Teresa checked her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. The black dress was elegant, covered her shoulder to knee, and the only thing she had that was suitable for a funeral. She hadn't been to one since the last of her grandparents passed away when she was eighteen, and that was almost eight years ago.

She was incredibly nervous, and it wasn't just that she was still relatively new to funerals. She was headed to a place she'd never been, and a place she'd never thought she'd be caught dead in.

She checked her hair one last time in the small mirror in her foyer before opening her front door. She caught the young man on the other side by surprise. Ethan had his hand raised, about to knock, and her sudden movement caught him by surprise and he jumped as much as she did.

"Ethan!" she gasped, hand to her chest. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I came by … to talk. Are you going out?"

Teresa nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm going to a funeral. My boss's … boyfriend died."

Ethan nodded. "Yeah, we heard about that. Is she okay?"

Teresa shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen her since the day it happened. I want to go to be there for her though."

Ethan let his worry show. "You sure you want to go there? You know where it is, right?"

She bristled at that. She was leaving, wasn't she? Did he think she'd head out, driving around, hoping to find a funeral to crash?

"Of course I know where it is, Ethan," she said, exasperated. "Did you come here for a reason?"

"I just hoped to … talk. But you're busy. I'll come by another time."

Teresa nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Sure. That would be fine."

He nodded, gave a hopeful smile, then wandered down her hallway to the exit. She closed the door, a weird move but she let him leave the building first. She'd liked him, wanted to date him, at first anyway. As the weeks had gone by he was frustratingly … a gentleman. One night they'd been kissing heavily on her couch, but then he suddenly got up, excusing himself with an early morning meeting as his reason to bolt.

Teresa hated to admit it, but she wished he would just make the first move already. She never would; she was always too reserved, but if she was giving into someone else's coercion it seemed less … naughty somehow. But he was taking far too long to make up his mind.

When she'd asked him if there was anything wrong with her, asking him why he didn't seem attracted to her, if there was anything wrong with her, he'd told her there was. He hadn't thought she was that kind of woman. Then he hadn't called for weeks, and she hadn't seen him. Until just now.

Teresa told herself he wasn't right for her. For all his outward perfection, it turned out he was a prudish asshole. And for her to see someone as a prude it had to be a whole new level of prude.

Working for a couples' therapist had really loosened her up, apparently.

Teresa waited five minutes, then made her way down the apartment corridor to the stairwell and out into the parking lot. She climbed behind the wheel of her '97 Corolla, asking herself if she was crazy for about the fifteenth time that day.

She had no business walking into the hang-out of some motorcycle gang. But for Doctor Turner she would go, and for her alone. It had nothing to do with the fact that the doctor's friend, that gruff-sounding Scottish one, had called to tell her when and where the funeral was. He even had the gall to tell her to be there, not giving her the option to say no.

"She'll want to have friends there, and you're the only one she's got. So you'll be there." Teresa had actually pulled away from the phone and stared at the handset, wondering if she'd heard right.

Teresa would have gone anyway. While the deceased was mostly a stranger to her, she knew funerals were for those left behind, not the life they were bidding farewell to. For reasons that Teresa couldn't understand her boss was very fond of this man, so she started the car and pointed it to the one garage in town she'd never trust with her auto repairs.

She parked on the street, not wanting to pull right into the lot in case family was parking closer to the building. Wasn't that usually how it worked? The closer spots were reserved for immediate family? She had no idea. She decided she'd just walk.

At the gates she paused, unsure what to do next. The lot was packed with people milling about, most of the room taken up by rows and rows of motorcycles. She had no idea there were this many people involved with that gang. It increased her discomfort.

She pulled at the skirt of her dress, wondering if she shouldn't go back to the car and just drive home. No one was dressed up. They were all in jeans or terribly shorts skirts. She tried to ignore the stares from the women that hung around in clumps; they all had the appearance of being amused by her. It didn't help her nerves.

Just go home, she told herself. Find Valerie, give your condolences and go home.

She started following the flow of traffic towards the building at the far end of the yard that had the frightening Sons of Anarchy banner on it. She could feel her stomach clench the closer she got, and when she heard someone say her name she turned, the relief instant that she had an excuse to delay actually entering the building.

She squinted into the sunny throng of people, trying to figure out who here possibly knew her name.

"It's Teresa, right?"

She blinked a couple times, then commanded her voice to cooperate. "Umm, yes. Hi."

She knew this man, this member of the Sons of Anarchy. He'd been to Valerie's office before, and she'd seen him once in her boss's home as well. She had no idea what his real name was, but he was introduced to her as Juice. As the sight of him she felt a weird flutter in her chest, but she tamped it down. He wasn't smiley today; he looked appropriately upset. But he offered her a head nod and a friendly enough smile so she grabbed it like a life line.

"Juice, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad you came. Val's already inside. I don't know if I can get you in to see her. She's … she's pretty upset."

"Oh no. How … how did it happen?"

He looked uncomfortable, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other before scanning the crowd around them. "Can't really talk about it. But … she was there."

Teresa knew her mouth dropped open. "She was? Oh God."

