Disclaimer-I own many things, I don't own Sons of Anarchy, though.
"Take a few days, Happy." Tacoma's Sergeant at Arms, Bear, told him in the gravel parking lot of the old warehouse that served as Tacoma's clubhouse. "Disappear until the heat dies down."
"Ain't gonna be any heat, Bear, that was fucking perfect." Happy protested, rubbing a hand over his short cropped dark hair in agitation. He didn't want to leave town, he wanted to hole up in his club's home and drown himself in pussy and Jack Daniels.
"Doesn't matter how good you did, brother, get your ass out of Washington." Bear crossed his arms over his big barrel chest, and Happy knew he'd already lost the argument. "And not to another clubhouse, either, go down and see your mother or something."
"Got it." Happy answered, he knew he owed his ma a visit anyway, but he didn't like mixing his MC identity with his life back home and he was too high on completing the most serious task his club had ever set him to be able to settle back into being Hector. It was a long ride, though, and maybe by the end of the road he'd be chilled out again.
No Other Man Alive
Ashley opened the refrigerator, even though she knew what she'd find and sighed, there was half a bottle of ketchup, and some sliced bologna that she thought had probably been there for 6 months. She climbed up on the scarred counter to check the coffee can on top of the fridge, hoping that there was enough change in there to buy some actual food. Her dad had already hit it up, though, it was empty and she flung it across the little kitchen. The empty clang was pretty much how her stomach felt. Her parents hadn't been home in days, probably gone to their drug dealer's house and ran out of gas with no money to get back.
Swallowing her pride, she jumped down from the counter and headed next door, snatching up her backpack as she went. Ashley hated having to go to Miss Delia for help, but there wasn't really any choice. She stopped in her tracks on the driveway between the two tiny houses. Black and shiny, it was entirely out of place on the block, and there was only one person it could belong to. Ashley pulled the rubberband from her braid and shook her hair out, hoping that the brunette dye job she'd done on herself would make her look older.
"Come on in, honey!" Miss Delia called to her before she'd even had a chance to knock on the door. Pushing it open, Ashley could never help comparing the house she lived in to this actual home. It smelled like cinnamon pretty much all the time for no discernible reason and there were pictures everywhere. She was even in some of them, but mostly they were of Hector when he was younger. Her favorite was from when she was a baby, and Hector had a head full of dark curly hair, actually looking like he didn't hate holding her.
"Hector's home?" Ashley asked, a little breathlessly, and mentally berated herself for how eager she knew she must sound. She didn't actually know exactly what kind of girls Hector liked, but she was sure they were a lot cooler than she was.
"Yes." Delia smiled, her son was the absolute apple of her eye, no matter what he was up to. "Just got in a couple hours ago, I'm surprised you slept through his motorcycle."
"Me, too." Ashley admitted. The roar of the Harley was something that usually set her heart racing, no matter what hour it sounded. If he'd only just gotten in a little while ago, that meant he had probably ridden through the night and was sleeping.
"Come sit down, I'll make you some breakfast." Delia told her and Ashley smiled gratefully, because Miss Delia never made her ask.
"How long is he staying?" Ashley asked between bites, trying not to show exactly how hungry she really was.
"A couple of days." Delia hummed happily, and Ashley grinned because the last few times Hector had come into town, he'd only stayed a day at most. "Are you coming for dinner, dear? You know he'd love to see you."
Ashley didn't really think he cared whether he saw her or not, but the double attraction of home cooked food and Hector was far more than she could resist. "Sure."
No Other Man Alive
Happy woke up later than he meant to, closer to dinner than lunch. He didn't feel any more relaxed than he had when he'd stood in the parking lot with Bear. It was an itchy feeling, like knowing you were forgetting something, but not what it was. He hauled himself off of the bed he'd slept on as teenager and flicked the curtains aside to look outside. His Ma's car was gone, and he knew there would be a note downstairs letting him know that she went to the store to pick up something for dinner. The shitheap house next door seemed to be empty, but the girl should be coming home from school soon.
Not interested in examining his own motives, Happy pulled on jeans and his cut, lighting a smoke on his way down the stairs. He dropped his shades into place as soon as he stepped out onto the porch, his eyes definitely not up to facing down the SoCal sun. Porch sitting was practically an Olympic sport here on the block, and he still loved the voyeuristic aspect of it. He checked his phone, it was about the right time for Ashley to be showing up, so he angled his chair in the direction of the local high school and waited. Minutes ticked by, and unless shit had changed since he'd been in school, she was definitely later than she should be. He'd almost made up his mind to take a ride in that direction when he spotted her. She'd dyed her hair dark, which had thrown him off at first, and her head was down so her face was obscured. He didn't know why in the fuck she would have done that, her red hair was a real stand out. He narrowed his eyes when she looked up and smiled, seeing him on the porch. By looks of her, she'd been fighting.
