CP Bk3 CH8 Home Charming Belfast or Vancouver?

by wanderingchat

Life goes on in Charming after Hale is laid to rest. Gemma and Tara prepare to move Nate to the nursing home while Tig looks forward to reuniting with his brothers. Cat's sale of the panhead makes a dream come true for her and June.

The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are pure coincidence.

Love and thanks go to the DH, who is very much alive and well; along with my best friend and my 'unofficial' god – daughter for being part of my family. Also, much thanks to the members of , , the Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, SOA Forums, Watchers of Anarchy, Kim Sisk (author of Sapphires and Whiskey), and my Facebook and Twitter friends for their support. A big thank you for those readers who have written reviews and listed me as a favorite author here at FanFiction. Net.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

Charming Pawse

Book III

Chapter VIII

Home

Charming

Belfast

or

Vancouver?

Following the evening call from Alex, Cat changed into sleepwear and crawled back into bed. She grumbled at June for doctoring her drink, but the drowsiness made her growl sound as menacing as a purr.

June wished her a cheery, unconcerned good night and changed the music to a CD of the movie soundtrack 'Phantom of the Opera'. Cat yawned good night to her friend and gazed at the framed photo of Alex as the medicine carried her off to sleep.

By the time June showered and dressed for bed, Cat had been joined by the two black cats. Ebony was plastered across her legs, while Misty was curled up along her side.

June grinned in triumph that she'd managed the near impossible by getting her injured friend to rest. She glanced at the two – way sitting on the charger, a speculative gleam lighting her eyes. She removed it and took it into the bathroom.

She sat on the closed commode lid and activated the phone. 'I hope Alex is still awake and has this damn thing turned on! I'd rather not leave a message!'

"Hey, baby! You forget somethin'?" Alex's voice rumbled in her ear.

"Sorry to disappoint y'all, stud. It's June."

"This is becomin' a habit, sweetheart!" he growled with disappointment. "Is Cat a'right?"

"You should know, you just talked to her awhile ago. She's fine and sleepin' soundly."

"Then what's up, sweetheart?" Alex's voice reflected his confusion. 'If Cat's OK, what could have June callin' me on the QT?"

"Just wanted to tell y'all I'm plannin' to take her away from all this madness tomorrow."

Alex's heart skipped a beat while his stomach turned to ice. "What the Hell do ya mean, you're takin' her away?" he snarled angrily.

'Oh, crap! He's takin' that the wrong way!' June winced and took a deep breath. "Take it easy, Tarzan! She ever tell y'all about the 'Tarts Night Out' we enjoyed back in Indiana?"

"Ye - ah," Alex replied warily. Cat certainly had shared that term with him, and everything else associated with the Indianapolis Gerard Butler fan group, including that they referred to their monthly get togethers as a TNO – Tarts Night Out. "What about 'em?"

"We're gonna have a TNO tomorrow night, just the two of us. Dinner and a movie somewhere outside of Charming. I think she needs it." June held the phone away from her mouth to add in a whisper, "I sure as Hell need it!"

Alex's body sagged in relief. "I'm sorry for snappin' at ya, sweetheart. I thought ya meant -"

"- yeah, I caught that," she interjected wryly. "I kinda phrased it wrong. Sorry 'bout that."

"It's a'right. Fact is, that sounds like a good idea!" He paused a moment before adding, "Ya certainly know how to age a guy in a few seconds!"

"Your wife's evil nature has worn off on me."

"No shit!" he grumbled. "Just stay outta Oakland and Lodi. Those aren't safe towns for either of ya."

"I was thinking of Stockton," June reported. "Found some decent movie theaters and nice restaurants listed online. I'll take off work early and treat her to a nice, quiet, uneventful time."

'She means normal, just bein' nice not to say so,' Alex mused. 'Stockton's safe enough. Neither the Mayans or the Calavarez will bother them.'

June frowned at the continued silence on his end. "Doesn't sound like y'all think it's such a good idea to go outta town."

"Nah, sweetheart. I told ya it's a great idea! You two prolly haven't had a chance to have fun since ya got to town."

"You can say that again," June sighed.

"Is this supposed to be a surprise to my girl?"

"Y'all can mention it to her Alex. She'll know about it by the time y'all talk to her in the mornin'."

Alex grinned wolfishly. "Damn! I was hopin' ya were tryin' to keep it a secret from her. Kinda enjoyed the thought of ya tryin' to pull the wool over my girl's eye!"

"Y'all are almost as evil as Cat!" June laughed.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! I'm the one givin' her lessons!" he retorted.

"Of course y'all are!" June agreed sweetly. "I'm quakin' in my slippers!"

"I can tell," Alex replied dryly. "Take good care of my girl."

"I fully intend to, Alex. Sweet dreams."

"Back at ya, sweetheart." Alex closed the two – way with a snap, returning it to the charger. He clasped his hands behind his head, ignoring the twinge from his injured shoulder.

June's comment that Cat needed some time away from the craziness in Charming had hit home with him. Alex thought back to all the jaunts and other carefree things he'd shared with his woman before all the shit with LOAN hit the fan.

'It's not always so fucking crazy, baby. We'll have quiet times like those again, I promise ya!'

He closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him as he drifted into an erotic dream of one of those jaunts.

Jimmy O stormed into his Belfast pub where Liam was waiting for him. Jimmy had just returned from meeting with Father Kellan and he did not look happy.

Liam winced at the stormy expression on Jimmy's face. 'Tha meetin' dinnae go well. Jimmy is inna mean mood.'

Jimmy threw a copy of the Belfast paper onto the table before he slid into the seat across from Liam. He pounded his fist in frustration on the front page picture of Cameron Hayes' dead body sporting the unmistakable sign of the Real IRA's justice.

"Tha' fool o' a priest has given Jax's son ta a 'gud Catholic luvin' famly'! Gawd only knows where the bairn is now!" Jimmy snarled angrily.

"So ye cannae play tha 'ero an return tha babe ta 'is fawther," Liam observed.

"The 'Irish Mob' wuz navah 'appy wi' me pootin' tha' Hayes' in McKeavey's place. Now they mean ta tayke over me venture in the States. Layvin' Cammy's body inna pooblic place was a verra loud message!"

"Wha' mayks ye think tha priest 'as ennythin' ta do wi' tha' Real IRA taykin' over yer bizness?" Liam asked.

"They hev thaire reasons," Jimmy snarled, looking at Liam like he was a bug pinned to a card. "The gud fawthur doesna agree wi' me methods in tha effurt. He thinks I shuldn't profit frum tha cause!"

"Mebbe 'e's right," Liam countered thoughtfully.

"Ah dinnae see ye refusin' yer share!" Jimmy snapped.

Liam glanced down at the table for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet Jimmy's baleful glare with one of his own. "Ach! Ye're right aboot tha'. Figger ifn it's gud enough fer ye, it's gud enough fer me."

"It wouldna surprise me ifn Fawther Ashby doesna reach oot ta SAMCRO on 'is own aboot Cammy."

"Shite! SAMCRO already knows aboot tha'. The VP sent tha' picture o' Cammy to 'em," Liam admitted.

"Shite!" Jimmy pounded his fist several times on the picture. "Ifn they know Cammy came 'ere, it won't tayke them long ta figger oot the babe is 'ere. We've gotta figger oot a way to keep SAMCRO away from 'ere until Ah kin find tha' bairn meself!"

Liam shook his head. "I dinnae see enny way ta prevent it. SAMCRO will coom ta Ireland, no doubt aboot tha'."

Jimmy stared thoughtfully into the space, then at the picture of Cameron Hayes again. "Aye, thayre is a way, Liam. Yer gonna hev ta tell Jax that the wee bairn wasnae wi' Cammy and mayke 'im belayve it."

"Lie to a bruther? Ye must be daft!" The words got out before Liam could censor them. He knew one didn't openly question Jimmy O's sanity and live to tell about it.

Jimmy glared at the man, admiring his audacity. "Tha' may be, lad. But ye will do it. Think o' wha' will 'appen shuld SAMCRO find oot wha' ye an' McGee hav been doin'."

"Shite!" Liam moaned.

"Ah'll be callin' Clay layter taday, 'round mornin' thayre time. Thay're runnin' tha' last of Cammy's goons up North. Ah want ye aroun' when tha' 'appens ifn ah need ye ta back me up."

'Ah dinnae hev enny choice. McGee an' me hev too much invested ootside tha' club ta hev it cum oot now.' Liam nodded and sighed a reluctant affirmation, "Aye. Best be whare no one frum tha' club will see us."

"Aye," Jimmy replied. "Coom wi' me. We'll call SAMCRO from me car."

Cherry's eyes streamed with tears as she closed her cell phone. It had sounded so easy. All she had to do was call the clubhouse, talk to Sack for a bit, and get a telephone number that Mo could use to contact Gemma.

'It's a good thing Liam isn't here; he'd never understand why I'm cryin over Sack's death. As far as he's concerned, Sack doesn't exist. He's Liam's claimed me as his and that's all there is to it,' she sobbed her heart out, muffling the sobs in a pillow in case Liam, Sgt at Arms of SAMBEL, walked in unexpectedly.

She clutched a piece of paper with the telephone number one of the Croweaters had given her. The Croweater didn't share with Cherry that Gemma was on the lam.

Cherry's tears of loss and grief eventually dried out. She washed her face and headed out to Maureen's apartment, situated directly over the small corner store at the entrance to Ashby's alley.

'I hope I don't run into Liam or McGee. I'm not up to acting like everything's right with the world right now!' she glanced at the bikes parked along the alley, relieved that neither man's bike was present.

Cherry crept up the stairs to Maureen's apartment door and knocked quietly. A few moments later, Maureen opened the door to let her in.

Maureen knew as soon as she Cherry's face that something was wrong. 'Maybe they had a fight over the phone. Long distance relationships never really work well.' She knew that from past experience. Though John Teller had continued to correspond with her after he returned to California, their relationship didn't seem as close.

Cherry handed over the telephone number, relating that Cameron, Mo's cousin, had killed Half – Sack.

Maureen's stomach sank as she made the connection between Prospect and Half – Sack. No matter what he was called, she realized that Cherry was mourning her guy.

McGee had told Maureen that her cousin had killed SAMCRO's Prospect and taken the VP's child. McGee left no doubt in Maureen's mind that there were dire consequences in store for Cammy if SAMBEL caught him.

She'd taken a major risk sheltering Cameron and the baby literally above SAMBEL's nose. Now Abel was in an orphanage, waiting to be adopted by a 'gud Catholic famly' as Father Ashby put it, and Cameron was dead.

Maureen's heart broke for Cherry. She reached out to her employee, wanting to be sure that the American girl was going to be all right.

Cherry turned to stare at Maureen. Her look took the older woman a lot. Cherry wasn't OK, but she would have to be. It was all a part of the life.

Though she was nearly exhausted, Tara found it difficult to fall asleep. She never slept well when she wasn't with Jax next to her. She attributed that to the night he'd killed Agent Kohn in her bedroom at her father's house months ago. She'd had trouble sleeping without Jax beside her the night Donna had died; one of the few nights they'd spent apart since Kohn's death.

Her conscience nagged at her about Amelia and her part the caregiver's demise. She'd never intended for Amelia to die. She just wanted to knock the girl senseless so she wouldn't harm Gemma.

Her mind replayed the moment when Gemma grasped for the knife while pushing the caregiver into the wall. She once again heard the death rattle in Amelia's lungs as the knife drove hilt – deep into her chest. Tara covered her ears with her hands, trying to shut out the sound in her head.

'Gemma had it pegged right,' Tara tried to reassure herself. '"Her choice, not mine". There was nothing I could've done differently.'

No matter how hard she tried, Tara couldn't accept that she'd once again been involved in taking a life. She was a healer, not a death merchant. She could accept that patients might die in her care, despite her best efforts, that was part of the job. She knew she'd had to help Gemma, she just wished the caregiver hadn't paid the ultimate price.

'I don't even want to think about how that cleaner got rid of the body! He was in the basement for hours, yet there's no sign that she was ever there!' Tara shuddered at the thought of the ways Bachman could've done the deed. I've got to get to sleep; I can't let Jax see me in this shape!' she thought determinedly.

She slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, hoping to find something in the medicine cabinet that might help her sleep. An over – the – counter nighttime pain reliever was just what the doctor ordered. She popped two in her mouth and ran water into her cupped hand, washing the pills down.

She returned to bed and curled up under the covers, waiting for the pain reliever to take effect. She felt the drowsiness begin to set in, and prayed that her sleep wouldn't be riddled with nightmares.

A line from the hit television show 'M*A*S*H' ran through her mind as she drifted off to sleep. The line came from an episode where a bomber suffered a head injury and though he was Christ. Radar had asked the bomber if God really answered all prayers made to Him.

"Of course God answers all prayers," the bomber who thought he was Christ proclaimed solemnly. "Sometimes the answer is 'No'."

Unlike her protege, Gemma had no problems with taking Amelia's life. The caregiver wasn't the first person she'd killed in order to survive. She doubted Amelia would be the last.

What had her fighting the bed was the fact that she was committing her beloved father to a nursing home.

'I should stay here with him, let him stay in the home he loves. He's going to be so frightened and alone in the nursing home. Nothing will be familiar!'

'Damn Rose for taking the easy way out! Damn Stahl for putting me in this position! Damn, damn, damn!' She punched the pillow, wishing it were her mother and the agent. The physical action provided little relief to her.

'Maybe Clay will agree to let me stay here for awhile. I could help Daddy ease into the nursing home so that he doesn't feel lost and alone.' She closed her eyes, finding a margin of comfort in that thought.

Maureen waited until Trinity took a bath to make her transatlantic call. She sat at the kitchen table, poured herself a stiff drink, and lit a cigarette. She gazed at the telephone number Cherry had obtained for her, thinking of the impossible position she was putting herself into.

'John's dead, we're nae longer rivals. We dinnae hafta lyke each other. Ah dinna hev a choice aboot this, whether Fawther Ashby and McGee aire 'appy wi' me or noot." She quickly and resolutely punched the numbers into the cell phone. It was one of McGee's throwaway cell phones.

The phone rang several times. Maureen knew it was late evening in Charming, but not so late that Gemma would be asleep and not answer the phone. Maureen had blocked the outgoing number, so Gemma wouldn't know who was calling and chose not to answer.

Across the ocean, Piney Winston was closing down the Teller – Morrow office for the evening. The business had closed hours earlier, but he'd stayed behind to try to catch up on the paperwork that had piled up since Gemma had gone on the lam. He'd finally given up and had shut off the light when he heard a buzzing from one of the drawers.

'That's Gemma's cell phone,' Piney opened the drawer to reveal the Blackberry where Clay had stashed it. 'Who could be callin' her?' He looked at the display, but all he could see was that it was a blocked number.

'Prolly telemarketers or somethin',' he observed, closing the drawer with a determined shove. 'Since she ain't here, let 'em eat their own minutes listenin' to ringin'!'

He walked on past the desk and out the door, closing and locking it behind him. The cell phone continued to buzz. Piney shook his head and walked to his trike.

Maureen listened to the ringing for another long minute, then turned off the phone. She sighed and tucked the cell phone in a pocket with the scrap of paper. 'Guess she's noot gonna answer. Just hafta try tomorrow.'

Opie didn't want to be present when the panhead was sold. 'It already hurts to part with her, being there to see the new owner take her away will hurt more. Cat's perfectly able to handle this without me.' He helped Lyla get the kids ready for school and took his time with breakfast, dawdling over his coffee.

"You seem to be stuck in first gear this morning, Ope," Lyla remarked, gazing at him over her own coffee cup. The kids had ridden their bicycles to school, leaving the adults to a suddenly quiet house. "Are you feeling OK?"

"Yeah. Yesterday was tough," he replied.

"The fight at the restaurant?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I've been in worse fights. It's just a combination of things," he murmured.

Lyla's eyes softened. "You're thinking of Jax and Abel."

Opie nodded and took a sip of his coffee, recognizing the whiskey blend from Cat's coffeehouse. "I think of what he's going through, and glad I'm not going through it."

"You feel guilty, don't you?"

He sighed. "He's my friend, my brother. I should be supportive. Instead, I'm relieved that I'm not going through it."

Lyla stood up and walked around the table to stand behind him. She bent over his shoulder, embracing him and placing her cheek next to his. "You're also a parent, Opie. It's only natural for you to have that 'there but for the grace of God go I' feeling. Don't you think I feel the same way?"

Opie covered her hands with his. "I know you do. I know it's normal as a parent to be relieved not to be in that situation. As a friend, I feel like a heel."

Lyla moved around to sit in Opie's lap, never removing her arms from around his neck. She nuzzled his neck reassuringly. "Something else is bothering you, honey. You tossed and turned all night. Can't you tell me what's bothering you?"

Opie sighed and slipped his arms around her waist, holding her close to him. "The fight at Lin's cost the club the money for a tracker in Vancouver. I put the panhead up for sale yesterday."