He nodded, understanding her change in concern. "Yeah. She got to say goodbye though."

Teresa felt the prickle in her nose. "Well, that's something I suppose. Where should I go?"

"Follow me. I can get you in the clubhouse, maybe we can snag her on the way out. The service is starting right away. Come on. Grab my hand. I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

He snagged her wrist more than her hand, but she let herself be led into the dim interior of the "clubhouse." Her nose wrinkled immediately – it stunk of stale beer and other terrible odours she couldn't quite place. She ignored the thrill of the warm hand encircling her wrist for the most part; it was terribly inappropriate given where they were.

Juice found her a spot at the bar, making sure she got onto the stool with her dignity intact. The heels and skirt offered less help, but he slid next to her, leaning on the polished wood. "Hope this is okay. I'll stick with you."

She was surprised. "No, no. I'll be fine. Thank you, though."

Juice leaned over, closer to her ear, and she could smell the aftershave on him as well as the leather vest he wore. "No offense Teresa, but I think some of the other people around here might make you uncomfortable. It may be a funeral, but you're still a chick and if you're on your own you're fair game."

She leaned back and blinked at him in surprised. "Are you serious?"

He had to smile at that and she felt the effect of it across her skin. It was wide, bright, and brought out his dimples. She swallowed, wondering when she'd become such a weirdo that she'd check out a man at a funeral.

"Sometimes when someone you know dies it makes people want to … live a little," he left his explanation at that, and she tore her eyes away from his adorable face to scan the rest of the room. The thought of any of these unwashed oafs so much as thinking that way about her made her squirm.

When the room fell silent she knew a service of some kind had started. Mostly it was raised voices from a separate room where the doors were flung wide open, and she heard a few stories about the deceased she could have lived without hearing. She was offered a shot glass of whiskey, which she declined before Juice tilted his head, letting her know that was a faux pas. She took it, cringing as the smell hit her nose.

"To Tig!" someone bellowed. The entire room echoed it back and dozens of people downed their shot in one motion. She got hers halfway down and set the glass back on the bar. The guy on the other side of her grabbed it. She watched, open-mouthed, as he drank from the same glass as she just had.

"Can't waste good booze, sweetheart," the guy mumbled, leaning close enough she could smell it on him. "That would have really pissed Tig off."

She leaned away just as the entire room got to their feet. She copied, not knowing what the hell was coming next. Juice squeezed her elbow. "I'll be right back. Stay right here, okay?"

She nodded, ridiculously grateful to have him taking care of her. He nodded once then headed into the back room, where she could see more SAMCRO vests and the casket. She swallowed, trying to bring back to her mind the man that was now lying inside.

Alexander Trager had terrified her. Now that she thought back on it, she was pretty sure he'd done it on purpose. He had a way of sizing a person up that was incredibly unnerving. She'd never known a person that was so comfortable just staring. One moment you thought he was going to tear your clothes off, the next moment you suspected the voices were telling him to strangle you.

When Valerie had ended his treatments Teresa had been so relieved. And when her boss had confirmed she was seeing this psychopath Teresa had almost fallen over. Valerie had been a lot like her, so she thought. Well dressed, put together and organized. Friendly but not overly so.

Dating someone like that.

Teresa had taken to seeing her boss in a whole new light, and she'd started to suspect she didn't have the woman as neatly pegged as she thought. When the shooting had happened in her home and Valerie had been in the hospital with a bullet wound Teresa had to see Trager in a different way as well.

She'd never forget passing through the double doors, carrying a large daisy-filled bouquet, stopping outside of Valerie's room at the sight of the man, dressed nearly all in black, that black leather Grim Reaper vest sucking all the light out of the hallway. She'd wanted to turn around and run, but he'd pinned her in place with his cold blue stare and she'd stayed put.

Teresa couldn't say why she'd held her ground as he approached. It was likely the worry; it etched the lines on his face even deeper, and she had felt a lump rise in her throat because of it. He cared for her friend, it couldn't be more obvious. She wasn't an experiment for him, nor was he a walk on the wild side for Valerie. They meant something to each other.

Trager had thanked her for coming, telling her no one was being allowed in to see her yet.

Teresa had been disappointed, staring down at the flowers and wondering when she should come back. He'd held out hands heavy with silver rings that shook slightly.

"I'll make sure she gets those, don't worry," he'd muttered, and she'd handed them over because he seemed to want something to hold onto. "And thanks for coming, Teresa."

He'd used her name, instead of calling her Blondie. And his voice had been entirely different. He spoke like a normal person. He was capable of more than just being really, really scary.

It didn't make her want to invite him over for dinner, but it gave her just enough evidence to pause before judging people. Most of the time.

She caught sight of Valerie then, being led through the room by the Scottish Son who'd been at the house when Valerie got shot. He had a hand around her waist tight, and Teresa felt her eyes tingle with tears. He was clearly holding her up. And Valerie herself looked destroyed by all these recent events.

