyed overhearing practicing at night, and a slice of what he claimed was the best pizza in all of Hell’s Kitchen–which he hadn’t been wrong about. He’d even brought you a ridiculous rubber chicken that looked like the Statue of Liberty and sounded like a foghorn, and it’d brought the biggest smile to your face in months. 

Last night when his friend Frank had come to join you along your spot on the rooftop, he’d brought you the comfort of not being alone–or so he said that's what Daredevil forced him to say. Though Frank had also brought you a slew of interesting and highly amusing complaints and anecdotes about his nights out with Daredevil, which you’d enjoyed surprisingly just as much as his company. 

“You really don’t need to keep doing this,” you told him. Watching one of the city buses as it slowed to a stop at a red traffic light, you wiggled your bare toes in the open air. “I know you have far more important things to be doing than sitting with a weird stranger on a rooftop every single night. Don’t you need to sleep?”

“You stopped being a stranger a long time ago,” the masked man told you. “Besides, you’re not weird. And no, not really. I don’t have the best relationship with sleep.”

“You and me both,” you muttered.

Out of your peripheral, you caught sight of something moving towards you, and the smell of sweetness tickled your nose. Glancing down, you saw the Devil’s gloved hand gently nudge your right arm with a little plastic to-go container. Inside of it sat a single red velvet cupcake topped with a perfect glob of chocolate frosting with two little devil horns peeking out of the sides of it.

Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, you felt a grin threatening to break out across your face. He’d brought you a Daredevil cupcake. There was a bakery a few blocks from your apartment that had nearly been broken into the other week, but Daredevil had stopped the attempted robbery before the culprits had caused much damage to the storefront. In honor of his valiant efforts protecting the business, Delia’s Bakery had made Daredevil cupcakes special in the days since. They'd even been featured in a small article in The Bulletin.

“Your namesake cupcake?” you questioned. “You brought me a Daredevil cupcake?”

The Devil’s covered head cocked to the side, the black fabric of his mask hiding most of his face as your gaze flicked up to him. The wide grin on his pretty mouth was contagious, and your lips pulled free from your teeth until you were smiling stupidly back at him. Somehow he always managed to disarm you.

“Is it?” he playfully asked. “I couldn’t see what I picked out earlier.”

You rolled your eyes at him, having endured the repeated blind jokes that he’d made at his own expense ever since he’d revealed to you the shocking surprise that Daredevil was actually blind two weeks ago. It’d stemmed from you explaining to him that you were autistic and how the world felt so full of everything that it often overwhelmed you–the bustle of people, the rush of cars, the tall buildings closing in on you, the bright lights of the city giving you headaches, and the constant noise and onslaught of smells mixing together. It was an entire ordeal for you to leave your apartment and manage all of that while trying to act like you were just like everyone else, and it weighed on you every single day. A simple trip to the grocery store risked a panic attack some days.

You’d expected Daredevil to judge you after you’d revealed your big secret to him–that you were on the spectrum. You assumed that he’d suddenly look at you like there was something wrong with you, or that he'd talk down to you like being autistic somehow meant that you’d abruptly dropped a significant chunk of intelligence and were now the equivalent of a child. That was usually what happened when you admitted you were neurodivergent.

But he didn’t do any of that. Instead he’d revealed a secret of his own. He'd confessed that Daredevil was blind. Not only that, but apparently an accident when he was young had blinded him yet enhanced all of his other senses, meaning he also struggled with overstimulation in a way that sounded like absolute torture to you. He’d assured you that he’d long since learned how to manage his heightened senses and how they could sometimes overwhelm him, but it meant that he also understood how you felt.

You'd never met someone else who could relate to you like he did. You liked knowing that he understood what it felt like for your chest to tighten and your heart rate to accelerate just because there were too many voices in a room, or that sometimes it was difficult to breathe just because you were cramped in the corner store checkout line between shelves and people. Your friends never understood even if they tried, but Daredevil did.

“Here,” he urged, nudging you with the plastic container again. “Reason number six.”

“Diabetes?” you joked.

“No,” he said. “The simple pleasure of enjoying something you like.” He tipped his masked head at the container as you awkwardly accepted it from him. “I remember you mentioning the other week that you have a fondness for red velvet cupcakes. I thought you might like this one.”

Throat growing tight at the small, thoughtful gesture, you gingerly held the little plastic container in one hand as your other gripped tighter onto the rooftop’s ledge, keeping you balanced. The prickle of tears burned at the back of your eyes sharp enough for you to notice the sting as you stared down at the lone cupcake, the sugary scent of vanilla and cocoa settling over you. Before you could blink it back, another tear snuck its way from the corner of your eye, slipping its way down your cheek and dripping off the tip of your chin before landing on the lid of the container with a quiet splat.

