The day was busy, stressful. Jax's mysterious father had managed to get a truck full of laboratory supplies to them, but the truck was parked outside the old warehouse, much to Adze discontent. He had set up lookouts along the way with his homeless brigade, but he didn't like all the commotion around the warehouse they had so far kept hidden away. It was in an almost derelict part of town, but there were still enough people around to get anxious, or nosey.

The driver was helping them unload, Jax's father had assured her of this guys' total loyalty. Her fathers' say-so was good enough for Jax, but, despite Jax's' frown of irritation Adze wouldn't let him actually enter the building. He felt it was bad enough he was here at all. He looked sideways at the guy, who was dark. He had dark hair and eyes, with a hawkish nose.

Jax trusted her father, Adze didn't really know why, just because people were related didn't necessarily mean they had your best interest at heart. His mind flashed back to waking up as a young man and finding his own shiftless dad going through the pockets of the jeans he'd left on the floor. Then he remembered his poor hopeless mother, who barely recognised him, living in a haze from one hit to the next.

'But,' thought Adze, 'that's my life, Jax's experience was clearly something else. Family is clearly her weak point.' It made him a little, well, a little something, he wasn't much for emotions and certainly not into analysing them, it just wasn't right, he was there for her day in and day out, her father gets in touch after years of silence, and,
"Damn, " he said to himself, using the 'N' word only he could address himself with, "you jealous."
"Are you going to take this, or are you just going to stand there muttering to yourself?" He'd forgotten where he was for a moment. Was he slipping? Jax was in the back of the truck waiting for him to grab the end of a work table.

"I be here girl, tired is all." He glanced at her, but was pretty sure his conversation with himself had just been a mumble. And, by God, he was tired. He was always tired one way or the other, tired body, tired mind, no, it was his very soul that was tired. His Grandma would have had him going back to church in a second. He missed her, his one bright spot growing up, dead and gone, shot in her own street, retaliation against him and his gang.

"Adze?" Asked Jax. His fingers were clenched around the desk legs, his knuckles pale with tension.

"Sorry," he answered and started to move. Jax kept glancing his way, finally he told her, "juts thinkin bout shit, don't worry."

"Tell me later, okay?" She asked, with concern.

"Sure," he answered, knowing full well he wouldn't.