This story begins almost exactly two years after the end of "Hidden."

Some important things to note: The story's going to be another collaboration with Anfield, and will run concurrently with hers, much like "Hidden" and "The End of the Beginning" did. Since it's two years later, officially the story is AU, and went off-canon after the end of season one. What this means is that the events of season two (Abel's kidnapping, Half-Sack's death) never happened, while other things did, which will be revealed as time goes on. For now, I'll say that Half-Sack is still alive and has been patched in, and Clay is hanging on and still President... for now.

There's a possibility we may fill in the intervening time with some one-shots, so if there's anything you missed or wanted to know, put it in the feedback (yummy, delicious feedback) and I'll try to clear up as much as I can.

Chapter One

Gemma picked her way around the discarded bottles, ashtrays, condom wrappers, clothing and general filth that littered Tig's dorm room. Much as she felt free to come and go as she pleased throughout this place, she'd never been in here before. Given the passed-out scene in front of her in his bed, she'd have been a lot happier not to have been in here now.

She folded her arms, standing as far away from the bed as she could comfortably get and still be sure of his hearing her, and shook her head slightly in disapproval. "Tig."

He didn't move, and neither did the redhead with the chain around her neck who was lying half underneath him. Gemma debated going back into the kitchen for a pitcher of ice water. Instead, she reached out a freshly-manicured hand, leaned over, and prodded Tig's shoulder. "Tigger. Wake the fuck up."

Nothing.

Given the way he'd been about all this when she tried to bring it up before, she had a suspicion he could feign unconsciousness until the coroner came. All told, the girl would probably be a better bet. Gemma leaned forward and followed the trail of the chain Tig had looped around her neck, realizing she'd better wake the girl up slowly—its other end was secured to the leg of the bed in such a way that if she tried to raise her head off the mattress, it would start to tighten around her neck. In spite of herself, Gemma could visualize exactly how it would work, Tig behind her with the girl on her knees, hips raised high for him but head down. God, I'd give anything not to be in here right now, she thought. And now I'm trying to figure out how to get this sweetbutt up and out without strangling her to death. Her expression, when she looked at Tig, generally contained both affection and exasperation, but lately the latter had been winning out over the former.

Gemma took a closer look at the girl, running through the tremendous memory banks of her mental names-and-faces file. Luckily, there hadn't been too many redheads around lately. This was too young to be Sarah. What-the-hell-was-her-name-Lily-or-Lucy had bright cherry-red Manic Panic hair, and this girl was natural. Covered in freckles, too. Shit, she realized. That's the one Sack's been hittin'. Guy can't seem to catch a break. She remembered Tig's unbelievable combativeness the night before—he'd been in everyone's face, knocking back shots and looking for trouble. This Ashley—no, that wasn't it—well, this girl, had obviously fulfilled the purpose of both getting him off, and pissing someone off. What the hell was her—That's right, she thought, Audrey. Damn it all to hell, she actually liked this girl.

Gemma stomped off, returning in a few minutes with a set of bolt cutters. She got down on one knee next to the bed. "Audrey, hon," she said in her regular tone, "you're not gonna want to move for a minute here."

The chain separated with an audible -chunk- as the redhead opened her eyes, looking confused. "Gemm—oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." The girl looked behind her, and seemed to be trying to squirm out from underneath Tig's arm and leg that had been thrown across her. Still "asleep," he rolled over onto his back, pulling the sheet entirely off of her. Audrey now looked both thrilled to be released and horrified at being in this position in front of Gemma, who took some pity on her and handed the girl a blanket that had fallen to the floor. As Audrey sat up and wrapped it around herself, Gemma could see that the girl was trying to put together the events of the night before and figure out how the hell she'd ended up here. It was a look Gemma recognized, but it pissed her off nonetheless, not at the girl, but at Tig. Enough women fallin' all over him all the time, she thought, and still he had to go for this one, who was probably minding her own business until he ran off Sack and started getting her drunk.

"Tig, wake the fuck up," she snarled. There was absolutely no way he'd slept through all of that, and this performance was getting tired. She wasn't actually his mother, and she didn't feel much like being ignored, that morning in particular. "I'm serious."

He didn't move. That did it.

Before the girl Audrey's horrified eyes, Gemma snatched the Glock up from the nightstand table and clicked the safety off, pointing the gun straight at Tig. It wasn't a sound his conditioned reflexes could ignore, and his eyes snapped open and he quickly pulled himself half-up onto one elbow. "Hey honey," he said in a perfectly friendly tone to Audrey, then turned his eyes on Gemma. "What the fuck, Gem?"

Gemma kept the gun on him, an irritated smile twisting her lip. "Time to get up, Tigger." She turned and spoke to the girl. "You want to pull yourself together, grab some coffee, take a shower, feel free. Sack's out on a job. You want to come back here, you talk to me about it first, OK?"