“What is it?” the Devil pried.

Sniffling lightly, you tried to dismiss his question with a swift shake of your head. Your emotions sat like a ball lodged in the back of your throat, and you quickly felt yourself becoming swallowed up by the intensity of them. You didn’t understand why he kept coming back to visit you every single night, or why he’d sent his friend when he couldn’t make it last night, or why he kept bringing you all of these little, thoughtful gifts. 

The only thing that made sense was that Daredevil felt responsible for you because you lived inside of Hell’s Kitchen. He protected the entirety of this part of the city, and you assumed that must’ve included those tempting fate on the edge of a rooftop. 

Yet his visits had become increasingly confusing to you. You’d started to think of him as a friend, but you knew that was stupid. He was a masked vigilante who patrolled the streets and protected its people. You were just some high risk idiot always dangling off the side of an eight story building wallowing in self-pity. Daredevil was your babysitter, not someone who’d call to ask how your day was or invite you out to catch up over a cup of coffee. Yet you desperately wished that’s what he could be, because Daredevil was the first person who’d ever made you feel like maybe you could actually fit somewhere for once.

He said your name softly, the sound of it barely breaking through the racing thoughts in your mind. A hollowness seeped into your chest, sucking everything into it like a sinkhole devouring your insides. Your tongue pressed firmly against the roof of your mouth as you tensed, shaking your head again at his attempt to get you to speak. You simply couldn’t.

You felt stupid suddenly shutting down like this on him, but you couldn't stop the way your mind decided it had no idea how to handle the agonizing disappointment of realizing how he probably perceived you. Tears bloomed in your eyes as your fingers tightened around the little plastic cupcake container, accidentally smooshing some of the frosting onto the lid, but you couldn’t find the words to express yourself right now. You wanted to run back into your building and go hide beneath the covers of your bed like you were six years old all over again.

If only you were different. If only you could better play at the lie that you were like everyone else. If only you really were normal instead of this chaotic mess. 

“Okay, that's fine. We don't need to talk,” Daredevil soothed. “How about I just walk you away from the ledge?” he offered. 

He slowly rose back up onto his feet beside you, moving cautiously so that he wouldn't startle you. That only made you feel even more foolish. Why the hell couldn't you just be normal? What was so hard about having a conversation? 

“Let's get up,” he said calmly, “and I can walk you back over to the rooftop door when you’re ready to go back inside.”

You nodded stiffly in assent, allowing his gloved hands to secure themselves around your upper arms. Carefully he helped you back up onto your feet, gradually turning you towards him before he gingerly guided you away from the edge of the building until he was comfortable with your distance from it. 

He kept a gentle, comforting grip on your biceps when he drew you both to a stop, almost as if he knew the exact pressure to use to keep you grounded while your mind disconnected itself from your body. Your heart erratically thundered inside of your chest, and the tears fell a little faster, steadily streaming down your cheeks as the chilly evening wind stung the wet-streaked skin. 

Normally your nights with the Devil ended with you growing tired and eventually deciding that tonight was not the night to teeter forward and play the backup plan in your back pocket for when life felt too daunting. You’d never actually frozen on him before because you’d become overwhelmed trying to process the conflicting signals he’d been sending you over these past few weeks.

“Sorry,” you bit out, embarrassed as your fingers squeezed around the plastic container even harder.

What you really meant was: I’m sorry that I’m a burden and that I’ve gone and made more of this entire situation between us than I was supposed to, I just don't know how to properly make sense of what's going on here or navigate normal social situations like everyone else. But you didn’t quite know how to put all of that into words.

“Don’t,” he urged. “Don’t apologize for who you are. Just take your time, I'm right here.”

You caught the firm shake of his masked head when he’d spoken as you stared at his black boots, your teeth gnashing unconsciously along your lower lip as your left hand continued curling and uncurling into a fist. The embarrassment alone was motivation enough for you to focus on trying to slow your thoughts just so that you could reach a point where you could tell him goodnight and dart back inside to the safety of your apartment and away from the complicated and unexpected situation here on the rooftop.  

Unfortunately, it took you five painful, drawn out minutes before you could manage that.

Matt’s fingers were casually wrapped around the inside of Foggy’s elbow as he walked, the stiff material of his best friend’s suit a scratchy nuisance against his hand, but he’d chosen to ignore the extra sensory input. His senses were focused on other things this morning as Foggy held open the door to a coffee shop that sat an inconvenient two blocks away from Nelson, Murdock, and Page.

“I really need to stop enabling you, Murdock,” Foggy mused. 