Lyla's body jerked with the news. "B - but, the phone's never rung once! Surely something like that would've generated a few calls!"

"It probably has. Cat's handling the sale," he admitted, tightening his hold on Lyla in anticipation of her reaction.

Lyla was momentarily disappointed that he didn't ask her to sell the motorcycle, but she quickly understood the reason he didn't. 'Cat's a business woman, she'd handle the sale a lot better than I would.' She surprised him by relaxing and snuggling within his embrace instead of trying to get free it it.

"You put a lot of time and effort in restoring it after Donna died, honey. I hope you get what it's worth," she murmured.

"I told her to ask $10 grand for it. That's the cost of a good tracker. I already turned the pink slip over to her. She says someone's coming to see it this morning."

"You can't bear to part with it," Lyla observed softly, entangling her fingers in his.

"I've got to, baby," he rumbled, his fingers tightening in hers. 'I can't tell you the other reason I'm getting rid of the bike. We swore never to tell anyone outside the Chapel. Cat doesn't even know what the bike represents.'

"You should be there for the sale, Ope," she replied firmly, slipping from his embrace to stand in front of him. "What if the buyer is affiliated with LOAN, or the Mayans? She's in no shape to fight them off on her own!"

He stared at her in surprise. Just a few days ago, Lyla wouldn't have been so insightful. "She's not alone. Chuckie stayed with her and her friend, and is going to be there for the sale."

Lyla sighed. "Chuckie's a nice guy. But do you think he's going to be very effective if trouble breaks out?"

Opie carefully pondered her question for a few moments. "You're right, baby."

"I'll see you later," she crooned, sliding her arms around his neck to kiss him soundly.

Opie held her close, savoring her love for him. 'She's come a long way since the lockdown. That meeting with Tara and Cat did more good than I anticipated.'

Lyla was the first to release the embrace, picking up his cut from the back of the chair he'd hung it on and holding it out for him. Opie shrugged into it, grabbed his keys, and strode out the door.

The black Land Rover cruised along US 221 in the early morning light. The dark tinted windows prevented passing motorists from seeing the occupants inside.

The person sitting in the back seat preferred to do his own driving. This early morning, he'd opted to hire a driver to take him to Charming so he could ride his new acquisition.

He stared intently at the print out of the ad he'd found on Craigslist the day before. He often scanned on line sales ads for vintage motorcycles, hoping to find one that appealed to him.

Though he had the money to acquire a fleet of vehicles, he didn't want to become one of those types of people with spacious climate controlled garages housing vehicles he couldn't enjoy. He wanted one or two classics that he could use when he wanted.

When he found the ad for the 1963 Harley Panhead and saw the asking price, his initial reaction was that it was a misprint. The photos revealed a lovingly restored classic bike. The engine appeared pristine from the pictures. There was no hint of leakage. It was a steal for $10 thousand.

After his phone conversation with Cat Marshall he'd used the internet to check out her coffeehouse, Charming Pawse. He read with interest the history of the coffeehouse, then viewed the clips of the karaoke and open mike nights. 'Ach! Tha gurrl e'en offers a movie night fer tha kids! Rocky Horror of all thin's!'

He also viewed the podcast of the peace rally she'd put together with the townspeople. He found it an effective use of music and pictures. He appreciated her talent, as he'd played in a band in his youth and had used his own singing ability in a job just four years into the new decade.

His white teeth flashed in a wide grin of appreciation at the photo that showed her astride her own 750CC Yamaha that she'd christened 'Blackie II'. Then he frowned to learn from the podcast that he was dealing with an outlaw motorcycle club member's old lady.

Though the camera framed the stage in a long shot, so that he couldn't see the dark – haired man's cut patches clearly, there was no doubt in his mind that she belonged to him. The possessive way he leapt to the stage and cut in on the stocky, bearded man dancing with her during the

'Ah hope tha' mon isnae there. I wouldnae lyke ta be on tha receivin' end o' that jealous streak 'o his!'

Her request for cash payment had initially concerned him. The fact that she was both a rider and a business owner comforted him. He knew she wasn't going to pull a bait and switch on him.

"We'll be in Charming in another hour, sir," the driver announced.

"Aye," he replied. He had his helmet, riding gloves, and the money in the back seat with him. He was dressed in blue jeans, boots, and a t – shirt that hugged his chest like a second skin. His dark brown hair wasn't too long or short, his tanned face sported a three – day growth of beard the same color as his hair.

He dug a cell phone from the front pocket of his pants and dialed the number on the Craigslist ad. 'Ah'll jest call ahead, gi' tha lass a 'eads up that I'm aboot thair.'

Jax sat at the kitchen table in his home, smoking and staring at two printed pictures. One showed Cameron Hayes and his son in Vancouver, the one next to it revealed Cameron Hayes lying dead against a brick wall in Short Strand, Belfast. A coffee cup and a half – empty bottle of booze also rested on the table.

He stared at the circled cross drawn in blood on Hayes' forehead, a message from the 'Real IRA' that they had dealt their own brand of justice to one of their own. The same question he'd asked the first time he'd seen the picture ran though his mind. 'Where the Hell is my son?'

He'd had solid plans until the SAMBEL VP had emailed that picture. He had a lead that Abel and Cameron were in Vancouver and was going to hire one of Serge's mercenaries to find them. Meanwhile, he'd go to Klamath Falls, get his mother, set her up somewhere safe in Canada, and then meet up with the tracker, find his son, and make Hayes pay for killing Sack and taking Abel.

Within a few short hours, he'd seen his concrete plans crumble to dust. The brawl Opie started at Lin's China Palace ate up the money for the tracker. Hayes was dead in Ireland and Abel could be anywhere between Vancouver and Ireland.

The bitter icing on this particular cake was Tara's defiance. She'd taken off to Klamath Falls to help his mother with his demented grandfather, putting her career and her own freedom in jeopardy.

He wearily laid his head in his hands. The house had been eerily quiet without Tara's presence, and he'd slept fitfully, worrying about her despite the voice mail she'd left assuring him she'd arrived safe. He missed her, and he missed his son.

'How can everything turn to shit so fast?' he mused, lighting another cigarette. "One minute, things seem crystal clear, the next it's muddier than a cow pasture after a rainstorm! What the Hell am I gonna do? Go on to Vancouver or do I go to Belfast?'

Somewhere in Ireland, a small child wearing a onesie and a knitted cap rested in a crib in a large room. Other children in similar cribs surrounded the infant boy.

In an office facing the large crib – filled room, a woman sat at a desk counting pound notes while a man looked through files of prospective parents – to – be who'd already paid for the opportunity to adopt one of the children.

A nun passed in front of the desk, glancing out the window while she filled the empty cartridge of her revolver. She was always watchful, always alert for any trouble. She'd never had to use the gun; it's presence was usually enough to ward off trouble.

The infant boy sat up, gripping the edges of his crib for support. He looked around him, as if he were taking in his surroundings, committing everyone and everything to memory.

Cat didn't like the stronger pain medication Dr. Gallagher had prescribed because it tended to make her have vivid and disturbing dreams that stayed with her long after she awoke. She could still clearly remember dreaming of Bill the night of the wreck. She hadn't touched the stronger pain medicine since she'd left the hospital, preferring the anti – stress prescription and over the counter pain relievers.

She didn't have much choice about the type or amount of medication she took that night, nor did she know she'd taken anything stronger than the PTSS medicine. June had slipped two of the prescribed pain pills - as directed by Dr. Gallagher – into Cat's tea. The combined medications made her very drowsy, so that she fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Cat slept most of the night, enjoying vivid but mostly pleasant dreams involving Alex. As night gave way to early morning, her dream took an interesting turn.

Music accompanying a familiar male voice woke Cat from her sleep. 'June must be listenin' to the 'Phantom of the Opera'soundtrack again.'

She opened her eyes, surprised that both of them opened. Her injured eye was no longer covered and protected by a bandage, nor did the light seem to bother her. She looked down at her arm to find that the sling and cast were missing.

She looked about her, realizing that the cats weren't curled up on the bed with her. In fact, she wasn't even lying on her own bed! She was resting on top of red satin sheets in a rocky alcove. She moved to sit on the side of the bed, somewhat surprised that she could see without her glasses.

A full length mirror stood across the alcove from the bed. Its' reflection covered a large portion of the peacock bed. She smiled slyly at the notion that the Opera Ghost might be kinky enough to have a mirror so strategically placed.

She stared in disbelief at her own reflection. 'Jesus! I look like somethin' from outta the 19th century!' She was dressed in a white, diaphanous, and frilly ankle - length lace gown that showed plenty of cleveage and a lot of skin from a slit that ran to mid – thigh. Her hair was long, slightly curled, and fell half – way down her back. Her face was free of cuts and bruises.

When she breathed, there was no restriction from the binder. It'd been replaced by an old – fashioned corset. She stood up, feeling cold stone under her bare feet. 'Damn! Couldn't I at least have dreamed up some boots or sneaks? I hate cold feet!'

She took a step away from the bed, surprised to find that she wasn't limping. All her aches, pains, and injuries from the wreck were gone. She moved silently out of the alcove, gazing at her surroundings. Her dream had recreated the Phantom's lair and underground lake.

Just a few feet away from the alcove was an open area where a large jukebox rested in place of an organ. 'That sure as Hell wasn't in the film! My imagination is workin' overtime!'

Candles of all manner and sizes provided plenty of warm illumination. Instead of drawings and other bric – a – brac, mechanical objects in various states of repair were scattered about the grotto, including several motorcycles. Blue, Alex's bike, rested in another alcove near a ramp that undoubtedly led to the streets high above.

The jukebox was playing Meat Loaf's 'I Would Do Anything For Love'. Boot steps sounded on the grotto's stone floor behind her. A voice that was familiar to her, but didn't belong to Meat Loaf was singing with the recording,

"Maybe I'm crazy

but it's crazy and it's true

I know you can save me

No one else can save me but you

As long as the planets are turning

As long as the stars are burning

As long as your dreams are coming true –

You'd better believe it!

I would do anything for love

And I'll be there until the final act –

I would do anything for love

And I'll take a vow and seal a pact."

Cat turned around to stare at the tall figure approaching her. The singing voice belonged to the movie Phantom, Gerard Butler, but the figure was undeniably Alex's.

He was dressed in black jeans and a white shirt that was partly unbuttoned, allowing her a glimpse of the fine hair on his chest. He moved confidently, like a panther creeping through the jungle. His blue eyes were fixed on her, as if she were the prey that he was stalking.

His curly black hair was cut shorter than he normally wore it. She was momentarily distressed by the sight of a half mask of white leather clinging to one side of his beloved face. Part of his lip not covered by the mask was slightly twisted and swollen looking.

'Well, I'm certainly mixin' things up! The grotto is from the film, the mask is from the play, and I'm willin' to bet the deformities under it are from the play as well.' She gazed in fascination at her man in the Phantom attire. 'Gotta admit Alex makes an awesome Phantom!' Her face lit up with a smile of welcome.

"What's with the mask, love? Did y'all dump the bike and get a bad case of road rash?"

He shrugged elegantly. "No, baby. It's to protect you from what I am. If you were to see what I'm really like inside, you'd run away and not wanna be with me. At least with the mask, there's a chance you'll stay with me."

Cat fought to keep from raising her eyes to the Heavens. "Dunno why y'all would think that, much less say it, love," she replied softly. "I didn't run screamin' from y'all after you came clean about Donna. That was pretty downright ugly."

She gazed earnestly into his face. She didn't see the mask, nor did she see the deformed lower lip the mask didn't hide. What lay behind the mask didn't matter to her.

She only saw Alex, the man who'd stolen her heart without her being aware of it. She moved forward to embrace him, her arms slipping around his waist as she lay her head against his chest, rubbing her face against it like a cat rubbing against its' well loved person.

She buried her nose in his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him. He always gave off a mixture of tobacco, motor oil and gasoline, the outdoors, and his own maleness. She could feel the heat of his skin against her cheek and heard his heart beat under her ear.

Alex, in the guise of The Phantom, shivered from the skin to skin contact. He reveled in her willingness to embrace him. Her body felt soft, pliant, loving, and accepting against him.

He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the familiar berry scent from her shampoo. She always smelled natural and clean to him. She never used overpowering scents that announced her arrival long before she entered a room.

His heart raced and a small, hopeful smile lit his face while his arms went around her, crushing her body to his. "Dammit, woman! How can you love someone as ugly as me?" he whispered hoarsely. "I haven't lived a good life, and it's somehow marked my body as well as my soul!"

She leaned against the arms that held her close in order to look into his eyes. To her annoyance, he kept them closed. He drew her back against his chest, resting his chin on top of her head. He sighed contentedly with the moment of sheer bliss he was being allowed. 'I'm gonna enjoy this as long as it lasts!' he thought to himself.

"Cripes, Alex! How can y'all doubt me after everythin' we've gone through?"

He couldn't answer her. She'd helped him through one of his darkest times and hadn't run from him. 'And how do I thank her? Screwin' strange women when I'm away from her. I don't know why she puts up with me.'

As if she knew his thoughts, she smiled wryly. "I know the kind of man y'all are, knew it goin' in. I accept it, but sometimes I wonder if y'all really want me when there's better offerin's out there."

"What the fuck do ya mean? Of course I want ya! I married ya, didn't I?"

'Talk about a back handed compliment!' Cat sighed. "The unkind might say you're only stayin' with me now outta guilt from the wreck."

"That's bullshit!" he snarled angrily.

She held up a hand to stop his protest. "Let's be logical about this. Injuries aside, I'm old and gettin' older every day. My hair is grayer than yours, and my body isn't nubile and seductive like the porn girls and the Croweaters! Gravity is not my friend! They see y'all with me, and believe y'all deserve better."

Alex growled deep in his throat. She could hear it rumble in his chest under her ear. "But that's not how I feel! Why the fuck do ya think you're wearin' that outfit and the longer hair? You might have a will of iron, but ya have a soft side, too."

She pointed at her image in the mirror and snorted inelegantly. "I hope y'all don't think of me as some kinda fragile thing like Christine Daae, always whinin' about needin' 'someone to guard me and to guide me!' Or do y'all really want a clingin' vine?"

"Fuck, no, baby! That bitch made me wanna rape her to give her something to really whine about!"

Cat stifled a smirk. "She 'whined' - as you so elegantly phrased it - because she lost her parents at a very young age and was lookin' for a parental figure. She thought the Phantom was her father keepin' his deathbed promise to her. Frankly, I never understood her choosin' the aristocrat over the Phantom."

"Maybe she chose the other guy 'cause he was safe," Alex replied softly. "Just as I'm not safe for you."

"Balls!" Cat retorted. "I'd be a whole lot less safe without y'all. As for this whole girly – girl get up, this really isn't me, love. I'm more of a tom – boy than anythin' else."

She waved her hands at the mirror and was rewarded by her image rippling and changing into a figure clad in black leather from head to toe. A furry hairpiece with cat ears topped her head, allowing her hair to fall freely about her face. A coiled whip rested on one hip.

Alex gave a long, low, appreciative wolf whistle at her new look.

"One of the reasons I like cats is that they are powerful, fast, and sleek. They look sweet and innocent, but they can also be dangerous."

"Just like you, baby," Alex smiled wolfishly at her. "Is that the Halle Berry or Michelle Pfeiffer Catwoman?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I was thinkin' more along the lines of Lee Merriweather. I sure as hell ain't statuesque enough to pull off Julie Newmar."

"Lee Merriweather is more your style," Alex leered. "I like seein' ya in a leather body suit like that."

"But it shows all the bulges," Cat replied ruefully.

Alex raised his eyes to the Heavens. "Dammit, woman! If I wanted a fuckin' porn star or Croweater, I'd be with one. I like your body. You've got curves in all the right places. Some of those chicks are too fuckin' bony. A guy can get hurt on those sharp edges!"

She cast an incredulous look at him, causing him to add in a growl, "What's it gonna take for ya to believe me, woman? Do I hafta say that I find ya more to my likin' than those toothpicks with boobs?"

"Y'all just did," she grinned lopsidedly, feeling her insides melt, making her feel all 'girly'. "For the record, I don't see y'all as some monster to hide behind a mask and live in the bowels of the earth!"

"Seems like we've got a difference of opinion. How do ya think we're gonna overcome it?"

"It's not a difference of opinion per se. We just happen to see the other person better than we see ourselves." Her arms slid up his chest to his shoulders, making him inhale sharply. His entire body tensed with need and desire.

She rested her hands on his shoulders, waiting until she felt him relax against her. Before he could guess her intention and stop her, Cat resolutely lifted her hands to the mask, pulling it from his face. She gazed unflinchingly at the mis happen features the mask had hid.

Alex pushed her away with a groan of agony. "No! I can't let you see!" he cried, holding one hand over his face.

