The Heart of a Broken Soul

Of Coffee and Mugs

Disclaimer: I don't own SOA, no way, no how. I'm a poor soul, please don't sue. I own my OC's, and the plot, which has been loosely inspired by letmefallalseep's 'Ridin' Through This World, All Alone'. Read her stories, yay?

Warnings: This is SOA, not MLP. What do you expect? Violence, swearing. Lovin'. Will eventually be a Chibs/OC.

It was the slamming of the front door that woke Gabby. Not the hushed whispers of Bobby and Clay; not the screaming and bellowing of a man whose voice she didn't recognise. Just the simple slamming of the front door, at three in the morning, that told her not only was Bobby home, but there was someone with them.

"I don't give a shite!" the man was screaming. He didn't sound as angry as he did upset.

Gabby crawled out of bed, inched toward her bedroom door. She opened it an inch, then a bit further so that she could better see.

There was nothing unusual about strangers in the house. Nothing unusual about them being dragged in at all hours of the morning, either. But there was something different about this man. His face was torn between anguish and anger. Two relatively fresh cuts – stretching from his ear to his mouth – were on either side of his face, oozing blood and pus. He had some bruises, a swollen eye, but nothing as bad as the cuts. Clay and Bobby were half-restraining him, half holding him up. He was alive, obviously, but he had the look of someone who was only alive because they had no other choice. Gabby couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped her mouth.

Bobby heard it. His eyes found hers. "Go back to bed, Gabby," he commanded.

"But-"

"I said go!"

Gabby didn't dare disobey him. Lord knows he'd done so much for her over the past few years. The least she could do was listen. Which was exactly what she did. The commotion had died down a bit – they probably didn't want her to hear anything she shouldn't – but they were still talking, still struggling with the man. They took him to the spare room next to Gabby's, so she leaned up against the wall, pressing her ear to it.

"Filip, don't be an idiot. We took you in to take care of you, not to plan your funeral!" Bobby hissed. "We need to patch up you face before it gets infected."

There was some movement before Filip snapped, "leave it!"

"It's bad, Filip," Clay told him matter-of-factly. "Real bad."

"I don't give a shite about me face! Just leave me alone!"

It took Gabby a few moments to recognise the accent, but when she had, her curiosity was roused, and she strained to hear more. What was a Scotsman doing in Charming? Gabby knew that samcro had dealing with the Irish – sometimes she heard them talking about it when they thought she was asleep – but this man was Scottish. Had they expanded their business? Were they dealing with both the Irish and the Scottish now?

Gabby waited impatiently for them to talk some more, but there were heavy footsteps, the closing of a door, and nothing else was said. Sighing, Gabby slid down to the floor. She knew a fair bit about things she probably shouldn't, but she couldn't help her curiosity.

Her bedroom door creaked open, light spilling in. She panicked for a moment as Bobby's mass blotted out the light a second later. He was going to kill her.

"Hear anything interesting?" he asked.

Gabby dropped her gaze. "No. I was just curious!" It was a pathetic defence, but she could try.

"You're always curious." With a sigh, Bobby walked over and sat himself on Gabby's bed. He patted the space next to him. "Sit." Gabby obliged. "His name's Filip. Guess you know that, though."

"He's Scottish, isn't he?"

Bobby nodded. "He's gunna stay here for a few days, so I need you to look after him; there's a lot going on with the club, and you're still on term break."

"I can do that," Gabby promised, nodded her head furiously. "But..." she hesitated. "He's not... dangerous, is he? I mean, he seemed a bit sad..."

"He won't hurt you. He's gone through a rough time, so he'll probably be like that for a while, but he's a friend."

"Okay. I'll look after him."

Bobby smiled, pulling Gabby into a bone-crushing hug. "You're a good girl, Gab," he told her. "Get some sleep, okay?"

When Gabby woke, Bobby and Clay were gone. It was just her and Filip. Stretching, she made her way to the kitchen, poured two cups of coffee, more out of habit than anything else. She didn't even know if the Scotsman liked coffee. One was usually for Bobby, but since he was already gone and Gabby didn't want to waste the other, she found herself carrying it to the spare bedroom. She knocked lightly on the door.