A delighted grin tugged itself across Matt’s lips as he followed Foggy inside On the Horizon Coffee, having successfully convinced Foggy to tag along with him for yet another morning visit. As Matt stepped off the sidewalk outside which currently bustled with the usual morning foot traffic, the noise inside of the small shop intensified. So did the strong aroma of coffee and a multitude of flavored syrups and sugary sweet baked goods. Foggy guided him towards the long line behind the counter to order, and Matt’s index finger tapped an impatient rhythm against the folded cane in his left hand. 

“You need to become fixated on a girl who frequents coffee shops near our place of business instead,” Foggy continued. “Or just, you know, go talk to her already.”

“I have talked to her,” Matt distractedly replied. 

Half his attention was focused on sifting through the commotion of the coffee shop, trying to search it for a trace of your presence. It was never a guarantee that you’d be sitting here drinking a coffee, but every once and awhile he’d get lucky and catch a sign of you before you disappeared for work. You often sat in the far back corner, tucked up against the window with your head bowed over a book and earbuds in your ears as you tried to block out the noise of the coffee shop.

He’d gradually begun to understand you better after you’d confided in him the other week that you were on the spectrum. It hadn’t actually surprised him at all despite how nervous you'd sounded when you’d shared the information with him. Your body had always read differently to his senses, and you weren’t the only one he’d ever picked up on that from. It was actually why he'd noticed you that first time he'd come to this coffee shop to meet with one of his clients. 

You'd sounded panicked and terrified, your body radiating unusual levels of fear for someone who was just drinking coffee and reading. He could still recall the sharp, acrid tang of it on his tongue. It'd caught Matt’s attention, distracting him from his meeting as he unprofessionally fumbled his way through it. He'd worried that something was wrong, but when your adrenaline and cortisol eventually lowered a fraction after you'd gotten absorbed into whatever book was in front of you, Matt realized it was just your anxiety that he'd picked up on.

That was how he'd found you on the top of your building. He'd recognized the uneven pattering of your heartbeat and it'd drawn him straight to you when he'd been heading home for the night. He could still hear your sad voice from that first night telling him that you’d went to the rooftop because just knowing there was another option if the world ever became too much was a comfort to you. But it broke part of Matt to learn that the curious girl he’d discovered in the coffee shop weeks ago was the same one spending her nights on a rooftop feeling such overwhelming shame over who she was that she let her teardrops quietly fall one-hundred and fifteen feet to the ground while she contemplated tossing away something so precious every single night. 

“I meant as you you and not the other you,” Foggy corrected. 

He caught onto the familiar, slightly elevated heartbeat across the coffee shop at the same time that the line shuffled forward. Foggy leaned over towards Matt, his voice lowering as he noticed exactly what Matt just had.

“Your girl is here,” Foggy informed him. “In her usual spot by the window.”

Something eased in Matt’s chest at knowing that you were here, especially after how you’d reacted to him delivering you that cupcake last night. He hadn’t meant to upset you, and he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done wrong with bringing it. He’d hoped to hear the smile in your voice and maybe weasel a few jokes out of you along with a small laugh before you’d gone back inside for the night.

He loved your laugh. He'd become enamored with it the second he’d heard it, which he remembered had been on the third night that he’d stopped by to sit with you on the rooftop. He couldn’t remember the joke that’d pulled it out of you at this point, but he hadn’t forgotten the way your laughter had danced across the wind and echoed against the steel buildings of the city. Truthfully, it was the reason why he’d brought you that rubber chicken the other day, and he’d been rewarded with his favorite sound multiple times that night. Despite the criminals he’d fought as Daredevil on the streets that entire week, the sound of your laughter trilling through the night had felt like his biggest accomplishment.

“What’s she reading?” Matt whispered back.

Foggy shifted beside Matt, craning his neck as he tried to get a view of the cover of your book from across the coffee shop. Moments like this were one of the few rare times where he genuinely cursed his own limitations. None of his heightened senses could ever tell him what book you were so absorbed within the pages of as you drank your latte. 

“I can’t see,” Foggy said. “But she’s got purple nail polish today.”

A pleased smile stretched across Matt’s mouth as he tried to imagine you painting your nails. He wondered which night you’d done that. Had it been before or after the rubber chicken? Because he swore he'd felt the tension completely melt out of you that night. You’d relaxed around him fully, no longer giving Matt the impression that you were a second away from disappearing on him but instead warming to his presence. 

“You should go introduce yourself this time,” Foggy encouraged. “Go talk to her. I think she’d like that.”

“But then she’d know who I am,” Matt countered. 

“So? Your point is?” Foggy demanded as the line inched forward again. “Need I remind you that you once said, and I quote, ‘She’s the only one who’s ever merged both Matt Murdock and the Devil so wholly.’”

The corner of Matt’s mouth dipped downwards as Foggy repeated his words verbatim back at him. He had in fact said that exact line just last week.