Cat fell on her rear onto the cold stone floor of the grotto. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She glared balefully at him, then stood up and dusted off her butt.

"Too late, love. I've already seen it. So what? It's a face!"

"It's a nightmare!" he roared, turning his back from her to pace restlessly about the lair.

"Alex, stop pacin' like a trapped and wounded panther! Look at me!" Her voice was filled with warmth, taking some of the edge off the sharp command.

He turned to face her, his eyes blazing blue fire at her audacity. "Leave!" he snarled. "Just go away!"

"Ain't happenin', love." Cat took a deliberate step towards him, ducking under the arm he put up to restrain her. For every step that he took from her, she moved one forward. They moved together like that until the stone walls of the grotto met his back, leaving him with no escape.

She reached up again, placing her hand over his that covered his face. Gently but firmly, she pulled his hand away, revealing the damaged features.

She brought his hand down to her chest and held it there, so he could feel her heart beat under his hand. Though it raced with desire for him, her heartbeat was strong and steady. Her eyes met his, her love for him shining brightly.

Her other hand rose to caress the ravaged, sunken cheek. Her fingers then moved over his twisted lower lip, a feather light touch that seemed to crackle with electricity between them.

"You have never scared me, love. Your dark side never has and never will. I went into this with my eyes wide open. We've weathered worse storms together."

He groaned again, unable to meet her earnest gaze. He feared he'd only see fear or revulsion, despite the love and acceptance in her voice. "How can we beat this?" he whispered.

Though she felt like she was playing out two stories – The Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast - Cat knew she had to prove her true feelings to Alex. She placed her hands behind his head and pulled his face down to hers.

He initially resisted, straining against the gentle hands that pulled his face closer to hers. 'She's just callin' my bluff. There's no way any woman can face what I am with her eyes wide open. It's just not possible!'

She pressed her lips willingly to his. Instead of closing her eyes in bliss, their green depths locked with his eyes. The look in her eyes reminded him that her love for him was unconditional.

Alex's lips remained frozen under hers. Her teeth nipped playfully at his lower lip. When his lips didn't respond to her, she tugged at the deformed portion, drawing a bit of it into her mouth.

Her tongue ran teasingly along the tightly closed seam, demanding entrance. Her fingers became entangled in his hair, reminding her of the feel of silk. His glistening eyes widened in disbelief and hope, and his lips trembled under hers.

"A kiss ain't supposed to make y'all cry, love!" she whispered huskily against his mouth, her eyes never leaving his.

The last restraint broke into fragments as Alex returned and deepened the kiss. His arms were like steel, wrapping around her body, crushing her possessively against him. Though Cat only stood as high as his upper chest, she fit perfectly against him.

His body responded to all she offered. Cat felt his urgent need from his hard and full erection pushing against her stomach. She looked up at him and smiled softly.

"If y'all could only see yourself as I see ya, love," she whispered. She had a sudden idea and took his hand, entangling her fingers in his. "Come with me," she pulled him to the alcove to stand before the strategically placed mirror.

Alex turned his face from the mirror, refusing to look at his reflection. "Don't do this to me, baby! I can't bear to see myself!"

"Yes y'all can," she replied resolutely.

He shook his head vehemently and groaned in anguish. The sound broke her heart. "How can ya torment me like this, baby?"

She swallowed hard to clear the lump in her throat. "Didn't y'all just get done sayin' that you'd do anythin' for love?"

"But I can't do that!"

"You can and you will," she commanded. "Y'all have never backed down from anythin' - except dolls!"

He heard the conviction in her voice, her complete and total belief in him. "Sometimes ya have too much faith in me, woman!" He sighed as he turned to face his reflection in the mirror. He stood ramrod straight, as if waiting for a firing squad.

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised," she replied.

He slowly opened his eyes. Cat stood beside him, her hand still entwined in his. Her thumb stroked the back of his hand in a comforting manner. The light touch of her skin on his gave him additional strength. He stared intently at the mirror. His eyes widened in surprise as his free hand moved to his face.

The image in the mirror mimicked him. The mirror Alex's hand touched the same smooth, unmarred skin he felt under his hand. Where the skin had been parchment thin, barely covering facial muscles, he felt a healthy abundance of warm flesh. He could see both sides of his face were flawless. The left side of his lips were no longer twisted and swollen. The hair on his head was full, thick, and dark, as were the hair of his mustache and goatee.

"I – I don't believe it!" he stammered, his fingers tightening in his wife's grasp.

"Believe it, love. This is how I see y'all. It's how I'll always see y'all," she assured him.

He turned to face her, a sly smile on his face. "And what did you see earlier when ya looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"Unfair!" she cried. "Y'all ain't supposed to turn the tables on me!"

His eyes lit with a devilish gleam. "Turnabout's fair play, woman! Ya can't tell me that you sometimes carry a low opinion of yourself!"

"Were y'all spyin' on me?"

He grinned wolfishly. "I was watchin' ya sleep, and when ya woke up. Wouldn't call it spyin'." He gestured at the mirror, so that the catwoman outfit was replaced with the white gown. "This is how I see ya. It's how I always think of you, though I don't usually picture ya in a gown like that!"

Cat's eyes narrowed. "Lemme guess. Y'all usually picture me nekkid!"

He grinned in that same wolfish manner before bending his head to hers, taking possession of her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His arms stole around her, his hands cupping her rear end.

"There's a bed over there just beggin' to be put to good use," she murmured invitingly, tossing her head in the direction of the peacock bed when he released her from the kiss.

Alex didn't give her a chance to change her mind. He swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed, tossing her into the middle of it. As she watched in breathless anticipation, he pulled the shirt from his shoulders, allowing the buttons to fall onto the floor.

A shrill ringing suddenly rebounded through the grotto. It provided a harsh descant to the music pouring from the jukebox.

"Ignore that!" he growled, crawling onto the bed next to her. His eyes and his sly grin declared his intentions to thoroughly ravage her.

"I'm tryin' to, love!" she replied, glaring around the alcove for the source of the annoying sounds. "It's hard to concentrate with that damn thing goin' off!"

"Ya don't need to concentrate, baby," Alex murmured softly. "Just relax and enjoy it."

The shrill ringing continued, but Cat was determined to follow his advice. That was difficult with the noise grating on her nerves. "What the Hell is that God awful noise?" she inquired in frustration.

"It's your alarm, chick," June groaned sleepily. "Y'all wanna get up and turn it off?"

"Shit! It's you!" Cat moaned.

"Good mornin' to y'all too! Forgot how grumpy y'all are in the mornin'!" June retorted. "Just for that, I oughta make y'all get up and turn it off!"

"Nah, y'all can get it. Consider it just desserts for the 'mickey finn'," Cat moaned, wishing she could have a few more minutes with her dream.

The landline phone next to the bed issued a shrill ring, scaring Misty so that she jumped up from the bed, fluffing her tail in fear. June had turned the ringer to full in case the man coming to buy the panhead called. Misty ran full speed through the bedroom door to her favorite hiding place.

"Guess that settles that!" Cat observed dryly. "You get the alarm, I'll get the phone!"

June snorted in disgust and threw the covers off her, stumbling across the room to turn off the annoying alarm.

Cat reached over to the bed table, fumbling for the corded phone. She lifted the receiver before the call could go to voice mail. "Cat Marshall speakin',"

"Gud mornin'," the temptingly familiar male voice replied cheerfully. "Sorry ta be callin' so eurly. 'Ope ah dinnae wake ye."

"Nah, the alarm already did that," she replied wryly. "I take it y'all are on the way to see the panhead?"

"Aye," the man replied. "Me driver estimates we're a gud hour from ye."

"I'll have the cawfee ready," Cat frowned in intense thought, recalling snippets from her dream. 'It couldn't really be him, could it?' She decided to find out for sure. "I suppose y'all would like a non fat latte?"

The question was met with a surprised gasp. "How'd ye know me favrit hot drink?"

Cat grinned in triumph, while June gazed quizzically at her. "Just an educated guess. See y'all in an hour!"

"I take it you've figured out where y'all have heard that voice before?" June inquired, leaning against the dresser where the now silent alarm clock rested.

"Maybe. And then again, maybe not," Cat replied. "We've got an hour to get ready for our guest, and I wanna look as presentable as possible."

"I can help y'all make that happen in half that time!"

Nathaniel awoke to the knowledge that he was leaving his beloved home for a strange place. 'Rose had the foresight to arrange this a long time ago,' he mused. 'She wanted me to be safe if she went Home before me. I'd rather stay here where my memories were made, even if I can't always remember them.'

He looked about the bedroom where he'd spent so many years with his wife. He'd been sleeping without her for only a few days and he missed her terribly.

Despite her absence, the room was a source of comfort to him. He knew where he could find any item at any time. 'Tonight, I'll be a in a strange room. I'll have some of my things, but it won't be home. It'll never be home.'

He dressed with care. Though it was currently sunny and mild, the forecast called for the weather to turn cool and wet later in the day. He chose a white tee shirt under a dark blue polo shirt and black pants.

He ambled into the dining room, where he found his daughter's friends sitting at the dining room table. Gemma was preparing breakfast. A plate full of French toast was sitting in the center of the table.

Nate's heart broke at the sight of his favorite breakfast. 'I don't feel hungry, not even sure I can eat a bite. But Gemma went to all this trouble, I don't want to let her down."

"Morning, Daddy!" Gemma called tentatively, not sure what kind of response she'd get.

"Good morning, honey!" he replied with a smile he didn't feel. "You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble."

"It's no trouble, Daddy!" Gemma assured him, pouring a cup of coffee and carrying it to the table for him. "I waited for you."

Nate squeezed her shoulder before he sat down at the head of the table. Gemma bent to kiss his cheek.

"Tara and I already ate. We thought you two would want a little privacy," Tig murmured, getting up with his cup of coffee and heading for the den.

"Sit down, Gemma. I'll get you some coffee," Tara offered, getting up and moving to the coffeemaker. She poured a cup for Gemma, brought it over to the table and placed it in front of her friend.

Tara laid a comforting hand on Gemma's shoulder, then grabbed her own coffee cup and headed towards the bedrooms. 'I'll start packing the things Gemma wants to keep.'

Tig closed the door to the den to ensure he'd have some privacy. He considered going out into the garden for a smoke and make his call, but decided to leave the garden free for Gemma and Nate.

'If they go out for a walk, the last thing they need is me in the way. With Tara packin' shit from all the bedrooms, this is as much privacy as I'm gonna get.'

He pulled the two – way from his pocket, unable to suppress a grin of anticipation. The two – way rang once, then he was rewarded with the sound of her voice.

"Hey, love!"

"Hey back, baby. How ya feelin'?"

"Better. Slept like a log all night," she replied airily.

"No dreams – bad or otherwise?" he inquired, trying to sound nonchalant. He knew she always thought of him, awake and asleep. For some reason, he needed to be reassured of that.

"I seem to recalling havin' a dream or two. Couldn't tell y'all what they were about, though," she replied matter – of – factly.

"Oh. Well. That's good. I guess."

His attempt to keep from sounding disappointed didn't fool her. He sounded as deflated as a flat tire so that Cat took pity on him.

"C'mon now, love! Y'all know you're on my mind all the time! Of course I dreamed of y'all!"

'Damn! She had me goin' for a minute!' He inwardly sighed in relief. "You are such an evil little thing!"

"Y'all got that right!" she snorted back a laugh. "Somebody's gotta keep y'all grounded!"

"Jesus, woman! Have a heart!" he pleaded.

"I do. Y'all have the whole thing," she assured him softly.

His insides turned to liquid. He grinned wolfishly, took a sip of coffee, and relaxed in the chair. "That sounds more like it!" he crowed. "So what're ya doin' at the moment?"

"Sittin' on the front porch, drinkin' coffee."

She had taken a shower, thanks to June's help in wrapping her cast in plastic and taping plastic over her bandaged eye. Though it was awkward, Cat had even managed to wash her hair.

The plastic hadn't kept the water and shampoo from soaking the bandage over her eye. June had to change the dressing for her. The injured eye hadn't seemed affected by the accidental cleaning.

"It's amazin' what good a bath and clean clothes can do for a body," she added teasingly.

"You'd better be takin' it easy, woman," he growled, shifting in the chair. His groin had responded to the mental picture of her naked in the shower, water and soap caressing her body.

"Only thing I'm gonna do is this favor for Opie, though June's got an urge to get outta Dodge for a bit. We're havin' a 'Tarts Night Out'."

"I know. She told me about it last night."

She snorted in derision. "Huh! Glad y'all gave yer approval. Wasn't aware she needed to get all y'all's permission!"

"Take it easy, baby!" he laughed, imagining her indignant expression.

"I'll take it any way I can get it, stud!"

"Just as long as I'm the one givin' it to ya, baby!" he countered.

"Is that a threat or promise?"

"You'll just hafta wait until I get home to find out, woman!" he growled.

"I can hardly wait, love!"

June and Chuckie were sitting out on the porch with her. They were waiting for the panhead's buyer. They looked at each other and raised their eyes to the Heavens.

"Hey, Chuckie! Whaddya say we meander over to the coffeehouse and get some grub? Things are gettin' a little too syrupy around here!"

"I accept that!" he replied with a grin.

"That'll give those two love birds some privacy to coo at each other!" June added slyly.

"I accept that, too!"

"Fuck all y'all!" Cat retorted.

"You wouldn't like me, I'd just lay there!" June retorted.

"And Tig would kill me if I even thought about it!" Chuckie added over his shoulder as he and June scampered laughingly for the back gate.

Cat glared at them and hollered back, "Neither one of y'all are my type! And don't forget the non – fat latte!"

Alex heard all the by play, but he feigned ignorance to inquire, "What the fuck was that all about, baby?"

"We just got accused of actin' like a couple of love birds," she snarled.

Alex laughed. "Neither one of us sits on a branch and shits through feathers!"

"Just don't go makin' any comments about me bein' a chick," she advised.

"I wouldn't think of it, baby," he assured her.

"No, y'all would just say it," she growled.

Alex decided a change of subject was in order. "Listen, baby, as far as your 'Tarts Night Out' is concerned, I'm all for it. You need a break from the shit storm."

"Y'all don't hear me complainin' about things, do ya, love?"

"That's just it. You're due for a good time."

"Won't be as much fun without y'all around to share it," she admitted softly.

Alex's felt a warm glow travel through his body. "You'll find a way to enjoy it, baby. I expect ya to."

She gripped the phone tighter in her hand. "I'll try to obey, husband," she whispered huskily.

Alex coughed to clear his throat. "Ya would say somethin' like that with no witnesses around!"

"Of course! I have a feminist rep to protect!"

she retorted.

Without missing a beat, he replied, "Baby, the feminist movement burned your membership card the day ya hooked up with me!"

"No shit!"

There was a brief silence before she added, "Do y'all want me to send some Snicker Bar Muffins with the guys?"

"I'd love some of your muffin, but don't trust the guys not to go dippin'," he replied. "Wanna fill me in on the favor you're doin' for Ope?"

"Nothin' major, just helpin' him sell somethin'," she replied.

"You're not gonna give me the details?"

"It's legal, that's all I can tell y'all for now," she replied. "It's not for me to tell his business, love. Please understand that I'm not hidin' anything from y'all."

Alex felt enormous pride in his woman's sense of integrity. It was why he trusted her so much. "I understand, baby. It's a'right." He didn't have to tell her that he knew damn good and well none of his brothers would knowingly ask her to do anything dangerous without checking with him first.

"Thanks, love," she replied. "Y'know, this is gonna be a rough day for Gemma. It's never easy for an adult child to commit a parent to any kind of institution. She's bound to feel guilty for doin' what has to be done."

"You're prolly right, baby," he observed. Alex knew she was speaking from bitter experience. 'She's thinkin' of the times she had to commit her birth mother for evaluation and care.'

Her mother had suffered from chronic paranoid schizophrenia for years. Whenever Cat had to have her committed, her birth mother had reacted as if her daughter had betrayed her. They had been estranged for years until the day her birth mother died.

"Gemma's gonna need as much support as all y'all can give her today. She's gonna want take him to the nursin' home, and she can't take the chance. Havin' Clay and Jax there should ease the pain when he leaves the house for the last time."

"They're havin' some private time over breakfast. Nate seemed pretty clear headed."

"If he stays that way, it'll go a little easier," Cat replied. "Tell Gemma I'm keepin' her and Nate in my thoughts."

"Will do, baby."

"Are all y'all still at it?" June called merrily. She was holding a drink carrier in her hands as she walked across the lawn. Chuckie followed behind her, balancing a Charming Pawse pastry box on his arms.

"Whaddya mean still?" Cat retorted.

"The peanut gallery has returned," Alex observed.

"Ah, glad to see your powers of deductive reasoning survived the shootin'," she observed wryly. "How's your shoulder, love?"