No answer.

With a frown, Gabby pushed the door open and peered inside. The Scotsman was still there, still alive, still looking as though he had no choice in the matter. "I, uh, I made you some coffee."

Filip didn't move. "I don't want any fuckin' coffee."

Gabby ignored him, and placed it on the bedside table. She glanced at Filip, who sat there, staring at the carpet as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. His dark eyes were glazed over, and his wounds were still oozing. "I'll get something to clean you up," she told him. He ignored her.

As soon as she stepped out of the room, she heard a yell, an angry "jus' fuck off!" and a smash. Gabby closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and fetched some cotton bus and peroxide. She would not let him get to her. She promised Bobby she'd look after him, and that's exactly what she would do.

The mug was in shatters when she re-entered the bedroom. Wordlessly, she skirted around them, kneeling beside the Scotsman. He didn't say anything, so Gabby grabbed a cotton bud, bathed it in the peroxide, and moved to dab it on his face.

Filip's hand shot out and seized her wrist in a bone-crushing hold, startling her. She tried to yank her hand out of his grasp, but he wouldn't let go. "Don' touch it, it's fine," he told her.

Gabby could almost hear her bones cracking as she whimpered in pain. "You're hurting me," she told him as she struggled.

He didn't let go. "I don' need help," he said, releasing her.

They sat there for a minute, neither of them speaking, before Gabby finally moved. She bent over the floor, picking up the shards of mug, one by one, as though nothing had happened. "I'll leave the peroxide and cotton buds," she told him. "And I'll bring in some food later." She could almost hear his internal groan as she left the room, as she cradled the shards of mug in her hands, thinking of how her grandmother would be turning in her grave if she knew that one of her precious, antique mugs had just been shattered by an angry Scotsman.

Filip hadn't touched the peroxide or any of the cotton buds an hour later when Gabby bought in some food and water. It didn't seem as though he'd even moved. She placed the salad and cup on his bedside table and left.

At dinner, it still all remained untouched. With a sigh, Gabby replaced the salad with the roast. "You have to eat," she told him. "Or drink, at the very least."

And, as though she hadn't even spoke, he sat, staring into space, mouth firmly shut in a thin line. Gabby left him there, and went into the kitchen to dispose of the salad. When she'd finished washing the bowl, she heard the familiar roar of a motorbike. The engine cut off, and moment later Bobby strode in, his wild hair made worse by the helmet he'd just taken off.

"Ah, dinner," he mused, sitting himself at the table. Gabby joined him. "How is he?" Bobby jerked his head in the general direction of the rest of the house.

Gabby shrugged. "He'll get there," she said. She toyed around with one of her potatoes, poking and prodding it, a question hanging on the edge of her tongue like someone dangling off a cliff.

"What?" Bobby asked. "You want to ask something."

"Yeah."

"Ask away."

Gabby opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. "No, I shouldn't. It's none of my business."

Nodding, Bobby shovelled a forkful of peas into his mouth. "Probably not," he managed before swallowing the food, "but you're gunna ask anyway."

Gabby chuckled. He knew her too well. "What... what happened to him, Bobby?" she asked. "What was so bad that he doesn't even want to live?"

Bobby just nodded. "Yeah," he said, and they fell silent for a while as he lost himself in thought. "It's not really on me to tell you."

"Doesn't matter. Must've been pretty bad, though," Gabby commented.

"It was," Bobby said, cleaning off his plate. He scraped the bones into the bin. "Isn't that one of your grandmother's old mugs?"

"Hmm?" Gabby turned to Bobby, who was staring into the bin, frowning. "Oh, yeah, it is."

"What happened?" Bobby dumped his dishes in the sink.

Gabby hesitated. "I dropped it," she finally said. She waggled her fingers. "Butterfingers. Grams would turn in her grave if she knew."

"Well, I promise not to tell her," Bobby said with a wink. Gabby smiled. "Thanks for lookin' after him."

"It's no problem" Gabby told him.

The next morning, Gabby made sure to pick a mug with little to no sentimental value as she poured the coffee. Filip hadn't touched his dinner, and he'd barely drunk anything. He'd finally made progress on the cotton buds; Gabby had spent a good five minutes trying to find them all after he'd flung them around the room, and she'd taken the peroxide in fear that he'd drink it while she was sleeping.

