Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm doing my annual rewatch of Sons of Anarchy and really had the itch to write something. I hope you guys like it. Obviously, I'm a bit of a review whore so let me know what you think! Enjoy!
Margaery was halfway through her shift when her ears were greeted by the sound of what seemed like near a dozen motorcycles pulling up. She glanced over to her friend and fellow waitress Sarah in confusion. Hal's was a small diner/truck stop/janky ass piece of shit about ten miles north of Stockton, and about 90% of traffic came between either six and ten am or five and nine pm with the usual customers including truckers stopping for a quick meal and the odd runaway looking for a cheap one. She couldn't think of any reason why such a large group, and of bikers no less, would bother coming here. Margaery briefly wondered if there was going to be any gang issues with which she would have to deal.
She shook her head, feeling her thick brown hair shake over her shoulders and prickle the back of her arms. Motorcycles did not mean a gang, and she knew she had no real basis for that assumption beyond Hollywood stereotypes. Truth be told, Margaery had only ever met one honest to God biker since moving to California and while a little gruff, he was a nice guy. It wasn't easy for her to think he was anything but sweet considering he made stops in to check on her with relative frequency. Considering how Happy and her had met, however, he probably thought she would fall down die if left on her own too long and didn't want that on his conscience. Then again, remembering the circumstances of their meeting…Margaery wasn't entirely sure he had a conscience.
"Margaery?" She looked back at Sarah knowing the other woman wanted to ask if Margaery knew them. She only shrugged her shoulders shoulders and started bussing an emptied table. As soon as the large group walked in, however, Margaery knew Sarah wouldn't want to deal with them. Not that she was overjoyed myself, but Sarah was older, and in the younger waitress' own opinion, much softer than she let on. Margaery hurried to her side and took the order pad from her hand with a smile.
"I got this," she assured her. Sarah nodded gratefully and rushed to seem busy behind the register. Margaery gave a small smile and made to smooth the skirt of her uniform as the unknown bikers paraded into the diner. Taking a deep breath, she headed over to the table and booths the group of Mexicans had commandeered, and saw several of them perk up at the sight of her. She tried to give her brightest smile while keeping her own anxiety in check and trying to ignore the low whistles and several pairs of eyes running up and down my body. Margaery had never considered the shapeless yellow uniform she was forced to wear particularly flattering, but now…well the men before her hardly seemed to mind.
"Hi there, we all doing okay today?" she asked cheerily, keeping her smile firmly in place as the men exchanged words in rapid Spanish. Margaery pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and tried not to seem like she was listening. She wasn't sure why she didn't want the men to know she spoke Spanish, but it seemed like the right move on her part. Margaery tried to keep her face from flushing at some of their comments, but she wasn't sure if she was successful, considering her pale features. She would have thought after six months of living in California a little bit of a tan would have appeared, but no. Curse her Scandinavian genetics!
Finally, one man, whose leather vest said Vice President on the front leaned forward. "We're doing well, Mama, and how are you?" Margaery scrunched face at the off-putting endearment, much to the amusement of the group. She had never really understood the appeal of calling someone you were attracted to a parent. The idea of referring to any of these men as her own father was enough to make Margaery taste vomit.
"I'm fine, thank you," she replied pulling out her notepad. She flipped her hair over her shoulder again and desperately wished she had a ponytail. Several of the men's' eyes followed the length and motion of her hair with interest, making Margaery slightly uncomfortable.
"Now what can I get everyone for lunch?" She hurried to get down each of the orders while engaging most everyone in some sort of conversation. The more she interacted with the group, the more at ease Margaery felt herself become. She had always loved meeting new people, even if they were a bit unsettling at first. Her parents had always bragged about how she could walk into a room of strangers one minute and leave with five best friends then next.
After realizing how long she had been standing there chatting, however, Margaery forced the group to excuse her so she could put in their orders. She did do her best though, to ignore the whistles that followed her. She may have enjoyed the conversation, but the more forward flirting was slightly disquieting.
Eventually, after each man had their food and their drinks were refilled, Margaery moved to stand behind the counter in her usual "nothing to do" spot. Flipping the pad over and beginning to doodle, she couldn't help but listen to the conversation happening only a few feet from her.
At first the group seemed content to talk about how several of the men apparently wanted to wrap their fists in her hair for a variety of reasons and how shitty one guy's bike was riding. After about ten minutes of this mindless chatter, however, the conversation turned quiet and took a drastic shift. As soon as she heard the man wearing the vest that said President on it say Los Ninos de Anarquia, her ears perked up.
Happy was a Son. He never talked about it, and Margaery never asked. But it would take a moron not to see the leather vest he wore. And like these Mexicans were clearly Mayans, Happy was clearly a Son. She found herself scribbling without purpose she I strained to hear what was being said. At one point, she looked down to see she had gone full scale Ring on her notepad, scribbling endless circles to form an ill made ring. She realized it would look stupid to just stand there without working, so she grabbed the coffee pot and strolled back over to the group. Margaery felt one hand brush against her thigh but steadfastly ignored it. "Anyone need more coffee?" she asked brightly. "Can I get anyone anything else?"
She heard a couple of the men laugh and then discuss in Spanish what they really wanted from her, but she kept her smiled firmly plastered to her face. "I'm sorry," she said with an apologetic look on her face. "What was that?" She bit her lip. The men chuckled and continued speaking in rapid Spanish before one man held up a hand to the others and patted Margaery's own.
"We're just saying what wonderful service you have here, Sweetheart," the President replied with a wink. His men laughed.
"Well, thank you very much. That's very kind of you," she answered with a friendly nod. Filling up the final coffee cup, Margaery hurried back to the counter and set down the pot. She hurried across the room toward Sarah, muttered something about using the restroom, and made her way to the back.
As soon as she was sure she was locked securely in the single use bathroom, Margaery fished her phone from her apron's pocket and bit her lip. She was sure it must have turned puffy by this time from how nervous she was.
Happy gave me his number, she reasoned. He said if I needed something to call.
She couldn't help but wonder if she should really be bothering the biker with this. Although, the Mayans were talking about the Sons. Happy would probably want to know. Releasing a sigh, Margaery dialed the never been used phone number and waited silently, hoping she wasn't being stupid by involving herself in something that clearly was not her business.