'I might've known she hadn't forgotten! My wound's a mere scratch compared to hers, yet she's worried about me!' His insides melted at the note of concern in her voice. "Improvin'. No worries, baby."

"I always worry about y'all. Comes with the territory," she replied worriedly.

"Baby, what you just said applies to me. You be careful."

"I always am. Talk to y'all when I talk to ya."

Alex felt disappointment at her remark. "Seriously?"

"Much as I'd love to burn minutes with y'all, we've both got things to do." She turned off the phone before he could respond and slid the two – way into a pocket of her jacket. She withdrew one of her strawberry cigarillos from the same pocket and lit it.

"When did y'all start that disgustin' habit again?" June inquired. "Thought y'all gave it up years ago."

Cat shrugged and inhaled deeply before replying, "Just gave it a rest for a few decades. Sometimes it helps me think."

"Well, y'all could certainly use a little help in that area!" June exclaimed, sniffing the air. "Hate to admit it, but I kinda like the scent. Smells like incense. What the Hell are they doin' to tobacco these days?"

"Flavorin' it. Y'all can smoke grapes, peaches, strawberries, all kinds of fruit."

"So many jokes, so little time," June moaned.

Any rejoinder Cat was going to make was interrupted by the appearance of a Land Rover on the street. It rounded the corner from the coffeehouse, moving slowly down their side of the street.

"Think that's our visitor?" June inquired, watching as the Land Rover's approach.

"It's possible. Be prepared, kittenface. We're about to have one memorable meeting."

June gazed intently at her friend. "What are y'all talkin' about?"

Cat nodded her head at the Land Rover. It had stopped at the edge of the driveway. A driver got out and opened the back door for the occupant.

A tall, dark – haired man dressed in jeans and a form fitting T – shirt and sunglasses exited the vehicle. The profile was very familiar to both women.

"Is that who I think it is?" June squeaked, her heart fluttering like bird's wings.

"It sure is, kittenface," Cat replied, attempting to keep her inner fan girl from getting loose.

The man turned to look at the group on the porch and removed his sunglasses. The dark brown hair and beard, along with the unmistakable green eyes immediately identified the visitor to the girls.

"Hullo!" he called, waving a friendly hand as he approached. His teeth flashed bright and white in the morning sun.

Cat tapped out her cigarillo in the ash tray, leaving it to pick up later. She stood and limped to the porch entrance with her good hand outstretched.

"Good mornin', Mr. Butler. I'm Cat Marshall. Welcome to Charmin'."

Gemma and Nate pushed more food around their plates than they ate. Neither had much of an appetite, but they were putting up a front of good cheer and ravenous hunger in order not to disappoint the other.

After several minutes of silently rearranging the food on their plates, Nate pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "Thank you for breakfast, honey. I'm going to go sit out in the garden for awhile."

Gemma looked questioningly up at him. 'Something's on his mind, besides that he's leaving his home,' she mused. "Do you want some company?"

Nate shook his head, softening the rejection with a loving smile. "No, honey. I want some time to meditate surrounded by the beauty of God's creation."

'It might be his last time to enjoy the peace and tranquility of his own garden by himself,' she observed. Gemma nodded, her own answering smile telling him she understood his need to be alone for awhile.

Nate lifted his coffee cup and headed for the back door. He stopped at the threshold to glance over his shoulder at her. "I love you, honey. I always have," he murmured before opening the door and stepping outside.

Gemma crossed her arms on the table and laid her head in them. Silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Michael and Sean Casey were Father Kellen Ashby's closest confidants and bodyguards. They were fiercely loyal to the priest, who had been the one stable thing they could count on in their tumultuous youth.

The Caseys had developed a the ability to look as if they neither saw nor heard any of Father Ashby's RIRA related conversations. In reality, they heard every word, watched every person the priest met with.

They had carried out the priest's orders to mark Cammy Hayes' body and leave it in a very public area after strangling the betrayer with piano wire. They had done so without question or remorse, so strong was their tie to the priest and the cause.

After Jimmy stormed out of the church, they approached the priest, who was kneeling in one of the pews in prayer. They waited respectfully, one standing on either side of him. They neither knew or cared what, or who, he was praying for.

Father Ashby completed his prayer, genuflected, and rose slowly to his feet. Both brothers' hands came under his elbows to support him.

"Thanks, lads," he murmured, swaying slightly before standing erect. He felt every one of his many decades of struggle at that moment.

"Ye're tired, Fawther," Michael Casey noted worriedly. "Tha' cause is takin' a toll on ye."

"Aye," his brother, Sean, agreed. "Tha' upset with Cammy and confrontin' Jimmy wasnae easy fer ye."

"Aye, but 'tis necessary," the priest sighed. "Jimmy has lost sight o' tha' raysun fer tha' cause. His god has becoom money. He doesna unnerstan' tha' youth shuldna be bought wi' empty promises."

"Whut do ye intend ta do aboot it?" Sean inquired. "Jimmy seems determined ta advance 'is own cause."

"And whut aboot tha' bhoy?" Michael added.

Father Ashby looked at his bodyguards, but his eyes weren't seeing them. His gaze took in the sight of another man he'd befriended nearly two decades earlier. 'Ah 'ave a promise ta keep, one mayde years ago ta a frien'," he replied softly. "Tha' bairn isnae meant fer tha' ootlaw life. 'E will 'ave a new life 'ere."

Sean shook his head. "Fawther, Ah've nevva disagreed wi' ye afore, but this time, ah hafta. Tha' bairn 'as a fawther in tha' States!"

"Ah know tha', my son! But a promise is a promise. Ah couldna do ennythin' ta keep Jackson frum tha' life. I can keep me promise wi' tha' grandsun."

"Ah still dinnae lyke it," Sean muttered.

"No one is askin' ye ta," the priest replied dryly. "Whut ah do falls on me own 'ead."

"Ah 'ope not, fawther," Michael noted. "Ah really 'ope not."

"In tha meantyme, we keep an eye on Jimmy, watch 'is movements 'ere in Belfast. When tha tyme seems right, we reach oot ta SAMCRO, bring them 'ere to tayke care o' 'im."

Tara had been busy while Tig was in the den and Gemma and her father in the dining room. By the time he'd completed his phone call, she'd already gotten the items in Gemma's and her bedrooms packed.

"How's it goin', sweetheart?" Tig inquired quietly, leaning against the door frame of Gemma's bedroom. His gaze took in the closed boxes on the floor.

Tara looked over her shoulder at him. No matter how much time she spent around Tig, she was still uneasy around him. He was a living contradiction. On one hand, only Happy had a darker reputation in the club than Tig. On the other, she knew he was capable of great loyalty and dedication, both to his friends and to his woman.

She swallowed back her uneasiness and turned away from him. "Fine. These boxes and the ones in my room are ready to go downstairs if your shoulder's up to it."

"Thanks to your care, doc. You're almost as good as Cat at mendin' my injuries."

Tara looked over her shoulder at him again, a wry smile on her face. "She's had a little more practice at bandaging your wounds."

"True, dat," Tig replied, bending to pick up one of the boxes, testing its' weight in his hands and arms. "This one might've been a bit more than she coulda handled."

Tara shrugged and returned to her work. "Just don't over do. Jax and Clay can help when they get here. I don't want you opening that wound."

"Gotcha, doc. I'll take it slow," Tig assured her. "It's gonna be awhile before they get here, though."

He hefted the box more securely in his arms and strode quietly from the room, leaving Tara to her work.

Before Gerard Butler could return Cat's greeting and reach out to take her extended hand, the roar of a Harley engine caught their attention. 'Ach! 'Er old mon is coomin'!'

He was surprised that the rider wasn't the dark – haired man from the peace rally. This man was just as tall and dark, but his beard was fuller, and he wore a knitted beanie on his head.

The rider shut down the engine and climbed from his bike, removing the helmet and placing it on one of the mirrors.

"Glad y'all could make it, Opie," Cat greeted the rider with a wave. "This is the buyer of your baby. Opie Winston, meet Gerard Butler. Gerry, Opie is the man who rebuilt the panhead."

June gazed in surprise at her friend, admiring the cool, calm manner in which she introduced the two men to each other. 'Gerry's one of Cat's big three actor crushes, and she's actin' like this kinda thing happens every day! If she can keep her fangirl at bay, so can I!'

The two men clasped hands while Cat extracted the non fat latte from the drink carrier. "Here's your latte, Mr. Butler, fresh and hot from my coffeehouse."

The actor turned his emerald green gaze on her, smiling in genuine warmth at his host. "Thanks, Ms. Marshall. But please call me 'Gerry'."

"Only if y'all agree to refer to me by my first name," she grinned. Only the small shaking of the cup she held betrayed her inner excitement.

"Let me tayke tha' frum ye afore ye gie yerself a nasty bern," he added, reaching out to take the offering from her, both hands closing over her fingers for a moment.

"Hoo, boy!" Chuckie sighed. "Glad Tig isn't here to see this! He'd be livid!"

"Stifle, Chuckie! What Tig don't know won't hurt anyone!" June hissed.

"Why don't all y'all come and settle on the porch a minute," Cat invited, reluctantly releasing the cup into Gerard's hands. "I suspect the pastry box has an assortment of breakfast selections in it."

"Got enny 'Snicker Bar Muffins' in there?" Gerry asked hopefully. He'd read of them on the website, and was intrigued at the idea of actual ground pieces of the candy baked in a chocolate muffin.

"There are," June assured him. "I call 'em 'Death by Chocolate'."

Cat grinned at her friend, indicating that she got the message. "Gerry, this is my best friend from back home, June Kruckle. We both belonged to the Indy Tarts and Tartan fan club when we lived in Indiana."

He smiled and offered his hand to June, who extended her own, fighting to keep from quivering with excitement. "Ach! Ah've hurd o' tha' group. Yer group wuld hold a yearly gatherin' o' fans fer an auction ta raise money in me name fer yer local charities."

June stared intently at the actor. "Y'all really knew about us?"

He grinned mischievously at her. "Of course, darlin'. Ah keep track o' all me fan groups, e'en tho ah canna mayke contact wi' ye. Ah appreciate all tha' me fans do fer charities."

June and Cat both melted at that news. "Man, if only the Tarts were here!" June whispered.

Opie coughed discreetly. "Lady Cat, I'm sorry to have to put business before pleasure, but - "

"Say no more, Ope," Cat interjected with an understanding grin. "All y'all are on a tight schedule." She turned to Chuckie and added, "Chuckie, would y'all be a darlin' and open the garage door?"

"I accept that!" he scurried into the house, dodging Ebony's attempt to escape at the front door.

"Tha' looks lyke a beybey panthur!" Gerry whistled at the sight of the large black feline.

"He likes to think that, but he's just a large feline," Cat remarked. "There's two more inside,one of 'em's a very scaredy cat."

"Ach! Tha 'pawse' in tha ootfit!"

Opie was 'treading water' in the lawn near the porch, glancing towards the garage where the panhead waited.

Cat nodded and gestured to the garage. "If y'all will step this way. Opie would like for y'all to check out the bike."

"Ah'd luv ta!" Gerry followed Cat and Opie to the garage, the non – fat latte in hand. He forgot all about the candy bar muffin in the excitement of seeing the bike.

The panhead sat in the middle of the garage, sparkling like a jewel from the glare of the overhead light. Gerry stopped in front of the bike, his eyes roaming every inch of it.

Cat stepped up beside Opie and whispered, "You built her. No one knows her better than y'all. Go tell the man what y'all did to make her special."

Opie gazed down at her, accepted the keys he'd given her the day before, and stepped forward to stand next to the actor. "She's a 1963 HD panhead. I found the frame and built her from scratch a few months ago," he offered quietly.

Gerry listened intently as the outlaw explained all the work he'd done to restore the bike. The actor nodded from time to time, indicating he understood and appreciated all the mechanical terms and the effort involved.

"I didn't rebuild her to be cooped up in a garage somewhere. She's a good ride, and deserves to be out on the open road," Opie added, casting a sideways glance at the actor.

"Ah'm noot buyin' 'er ta poot 'er inna fookin' mooseum, lad," the actor replied. "A booty lyke tha' is meant ta be ridden. Mite ah tayke 'er oot fer a test?"

While the men had been discussing the bike, Cat had snuck into the house and retrieved her helmet. June and Chuckie greeted her appearance with the helmet, and her lack of the sling, with loud protests.

"Cat, y'all can't be thinkin' of gettin' on the back of that bike!" June cried. "Not with all those injuries!"

"I can, and I am," Cat replied firmly. "June, you of all people hafta understand that I can't pass up this chance!"

"But there's no passenger seat!" Chuckie stated. "What are you going to sit on, the man's lap?"

June poked him in the ribs. "Don't tempt her!
It's gonna be difficult enough to keep her off that bike without puttin' ideas in her head!"

"Too late!" Cat retorted. "While it's an intriguin' thought, it's not as practical or safe as 'Grease II' made it look."

"Thank God for some small blessin's!" June sighed.

"Doesn't mean I can't perch on the back fender. It's pretty sturdy lookin'," Cat continued.

"Tig wouldn't like it if he found out you had your arms around another man," Chuckie pointed out.

"Tig doesn't hafta know about it."

"Where's that two – way?" June demanded, attempting to search her friend's pockets. "I'll call him and have him talk some sense into y'all!"

"Get yer paws off me!" Cat growled. "Y'all ain't callin' Alex!"

"Oh, yeah?" June growled back.

"Yeah! For one, all that'll do is make him worry about somethin' he's too far away to do anythin' about. Secondly, I took the precaution of hidin' the phone!" Her replied triumphantly.

June glared angrily. Her expression indicated that she might've lost the battle but was still fighting the war.

Cat's gaze softened as she gazed at her friend in earnest entreaty. "C'mon, June! If y'all weren't scared of motorcycles, y'all would wanna do the same thing! Admit it!"

June scuffed her toe on the porch. "I hate y'all when you're right," she murmured.

"I love y'all too!" Cat grinned, limping from the porch to the garage.

Gerry had retrieved his own helmet from the Land Rover. He was sitting on the panhead, familiarizing himself with the controls under Opie's expert tutelage. He and Opie looked up at Cat's approach and lifted their eyebrows at the sight of the helmet dangling from her good hand.

"She isna thinkin' of ridin' wi' me in 'er condition, is she?" Gerry inquired in an aside to Opie.

"She is," Opie grumbled. "The only person who would be able to keep her off the bike is her old man."

"Where is 'e?"

"Out of town. After she got out of the hospital, she sent him off to a trade show in Washington State," Opie replied.

Gerry nodded, glad that he wasn't going to have to contend with the jealous 'old man'. He turned the full power of his emerald gaze on his hostess.

"Shurely ye trust me wi' yer frien's bike, Lady Cat?" he asked, easily adopting the title the club had bestowed on her.

"I trust y'all, and don't call me 'Shirley'!" she replied. "But I can't let an opportunity like this to pass!"

Gerry smiled slightly at her use of the line from the movie 'Airplane!'. The slight slump to his shoulders telegraphed his dissatisfaction at suddenly being treated like a celebrity instead of 'one of the gang'.

Cat grinned mischievously at the actor. "It's not every day a gal gets a chance to ride on a vintage, fully restored motorcycle like this!"

Gerry grinned with delight at her, while Opie looked pained. June and Chuckie exchanged amused glances. "I don't believe she can be so calm! I'm shakin' like a leaf!"

"Lady Cat, the panhead's not built for two people," Opie protested. "I can't let you ride on the back in your condition! Tig would kill me!"

Cat had already donned her helmet. She glared at Opie, her good eye pleading with him. "C'mere a second, Ope."

Opie walked towards her, standing so that his body blocked her from the actor's amused gaze.

"Opie, Gerard Butler is one of my three favorite actors mine. This really means a lot to me."

Opie frowned intently in response. 'Tig would kill me if anything happened to her. I can't let her do this!' His eyes gentled with compassion and concern. "I know this is important, Lady Cat. Tig was jokin' around once about having to contend with your 'actor boyfriends'. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to ride on that bike. It's too dangerous!"

"Your opinion is duly noted. I'll be sure to tell Tig that you issued a vigorous protest," she replied, stepping around him to walk to the panhead.

After Cat had limped away from the porch, June slipped into the house to retrieve the digital camera. She reappeared a few moments later, the camera dangling from her wrist.

"You're planning to get pictures for posterity?" Chuckie inquired.

"Cat would want to have a picture of her with Gerry, even if it means Alex will have kittens all over the place."

"That'd be something to see!" Chuckie laughed.

"I wish she wouldn't insist on ridin' with him, though. She could get badly hurt if she falls off the damn thing."

"I accept that. It's definitely a one person bike."

Chuckie and June strolled across the lawn in the direction of the garage while Cat limped to the bike. They stood next to the back yard gate, well out of the way of the panhead yet close enough to get good pictures.

As Cat neared the panhead, intending to get on it behind the actor, Gerry put out a restraining hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.