She'd barely left the room when she heard the second mug shatter. She didn't pick it up, instead grabbed her bag, told him not to do anything stupid, and left the house. At this rate, they'd have no mugs left by the week's end. If the Scotsman lived that long.

Town was never really busy, and today was no exception. She made her way to the parlour, where Lucy was busy sweeping up hair. "Hey Luce," Gabby greeted.

Lucy smiled. "Gabby! I was wondering when you'd be around. Where have you been?"

"Nowhere."

"Evidently. What makes today so special?" Lucy asked.

"I need to buy some things," Gabby told her.

Before Lucy could answer, a harsh voice piped up. "What, parents?" Gabby and Lucy turned to see Jeremy, a boy from their school, sitting on a stool. He wheeled it over, sneering. "I didn't know they had a 'parents'r'us' in Charming."

Gabby dropped her head, falling silent, but Lucy fired up. "Piss off, Hart!"

"Watch it, I'm a paying customer," Jeremy retorted. He folded his arms, eying Gabby.

"Good, I'll give you a real close shave," Lucy snarled.

Gabby put a hand on Lucy's arm. She really didn't want to start anything. "Don't worry about it," she said, "just leave it."

"No!"

"You best be careful, Luce; orphanage is contagious."

"I'll make an orphan out of you, useless shit," Lucy snapped. She turned to her mom. "Can I go?" she asked.

Her mother scowled, oblivious to the commotion. "Manners," she warned.

"May I please leave?" Lucy whined. The parlour belonged to her mother, so she was employed by default, but she hated it.

"One hour, you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Lucy yelled, grabbing Gabby's arm and dragging her out the door. She was much happier once she was outside. "So, what are we shopping for?" she enthused.

"Nothing exciting," Gabby assured her. "Just some tea... oh, and mugs. Ours seem to keep... breaking."

Lucy raised a curious eyebrow, but didn't press the matter. "How are you with all that?" she asked, jerking her head back towards the parlour. "You know, Jeremy and... the rest of the school."

Gabby shrugged. "The same as always," she said. She'd never been one for socialisation, so throughout school, didn't have too many friends. When her parents had died though, the bullying started. How could an orphan afford to go through high school? What business did an orphan have passing any of the classes? Orphans were alone by default, so why did she deserve friends?

After a while, Gabby had learned to block them out, and she'd never told Bobby anything, but sometimes it was hard to cover up the truth when you turned up home covered in cut and bruises. So Gabby passed them off as one-offs. She'd gotten into a fight, said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Whether Bobby believed her or not, he didn't press the matter.

They made their way into the grocery store. "Where would the tea be?" Gabby asked.

"With the coffee," Lucy replied. "Obviously."

"Yeah, I guess. Come on." They made their way to the aisle. It didn't take them too long to find the tea; it seemed to continue on forever, and Gabby stared at it hopelessly. There were more varieties than she thought would ever be possible.

"So... which one?" Lucy asked.

Gabby blinked. There was Earl Grey, Darjeeling tea, breakfast tea, jasmine tea, herbal tea – which came in a thousand different flavours – and then there were another hundred brands on top of that. Infused lemon, berries, cinnamon... the list was endless. "Uh... maybe a breakfast tea," Gabby said.

"Well, there's English, Irish, Scottish, Ontario, Twinings, French, organic, another English..."

"Did you say Scottish?"

Lucy nodded. "Yup." She picked up a box and held it out. "Scottish Breakfast Tea," she enthused.

"Right. I'll go with this one. Now; mugs."

When Gabby entered Filip's room the next morning, she felt slightly more optimistic than she had the past two. She placed the mug on his bedside table. Filip glanced at it, and Gabby saw the slight raise of his eyebrow. The blue mug sat there innocently, gleaming, as the milky liquid in it steamed, a thin tendril of steam rising into the air.

"It's tea," Gabby informed him. She went to leave, but paused at the door. "Oh, and the mug's plastic, so, do your worst." With that, she left him, without even noticing the small twitch of the corners of his mouth as he fought to keep them from turning into a smile.