“But what if she doesn’t like both sides when they merge for real?” Matt protested. “What if she doesn’t like who I am beneath the mask?”

Foggy’s hand came down with a light smack on Matt’s shoulder, the impact causing Matt to frown. He could hear the air shift as Foggy turned to face him more fully, Matt’s fingers still loosely gripping the inside of his friend’s elbow.

“Well then buddy, it sounds like you’d relate to her exact same daily struggle,” Foggy stated. As he continued, he leaned forward and kept his voice low so as not to attract the attention of the others in the line. “You said that she feels like she wears a mask whenever she steps outside her apartment, afraid of what people might think of who she actually is beneath it. I think she can relate to that better than most, man. And maybe you should actually go introduce yourself to her before she…”

Foggy’s voice abruptly trailed off, and Matt’s frown deepened as he caught the faint pull of muscles on his best friend’s face when he winced. He knew what Foggy had been about to say without him needing to give voice to it. He should introduce himself to you before maybe one night you really did lose that razor thin battle you tortured yourself with on top of your building and Matt no longer had the opportunity. 

While the city had long ago begun calling him The Man Without Fear,  Matt had suddenly acquired a singular fear that’d haunted him over these past few weeks. He was terrified that the one night he didn’t show on your rooftop might be the one night that you lost that battle. Which was why he’d sent Frank the other night, pleading with him to check on you and just keep you company because he couldn’t make it himself that evening. 

“It sounds like she could use a few friends,” Foggy recovered, clearing his throat. “Why don’t we just get a coffee and go say hello? Just a few words. Then maybe when you run into her tonight,” Foggy continued, pulling Matt forward with him as the line moved yet again, “you can give her reason number seventeen or whatever and tell her the truth. Invite her out to Josie’s with us some night after.”

Matt’s brows drew together behind his glasses at the suggestion. “You want me to invite her to Josie’s?”

“Yeah,” Foggy said, bobbing his head. “Or if she’d be more comfortable, invite her to our office for Friday Night Pizza.”

“We don’t have a Friday Night Pizza,” Matt countered.

“Au contraire, Murdock,” Foggy playfully disagreed, raising a singular finger in the air. “We always stay far too late at the office on Friday nights and end up ordering pizza while we try to cram as much work as we can into a few hours, but it always derails into Friday Night Pizza where we sit around the front desk and accomplish nada.”

A grin cracked itself through Matt’s frown. He hadn’t exactly realized it, but that did happen every single Friday night lately. It’d become so much of a routine to him that he hadn’t really noticed it was now a “thing” that the three of them did.

“You want me to invite her to the office?” Matt skeptically clarified. “For pizza?”

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed. “Karen and I feel like we’ve already gotten to know her through all your creepy stalking–”

“I’m not stalking her,” Matt firmly denied.

“–and we’ve been wanting to get our chance to meet her,” Foggy continued, undeterred by Matt’s interruption. “I think she’d fit in great with us misfits. Not that, you know, she’s a misfit or anything.”

With a heavy sigh, Matt’s head shifted a fraction over his shoulder back in your direction. He threw his senses out towards where you sat in the corner by the window, catching how fairly calm your heartbeat sounded as you flipped a page in your book. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go over there and say hello this morning, and he’d admittedly been getting the urge to reveal his identity to you for the past few days. 

“I just think she’d round out our group,” Foggy finished. “And you’re clearly obsessed with her.”

Matt’s attention returned to Foggy beside him, the smile fading from his lips. “I’m not obsessed,” he disagreed. “I just…like her.”

“So then go do your Matt Murdock thing and stop being afraid to talk to her,” Foggy replied. “We’re not college freshmen anymore, man. Put your big boy pants on. Let’s go make a new friend today.”

“Fine,” Matt relented. “Fine, we’ll go say a quick hello. But if we freak her out, we’re leaving.”

The rush of excitement that hit Foggy the second Matt agreed was palpable in the air. When his best friend pumped his fist upwards while simultaneously dragging him towards the register to order, Matt couldn’t stop the chuckle from rumbling out. He felt lighter on his feet than he had in weeks just from finally agreeing to approach you, so he didn’t even care when he heard Foggy muttering something about Frank owing him twenty dollars for getting him to finally agree to talk to you.

All that mattered was that Matt would get to hear your pretty voice this morning.

The circulation desk sat in the center of the second floor, and every row of bookshelves looked as if they were placed intentionally to herd patrons towards the circular counter that probably hadn’t changed much since the seventies. Raising the mug to your lips, you took a sip as you stepped around the opening and made your way behind the large desk. A long, slow morning stretched ahead of you now, and you’d certainly need the caffeine to help you survive until noon when things briefly picked up.