Audrey nodded, pulling the blanket a little more closely around herself.

Gemma smiled. "All right then, Audrey, I think you should go now. Tig's got a big day."

Tig's eyes went completely blank, and despite herself, Gemma felt a chill. Too bad—she was going to do the right thing here, whether he wanted to give her his Killer Face or not. She lowered the gun and looked at Audrey. "His wife," she explained, "is gettin' out of prison."

-0-

He was doing his best to ignore everyone, but they were making it hard. He'd showered and dressed slowly, hoping they'd have gotten sick of waiting for him, but by the time he came out into the clubhouse, almost everyone was there. Clay was leaning on the bar, with Gemma refilling a glass for him, while Bobby was pulling some crumb-cake that didn't look half-bad out of a bakery bag. The others were sitting around on the couches trying to act like they just happened to be there, Juice acting like he'd just come by to see what might be on TV. Jax and V were next to each other, her denim-clad leg draped over one of his and his hand possessively around her waist. Tig snorted—looked like those two were on again.

Clay held up a set of keys. "Don't know that she'll have much with her," he said, "but I figured you might want to take a car when you go to pick up Aisha." He set the keys down in front of Tig. "You're runnin' a bit late," he said with a warning tone in his voice.

Tig sloshed some vodka into his orange juice glass. Clay was going to make this difficult? Fuck it. I'm done being diplomatic, he thought, knowing that "diplomatic" hardly described his reaction to anything Aisha-related over the past couple of years. "The fuck I'm going to pick up that gash," he said slowly and deliberately, then drained his glass and poured another, this time without the orange juice.

To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure why Clay had taken it upon himself to take this much proprietary interest in the fucking situation. There had been a minor shit-storm when Stahl had dropped the bomb that he was married, but Clay had cut it short by telling everyone to shut the fuck up about it, they'd had to keep Aisha from testifying and it had only made sense for Tig to do what he had. Tig's momentary sense of relief had evaporated, though, when Clay had added, in the tone of a pronouncement, "so that girl's Sam Crow family now. She's in there doing time for him, and when she gets out, we're gonna be there for her."

And now, Clay's version of being "there for her" seemed to mean acting like Tig was supposed to have something to do with her return, not to mention having the new prospect clear out a room for her in the clubhouse and Gemma acting like it was her fucking daughter getting out today. Were they just trying to break his balls?

"Call Hap and have him do it," he said with a sneer.

"Can you not start that shit again?" V snapped impatiently. "It got boring a while ago." In two years, Tig reflected, Jax had still not been able to do anything about V's fucking mouth.

Clay rolled his eyes. "Hap's in Tacoma," he said. "Precisely so you can't pull this sick handing-her-over bullshit you've convinced yourself of. It's on you."

Tig narrowed his eyes and smiled a little. "I ain't picking her up," he said softly.

Gemma threw her hands up. "Fine," she said. "I'll pick her up."

"You stay out of this," Clay said fiercely to her. "I've told you. I don't want you getting in the middle of what's between them."

Tig slammed down his glass. "Nothing between me and that little bitch to get in the middle of." With a sense of satisfaction, he turned his back on their expectant faces and walked out.

Everyone was silent for a moment. Gemma looked at Clay. "I did tell her someone would be coming for her," she said almost apologetically.

Bobby clapped a hand down on Juice's shoulder. "We'll get her," he said. Bobby wasn't taking sides, but he remembered the party they'd had for him the last time he got out, the cheers and congratulations and the sense that he was back home. She wouldn't be getting any of that, and Christ knows what Tig was planning to pull on her when she got back to the clubhouse, but he could make damn sure she wasn't standing at some bus depot by herself. He snatched up the keys Clay had set on the bar, and Juice followed him outside.

-0-

Juice's first thought was that Aisha looked exactly the same, and then that she looked completely different. The reality, of course, lay somewhere in the middle. She was two years older, but at her age, the two years had just shaved off a bit of the disconcerting childish look she'd had, and made her that much more attractive. He hair had gotten longer, he could see immediately, and she wore it down, the dark curls reaching almost to her waist. They were late picking her up—Tig's antics had delayed them and then traffic had been all bitched up—but she didn't seen edgy at all as they drove up. She sat calmly on a bench, leaning back, her head tilted back and her arms resting along the back of the bench. It was a surprisingly un-girlish posture, without a trace of nervousness. In fact, it kind of made Juice think of V.