She was pale, drawn. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and it was the first time Teresa could remember seeing her without modest make-up and her brown-red hair done. It was left to hang around her face in layers, not touched since a shower that morning was Teresa's guess. Her friend looked beyond ruined right then. Teresa felt her heart break for her.

She did tear up, covering her mouth with her hand, the other clutching the pendant on her necklace at her chest. It hadn't seemed like a raw wound until Teresa saw Valerie in the flesh. She tried to move through the crowd to get to her, but she couldn't get anywhere close until they were nearly out the doors. Valerie turned her head suddenly, and Teresa stopped, knowing she'd seen her.

Valerie stared at her, and Teresa nodded, letting her know she was here should the woman need anything. At least, she hoped the nod conveyed all that.

Valerie's eyes were bland and vacant. Usually they were green and lively with a smile all their own. Not anymore. They were flat.

Teresa choked on a sob. She'd really loved him, Teresa realized. She'd been completely in love with him.

All the more tragic when Teresa remembered the man's face at the hospital again, worried sick about Valerie to the point where his stone-cold nerves were shot and his hands were shaking.

Her friend turned from her, no expression on her face. The Scottish man with the terrifying facial scars paused next to her. Teresa caught his eye and he raised his chin to acknowledge she was there. Had she ever actually been told his name? She didn't think so. He had a death grip on Valerie. She really wasn't walking on her own willpower.

Teresa felt the tears fall, and the Scott went back to the business of escorting his ward from the building. Then she had to scurry out of the way, the Sons of Anarchy bearing down on her, carrying the casket out of the clubhouse. They pallbearers all had tears in their eyes. Teresa had to turn away, not wanting to see these hardened criminal-types crying. She didn't know what she'd been expecting from this funeral, but she was ashamed to admit the outpouring of emotion was a complete surprise.

Her stool at the bar was still empty. She climbed back onto it, wiping her eyes away and getting herself under control.

Some of the women had been left behind in the clubhouse, and Teresa tried not to eavesdrop but she couldn't. They looked trashy and the more they spoke the more she realized they were trashy. Especially a cluster at the end of the bar, standing on high hells, fluffing their hair and reapplying lipstick. They were the kind of women Teresa truly felt sorry for.

"All for that little piece of white-bread pussy, from what I hear."

"I don't even see what's so special about her."

"Likely her magical vagina."

"I don't know why you're all so depressed. That guy freaked me out. He was into some sick shit."

"Oh please. You were always the first raising your hand when he was scanning the room."

"Bitch."

"I don't see what's so special about her is all."

"And now Chibs is panting after that, too. Give me a break."

"Hey!" The voice behind the bar was loud and Teresa jumped. A man in a vest had been pouring himself a drink and he'd heard the girl talk going on. Teresa tried her best to look apart from it.

One of the women had jumped as much as Teresa had, then giggled because of it and leaned over the bar towards this huge, scary-looking biker. Teresa wanted to crawl under her chair at the sight of him but apparently he was just what this kind of woman liked.

"What's up, Pistol? You ready to draw?"

He pointed at her over the slab of oak between them. "That pussy, as you put it, is Tig's old lady. Show some fucking respect."

Teresa was stunned to hear this ape defending Valerie. It made her evaluate him better. Long shaggy hair, wide shoulders, dark brown eyes and an unkempt beard. Scary-looking but still …

The woman scoffed at his declaration. "She doesn't have a crow on her."

"Another week and she would have. You see this black eye fading away? This broken nose? Tig did that to me for pushing up on that piece of ass."

Another one of the women with hair so red it was never found in nature laughed at that. "I heard Tig's old lady broke your nose."

The redhead got a warning look, which made her drop her gaze to her feet. Pistol kept his voice cold and calm. "She sure as shit was his old lady. You learn your place before you get hurt, honey." He looked away from his manners lesson to catch Teresa staring. His face went from pissed to pleasant in a wink. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Teresa looked around, confirming he was addressing her. "Nothing. I'm fine. T-thank you anyway."

Now everyone was staring at her. She got up, heading for the door without another word. When Juice returned she almost wept with relief. There must have been panic on her face because he immediately frowned, checking out the assembled company before asking, "Are you okay?

She nodded. "I'm fine. I just think I should leave."

Juice nodded, offering her a half-hearted smile. "Thanks for coming, Teresa. She's out of it right now, but I know Valerie appreciates it."

Teresa felt the tears again. "I didn't know," she gasped. "I didn't know they were so in love."

Poor Juice looked completely lost as she broke down. He rubbed her arm slightly, saying softly "It's okay, Teresa. He didn't show a lot to us either, and there was only so much she could say to anyone else. Don't feel bad." She wiped at her eyes, nodding. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."

Teresa felt better out in the fresh air, and once they stood by the curb she felt herself. She'd never felt more out of place than she had inside that building. She was able to breathe again.

Juice was smiling at her like he could sense her relief. "Well, we'll be seeing you around, Teresa."

She nodded, returning the smile and unlocking the door. Cute as he was she wanted no part of that world. "We'll see," was her only reply.

This story has been moved to the Freak Circle Press Blog: fan-fiction/c-d-breadnerfuzzypeaches1/