Lowering yourself into your chair with a contented sigh, you placed your mug onto the desk before leaning forward, reaching a hand down beneath the counter where you stored a few of your personal items during the day. You grabbed the thick paperback book you’d brought with you from its place beside your purple water bottle before sitting back more comfortably in your chair.

There was always a lull on weekday mornings on the second floor of the library. Most of Charming’s citizens were at work right now, and usually the elderly patrons who trickled in either for your company or to find something to read came closer to lunch time. It was the main floor of the library that stayed busy in the mornings because that was where the children's section was located. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, the aging Mrs. Walters hosted a storytime for toddlers, which you could hear just about to begin on the floor below. The muted noise of Charming’s stay at home mothers trying to wrangle their young kids onto the rug to sit steadily became background noise as you focused your attention on the book in your hands.

Charming Public Library wasn’t a very big library since the city itself didn’t boast a large population. Only the two floors made up the building, which meant there was only so much work to accomplish on a normal weekday. Because of that, you often were left with periods of time throughout your shifts in which you had nothing to do but read. Not that you minded because you were getting paid to enjoy your hobby.

Opening your book to where you'd left off, you plucked the bookmark out from between the pages before setting it down on the counter beside your coffee cup. Resting your elbows along the worn armrest of your chair, you held the book eagerly in front of yourself as your eyes quickly found the place where you’d left off in the series you’d been reading. Which just so happened to be right in the middle of a very steamy sequence of smut that you'd been wanting to get back to. 

It wasn't long before you were engrossed within the story. With the book held up between your hands, you'd grown so unaware of your surroundings that you hadn’t caught the sound of heavy footsteps as they'd ascended the stairs to the second floor of the library. Too focused on the intimate scene unfolding in your hands, you hadn’t realized that someone else had joined you at the circulation desk. It wasn’t until they spoke and scared the absolute hell out of you that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

“Voyager?” a deep voice drawled out curiously.

You startled in your chair at the title of your book being read aloud, your heart giving a sharp jolt against your ribcage as you nearly jumped out of your skin. Still clutching the book in front of yourself, you couldn’t see who was there, but you’d heard the soft, amused chuckle that followed at your reaction.

“So is this what librarians actually do all day? Sit around readin’ smut?” he asked, intrigued. “‘Cause I think my mom must've missed her calling. She should've worked here instead.”

Taken entirely off guard by the patron and his comment, you abruptly lowered the book from in front of your face and down towards your lap. If you hadn’t already felt heat creeping up your neck at being so brazenly called out like that, you were certainly feeling your face flame at the sight of one of the most unlikely library patrons standing on the opposite side of your desk.

Jax Teller was leaning casually against the circulation desk with his shaggy blonde hair hanging messily above his shoulders and a black baseball cap sitting on his head. He had a lazy grin drawn across his face, but his eyes were curiously scanning you over in return now that your face wasn't hidden by your book.  You doubted he recognized you, or that you'd ever catch the notorious playboy's eye for longer than a second. But that didn’t matter to you because you much preferred the idea of a man like James Fraser from the book you'd been reading–gallant, loyal, and gentlemanly. None of those things exactly described the man standing across from you, at least not when it came to how he interacted with women from everything you’d heard.

“It isn't smut,” you countered, trying to sound firm but not quite succeeding. You’d always been rather soft spoken, and that wasn’t about to change with a Son standing in front of you. “It's historical fiction with a romantic plot.”

Jax's smirk widened as he leaned further over the desk, moving close enough that you couldn’t help but become hyper-aware of his proximity. His fingers drummed lazily against the countertop as he stood there like this wasn't the first time he'd ever stepped foot in this library. He seemed rather unconvinced at your correction, though.

"Historical fiction, huh?" he repeated. He hummed a noise in the back of his throat as he gave a single, slow nod. “That’s cute, darlin'. I might not read much, but I can still see that that–" he pointed a finger at the book in your hands, “–is smut.”

His eyes flicked down pointedly to the cover of your book and your fingers curled along the pages. When you didn’t try to argue with him again, Jax’s gaze dragged painfully slowly back up to meet yours. The deliberateness in which he was cornering you with just his stare alone unsettled you in more ways than one. But you attempted to appear unbothered by him, trying to hide the way your hand trembled as you reached out and grabbed your bookmark from beside your coffee.

"So what’s this historical guy doin’ for you?” Jax asked, his tone mocking. “Readin' poetry by candlelight? Fightin' duels for some girl's honor? Ridin’ shirtless and sweaty on a horse?" 

Swallowing thickly as he continued to tease you, you attempted to maintain an air of composure where you sat behind the desk. But that was hard to do with your cheeks growing warm from embarrassment as you slipped the bookmark back into place inside of your book. You closed it carefully, taking a deep breath before you set it down on the counter. When you looked back up at him, wanting to try to figure out why Jax was even here, you caught the lopsided, amused grin still spread across his handsome face.