"C'mere, kid." He called when she started to turn toward her own house. She never hesitated, just trudged up the steps toward him, dabbing the last dribbles of blood from her nose. "Scrapping again?"
"It's not my fault." She growled, dropping into the chair next to his, and he laughed at her vehemence.
"Sure it's not." He agreed, and grabbed her hand, her knuckles were puffy but she hadn't managed to rip any of them open. "Didja at least win?"
"No, but there were three of them." Ashley defended. "I held my own."
"Bet you did. Stay put, I'm gonna get something for your hands." He ordered her and went inside to dig around in the freezer for some frozen peas. He found two bags of them and grabbed a washrag, wetting it and wringing it out. On the porch, she silently submitted to him dropping a bag of peas on each hand. She rolled her eyes when he started washing her face off.
"I'm not a child, you know." She told him drily, and he snorted.
"Sure ya are, you're what? All of thirteen?" He teased, she was so easy to rile up.
"I'm fourteen, actually, asshole." She grumbled and this time he outright laughed at her. He ruffled her hair while she scowled at him, and sat back down.
"Don't grow up too fast, kid." He told her, and really got a good look at her. She really wasn't a kid anymore, starting to get curves in all kinds of places, and he made a mental note to tell his Ma to keep an eye on that shit. Too many girls in this neighborhood got their stupid asses knocked up in high school, and Ashley was too good for all that. After a while, he plucked the peas from her hands and ran his thumbs across her knuckles. They were a little bruised, but she didn't flinch so he let her be.
He watched her pull out a sketchbook from her bag, and some charcoal pencils that were a third of the size they'd started out being. It was one of the things he liked about her, she never forced him to talk, just found something to occupy herself. She'd been the same way before he'd gotten locked up, just lurked nearby and entertained herself, like a little shadow. He'd been such a goddamn punk as a teenager, too, he was sure she'd gotten more of an education than she should've.
"Where're your parents at?" He asked, pulling her attention back to him. She shrugged and started to close the book, but he stopped her with a hand across the open pages.
"Your guess is as good as mine." She said, handing the book across to him.
"You're getting pretty good." He observed, studying the drawing of his Harley. He flipped through the rest of her book, pausing whenever something caught his eye.
"Thanks." He looked over at her, and her whole face was lit up at the praise. He didn't ever want a fucking kid, but he still couldn't figure out how her parents could keep picking drugs over her. It was good that his Ma could watch out for her. He kept flipping through the book, thinking about how talented she was.
No Other Man Alive
The restless feeling only got worse through the evening. He'd gone out for a ride hoping that catching some wind would clear his head, but it didn't. It was after midnight when he'd pulled back in the driveway and killed the motor. He lit a smoke and sat his bike for a while, eyes wandering the neighborhood. He noticed that Ashley's parents still weren't home, but the light in their kitchen was on. He crept through the yard and looked in the window.
Ashley was sitting at the table, a stack of school books in front of her, but it was her sketchbook that was open. Her forehead was wrinkled in concentration, and there was a smudge of charcoal next to her mouth. Knowing it was a bad fucking idea, he went back to his Harley, pulling his tat kit and a bottle of Jack from the worn saddlebag. She only startled a little when he tapped on the window, but she got right up and unlocked the door, standing back to let him in.
"What're you doing up?" He asked her, sitting down in the seat she'd been in and looking at the portrait she'd been working on. "Who's that?"
"Just a guy." Ashley said, flipping the book closed, her cheeks burning.
"Do I need to go have a talk with this punk?" Happy asked, tapping the cover of the book.
"Oh my God, no." She groaned, exasperated, fetching him a glass. He nodded gratefully and tipped a generous amount of Jack in it. Ashley pushed her glass across the table at him and he laughed, but still poured a tiny bit in for her.
"Don't be stupid and get yourself in trouble." He said seriously, with a pointed look at the sketchbook she was still cradling.
"I'm serious, it's really nothing." She said, putting it aside. They were silent for a long time, and he was starting to question why he was there when she spoke again. "What's it like being in a motorcycle club?"
"It's pretty cool." He admitted. "Always a brother around to have your back."