Though she had on her sunglasses and helmet, he'd seen the bandage over her eye. He'd read about the wreck after the peace rally and knew she'd only recently left the hospital. He waggled one finger of his other hand in admonishment.

"Nay, Lady Cat. I canna let ye tayke the risk," he stated softly, using every ounce of charm at his disposal. "Ye culd hirt yerself."

"Oh, no! Don't tell me you're a closet Neanderthal like my old man!" Cat growled.

"Nay, ah'm noot. Boot ah dinna think it's a gud idea fer ye ta try ta ride wi' me." His eyes twinkled with emerald mischief as he added, "Ifn ye weren't injured, Ah'd curtainly enjoy takin' ye wi' me!"

"Dammit! It's not as if you're gonna set a new speed record! I'm just tryin' to the right thing on a frackin' test ride! Anyone else would be goin' along whether you're a celebrity or not!" Cat fumed.

Gerry glanced over at June and Chuckie during Cat's rant. He saw June had the digital camera and had gotten a candid picture of him waggling his finger at his hostess. He winked at June then turned all the charm he possessed on Cat.

"True, dat. But ye aire injured. So Ah'll mayke a deal wi' ye. Ah'll let ye sit in front o' me wi' the engine off. Yer frien' kin tayke a few pictures o' us."

"Besides, I can ride along with Gerry on my own bike while he test the panhead," Opie offered.

Cat glared at them, though she knew they were all acting in her best interests. She reluctantly acknowledged to herself that riding on the back of the panhead was not a good idea.

'Alex would've already carried me into the house and locked me in the bedroom if he were here! It would've been nice to ride the panhead, especially with Gerry.'. She sighed in resignation. "I guess half a loaf is a banquet to a starvin' man, so all y'all win!"

"Good for you!" June exclaimed.

Cat used the middle finger of her hand to push her wraparound sunglasses back up her nose. That gesture made the men laugh outright in relief.

Gerry dismounted and patted the saddle invitingly. "Hev ye ever seen 'Grease II'?" he asked.

"I'm familiar with it," Cat drawled.

"Then we kin recreate one o' tha scenes from the talent show," Gerry explained. "Do ye kin tha one Ah'm talkin' aboot?"

Cat nodded. "Cept we're not wearin' silver and white."

"Don't get technical, Cat. Remember that quote of Coach Knight's that got him in trouble all those years ago," June called merrily.

"The General didn't have this kind of thing in mind when he said it," Cat retorted, climbing onto the bike, placing her hands on the grips and scooting forward onto the gas tank to make room for Gerry.

Gerry mounted the bike, settling directly behind her, placing his hands on the grips over hers. "Comfy, Lady Cat?" he placed his chin lightly on her shoulder, making it look as if they were riding and he was watching the road from behind her.

"Gettin' there," she replied. "Mind if I lean against y'all?"

"Nay. Be me guest."

His hands were warm on hers. His chest against her back strong and supportive. She felt a thrill of excitement to be in the arms of one of her favorite actors. Yet, she felt awkward about the experience. A small part of her wished Alex's arms were around her instead of Gerry's.

June walked around to the front of the bike, framed the couple and the bike in the viewfinder, and snapped several pictures. She moved to the side with the sun behind her. "All y'all wanna look at me, please?" When they complied, she snapped another couple of shots. "Good enough, chick?"

"Good enough, kittenface," Cat replied. She sighed lightly, a little sad that the moment was over. To her surprise, Gerry held her close to him for a moment, then kissed her cheek before releasing her and dismounting from the bike.

"Ah kin it isnae as much foon as ridin', but thought it myte mayke up fer tha letdown," he explained, his green eyes dancing with merriment and mischief. "Ah dinna think yer old man will mind too much!"

"You don't know Tig!" Chuckie called out.

June still had the camera raised when Gerry made his unexpected gesture and quickly hit the shutter button. She wasn't certain she'd managed to frame the shot properly because it had happened so quickly. She held her breath while she checked the picture. 'Cat'll never forgive me if I messed this up!' She exhaled with relief to find that she'd successfully caught the moment.

Cat dismounted from the bike, giving it an affectionate pat on the gas tank. "Your a nice bike. Take good care of my favorite actor, now. Be nice," she advised it. She slipped out of her helmet and shook her hair out.

Gerry straddled the bike again and nodded at Opie. "Ah suppose wheelies are oot o' tha question," he teased the outlaw.

"She's a little too heavy for that kind of shit," Opie rumbled, not rising to the actor's bait. "You're welcome to try if you think you're man enough."

Gerry laughed and worked the kick start. He got it engaged on the first try and grinned with encouragement.

Opie nodded his approval and started his own bike. The two engines roared at each other, as if determining which was the dominant creature. Opie indicated with a slight nod for Gerry to go out the drive first. The actor put the bike in gear and glided towards the street, Opie following right behind him. The two Harleys roared up the street towards the intersection.

Tig set the box full of mementos next to the basement door. Gemma was still sitting at the dining room table, cradling her head in her arms. Nate wasn't sitting with her.

Tig walked up to her, purposely making noise so he wouldn't startle Gemma. "You a'right, sweetheart?"

Gemma looked up at him and smiled wanly. Twin tracks of moisture stained her cheeks. "Y – yeah Just feelin' a little sorry for Daddy," she sniffed, wiping her face with the paper napkin.

"Uh huh. Maybe feelin' a bit of that for yourself, too," he observed. "I understand it's kinda natural, given the circumstances."

"You've been talkin' about me with your woman, haven't ya?"

Tig sat gingerly across the table from her, wary of her temper. "She came right out and reminded me this wasn't gonna be an easy day for ya," he admitted.

Gemma nodded. "That sounds like her. How's she doin'?"

"She sounded better. Her friend slipped two of the strong pain pills in her tea last night, so she slept well. Gonna take today off." He didn't mention she was doing a favor for the club. That was between Cat, him, and Opie.

"Good. It's about time she took care of herself," Gemma replied approvingly.

"Where's Nate?"

"Outside in the garden. He wanted to be alone for awhile. I think he might be praying for a miracle."

Tig stood up and walked to the window over the kitchen sink. "Yeah, he's sitting on a bench with his hands clasped between his knees and his head down. If he's not prayin', he's nappin'."

"Can you keep an eye on him for a bit? I wanna pack an overnight bag for him."

Tig shrugged. "You've got plenty of time for that shit. Ya don't hafta do it right now!"

"I wanna get it over with before Clay and Jax get here," she replied, not giving voice to her hope to stay with her father for a few more days.

"Finish your coffee while I take this box downstairs, then ya get started."

"Cat's whiskey blend isn't to be wasted," Gemma smiled gently, lifting the cooling cup to her lips. She took an appreciative sip, grateful to Tig's woman for her thoughtfulness. 'I wonder if the guys will bring anything from Charming Pawse with them. I could go for some of Bobby's bread!'

Tig carted the box down the basement stairs and placed it on the floor. He gazed around the basement and noticed the wheelchair where Amelia had been imprisoned. Pieces of tape still clung to it. 'Better hide that somewhere so the guys don't see it, otherwise they'll be askin' questions the girls don't wanna answer.'

He moved the wheelchair to a spot just beyond and to the side of the leather chaise. Then he pushed the box in front of the wheelchair. 'If I stack a few boxes in front of it, they'll never see the thing.'

Gemma finished her coffee and cleared the table. She decided to save the leftovers to warm up for another breakfast with her father, providing she could talk her boys into letting her stay awhile longer. 'If the Feds were going to trace me here, they would've been here by now! A few more days can't hurt.'

She turned from the sink when she heard Tig's deliberately loud steps on the stairs. "You don't have to keep makin' so much noise, Tigger. I'm not so jumpy anymore."

"Just makin' sure, Gem," he replied.

"Thanks for keepin' an eye on Daddy for me. Whatever you do, don't smoke in the garden in front of him," Gemma advised him with a mischievous grin. "He might shoot you again."

"I thought he got rid of the shotgun," Tig protested.

"He did. That doesn't mean there aren't other guns around," her eyes twinkled at him.

"Shit! You're not serious, are ya?"

'I don't know why I enjoy teasin' him so much. Maybe it's to knock some of that male superiority outta him!' She laughed lightly at him. "Far as I know, yours is the only gun in the house. I just wouldn't leave it lyin' around if I were you."

"Gee, thanks!" he retorted sourly, raising his eyes to the Heavens in supplication.

Gemma left the kitchen, feeling as if some of of the emotional burden she'd been carrying had been lifted from her. Teasing her husband's best friend always made her feel a little better.

She stepped into her bedroom long enough to retrieve a manila folder she'd stashed in a drawer the day before. She'd found it in a box of her mother's papers in Amelia's closet.

She and Tara had gone into the caregiver's room to pack her belongings after carrying Amelia's body to the basement. There wasn't a lot to pack, but the women wanted to be thorough, so that neither Nate nor Clay and Jax would find anything suspicious.

As they were clearing out the closet, Gemma found the box labeled 'Rose's Journals and Papers' lying on the floor under a pile of blankets. Gemma seethed at the caregiver's audacity.

"I can't believe the bitch went through my mother's papers! What the fuck was she looking for? Bank account numbers?" Gemma kicked at the caregiver's suitcase in frustration, wishing for a moment it was Amelia's ass instead.

Tara squatted next to the box, sifting through the file folders and other items. Her fingers closed on one marked 'Nate's Commitment Papers'. "There's a lot of notebooks in here. They look like they could be her journals," she explained, rising and handing a folder to Gemma. "You should look at this."

Gemma glanced at the label and collapsed onto the bed. Her face had turned pale, her eyes filled with pain. She'd known that her mother had made plans for Nate's care after her death, had accepted that as fact. The actual paperwork made it more substantial. Her heart fluttered again, leaving her feeling weak.

"Gemma, are you all right?" Tara asked in alarm. She grasped her friend's wrist, automatically sliding into physician mode. Gemma's pulse was a little faster than normal, but didn't seem alarmingly so.

"I'll be fine," Gemma breathed.

"Just take deep breaths and relax." Tara advised in her best no – nonsense manner. "I'll take care of this stuff."

She'd boxed up all of the caregiver's personal belongings so that Tig could take them to a Goodwill or other charity donation box later.

"Take that box of Rose's stuff to my room. I'll feel better with it there," Gemma requested.

"Sure. No problem," Tara replied. "Guess I'll be sleeping in here tonight."

"You're not scared of ghosts, are ya?" Gemma challenged.

"Not anymore," Tara assured her. "I've seen too much scarier shit to let ghosts bother me."

"That's my girl," Gemma replied approvingly.

Gemma shook her head, bringing her thoughts back to the present. She gazed at the folder in her hands, then opened it and looked over the paperwork.

Rose's attorney had drawn up a paper for power of attorney privileges over Nate. The name of the responsible party had been left blank. Both the attorney and Rose had signed the document, making it legal and valid.

"Shit! For all her planning, Rose really dropped the ball on this!" Gemma fumed to herself. "Who the fuck can I trust with Daddy's affairs? Jean's got enough to handle without takin' this on, and Jax and Clay are too far away to deal with it."

There were really only two people she trusted implicitly, now that LuAnn was dead. One of those people had already given far too much of herself and needed time to heal. That left one other person.

Gemma walked into Tig's room where Tara was sorting through drawers. There were several; piles on the bed and the floor waiting to be packed in boxes.

"Take a break for awhile, Tara," Gemma stated, walking into the room and sitting at the foot of the bed. "I need to ask a favor."

Jax squashed the stub of his last cigarette into an overflowing ashtray and drained the last of the coffee from his cup. He'd switched from whiskey to coffee in order to be able to ride.

The club had to deliver the last of the Hayes' guns to SAMRRO, then go to Klamath Falls to see his mother. There was no way he could face her with a hangover.

He gazed again at the two pictures of Cameron Hayes that had tormented him for hours. Jimmy O was due to call before the club left for Oregon. Whether Jax would look for his son in Vancouver or Belfast would depend on the intel Jimmy provided.

'Not that I can trust Jimmy any further than I can throw him. It's possible that Hayes could've left Abel behind in Vancouver. Traveling overseas these days with an undocumented child is a risk he wouldn't want to take.'

Jax shoved his chair away from the table, leaving the ashtray and empty coffee mug on the table. He swept the picture of Cameron and Abel into his hand, folded it, and put it in an inner pocket of his cut.

Tig heard light footsteps coming up behind him and turned slowly from the window where he was watching Nate. Tara held a manila folder in one hand and a look of bemusement on her face.

"What's up, doc?"

"I'm going outside to talk with Nate. Gemma found power of attorney papers in Rose's papers. It's signed but no one was named in it. Gemma's asked me to have him sign the papers and handle his affairs."

'About time someone else stepped up,' Tig sighed inwardly with relief. He was pleased that someone else was taking on that responsibility instead of his woman. "That's prolly a good idea. He's out in the garden, hasn't moved from the bench since he went out there."

"Gemma's in his bedroom, packing a bag for him. Guess Rose had plans for his other clothes and things to be delivered later."

Tig shrugged again. "Guess I'll get back to cartin' those boxes downstairs."

"The boxes in Gemma's room and the room I'm in are ready to go," Tara explained as she headed for the door.

"A'right." Tig headed for the hallway as Tara stepped out the back door to the garden. She walked quickly to the bench where Nate was sitting. He looked peaceful, almost asleep. She coughed loudly to get his attention and not startle him.

Nate looked up, squinting at the light in his eyes. "Is that you, Gemma honey?"

Tara stepped forward so he could see her without having to squint. "Sorry, sir. It's Tara – Dr. Knowles. Gemma's friend."

"I know who you are. Is it time to go?"

Tara sat down next to him, holding a file folder in one hand. "No, sir. Not for awhile yet."

"Oh. What's that?" he pointed to the folder.

"These are papers granting power of attorney privileges for your affairs."

"Will Gemma have those privileges?"

Tara swallowed past a lump in her throat. "No, sir. This document grants that to me."

"Why to you? I barely know you."

Tara sighed inwardly. 'He's having a clear morning. That's good in some ways, not so good in others." She considered what she should share with the aging man, not wanting to give him too much information that might come out to the wrong person at the wrong time.

"My little girl is in trouble, isn't she?" he asked softly. "That's why that dark – haired fellow is with her. It's the reason she can't stay with me and the reason you're taking that power of attorney. Why I have to go to that place."

Tara's eyes brimmed with tears. "Yes, sir. I'm afraid so."

"She trusts you, doesn't she?"

Tara nodded again. She didn't trust herself to speak without crying. She didn't want to make him any more upset than the day was going to make him.

Nate reached out for the folder, taking it from Tara's nerveless hand. "I know you're my grandson's girlfriend. I remember you were with him years ago. It crushed him when you left."

"I know. It wasn't easy for me, either," Tara whispered.

"I know, honey. But you came back, and Jax needs someone to love him. I don't like the path he's chosen, but he's my grandson and I love him."

Tara nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. "It's not an easy life, sir."

"You're a good girl," Nate assured her. "I can tell that about you. You care about people. You're kind and gentle. He needs that to balance the darkness in his life. If you can handle the club, then I guess you can handle my affairs in my daughter's stead." Nate read through the papers, then signed his name to the last page.

Opie was impressed with the actor's handling of the panhead. He rode confidently, yet safely. He didn't try to show off to impress the outlaw.

Opie was more impressed by Butler than if he'd tried to show off.

Gerry had already fallen in love with the panhead. It rode well and responded like it was attuned to him. He'd wanted the bike the minute he'd seen the pictures, riding it just made him want her more.

They rode down Main Street, thundering past the businesses. Gerry was surprised that the townspeople paid little attention to the two Harleys. 'Ah figgered tha panhead wuld git plenty o' attention! Guess thay're used ta hearin' bikes all tha tyme.'

'The man loves the panhead. He might be an actor, but he's not playing a role right now,' Opie mused. 'He's enjoying himself, and likely to treat the panhead the way she should be treated. He'll take good care of her.'

The two Harleys thundered down Cat's street and up into the drive, coming to a stop in front of the 300M and the 'Black Beauty'. The garage door was closed. Cat and her friends were sitting on the front porch, drinking coffee and waiting for the two riders' return.

They dismounted from the bikes and removed their helmets. Gerry ran an appreciative hand over the panhead's gas tank. "Yer a right booty, Ah hope ta mayke ye mine, ifn' yer owner agrees."

Gerry turned to hand the keys back to Opie, who put up a hand to stop him. "She's yours, man."

Gerry reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and removed a bulky envelope. "It's all thayre. Aire ye shure ye only want $10 grand fer 'er? She's wurth twice tha'!"

Opie scanned the contents of the envelope. The money was wrapped with small paper bands in thousand dollar increments, a total of 10 packs. "I'm sure, Gerry," he rumbled, sticking the envelope in his inner cut pocket. "Cat's got the pink slip, already signed."

Gerry held out his hand and Opie clasped it warmly. "Good luck with her, Gerry."