You knew far better than to melt under Jax Teller's charm. But you were currently and unfortunately finding out that you weren’t entirely immune to it, either. At least his teasing was helping to keep any attraction you felt for him in check.

“Is there something I can do for you?” you asked politely, trying to change the topic.

Amusement flickered behind his blue eyes as he stared down at where you sat behind the desk, his tongue gradually slipping out and running along the length of his lower lip. One corner of his mouth twitched higher when you shifted in your chair, as if he could tell that you were affected by him, but then he pushed himself back a bit so that he was no longer invading your personal space. His ringed hands rested on the counter beside your coffee mug and the book you'd been reading as he straightened up, the grin on his face fading marginally. 

Trying to avoid holding his gaze for too long, you glanced down at his hand beside your book, catching sight of the two rings that spelled out the word “Sons” on his fingers. Black grease stained his blunt nails, no doubt something he'd acquired from his time working at Teller-Morrow Automotive. The thought of Jax sweating out in the California heat in a garage, his shirtless form bent over the hood of a car, flashed through your mind before you could figure out why it’d even appeared. But you abruptly shoved it aside because that wasn't a thought you needed to have.

“Just need some information on a property lien, darlin’,” he answered. 

When he spoke, your attention snapped back to his face, but your lips pressed firmly together at the way his smile had grown back into something a bit smug. He'd clearly caught you checking out his hands from that simple, lingering look you’d given them. That only added to the way you'd begun to heat beneath your blouse, your chest feeling a bit tight from his attention.

“Gotta few minutes to help me with that?” he asked, quirking a blonde brow. “Or am I interrupting somethin’ with you and the redhead?”

He tipped his chin at the book beside his hand, and your own gaze followed to the cover of it. You'd intentionally bought the television show tie-in books because you enjoyed the view of the actor who played Jamie printed on all of the books, but Jax’s outright teasing was making you feel as if he'd just transported you back to being the awkward teenager you'd been in high school.

“I can look that up for you if have the information–”

Before you could finish your sentence, Jax had slipped his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and fished something out of it. His fingers slid a slip of folded paper across the circulation desk towards you, and your eyes narrowed warily at it. You knew the Sons had a reputation in Charming–you'd lived here your whole life knowing they really weren't just a group of motorcycle enthusiasts. The last thing you wanted to do was be involved with something that wasn’t legal.

Extending a cautious hand, you reached over and took the paper he'd set down and carefully began unfolding it. Scanning the information written in black ink, you thought it seemed an innocent enough request. It was a basic search of information that existed within public records, and you figured there was no possibility that you were about to be caught up in something illegal yourself just by searching for it.

“It'll take me a few minutes to look this up,” you informed him.

He shifted his body against the opposite side of the desk so that he was facing you more fully, his forearms draped over the counter as if he belonged there. In response, you abruptly turned your chair away from him and towards your computer, beginning to pull up the database you'd need to search for the lien information. But you could feel his eyes lingering distractedly along your profile.

“Take all the time you need,” he replied easily. “I ain’t in a rush, sweetheart.”

A frown settled onto your face as you began keying in the information that Jax had provided you with. While you typed, Jax continued openly observing you, not being the slightest bit subtle in his staring. You felt self-conscious and a bit on edge to the point that you found yourself backspacing a few errors you'd accidentally typed in. It was difficult to concentrate with his mere presence distracting you just feet away, and it didn't help that you swore you could feel his eyes roaming over you and lingering in very distinct places.

A heavy silence had fallen between you both while you worked, one filled with a tension that felt like the ghost of his fingers trailing over your skin. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if this was just how women felt when they found themselves in Jax Teller’s orbit. As you continued to search the database, the only noise in the library came from the soft click of your fingers typing on your keyboard, and Mrs. Walters' animated voice coming muffled from downstairs as she read aloud to the group of toddlers that came every Tuesday morning. 

“I know you, don't I?” Jax asked, eventually shattering the silence on the second floor. “You look familiar, darlin’.”

Your fingers hesitated over your keyboard before you shot Jax a sidelong look. His expression had temporarily grown serious instead of playful, his eyes narrowing a fraction as he studied you even closer. Ignoring the flutter of your stomach at the intensity on his face, you returned your attention to the computer screen.

“We were in the same graduating class,” you answered quietly. “Before you, well…”

You trailed off as you continued to work, clearing your throat awkwardly. Jax and Opie had dropped out of school before their senior year, and neither of them had graduated in the end with your class. They'd become prospects for the Sons of Anarchy instead, focusing on their future within the club and not on an education. You'd always seen it as wasted potential, but you knew that wasn’t your business.