There'd been some talk of all of them visiting her. It even seemed like it was probably the right thing to do—go down in a group, make a show, let her know the charter appreciated what she'd done. Surprisingly, it had been Gemma who had vetoed the plan, even though Gemma had probably spent the most time of any of them checking on Aisha and making sure she had everything she needed, apparently having gotten over how much the girl had worked her nerves when she'd actually been around. Gemma had been completely against any idea of them all going down there, sticking to her guns even against Clay and Jax combined, who'd both seen it as some sort of point of MC honor. Gemma's position hadn't made any sense to Juice either, until Gemma finally broke down and explained when Jax had exploded and asked her if she was just trying not to piss off Tig. "This isn't about him," she'd said in a disgusted tone. "This is about, how's she gonna feel, you all walk into that visiting room, and his is the only cut she doesn't see?"

Everyone had been silent then, and the idea had gotten dropped. Juice knew Gemma had gone to see her a couple of times, V too. Surprisingly, Clay had made the trip at least once. But the rest of them had just let it be, so this was his first time seeing her since Happy had pulled her out of the clubhouse a minute after Tig hit the floor unconscious. He found himself wondering if he'd seem as different to her as she did to him, then figured that she probably didn't even remember him all that well. They hadn't exactly spent a lot of time together, and in the brief time she was at the clubhouse, she hadn't had eyes for anyone but Tig.

He was reflecting that she looked pretty cool, all things considered, and then they pulled up alongside her, and whatever carefully-cultivated facade of unconcern she was trying to sell crumbled as her her eyes flashed from the two of them to the empty backseat. When Juice jumped out and held the door open for her, he got a look at her face and wished he hadn't.

"Shotgun?" he asked.

She pulled herself together and smiled. "Sure," she said, and he remembered how soft her voice was and how she always sounded like she was about seven years old.

Driving back, she kept the window open and didn't talk much at first. Finally, she lit a cigarette, tilted her head back, took a long, slow drag and smiled over at them. "Nice of you guys to come," she said.

Bobby shrugged. "We were fightin' over who was gonna get to do it," he said, grinning at her. "I called it 'cause I wanted to see how you were gettin' on." He looked her over as best he could while driving. "You're pretty put together for someone just gettin' out," he said appreciatively.

Aisha giggled a bit. "Gemma. Seriously. Cam down here a week ago with clothes, said I couldn't come out looking like shit." She rolled her eyes a bit. "'Course, the only problem with that, is now I'm in the sort of thing Gemma would be wearing if she were me."

That explained it, Juice thought. He'd seemed to remember that back at the clubhouse she'd either worn these little hippie-girl dresses, or jeans and some shirt of Tig's. Now, she was in a pair of pale blue jeans that looked painted on and a sleeveless, clinging white shirt whose neckline draped dangerously low. High-heeled boots and a tight leather jacket, both in shiny dark-brown leather, completed her look. It was pure Gemma, and it was contributing as much as anything to the sense that this wasn't a little girl sitting here anymore.

Aisha took another long drag of her cigarette. Come to think of it, Juice didn't remember her smoking, either. "Gemma or not," he said, "I'd send any girl I was hittin' to Valley for a couple of years if I thought she'd come back looking as good as you do." It wasn't the sort of remark he'd have made to her... hell, to any girl... as recently as a year ago, but things had changed.

Aisha looked startled, and then Bobby have him a warning look and cleared his throat. "Guess you know Clay wants you staying with us," he said.

She nodded. "It's really nice of him. I don't really have any plans right now. I need to to see what..." her voice trailed off, and she looked out the window.

What Tig wants her to do, Juice completed the thought in his mind. He leaned forward. "We should probably let you know something-" he said. Bobby gave him another warning look, but he didn't really care—he didn't want Aisha walking in there blind. "Tig, he didn't take it too well when he found out what happened."

She nodded, her face unreadable.

He tried again. "I mean... he's pretty mad at you."

She nodded again. "I know. Hap warned me, last time he was down."

Bobby made a sound through his teeth. "He come down often?"

She shrugged. "Kinda, yeah. I mean... I'd guess probably when he's on the road anyway, you know?"

"Sure," Bobby said. "But that might be somethin' you don't want to mention, if you know what I mean."

She was jolted out of her trance, and turned around to Bobby with an incredulous look. "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me," she said. "Still?"

Bobby nodded. "Afraid so."

"If anything, he's worse about it," Juice said. "Guess it just got stuck in his head and he hasn't been able to move past it."

She closed her eyes. "Shit," she said. "Yeah, Hap didn't tell me that part. Hap's not there, is he? There's not going to be some..." she shuddered, seeming unable to even come up with a noun for what she might be asking about.

"Relax, he's in Tacoma," Bobby said. "Seemed like it might be a good idea for you and Tig to have a chance to deal with each other one on one for a while. Things have been quiet lately."

They wouldn't be for long, Juice thought. Aisha might have come out of prison entirely willing to let Tig dictate the rest of her life—hell, Juice still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that she was married to the man—but he knew that Tig was going to be venting some serious hate, and Aisha seemed different enough from the pliant little girl of a couple of years ago that it might not go just like Tig was thinking. It might not, he reflected, be something he wanted to be around for.