All characters, etc from Sons of Anarchy belong to Kurt Sutter.

The OC's are mine.

Any mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out but please be nice

CHAPTER 1:

Jax found Tig at the bar in the clubhouse. It wasn't an unusual place to find him mid-morning on a Saturday. Tig was nursing his second hair-of-the-dog beer, squinting in the half light as he blessed the painkillers that had finally tempered his splitting headache to a dull throb.

"Hey Tig." Jax said quietly as he slid onto the stool next to Tig's.

Tig flinched. "There's no need to shout."

Jax grinned. "Self inflicted brother. That'll teach ya to nail a bottle of tequila and fall asleep on the pool table."

"Get fucked." Tig muttered.

Jax's grin grew. "Look, I need you to run an errand for me today." He chuckled at Tig's narrow-eyed look of horror. "Hap's not been answering his phone this morning. Just need you to swing past his place and check everything's OK."

"Ain't there someone else? I'm tryin' to die quietly here."

"Everyone else is working. You know? That thing we do so that this place actually looks like a bona-fide garage sometimes. So we can actually say we're mechanics without people laughin' 'til they piss."

"Hap's a big boy. I'm sure he's OK."

"Yeah well he hasn't asked ma to have Rose today. She's beginning to wonder if he's made good on his threat to lock his little girl in her bedroom 'till she's twenty one."

"So I'm not checking on Hap, I'm checking on the munchkin?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Jax shrugged.

"Do I look like a qualified babysitter to you?"

"Nah, you look like hell. Come on Tig, the ride'll either make you feel better or you'll burn up in the sun. Either way it's got to be better than sufferin' here for the rest of the day." Jax slid off the bar stool, slapping Tig on the back as he did so before walking out of the club house. Tig growled as he nearly face planted into the surface of the bar.

He scowled after Jax and downed the rest of his warm beer. He might as well go for a ride, even a short one. He made sure that his sunglasses were firmly in place before he left the dim clubhouse so that the sunlight wouldn't undo all the wonderful work of the painkillers. When the heat of the day hit him he thought that for one moment he might actually instantaneously combust in some cosmic culmination of karma for all his mis-deeds.