“Shit, that's right,” he said slowly, nodding his head as if it had just dawned on him. “I remember you. Always sat with those two other girls at lunch. Never talkin’, always reading, right?”

Your answer came in the form of a soft hum of acknowledgement as you kept your eyes on the computer screen. High school hadn't been the same experience for you as it had been for Jax. You'd focused on your studies and made sure never to break your curfew, and Jax was known to skip class, go to parties, and wind up with more in school suspension than you'd thought was humanly possible for one person to achieve without expulsion. 

“Guess that hasn't changed, huh?” he asked, the teasing tone returning.

With your attention fixed on the screen, you hadn’t noticed that Jax had grabbed the third installment from the Outlander series off of the circulation desk beside your coffee that was steadily growing cold. He'd flipped it open to the place where your bookmark sat, his eyes scanning over the page as a smirk gradually began to draw itself over his lips again.

"Now this is historical fiction, huh?" he questioned, his blonde brows rising onto his forehead. "Cause damn, darlin’. I had no idea you were into such scholarly pursuits." 

His tone was coated with teasing sarcasm as he kept scanning over the page, but his voice had broken through your concentration. Turning to look over your shoulder, you saw him standing there with your copy of Voyager in his hands, his eyes running over where you'd left off–the reunion sex scene at the brothel. Your mouth fell open as your eyes widened in absolute mortification.

You must have made some startled noise because Jax's smirk only grew before his eyes drifted over the top of the book with an agonizing casualness. His blue eyes were alight with mischief as he stood there shamelessly reading your book.

"Thought you said this wasn't smut,” Jax teased. “Cause I gotta say, sweetheart, this looks pretty naughty to me.”

Jax looked back down at the book in his hands as you sat in utter horror, embarrassment flooding you the more he kept reading. You couldn't even find your voice to tell him to stop being an asshole and put your book down, your mouth suddenly dry and your tongue as heavy as lead.

"You learnin’ anything useful from all this shit?” he asked. 

His brows furrowed as he continued reading over a particular passage in front of him, and you had a feeling you knew which one. Sitting there in silent embarrassment, you'd temporarily forgotten all about the lien you'd been researching on the database for him. Your mouth opened and closed a few times while you struggled to find the words to tell him off, and your face felt like it’d been set on fire.

When his eyes caught yours again, he seemed to notice your growing discomfort. Snapping the book shut with a loud thwack in his hands, he leaned forward and tossed it back onto the desk in front of you with ease. 

"Aww, I see," he said. He rested both of his hands on the countertop and leaned forward so that his face was level with yours. "Did I ruin your little fantasy session by stopping in here, darlin'? ‘Cause I didn’t mean to interrupt." 

His tone was filled with playful condescension as his eyes flicked pointedly at where your book had landed between you both on the counter. Your gaze followed his back down to the paperback as your fingers curled around the armrests of your chair. You were half tempted to pick up the heavy paperback and slap him across the face with it, but knowing better than to do that to someone–especially the Son's vice president–kept you still.

"Are you really out here gettin' worked up over an Irish guy who’s not even real?” Jax asked curiously.  

"He's Scottish, not Irish.” 

The second the correction was out of your mouth, your lips snapped shut. Why had you even just made that minor clarification to him? It didn't matter what nationality Jamie was, certainly not in the grand scheme of this entire conversation. The words had just slipped out of you as if you’d needed something to say to him.

Jax’s teasing just had you feeling so embarrassed in a way that you hadn't felt in years. You felt judged and exposed in front of a stranger, because that's what Jax was. You knew him less now than when you'd gone to school with him, and here he was teasing you because he'd interrupted a rather spicy part of the book you'd been reading.

“Look, I ain't judging ‘bout what you're into,” Jax continued as if he could hear your thoughts. He was still leaning over the circulation desk and looking far too comfortable there. “Not like the Sons don't co-own a porn studio. But I don't see the appeal in–” He tapped two fingers against the worn cover of your paperback next to him and made a face. “I mean it's just words on a page, how is that doin’ it for you? Or do you really like the redhead that much?”

“Don't think that's a question I am required to answer as part of my job description,” you replied, finding your voice and managing to add a little bite to your words. “If you want that information on the property lien, I'd appreciate it if you let me work.”

You snatched your book from off the counter and away from his reach, not wanting him to pick it up and start skimming through it some more. His hands shot up in the air in a placating gesture, but that smug smile remained spread over his lips between the scruffy blonde facial hair. You tossed the thick book back under the counter before turning and focusing on retrieving the information he'd come here for on your computer, a frustrated huff falling out of you.

“I assume you'd like a printed copy of that information?” you asked, not looking back at him.

"I can take the hint, sweetheart," he said, the smile slowly falling from his lips. "I'll back off your fictional man. But yeah, gimme a printed copy of that." 