Cat walked up to the men as they shook hands over the transaction. "Hey Ope, do y'all have time to let me pack a care package?"

Opie glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Sorry, Lady Cat. I've got to get to the garage, we'll be leaving on that tour shortly."

"Damn bad timin'!" Cat sighed. "By the way, I mentioned to Tig that I was helpin' y'all sell somethin'. Didn't go into details. Wanted to run it by y'all first."

"Appreciate you keeping the details on the QT. Next time you talk to him, you're welcome to fill him in," Opie assured her, straddling his bike and adjusting his helmet. "Thanks for handling this for me. I owe you."

"You guys keep the shiny side up," she replied, stepping back towards the lawn.

Opie nodded at her. "Gerry, nice to meet you."

"Thanks, mon. Ride safe," the actor replied.

Opie backed his Harley down the driveway, started it and put it in gear. He waved once, then headed down the street to the intersection.

"Is me latte still aroun'?" Gerry asked. "Tha' ride mayde me a mite parched."

Cat favored him with a sideways, disbelieving glance. "Honey, if a short ride like that can make you thirsty, I'd hate to see what would happen on a long haul!"

"Belayve me, darlin', ye dinnae wanna know!"

"Your latte's in the kitchen. C'mon inside where it's the light's not as overwhelming," she offered. Despite the wraparound sunglasses, her good eye was uncomfortable in the morning light. Before turning towards the front door, she motioned to the Land Rover's driver to approach her.

"Yes, ma'am?" the driver inquired politely.

"No sense in y'all sittin' out here like a bump on a log," Cat explained. "Take yerself over to the coffeehouse and relax. There's plenty of books there, or y'all can use one the 'pewters there. Y'all can leave the vehicle parked here and cut through the back yard."

She glanced questioningly at Chuckie, who nodded and crooked one of his fingers at the driver. "I'll show you the way over."

The driver glanced at Gerry, who nodded slightly to give his approval. "Ye myte as well be coomfertable, beats remainin' ootside."

The driver nodded and followed Chuckie to the back gate. Chuckie would be a buffer for the driver, advising her staff why he came through the back area and making sure the driver was settled with food and drink before he returned to the house.

Gerry followed Cat and June to the front door. He grinned in amusement as they managed to slip inside the house without the large black feline racing outside.

"Comes from lots of practice," she explained. "His name is Ebony. You can pet him, just don't touch past his shoulder. He goes from nice to mean in a second."

"Ah'll keep tha' in mind," Gerry grinned, watching the large black feline rub around his legs. He bent at the waist to affectionately rub the cat's ears.

The Siamese, Ming, had been dozing in a sunbeam until the commotion at the front door roused him. He rose, stretched, and sauntered over to demand his share of attention from the actor.

Ebony glared at his feline brother's intrusion and snorted in disgust. When Gerry began to lavish attention on the Siamese, Ebony turned his back on the actor and walked towards the garage and the cat door, his nose and tail pointed at the ceiling.

"Ah git tha feelin' 'e's noot happy wi' me."

"He'll get over it. He's gonna take the cat run to the coffeehouse and show off for the customers," Cat assured the actor. "He'll get plenty of attention at the cat window. He's spoilt rotten and knows it."

Gerry quickly forgot his worries over upsetting Ebony. He'd fallen completely under the Siamese's spell. His fingers scratched under Ming's chin and behind his ears, making the Siamese purr like a motorboat.

"When you're done worshipin' the felines – somethin' they've not forgotten, by the way – y'all are welcome to make yerself at home,"

She gestured invitingly at the living room. "June can warm up your latte, and help yerself to a scone or one of the Snicker Bar Muffins. I'll be back with the pink slip in a minute."

"Tha' pink slip kin wayte, Lady Cat," Gerry replied. "Siddown. Mayke yer own self coomfertable."

Cat's unbandaged eyebrow raised to meet her bangs. "Gee, thanks! Don't mind if I do!"

"Cat, be nice!" June admonished.

"I am bein' nice! I didn't hiss, for cryin' out loud!" She poured coffee and her white chocolate creamer into a cup, selected a scone, and curled up in a corner of the couch.

Gerry elected to sit in the same recliner where Alex had held onto her the night of Kip's murder. He noticed the black ribboned rose sitting in a vase on the table and gazed inquiringly at Cat.

"That's from my old man. I told him that flowers do me no good when I'm dead and can't enjoy 'em. He had it delivered to my hospital room."

"Boot why tha black ribbon?" Gerry inquired.

Cat and June looked at each other, then back to Gerry. "Our fan group adopted the gift the Phantom bestowed to Christine as a symbol of love and sisterhood," June explained, elaborating on the Indiana club's tradition of presenting a bereaved member with the token at a loved one's funeral.

"My old man, Tig, knows I love 'Phantom' in all its' presentations. I told him once about the group's tradition," Cat added.

"But ye dinnae die!" Gerry noted.

"True," Cat grinned. "Tig isn't the kind of guy who normally gives a woman flowers for any reason. This was the first time he gave me any flower, and he wanted to make sure I knew who'd sent it and the meanin' behind it."

"And did ye?" Gerry's eyes twinkled.

Cat's eye met his with a twinkle of her own. "I sure did. It kinda creeped out a friend who was with me when it was delivered, though!"

"Ach! Boot ye unnerstood. Tha's tha important thin'. Yer group 'as a loverly idea in usin' tha token lyke tha'." He looked at the rose again, his hand involuntarily rubbing his chin. 'Ah lyke tha way tha mon thinks. 'E myte be possessive o' tha woman, boot 'e seems ta hev a lot o' feelin' fer 'er ifn' tha' gesture is enny indicayshun.'

"I don't think y'all wanted to talk about tokens of affection, Gerry," Cat observed.

"Yer right, Lady Cat. Ah wanted ta ask ye aboot yer experiences wi' tha club. Ah'm werkin' onna moovie, 'Machine Goon Preacher'. Aboot an ootlaw biker who gies up tha' life ta save Sudanese children."

Cat and June nodded in acknowledgment. "We're familiar with the project," June added. "We still email with the fan group."

"If y'all are wantin' to hang out with the guys in order to learn about one percenters, it ain't happenin'," Cat replied. "They're goin' outta town for one. But I doubt they'd take very kindly to bein' observed."

"Ah wouldnae dream o' it," Gerry assured her. "We hav a technical adviser fer tha' kind o' thin'. Ah'm more interested inna tha' relayshunships, how tha' men relayte ta one anuther, an' ta thayre famlies." He gazed intently at her and added, "Ah cannae thin' o' ennyboddy wi' moor insight ta tha' than ye."

Happy needed someone to talk to about his concerns about his mother. Though Tig's old lady had offered to be a sounding board, Happy wasn't willing to seek her out while her man was out of town. 'She's just not comfortable around me yet. At least not without Tig around. Can't blame her for that.'

Happy had always considered Piney the closest thing to a father figure he had. Piney was one of the first nine; had been with the club since its' inception, and Happy trusted him implicitly. He strode up to the elder Winston, who was readying the van for the trip North.

"Got a few minutes, old man?" Happy growled.

"Sure. What's up?"

"Mom's gettin' worse. I've moved her to a hospice nearby and transferrin' back here."

Piney winced at the bad news about Happy's mom. 'Hospice's are never good news; guess the end is near.' He sighed and replied, "Sorry to hear that, son. It'll be good to have ya back in the club."

Happy nodded. "I can cover the hospice, but all the meds are breakin' me. They're so fuckin' expensive and she needs so many!"

"I know. Medicare only pays so much; the rest comes outta my pocket. Add the cost of these cans and I'm nearly broke before my military pension check arrives!"

Happy shook his head. "How do ya manage, man?"

"There's a girl up near Rogue River who provides meds at low cost to hospices and people like me who can't afford it. Usually at little to no cost. I'll talk to Clay about takin' ya to meet her. If she likes ya, she'll help ya."

"Thanks, Piney," Happy replied, feeling a measure of relief. They walked towards the garage to talk to Clay when they heard a Harley roar into the drive. They turned to find that Opie was pulling into the lot.

"Wonder where he's been?" Piney mused. "His bike wasn't at the house earlier. Lyla said he'd taken off on an errand."

"Guess you could ask him," Happy observed.

"Nah. He'll tell me if he wants to."

Opie wasn't surprised to find that that his brothers were nearly ready to go on the final Hayes gun run. He noticed Piney and Happy standing together in front of the open garage bays. Clay was standing in one of the bays, digging his ringing cell phone from his pocket.

The garage's van was parked near the bays and the line of bikes. Piney would be driving the van on this run, in order to make it look as if the club was making another charity run.

The reassuring bulge of the money envelope in his back pocket eased some of Opie's pain from parting with the panhead. He knew he'd made the right decision in getting Cat's help to sell the bike. More importantly, he'd made good for the damage he'd done to his club the day before.

He looked across the lot to see Clay striding from the garage bay with his cell phone at his ear. Behind Opie came the sound of Jax's Harley roaring into the lot.

By the time Jax had parked his bike and removed his helmet, Clay had handed the cell to him. He only uttered one word, Jimmy's name. Jax felt renewed anger rise up in him as he gripped the phone and walked away to hold a private conversation with the Irishman.

The conversation wasn't long and was very heated on Jax's side. Opie could tell that Jax was holding on to his anger by a very slim thread that was about to snap.

The club quietly gathered behind Jax, close enough to lend support, but not close enough to crowd the VP. Opie watched intently while Jax hollered in rage at Jimmy.

'Sounds like Jimmy is trying to sell the idea that Abel isn't in Ireland. Jax obviously isn't buying it. If it were my kids, I wouldn't buy the story either.'

Jimmy and Liam were sitting in Jimmy's parked Mercedes. Rain beat on the car as Jimmy tried to convince Jax that Abel wasn't in Ireland. Jimmy had put the call on speaker so that Liam could hear every word.

'This isnae goin' well at all,' Liam observed, wincing at the anger in Jax's voice as he reminded Jimmy he'd given bad intel on Abel.

Jimmy looked across at Liam with an expression that clearly told the SAMBEL SAA not to fuck things up. Liam accepted the phone and identified himself to Jax, surprised his voice sounded calm and even.

'What the fuck is Liam doin' with Jimmy O, and why the Hell is he tryin' to convince me Jimmy's tellin' the truth this time?' Jax growled an angry challenge at the SAMBEL SAA.

While Jimmy's eyes stared into the brick wall in front of the car, Liam spun the carefully rehearsed lie. He explained why he was with Jimmy, and that he'd been with Jimmy when they saw the Irish police collect Cameron's body and there was no sign of a child.

Jax countered that he should still come to Ireland on his home, talk to any contacts Cameron might have had before he was killed.

Liam winced again, but kept his voice even as he persuaded Jax against the idea. With the current political unrest not just in Belfast, but within SAMBEL itself, Jax would never get anyone to talk openly with him. It would be a waste of time.

Jimmy nodded once as he listened to Liam deny Abel's presence in Ireland. He heard with relief Jax reluctantly accept Liam's story. As expected, Jax would trust the word of a brother. He had no reason not to trust Liam – yet.

Liam closed the phone with a decided snap, not waiting for a farewell from Jax nor giving one. He wordlessly handed the phone back to Jimmy, who accepted it with a grim, satisfied smile.

"Verra gud. Ye bought us sum tyme."

"Fer wha'eva gud it'll do ye," Liam murmured.

Jimmy handed over a thick white envelope. "Mebbe this weel mayke up fer yer trouble."

Liam didn't bother to look inside. He could count it later. All he wanted to do was get out of Jimmy's presence for awhile. He'd never felt more unclean in his life. Liam had done many things in his life, both for the club and for the cause. He'd never stooped so low as to lie to a brother before.

Jax tossed the cell phone back to Clay as he paced towards the van. He explained that it appeared that Jimmy was telling the truth about Abel this time.

He paced in front of the van for a few moments, feeling like a pressure cooker about to blow its' top. He needed to release that pressure somehow. Suddenly Jax whirled and pounded his fists into the upper panel of the van. The blows were hard enough to put a couple of sizable dents in the van's side.

Clay shook his head slightly at Jax's spurt of temper. 'Thank God it wasn't glass!'

Jax stormed away from his brothers to the clubhouse entrance. He plopped on top of the picnic table and lit a cigarette. His hands hurt, the knuckles raw and bleeding where he'd pounded the van. His rings had taken some of the blow, but not enough. He shook his hand out to try to alleviate some of the sting.

His brothers slowly walked over to him, approaching carefully as if they were coming up on a wounded bear caught in a trap. Clay led the men, and commented dryly on the condition of Jax's hands.

Chibs was the only one of the men brave enough to sit next to Jax on the picnic table. He didn't touch the VP, or say anything to him. He merely lent his silent support by his proximity.

Jax didn't respond to Clay's remark about his hands. He announced that they would go ahead with the original plan. He and Clay would collect Gemma, the others would deliver the guns to SAMRRO, then they'd go on to Vancouver.

'Jax needs encouragement. Now's as good a time as any to give him the money," Opie reached behind his back and withdrew the envelope he'd received earlier from Gerry. He quietly announced the contents as he handed it to Jax, adding matter of factly that he'd sold the panhead.

'No need to drag Cat's involvement in this right now. It's enough he knows what I did to get the money. He'll understand.'

Jax gazed at Opie in surprise. His lips were so slack that he nearly dropped his cigarette. 'So that's why he was ridin' Cat's bike yesterday! She obviously helped him sell it. He's more than made things right as far as I'm concerned!'

Jax stood up and embraced Opie, thumping his back with a murmured thanks. Opie tried not to squirm in discomfort while he returned the gesture. He didn't want Jax to make a fuss about his 'sacrifice'. He'd merely done what he felt he had to do.

Jax handed the envelope to Bobby so he could wire the money to Serge's mercenary friend. Jax began to feel a small bit of hope lighten the heavy burden that seemed to weigh down his soul.

Gemma reverently folded each article of clothing she was packing for her father before placing it in the soft sided travel case. She wanted to put every conceivable comfort she could find in the case, but didn't give in to the desire.

'It's not like he's going to have a lot of space. Rose's papers indicated the contents of the house are to be sold at auction. At least anything I don't keep and that doesn't go with Daddy.'

The case seemed too small. She wanted to pack every conceivable item that might comfort him. A room was ready and waiting for her father. Amelia had already delivered some of his personal effects, some family pictures, and most of his clothes the day after Rose's funeral. 'It just doesn't seem enough. How will he ever feel at home there?'

Tig's shoulder began to twinge after an hour of work. He'd carried enough boxes to the basement to hide the wheelchair. He decided to take a break and enjoy a smoke.

He was looking forward to seeing Clay and Jax and meeting up with his brothers. He figured they were on the road to meet with SAMRRO and would arrive sometime near lunchtime.

He then thought about the latest bit of assistance his woman had given to the club. 'It seems like we're bringin' her deeper into our shit. How can I keep her safe? This 'tell 'em all or nothin'' shit ain't workin' for me. There's gotta be some kinda middle ground!'

He looked out across the garden, hoping that Nate had gotten tired of nature and gone inside. 'Nope, old man's still on the bench. Looks like Tara's been keepin' him out of trouble.'

He strode along the path towards them, wishing he could have a smoke, but knew better than to antagonize Gemma's father after getting shot for doing the nasty with Amelia.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Tig respected Nate as much as he respected Blaine Marshall. Gemma's dad was as genuine as his father – in – law, despite the dementia.

"Hey, Tara. Nate. Mind if I join you?"

Tara stood up, cradling the manila folder to her chest as if it were a talisman. "Actually, I was going to go inside for a bit."

Tig nodded, accepting that Tara might not ever be completely relaxed with him.

Nate looked up at the dark – haired man. He remembered mistaking him for a mugger and shooting the man. "I'd appreciate a little company, Tig."

"A'right," Tig slowly sank to the bench, holding his shoulder with one hand to keep from jarring it.

"Still hurts, doesn't it, son?" Nate observed.

"Nothin' I can't handle," Tig assured him. 'As long as your wife's painkillers hold out.'

"I'm sorry, son," Nate replied softly. "I thought you were hurting Rose. I – I -"

Tig held up a hand to stop Nate's apology. "No worries, sir. It was an accident. Tara's a good doctor and says no permanent damage."

Nate nodded his head and glanced down at Tig's hands that were resting on his knees. The sun glinted off the gold jaguar ring. "That's a fascinating ring. I thought you bikers wore lots of them."

Tig glanced out the side of his eye at the older man. 'He's having a clear day a'right!' One finger traced the snarling jaguar making him smile slightly.

"Your girl give that to you?"

Tig's body stiffened involuntarily in response to Nate's question. "How'd you know?"

"The way you touched it. I often did the same with my wedding ring from Rose. Still do, when I remember," the minister replied dryly, pointing at his wedding ring.

