The second Tig stepped into the bedroom, Chibs burst out laughing, choking on his beer and staining the quilts with dark liquid.

Tig wanted to kill the Scotsman right then and there.

"Fuck you, Chibs."

"What, ye wanna do that now? Ain't yer ass gonna hurt?"

Tig glared at him, and then turned on his heels and strode to the door with his legs further apart than usual, wincing every time he moved.

"Aw, Tiggy, don't be such a spoiled sport!" Chibs managed through his chuckles as he reached for Tig. He wrapped his fingers firmly around Tig's wrist, withstanding the rough tug and Tig's hiss, and pulled him down onto the bed before him. "Christ, what the hell happened to ye?" Chibs blinked in confusion when Tig let out a yelp of pain, doubling over on his side, hand clutching his backside.

"I got bit by a fucking Doberman. I thought Juice told you already."

"Well, all the lad said was that ye kids got into some kinda 'complication.' Never said nothin' 'bout some Doby."

Tig scoffed, gritting his teeth as he slipped a hand into his trousers and prodded the thick piece of cotton taped to the right half of his ass. "Stupid little shit drugged the dog with crystal. Can you believe it?" He rolled around slowly so that he was lying on his stomach and stretched his arms across the quilts. "Fucking guy needs a goddamn brick to the head. You need to teach him a thing or two 'bout crank sometime. And I gotta remind Clay not to set me up with that asshole. Who knows, maybe I'll have my dick bit off the next time."

"Why'd ye let 'em drug the dog in the first place, eh?" Chibs quirked an eyebrow, smoothing Tig's unruly hair back from his forehead, an affectionate gleam in his eyes. "You should've known better than to let the lad do it."

"How the hell was I supposed to know how stupid the shithead could be?" Tig raised his voice a notch, irritation catching up fast with him and breaking through that icy exterior. "He should know how to do it, bein' in SOA and all. It's so fucking simple. All you got to d-"

"Shut up, Tig." Chibs pinched his cheek playfully, earning another piercing blue glare. "Leave ye alone and go up north for a while and this is what happens. Shouldn't have trusted ye to take care o' yerself. Ye don't give a shit 'bout yerself even if ye did try."

Tig eyed him. "You sayin' it's a bad thing?"

"Nah." Chibs lay down on his stomach beside him, resting his chin on his forearms. "That's what we're supposed to do, init? Put ourselves last and the club first. We give our lives for the club, nothin' else. That's what we do. We can't change that."

"Right," said Tig after a moment. "The club's our first priority." He winced as another jolt of pain shot through him, wracking his nerves. "But…I really don't get how havin' my ass bit by some retarded Doberman has anythin' to do with that."

"I don't either." Chibs let slip a chuckle, took a sip of beer and handed the bottle over to Tig.

"That's retarded," Tig muttered under his breath and drained nearly half the bottle in one go. The alcohol surged through him, warming his insides and combating the pain. Feigning innocence, he tucked the bottle to his chest and buried his face in the quilts. It wasn't Chibs who was hurt; Tig needed all the booze he could get. "Then the club must be proud of me, sacrificin' my ass like that." He scoffed, sarcasm thick in his tone, looking up when he felt Chibs run his fingers through his hair. "What?"

Chibs grinned. "It's just yer ass, but I'm still proud of you, Tiggy. Sure gave the Doby somethin' nice to chew on."