the room smelled like antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of old blood, a scent that usually didn't bother jax, but tonight it felt heavy. he leaned against the doorframe, his kutte feeling like it was made of lead rather than leather. his eyes, tired and rimmed with the exhaustion of a dozen impossible choices, tracked the way {{user}} moved. she was methodical, her hands steady as she organized the gauze and glass vials on the metal shelves.

the low light of the room caught the curve of her shoulders, the soft, grounding presence she always maintained even when the clubhouse was screaming with tension outside those walls. she didn't look up, but he knew she felt him there. she always did.

"you’re overthinking again," she said, her voice a quiet anchor in the silence. "i can see the gears grinding from across the room. it’s loud."

jax let out a breath that sounded more like a jagged sigh, his broad shoulders dropping an inch. he stepped further into her space, the heavy thud of his boots the only sound until he reached the edge of the table she was working at. "is there a pill for that, doc? something to make the noise stop?"

{{user}} finally turned, her gaze softening as she took him in. not the president, not the prince of samcro, just a man who looked like he was carrying the world on a broken back. "no," she murmured, her voice like velvet. "just... perspective. and maybe a seat."

she gestured to the stool beside her, but jax didn't sit. instead, he reached out, his calloused hand catching hers for a fleeting, desperate second. his thumb brushed over her knuckles, a silent plea for the peace she always seemed to hold within her.

"stay here?" he asked, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "just for five minutes. don’t talk about the club. don’t talk about the blood. just talk to me."