'Figures one man could tell the feelings another man has for his woman,' Tig allowed himself to relax again. "Yeah, she did."

"I've never understood this 'living together' thing you young people embrace these days. When I courted Rose, had I suggested living together without benefit of marriage, her father would've shot me. I would've been kicked out of the ministry as well."

Tig grinned at the idea of someone shooting Nate. "Guess things have changed a lot in your lifetime."

"And not always for the better. Take an old preacher's advice and make an honest woman of her. Don't fool around with other women, either. It's not good for your health."

"I kinda noticed that," Tig remarked wryly. "My girl and Gemma have something in common, she's a preacher's kid, too."

"What does her father think of you?" Nate countered.

"He accepts me because his daughter does," Tig replied quietly.

"I tried to do that for Gemma. She really loved John, but it was very difficult for me to accept him at first. She'd gone through all that heart trouble as a baby, had her problems with my wife, then ran off and got pregnant before they married," Nate stared out over the garden, but Tig could tell he wasn't looking at the colorful flowers spread out before him.

His shoulders slumped with sadness as he softly added, "My fondest wish was to give Gemma away at her wedding, maybe perform the ring vows. It really hurt me when she and John eloped. I never told her."

Tig heard the old man's pain, and it made hiim think of his twin daughters. What would he do if either or both of them were to get married? 'Would they want me to give 'em away? Would they even bother to tell me? Would I want to be involved if they did?'

Nate roused from his reverie to watch Tig out of the corner of his eye. 'It looks like something I said hit home with the boy.' He laid a gentle hand on Tig's shoulder. "Do you have any children?"

"Twin girls. Fawn and Dawn. I don't see them much. Prolly a good thing for them." Tig acknowledged.

"It's never good to be separated from your children, son. You might think you're doing them a favor. Sometimes, they need your presence more than your presents."

Tig winced at the minister's observation. "Afraid they haven't had much of either from me, cept for monthly child support payments. Those came regular as clockwork."

"I'm not chastising you, son. I lost my son to heart trouble, and lost another child to troubles of the heart. I love Gemma, and wish I were closer to Jackson. Sometimes I wish I could be more accepting of Clay. He's always been respectful to me, but I can't forget that he took my daughter from her husband."

Nate stood up before Tig could think of a response. "I think I'll go inside and find my daughter. You think on what I said about your woman. If she's that special to you, you should treat her that way before it's too late."

Nate shuffled away from the bench, leaving Tig to ponder his words of wisdom. Tig wasn't bothered about the old man's comments about his relationship with Cat, but his other comments bothered him almost as much as his shoulder.

'From what Chuckie said she told the girls, Cat seems OK with 'what happens on a run stays on a run'. She's never indicated she isn't. She's not the type to suffer in silence, that's for damn sure!' He dug his cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one. He inhaled deeply while he thought.

'Interesting what he said about the girls. I love them. Always have. They're part of me and the only kids I have. Come to think of it, haven't heard much from 'em since the child support payments came to an end!'

He exhaled a long plume of smoke through his nose and watched it unravel in the light breeze. 'Shit! I haven't heard from 'em in quite awhile. Wonder if Cat would mind if I try to find 'em, make sure they're OK?'

Tara walked through the house to Nate's bedroom, where she knew she'd find Gemma hard at work. Her friend was standing at the side of the bed, packing a soft sided bag for her father.

Tara moved to the bed and sat on the edge, placing the manila folder on the bedspread. Gemma had just placed a large crucifix on top of the packed clothing and preparing to close the bag. Tara explained that Nate had signed the documents and waited for Gemma's reaction.

The news should have given Gemma some comfort, but it only made her sadder. She quietly closed the soft sided bag. Only a small sigh betrayed her feelings.

Tara tried to console Gemma with information she'd learned about the nursing home. It was specifically set up for the care of dementia patients, and had a good staff. She felt Nate would be in good hands.

Gemma asked if there was garden as she knew it was one of the few things that gave her father any pleasure. Tara knew everything there was to know about the facility's credentials, but she didn't know if it had a garden.

As far as Gemma was concerned, it didn't matter if there was a garden at the nursing home or not. She knew in her heart that her father was going to die alone, just like her mother. She said as much to Tara before tossing the bag to the floor and stalking out of the bedroom.

Liam strode into the small flat he'd been sharing for some time with Cherry. He needed to let off some steam after the transatlantic phone conversation with Jax.

'Cherry's bin kinda aloof lately. Beginnin' ta wunder ifn someone tole 'er aboot the Prospect. Tha's tha only thin' tha' wuld mayke 'er so distant wi' me.'

Liam knew Cherry didn't really love him. When he'd claimed her as his old lady, she'd been more relieved than excited. 'Guess she figgered bein' me ol' laidy wuz better than bein' a sweetbutt.'

There was something about the dark – haired Yankee girl that had captivated Liam when he first saw her. SAMCRO had arranged passage for her with Cameron Hayes when they both needed to escape North America from the Feds.

SAMBEL had set Cherry up with a job at Ashby's Provisions. As McGee's old lady, Maureen had found her a sleeping room until Cherry could get enough money to get a place of her own.

Cherry was lonesome in her new surroundings. All she knew was the MC life. She eventually drifted to the SAMBEL clubhouse to seek companionship. Liam talked with her and they shared a few drinks that first time. He made no demands of her.

The pattern continued for several days, then he invited her to his flat. That night, he'd made his claim and she agreed to move in with him.

Cherry made a good old lady. She didn't ask questions or make demands. She gave him some semblance of affection and great sex whenever he wanted it.

"Ye kin she's in lurv wi' tha Prospect," McGee warned him when he announced Cherry had moved in with him.

"Aye," Liam replied. "Boot tha Prospect's 'alf a wurld away. Ah'm 'ere an Ah want 'er."

McGee shook his head, his eyes boring into his SSA's. "Ye nevva seemed ta me ta be tha type ta settle fer second best."

"She's wurth it ta me. She'll coom aroun' afore long," Liam assured him.

If Cherry pined for Half Sack, she didn't do it openly or in front of Liam. She always acted affectionate to him in public and private. She seemed the perfect old lady to him.

"Cherry, darlin'? Ye awayke yet?" he called as he stepped across the threshold and hung his cut on the nearby coat rack.

"Yes, Liam!" she called from the kitchen, where she'd been cooking. She walked out to greet him, clad only in ankle boots and a plaid shirt. She looked downright sexy. His groin instantly reacted to the sight of her.

She gave him a brief hug, resting her blond head against his chest for a moment. "Are you hungry?"

"Aye, boot not fer food, darlin'," he leered. He sat in the desk chair, pulling her into his lap and kissing her soundly. His hand slid up her thigh to find that she was definitely naked under the shirt.

His swollen cock nudged her bottom through his straining jeans, proving that he wasn't just teasing.

She sighed inwardly. "Lemme turn off the stove so the food doesn't burn."

He let her up, his eyes bright with excitement and desire. "Be quick aboot it, woman!"

Cherry walked into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and stood at the sink for a few moments. She didn't find Liam offensive, but sex with him was getting monotonous.

'Sometimes I feel more like a whore than I ever did in Indian Hills!' She wanted to cry, but knew her tears would hurt Liam, and she didn't want to do that to him.

She forced herself to smile brightly as she returned to the front of the flat. Liam had made himself ready, pulling his jeans and underwear to his ankles. The evidence of his desire for her body stood erect and ready, a white bead of moisture glistening along the purple mushroom tip.

"Ach, baby! Ah love ta watch ye move!" he moaned, peering through his heavy eyelids. His voice was guttural with want and need.

Cherry stood in front of him, slowly undoing the top buttons of the shirt. She smiled softly at him, enjoying his need for her in spite of her heart wishing Kip was sitting in front of her and watching her.

She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled shakily. Liam's breathing grew harsh and ragged as he watched her unbutton the shirt, exposing just the top of her breasts.

"Enuf!" he growled, reaching out his hands to draw her between his legs. He lifted her up and settled her onto his throbbing erection.

"Liam, I'm not ready!" she protested weakly.

"Yer hot, wet, tight. Jest tha way I lyke ye," he growled again, thrusting up into her wet warmth.

Despite herself, Cherry felt her body react to his. Her mouth settled over his, tongues dueling for supremacy. She rode him as if he were a prized stallion.

Just as they were rising to the crest and about to go over the edge, Liam's cell phone buzzed on the desk. They both moaned. Cherry's hand reached for the phone to shut it off as Liam's hand reached to open it. Liam's reach was a little longer than hers.

He moaned again, muttering that the call was from Jimmy. 'Perfect timin'! Whut's tha aaswipe want now?' His dick rapidly deflated as if cold water had been poured over him.

Cherry scrambled from Liam's lap with a sigh of disgust that Liam took to mean she wasn't pleased by the interruption.

She felt disgusted with everything, including Jimmy's timing. She snagged a cigarette from the pack of smokes on the desk while Liam got up and pulled his pants high enough that he could walk to the bathroom without getting tangled in them.

While Liam relieved himself, Cherry looked for a match or lighter for her cigarette. Nothing was on the desk and the pockets of her shirt were empty. 'Liam usually keeps a lighter in his cut.'

She pawed through the pockets finding a heavy white envelope in place of a lighter. She pulled out the envelope and peeked inside. She found a large number of banknotes. She ran her fingers through the quid and bob, determining it was a hefty sum.

'Liam's been bringing in a lot of money lately. Wonder what he's up to?' She stuffed the money back in the envelope and returned it to the pocket she'd taken it from. Liam was about finished in the bathroom. She moved back to the desk, industriously looking for a light.

"Matches aire inna drawer, darlin'," he reminded her, shrugging his arms into his cut. "Ah've gotta go. Not shure when I'll be hoome. We'll pick up whaire we left off." He quickly kissed her and trudged out the door.

Cherry opened the drawers, looking for the matches. 'Trust Liam not to tell me which drawer!' she grumbled. One of the drawers not only provided the matches she sought. It led to another interesting discovery. She read through the paper, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.

"Well, well! This might prove useful sometime down the road!" She put the paper back exactly as she'd found it and closed the drawer.

The SAMCRO men headed to their parked bikes to start the ride North. Each bike had an innocent looking bedroll attached to it. The bedrolls actually had hidden compartments holding the guns the Sons were ferrying to Oregon for Jimmy.

Happy and Piney flanked Clay as they walked to the line of Harleys. Happy quickly briefed Clay on his mother's prognosis and the cost of the medicines she needed.

Piney immediately explained about Honey, who lived near Rogue River, and her pharmaceutical venture. Piney stated he would introduce Happy to the woman without it interfering with the club's time line to Canada.

Bobby had overheard their conversation about low cost medicines. He'd been on the receiving end of a terse call from Precious that morning about their son's asthma.

"Tiki's using three inhalers a week now. Serge went with a different insurance carrier this year and those fuckwits are threatening to drop Tiki under some pre – existing condition clause!"

"I'm gettin' money to you as quick as -"

"You're his father!" Precious interjected acidly. "It's about time you did something about it! Put him on your insurance!"

"Precious, I can't declare him as a dependent on mine until the next enrollment period!" Bobby protested. "I can't just pay out of pocket for inhalers! They're expensive!"

"Then figure something out!" Precious growled, slamming the receiver onto the cradle and breaking the connection.

'If Honey has medicines for Piney's lungs, she's gotta have somethin' for asthma!' Bobby asked Piney if that might be the case, and Piney affirmed it was possible. He then asked Clay's permission to tag along.

Clay reluctantly agreed out of sympathy for Bobby's situation. His hands twinged with pain from the arthritis he'd been battling for years. 'Damn cost of cortisone is gettin' higher every month! This keeps up, I might need to meet Honey!' He clenched his fists for a moment, then relaxed them.

The bikes roared to life and Clay put his in gear. He headed towards the street, the rest of the club following behind him.

Gerry had taken a small notebook from his back pocket where he kept notes on his research for the upcoming film. His pen flew across the pages as he recorded the details Cat felt she could share with him.

"Any club is going to have a foundation based on loyalty. This is especially true of an outlaw motorcycle club. Disloyalty to a brother and/or the club is not tolerated. Retribution, like Karma, can be a bitch."

"Such as the club's fight against Ethan Zobelle and that League of American Nationalists," June supplied. "From what I've heard, Zobelle and his goons targeted SAMCRO from the moment they hit town. Zobelle fought dirty and used local law enforcement to his own ends. The club might've fought hard, but they fought back clean."

Cat was surprised by June's comment. It was the first time she'd heard her friend utter anything remotely supportive or sympathetic towards SAMCRO.

"Sumone hirt theirs, tha' sumone wuz goin' ta hirt wurse," Gerry mused. "Sounds lyke thair isnae as much gie n' tayke as ye mayde me thin'."

"But there is, Gerry," Cat replied earnestly. "For example, Tig stayed with me from the minute he was allowed in my hospital room until I came to. When he couldn't be with me, the club had guardians around to keep me safe."

"Boot 'e still 'ad ta be away fr ye. Tha' maykes me thin' famly 'as ta tayke second place. Tha' cannae be easy."

Cat shrugged. "It can be if a body allows it to. Some women prefer to keep their distance from the club, others embrace it. Some try to walk a fine line with it."

Gerry's eyes twinkled mischievously. "An how aboot ye, darlin'?"

"Guess I'm one of those line walkers."

"Wha' do ye mean by tha', darlin'? Ah git tha impresshun tha' yer mure o' a law abidin' citizen than an ootlaw."

"Hah!" June snorted back a laugh. "Buddy, have y'all guess that wrong! She's one of the original bad girls. She's a preacher's kid!"

Cat maneuvered her glasses back up her nose, using the middle finger of her hand to do so.

"Ah dinnae git it. Most preacher's kids Ah kin aire decent types."

"We get stereotyped a wee bit, Gerry," Cat explained dryly. "There's a sayin' somewhere that doctor's kids are always sick, dentist's kids have bad teeth, shoemaker's kids never wear shoes, and preacher's kids are hell raisers."

"Ach! Ah 'eard sumthin' lyke tha' when Ah wuz a lad," Gerry replied.

"The ministry is a demanding profession. It claimed a lot of my father's time, attention, and energy. Sometimes he had to miss family events. My birth mother treated his work like a rival and refused to help him in any way. I grew up seeing first hand how devastating inflexibility on both sides can be to a relationship."

"Is this tha furst tyme ye've been in such a gie an' tayke relayshunship?" Gerry inquired.

Cat grinned ruefully, "My late husband was a lot like my father. He often had to choose between the needs of the job and the home. Sometimes home didn't get to be his first choice."

"How aboot yer old mon? Does 'e gie n' tayke?"

Cat smiled slyly. "He does a very good job of givin' and takin'!"

Gerry's eyes twinkled with merriment. "Oh kay! Ah thin' Ah git yer meanin', darlin'!"

"True, but you need to understand that Tig is a major alpha male. He's possessive, decisive, a man who gets things done. He passionate about the things he believes in."

"A nice way of sayin' he's a total caveman," June added.

"Ah noticed tha' on yer website; the podcast o' tha rally durin' tha finale," he replied. "So tha' loyalty facter doesnae stop at tha' club."

"Y'all said it earlier, someone hurts one of his, he hurts 'em back."

"It's a wonder that Al – I mean, Tig – hasn't gotten completely white hair yet. She really drives him up the wall with her independent nature. She doesn't like to be dictated to," June added.

Cat snorted inelegantly. "I'm not that bad!"

"Ah think thay'res a story thair tha's noot bein' tole!"

"And it's not gonna be told!" Cat retorted, glaring warningly at June.

"Ye say ye walk a fine line, darlin', yet Ah git tha' feelin' yer sympathies aire wi' tha club." Gerry observed.

"Opie wouldn't have trusted me with sellin' the panhead if I wasn't a friend of the club," Cat replied, meeting his challenging look with one of her own.

"Tha' still doesnae tell me whut Ah need ta know, Cat. Whut aire yer pursonal feelin's aboot tha club an' whut they do?" Gerry countered, turning his charm on full power on her.

She sighed in resignation. "If y'all are gonna insist!"

"Aye."

"Damn yer hide, anyway!" she hissed irritably. "I don't sanction everything they do, but don't condemn 'em, either."

Gerry gazed intently at her. "It's impertant ta me ta be able ta make tha charactur belayvable. How 'e acts wi' 'is bruthers, 'is famly, 'is woman hafta be on targut."

"Tig said that he can close his eyes around Cat, that's how much he trusts her," Chuckie piped up. He'd slipped in through the back door to the house after getting the driver settled at the coffeehouse. "Tig's not the type of man who gives his trust easily. It has to be earned. I should know," he added

Cat felt tears well up in her eye at Chuckie's declaration. 'Funny, he never said that to me!'

June frowned. "That sounds disturbingly familiar. Didn't Cory and the dope fiend say the same thing?"