"Sounds nice." Ashley said, a little wistful. She grinned impishly at him, then, and drank the whiskey in her glass neatly. "Ever do anything illegal for your club?"
"Sure." He laughed and kicked her ankle under the table, making her laugh. "How much do you want to know?"
"All of it." She shot back and he knew she was daring him.
"Not a chance, baby girl." He said, refilling his drink and ignoring her when she nudged her glass at him again.
He was starting to feel pleasantly mellowed out by his third drink. Ashley had continued to bug him about what his life was like now up in Tacoma, so he'd given in a little and told her some harmless stories. It was nice the way she hung on his every word, all trust and enthusiasm, completely different from the fake interest the passarounds feigned. She had opened the book again to a blank page, and was drawing a section of his cut, and the ink on his shoulder.
"Hey." He caught her attention. "You want to do something for me?" He asked, knowing this was probably a bad fucking idea, but the idea of marking his success as a hitman for his club was intoxicating.
"Of course, anything." She said, and he knew that she wasn't bullshitting him, Ashley'd do whatever he asked of her.
"I need some new ink, but I'm not sure what it should be." He told her, scooting his chair over next to hers. "It can't specifically be about the club, but it's still club related, you understand?"
"Sure, that makes sense, I think. What's the ink for?" She asked, and her eyes were so goddamn big in the dim light.
"Uh, making a record of something. And there'll be more, so it's gotta be something small." He told her, not wanting to give too much away with her looking at him so shrewdly. Her eyes were sharp though, and he thought that while she may not know exactly what it was for, she was probably on the right track.
"What about something with your motorcycle? A part, or the detailing?" She was thinking out loud, and he just let her run with it, her pencil was scratching away on the paper. He twirled a piece of her hair absentmindedly around his fingers, leaning over to watch the path her thoughts were taking. He knew she had it when she wrote out his initials and her head snapped up, refocusing on him, her face close to his. "You don't go by your real name anymore, do you?"
"Nope." He said, grinning at her. "They all call me Happy."
"With your initials and your-" She broke off and waved a hand, indicating his face. It made him laugh, but he nodded. She bent back over the paper and drew just a simple smiley face, just like the original seventies version. It was simple and ironic as fuck, and he loved it.
"Bueno." He said, tapping his finger on it. Tugging on the curl he had wrapped around his other hand, he studied her face for a minute. "You ever think about tattooing?"
"I don't know, maybe." She told him, eyes locked on his, cheeks flushed.
"Put this one on me, it's small, it'll be really easy." He urged her, noting that someday very soon she was going be a stunner.
"I don't know." She hedged. "I don't know anything about tattooing."
"You don't have to, I'll talk you through the whole thing." He coaxed, and she smiled eagerly.
"Alright, show me." She said, and he stood up to retrieve his kit. She asked lots of questions, but they were all really intelligent, and he was kind of relieved that he knew all the answers. When he was fairly certain she had a feel for the weight and vibration of the gun, he stood up and took off his cut, hanging it carefully over the back of the chair. Next he pulled his shirt off, and the way she watched him made him a little uneasy.
"You ready?" He asked her, and she nodded, her cheeks were flushed and those huge eyes of hers were bright. "You're gonna go nice and steady, don't let it intimidate you, ok?"
"Got it." She told him, and pulled the chair up in front of him, testing the height. He could tell immediately that it was going to be awkward, and she tried standing, and then ultimately went to her knees. He braced his boots on either side of her knees, and she could easily reach the spot he'd indicated on his abdomen. She looked up at him for approval, and her eyes were completely filled with trust, even though she was on her knees at his feet. It made him want to live up to that. He brushed her hair back from her forehead.
"Get on with it." He nodded at her, and she bit her lip and bent her head to the task. "A little more pressure, Ash, you're not going to hurt me."
It was only the work of a few minutes, but she was clearly a natural. Her hand was steady and she had a really good feel for the machine. He loved ink, and apparently this was exactly what he'd needed, because all the noise in the back of his head was gone the second she pressed the needle into his skin. She wiped it down a last time at his direction, and sat back on her heels, grinning at him. He couldn't help smiling back at her, she was one of those random bits of his life that had kept him steady when everything went shit side up. He pulled her up by her hand and tapped a finger on her nose.
"You did good, girl." He told her, and pushed her gently away, pulling his shirt on. He packed up his kit and slid his cut on, settling it on his shoulders. She was still standing, watching him when he opened the door to let himself out. "Lock the door." He told her, and then paused again. "And get some sleep."