Jax always brings around your iron pills. He haves them almost everywhere, scattered in his bag, in the back of his motorcycle, a few tossed in some pockets of some of his jeans, around the clubhouse and so on. He knows how bad your iron deficiency can get, sometimes you assume a sick and pale completion, your head spins every time you get up or sit down, even when you walk too fast or do sudden movements, you get slow on everything. "Hey did you took your pills today?" Just as he asked you that you dropped down onto the floor passed out, his body moving by instinct and habit as he caught your head with one hand and carefully slid the other one under your back, immediately frowning, but trying to handle the situation with maturity and calm. "Fuck..."