He folded his arms over his chest, still lingering near the desk as he watched you push a few more keys on your computer. But just as you pushed the button to print, scooting your chair back so that you could get up and head to the room with the printers and copy machines nearby, Jax spoke again.

"You know, if you're lookin’ for something a little more hands on,” Jax began, his tone lowering to something that made goosebumps ripple across your forearms, “you could come by the clubhouse.”

A slow, flirtatious grin curled the corner of Jax's mouth as you stood there dumbfounded, hesitating beneath the weight of his stare. He took a moment to run his eyes over you again, this time appraising you from head to toe now that you'd finally stood up from your chair. His teeth caught his bottom lip as if he was fighting back saying something more before that dangerous and sultry gaze met yours again.

"Come out tonight," he practically demanded. “I promise I could show a girl like you more fun than you'd find in a book.”

Your pulse pounded like a drum in your throat, but you refused to let Jax Teller work his charm on you, especially not with how he'd just been relentlessly teasing you. Besides, you knew more than well enough to know that he did this with girls on a daily basis. By lunchtime he’d have probably moved on to someone else. 

“I'll go get your documents,” you said, side-stepping the offer.

Without another glance in his direction, you walked around the circulation desk and headed straight for the small room nearby. You could already hear the printer inside slowly churning out the few pages you'd sent to it, the outdated machine noisy and loud as it worked 

You were grateful that Jax didn't follow after you, giving you a minute to collect yourself without him staring at you and making more comments. As the printer chugged along, you grabbed the collar of your blouse and gave it a few sharp tugs in the hopes of cooling yourself down. There was the faintest bit of sweat beading along the back of your neck from Jax’s odd way of oscillating between teasing and flirting.

You hated to admit it, but Jax had an effect on you. He'd never once acknowledged you growing up or in the years since you'd returned to Charming after you'd graduated from college, but now that you'd really seen him up close all these years later, you couldn't deny that his offer wasn't tempting. Jax was incredibly attractive–hotter than the guys you generally went on awkward dates with–but you refused to be some story he told the guys in his club. So as attracted to him as you were, you weren't about to step a single toe into one of their clubhouse parties.

When his documents had finished printing, you picked them up and stacked them neatly together before leaving the small room. Heading back towards the main desk, you found Jax still standing there casually leaning against it with one arm, waiting for you like he really wasn't in a rush to leave. A large smile returned to his face when you reappeared, and there was something almost knowing in those blue eyes when they found yours, as if he knew you wanted to take him up on that offer.

“Here,” you said, extending the papers to him when you neared him. “Everything we have on record in the database for what you wanted.”

There was a brief moment where Jax just stood there staring at you, taking you in. You shifted awkwardly on your feet before he finally straightened up and reached his hand out, accepting the few pages from your own. He took a few seconds to flip through them, nodding to himself about something.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Have a good day, Mr. Teller,” you replied, a finality to your words.

Turning around, you made your way back behind the circulation desk and over to your chair. You had just begun to settle back down into your seat when Jax reappeared in your peripheral. He rested the newly printed stack of papers along the counter and leaned over it again, catching your eye. 

“You sure you don't wanna come out tonight?” he asked, tilting his head curiously to the side. “I'd personally make sure you had a good time.”

It was obvious what Jax was implying, and your tongue nervously darted out to wet your lips at the thought. But there was absolutely no way you would ever find yourself at a Sons’ party. Ever.

“I don't think I'm the type you'd find there,” you diplomatically declined.

Jax pushed back from the counter slowly, his grin faltering briefly. His eyes dipped down towards where your book sat beneath the counter next to your water bottle, the slightest scowl flashing across his face before it disappeared.

“Then I guess I'll just be seein’ you around Charming,” he said.

The words sounded like a promise, one that simultaneously sent a wave of confusion and heat through you. His left eye closed in a flirtatious wink before he lightly tapped the desk with a few fingers. He turned around and began swaggering his way through the second floor of Charming Public Library looking exceptionally out of place in his leather kutte. You hadn't realized you'd been staring at him until he stopped just at the top of the stairs and looked over his shoulder back at you, one hand resting on the railing. 

“Enjoy your book, darlin’,” he called out to you. “But I guarantee it's not that satisfying.”

Jax disappeared down the steps without another word, presumably headed back out into Charming to most likely get involved with things you certainly wanted no part in. Shaking your head in an attempt to shake that whole unexpected encounter from your mind, you tried to snap yourself out of the oddity of that conversation. 

You leaned over and retrieved your book again from beneath the counter and tried to settle in for the boring morning lull. But as the morning continued to drag on, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a hard time focusing on the story now. Your mind kept picturing blonde hair instead of red, and leather kuttes instead of tartan kilts.