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I snorted. "Wherever I am." I sighed. "I don't have a home, per se, at the moment. I stayed with Dad for a while after I shipped back Stateside. But that was untenable, so I lived with Tania, my sister, until hiring on with Linus. For now, my stuff is in storage in Palo Alto."

"So…once you joined the Navy and left home…"

"I haven’t had a permanent home since. Berth after berth, deployment after deployment. I stay at Dad's when I'm on leave, or with Tania. Now, I…well, I don't know. Assuming Linus doesn't just fire me for crashing his hundred-million-dollar one-of-a-kind helicopter, I guess I’ll probably just be wherever he is, seeing as my whole job is to fly him around, and that seems to be his preferred method of travel."

"I don’t know the man pretty much at all, but from the little I do know, he doesn't seem like the type to fire you for an unforeseeable accident. I think your skill, talent, and ability to stay calm are the only reason either of us is alive." He paused. "How are you doing with everything? The crash, the bear."

I shrugged. "Unclear. I…I had that little panic attack right after, but…"

"I can see how it might have been a little triggering, considering what we were just talking about."

I nodded. "Very. Trying not to think about it. I'll just add it all to the therapy bill later."

"Tea."

I sighed. “I’m trying to keep it together, Jax."

"You don't have to. You just said it to me—you don't have to be okay all the time. You don't have to be tough every moment of every day." He worked himself upright, the movement clearly costing him a lot of pain, but he ignored my squawks of protest. "Listen to me, Tea—”

"You listen to me—you can't keep moving around," I groused. "You don’t even have stitches. They're literally giant, gaping, open wounds."

"Fuck 'em. Listen to me. Please."

I huffed. "Okay, fine. What."

His big, rough hand cupped the side of my face, so, so gently. More gently than I've ever been touched; Luke was wonderful and kind and sweet, but no part of him was gentle. It's part of what I…

What I…

What I loved about him.

God, it hurts to go there now, after all this time spent pretending I didn’t feel that way about him. It hurts, but…it's also a relief to admit it.

Jax's hands were rough, yes, from gripping a shovel, or an axe handle, or weights. Luke's hands? He was a warrior. He'd grown up a brawler, a street fighter. He’d literally never known peace, not for a moment. He was born to an alcoholic mother and an incarcerated father, and grew up in the roughest part of Baltimore, fending for himself from the time he could walk, pretty much. His hands were roughened by a lifetime of violence.

The calluses are different.

The very nature of touch is different.

Jax's touch was…I don't even know. It was hesitant at first, understandably. How would I react? Even I wasn't sure.

"You don't have to keep it together."

"Yes, I do," I whispered, eyes closing.

"So I get to not be okay, but you don't?"

I had no answer for that.

"That's what I thought." He grunted softly as he twisted to sit facing me, so close. Too close. "You don't have to fake fine for me. I don't want you to."

I shook my head, eyes burning. "Jax, I—"

"Be real, Tea. Just…be real with me."

"I don't know what that means," I whispered. "I'm not being fake, Jax."

He sighed. "Fake? Maybe not. But you're not being honest, are you?"