"Little pitchers have big ears!" Cat snarled. "I'd like to think they meant it when they said it. Yes, they turned out to be scum, but that doesn't mean history is repeatin' itself!"

'Ach! She's been hirt afore by tha men she's trusted. 'Er layte 'usband must've bin quite a guy to win 'er trust. Sayme wi' this Tig fella.'

"Y'all are always too willin' to see the good in people, chick. That's your one down fall."

"June, I love y'all to death, but you worry too much. Tig isn't Cory, and he isn't a dope fiend."

"He's not Bill, either!" June retorted.

"True, he's not. He's different than all of 'em, kittenface. Y'all are lookin' for someone to blame for what happened to me. Whether Tig was in my life or not, I would've fought LOAN tooth and nail, and the same thing might've happened."

She gazed earnestly at her best friend, adding, "Please, kittenface, quit blamin' Tig and the club."

June looked down at the floor, then back at Cat. Neither Chuckie nor Gerry dared breathe, much less move, for fear of embarrassing the women by reminding them of their presence.

"Damn y'all!" June snorted in exasperation. "I hate it when y'all are right! It happens so seldom!"

"I love y'all, too, kittenface," Cat grinned, hefting her coffeecup in a mock salute.

"Ah dinnae kin aboot ye, Chuckie, boot Ah wuz afraid fer a moment we were gonna 'ave a gud ole fashioned cat fight break oot in front o' us!"

"I accept that!"

Cat and June glared at the men, Cat turning the one eyed 'look' on them. Neither one was fazed by it.

Gerry grinned at Chuckie. "I unnerstand wha' yer sayin', Chuckie. Men lyke tha' don't gie thair trust easily. Ifn 'e kin close 'is eyes aroun' a woman, she's wurth havin' aroun'." He closed the notebook and stuck it in his back pocket. "This'll rally 'elp, Lady Cat. Thank ye."

"Yer welcome, I think," Cat growled.

Gerry unwrapped one of the Snicker Bar Muffins and sank his teeth into it. His eyes closed in ecstasy as he chewed, savoring the flavors.

"Y'all wanna be left alone with that thing?" Cat murmured dryly.

"Mmmmm. Ye weren't kiddin' aboot this, Miss June," Gerry enthused. "This is 'death by chocolate' an' whut a way ta go!"

"Tig would have kittens if he could see you nibbling at his muffin," Chuckie remarked innocently.

"Ach! Mure o' tha' cavemon behayvior, eh?"

"He has this erroneous idea that I make the Snicker Bar Muffins just for him," Cat explained.

"As if you don't!" June smirked. "Y'all should try the original Snicker Bar Cookie recipe!"

"Cookies as good as these?" Chuckie inquired, his eyes going wide with surprise.

"In the cookie jar on the counter," Cat sighed.

Chuckie scurried into the kitchen, nearly leaping there in a single bound. He extracting one of the golden cookies from the jar, which was lined with aluminum foil to keep the cookies fresh and soft.

The foil was properly overkill, as the cookies had been packaged in plastic zip close bags. Cat's father had baked and shipped a fresh box of them to his son – in – law just before Alex had left for Oregon. No matter how tired he might be from his treatments, he made sure Alex had a steady supply of the cookies.

Chuckie brought the small bag of cookies back to the living room, gazing in delight at the chopped pieces of candy nestled in each cookie. He opened the bad and inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma like a wine master smelling the bouquet of a freshly opened bottle. He took a cookie from the bag, took a big bite, closed his eyes, and chewed contentedly.

"How is it?" Gerry asked.

"Mmmmmm."

Gerry couldn't resist the temptation. "Ifn it taystes as gud as it luks. . ." He slipped a hand into the bag and removed a cookie for himself, placing it next to the half – eaten muffin to compare the two confections.

"Tha candy isnae cut, it luks lyke it's ground up!"

"It is," Cat replied. "Not by an electric means. Daddy uses an old fashioned hand grinder on the bars. I think it gives a finer texture to the pieces myself. It's a little extra work, of course."

"But it's worth the effort!" Chuckie enthused.

Gerry took a large bit of the cookie and chewed thoughtfully. The cookie dough was soft and chewy, the candy still tasty. The confection nearly melted in one's mouth. "Aye!" he sighed.

"Dinnae suppose thayre's enny chance a mon culd git sum ta tayke back?"

"There is, she sells 'em at the coffeehouse!" June volunteered.

"I have a freezer full of pre made dough, so I can bake when new stock is needed," Cat explained. "The coffeehouse is set up with a stove for the baking in the back area."

"Ye do yer roastin' an' flayvorin' o' beans there, too," Gerry observed.

"You studied the website," Cat grinned.

"Guilty as charged," he replied.

Cat glanced at the clock. "Y'all are in luck. The mornin' rush is over, and the noon rush won't be for awhile. 'The lull' is the best time to take y'all over for a tour."

"Kin ah finish me meal, furst?" Gerry asked.

"I dunno, can y'all?" Cat retorted, her good eye twinkling.

Gerry grinned back. "Oh, Ah thin' Ah kin!"

Gemma strode into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of the whiskey blend. Her hands shook from emotion so that she had to hold the cup in both hands in order to take a sip.

Her eyes wandered over the kitchen and dining area, thinking of the many family dinners held there. Most of them often ended up with her leaving the table in anger over some harsh comment Rose had made about her.

Her eyes strayed from the dining area to the curio cabinet. 'Tara cleaned up the glass,' she mused. 'Seems like she's been cleanin' up after me quite a lot.'

She noticed the basement door was standing wide open. 'I don't need Daddy askin' any questions about that. Tig can always open it again later.' She closed the door and stood in front of the sink, gazing out the window as she took another sip of coffee.

She smiled softly at the sight of Tig and her father sitting on one of the garden benches. 'I'm glad Tig isn't holdin' a grudge against Daddy. If the shooting had happened a few months ago, he wouldn't have been so forgivin'.'

Her father stood up and headed towards the house, passing the kitchen window. He saw Gemma looking out at him and waved.

She waved back, then moved to the back door to open it for him.

Nate stood in the doorway but didn't enter the house. He held his hand out to his daughter in invitation. "Come walk with me honey."

Gemma set her cup on the counter and took his hand. "OK, Daddy," she whispered, closing the door behind her. She waved at Tig to indicate they were heading off in the opposite direction from him.

Tig relaxed against the bench, and dug out another cigarette. He lit it and inhaled with satisfaction. The pre paid vibrated in his shirt pocket. He exhaled a plume of smoke and flipped the phone open. "Tig."

"Jax. The guys are on their way to the Rogue River meet up. Clay and I are about a half hour away," the VP announced.

"Everythin' a'right?"

"Yeah. Clay's hands are botherin' him," Jax explained.

"Didn't he shoot 'em up before the ride?"

"Says Mom's the only one that does it right, so he skipped the shot. It's bad enough that he has to be tied to the grips."

"Shit!" Tig winced. "You guys gonna be OK?"

Jax sighed. "Yeah. We should be. Givin' his hands a few minutes rest, then we'll head out."

"A'right. Ride safe." Tig flipped the phone closed with a frown. 'That doesn't sound good. What's gonna happen to the club when Clay's hands won't let him ride and lead? Will I wanna be Jax's SAA then? Will he replace me with Ope?'

He ground the cigarette under his boot, crushing it to powder, then picked up the filter to toss in the trash. 'Can't worry about any of that shit now. Gotta get through the next few days, get Gemma safe, get Abel home, then think about the future.'

The SAMCRO and SAMRRO riders met up in a wooded area off the main highway in Oregon, somewhere between Rogue River and Klamath Falls.

StoneCoyote and his men were lounging against their bikes, waiting to start their own leg of the gun relay. They watched as the riders from SAMCRO pulled into the clearing and stopped their bikes.

"Where's Clay and Jax?" StoneCoyote inquired, walking up to give Bobby the 'bro hug double back tap'.

"Gone on to the Maddox house to get Gemma," Bobby explained.

StoneCoyote nodded. "Tig had quite a time with her when she read about her mother's passin'."

"I'll bet!" Bobby laughed.

"Any leads on Abel?" the SAMRRO prez asked.

"His last known location was Vancouver. We're takin' Gemma across the border and gettin' her safe, then lookin' for the kid."

"Need any help?"

"We're good," Bobby assured him.

"How's Puddy Cat?" StoneCoyote inquired.

"She's doin' a'right," Chibs replied. "S'posed ta be takin' tha day oof, accordin' ta 'er staff."

"Good. She needs the rest," Sleeved Biker noted. "Shit's been goin' non stop since ya took on LOAN."

"Tell me somethin' I don't already know!" Bobby mused ruefully.

"Let's get this shit loaded and roll, boys!" StoneCoyote ordered briskly. He was glad to hear that Puddy Cat was taking time to take care of herself. 'She did a lot for everybody else, shame they can't do somethin' for her.'

"'Er bes' frien is sayin' wi' 'er," Chibs announced, as if he knew what the SAMRRO prez was thinking. "Thay're 'avin' a gurrls nite oot' tonight. Nae club, nae cawfeehuse, jest tha' gurrls."

The SAMRRO riders grinned at the news and quickly loaded their bikes with the bedrolls. Each man checked and double checked the bedrolls, making sure they were securely strapped to the SAMRRO bikes.

"You know how to reach us if you need back up," StoneCoyote informed Bobby.

"Ride safe, boys," he replied, striding to his own bike as the SAMRRO riders headed away from the clearing.

Opie, Chibs, and Juice would be riding on to the north side of Klamath Falls and wait for the meet up with Clay, Jax, Tig, and Gemma. Piney was taking Bobby and Happy to Honey's cabin, located just a few miles from the clearing.

"We'll call when we're headin' out, so you know when to expect us," Bobby informed Opie.

"Ride safe, guys," Opie replied. Juice and Chibs followed him back to the main highway. Piney started the van and led Bobby and Happy towards Honey's.

June and Chuckie not to accompany Cat and Gerry to the coffeehouse.

"Technically, y'all should be restin', but the place is your baby. It's only fair for y'all to show our friend around," June admitted reluctantly.

"We'll stay here and clean things up for you, Miss Cat," Chuckie added.

"C'mon, then, Gerry. I'll give y'all the 50 cent tour!" Cat gestured towards the back door and gracefully allowed the actor to hold the door for her.

He gazed in admiration at the well – kept lawn and the rose bushes planted in an orderly manner against the fence. A line of dark green plants, not quite shrubs but definitely not flowers lined the house on either side of the back door.

"My father sent those to me as starters. He said they're aloe plants, another friend from Indiana calls 'em 'frog bellies'. They get a yellow puffy top in the fall."

"'Ave ye ever used tha' plant fer aloe?"

"No," Cat shook her head, smiling reminiscently. "The one time I got a bad enough sunburn to consider tryin' it, I also had a nasty migraine. Tig just used regular moisturizer on my skin."

"Why didnae 'e use tha' plant?"

"He didn't know about it at the time," she replied.

Gerry grinned at the sight of the twin metal outdoor chairs that were painted a cheerful yellow. The rose bushes splashed red, yellow, pink, and a light blue.

"Thayre's really sech a thin' as a blue rose?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. I got that in memory of my birth mother. I have a step – mother, so that's how I differentiate between the two. Are y'all familiar with the term 'fan fiction'?"

Gerry nodded.

"Well, back in the early days of classic Star Trek fandom, my birth mother wrote and published her own Trek fanzine. The heroine was accidentally brought forward in time by the Enterprise crew and couldn't return. One of the planets the ship visited had all the mythical life forms such as flying horses and blue rose of forgetfulness," Cat explained quietly.

Gerry nodded again, wordlessly encouraging her to continue the story. "Ye said she pooblished 'er own 'fanzine'?"

"Fan written and published books, usually mimeographed. Some were very well written and illustrated. This was back in the days before the internet and self publishing came into being," Cat explained. "Y'all were just a grade schooler when this was goin' on, though the fanzines were sent all over the world."

Cat limped over to the blue rose, fingering one of the blue topaz colored petals. "Mother and I didn't get along well in later years due to her chronic illness. When she died, I wanted something around to remind me of the best times with her, and bought this rose."

Gerry walked over to join her, then his attention was caught by a red rose that was such a deep red that it was nearly black. 'An wha' is tha'? It's an unusual colour!"

"It's called the 'Michael Crawford', in honor of the first Phantom," Cat replied. "Speakin' of which, I have a bone to pick with y'all?"

"Oh?" For a moment, his gaze was as frightful and intense as the 'Opera Ghost' he'd portrayed in 2004.

"Yeah," Cat rose to the challenge, not frightened at all by his intensity. "That wasn't exactly fair of y'all to use your 'Phantom' voice on the phone!"

Gerry grinned apologetically. "Weel, Ah spose so. Boot me fans know me own voice quite well. Plus, Ah feered ifn' ye kin it wuz a celebrity ye wuz talkin' ta, ye mite o' upped tha price on me!"

Cat's good eye clouded with disappointment. "That's not very nice, Mr. Butler! Surely y'all didn't think I'd take advantage of ya?"

Gerry winced at her use of the more formal address. "Ah didnae kin ye as weel then, and dinnae call me 'Shirley'!" He grinned that charming smile that usually made women swoon in the theatres. "Ye gotta admit, Ah did 'ave ye stymied fer a wee bit, didn't Ah?"

"Y'all did," she grudgingly admitted. "Except for the times when your brogue slipped through. That made me think that I'd heard your voice before, but wasn't able to pin it down for a little while."

"Which is why ye asked ifn Ah wanted a low fat latte this mornin'!"

Cat pointed at him and gave him a thumbs up before limping on to the gate leading to the back of the coffeehouse.

"Ye've got yerself quite a peaceful hide away, Lady Cat," Gerry informed her, admiration mingled with envy evident in his voice. "Mebbe Ah shuld consider a hoose instead o' apartments. A retreat lyke this wuld be nice to 'ave."

"Tig seems to like it. He'll sit out here at times to think and smoke. I do tai chi out here. The privacy fence makes it look small on the outside, but there's a lot of space."

"An' Ah see how tha wee beasties get frum place ta place!" Gerry exclaimed, pointing to the cat run. It was made of mesh and held down by stakes at various intervals. The mesh allowed the cats to feel the grass under their paws and enjoy fresh air, but also kept them safe.

"Amazin' the stuff made for pets these days," she replied. "I could've gone for an all metal fence, but it wouldn't have been enclosed. I like the mesh better. It's easier to move to care for the lawn."

"An who does tha', ifn ye dinnae mind me askin'?" Gerry grinned mischievously.

"Neither of us. There's a neighborhood kid who comes over every week to do the yard work," Cat retorted. "Tig's not a yard work doin' kind of guy, but he's great with fixin' anything mechanical."

Gerry laughed outright as she unlocked the back gate and stepped across to the back door of the coffeehouse. She unlocked the back door to the shop and held the door open. "Welcome to Charming Pawse, my friend."

They stepped into the cool back area, allowing their eyes time to adjust to the change in light.

The back area was made up of one large room, lined on many sides with storage shelves filled with various kinds of coffee beans in airtight containers. A coffee grinder and the large roasting took up an entire side, along with a worktable with a labeling machine and shrink wrap supplies.

Doorways gave access to the kitchen where the baking and clean up were performed, the storage closet where the chairs and supplies for the special events were kept, the restroom, a small employee lounge, and Cat's office. Another doorway lead to the front service area. Muted conversations, clinking china, and music drifted out from the front.

"So this is whar all tha' cawfee magic 'appens, eh?"

"This is the brains and brawn of the operation," Cat explained. "All the baked goods are made in the kitchen, along with the dish cleaning for those who have their drinks and treats here."

"Do ye gie a discount ta them tha' use tha china?"

"Of course. Saves me the cost of buyin' a lot of the disposable cups and lids. Plus, I get to help the environment."

"An' tha office is whar tha' brains is, I spose?"

Cat nodded. "Scheduling, ordering, payroll – all the fun stuff is done there."

Gerry peeked into the office, noting the large wooden cubby with slots that were neatly labeled. "Ah wuldnae 'ave taken ye fer a neat freak. Ye're so free spirited."

"I just like to know where to find stuff, makes it easier for my managers to get what they need."

Gerry's eyes were drawn to a set of pictures on the desk. He easily recognized Tig in one of the pictures, but the man in the second set standing with his arm around Cat had him buffaloed for a moment.

"My late husband, Bill. The picture was taken the year before we married. I put him to the 'acid test' and took him to meet the entire Marshall clan at the family reunion."

"Apparently, 'e passed wi' flyin' colours."

"He did. We had a good life. I didn't think lightnin' would strike a second time, but it did," she replied quietly.

"Wuz it 'ard ta lose yer 'usband?" Gerry asked softly.

Cat nodded. "The way he died was sudden and brutal. There's still a hole in my heart that belonged to him. Tig owns the rest of my heart."

Cat turned away from the office and limped to the door leading to the front area. Anna was in the front, tidying up from the morning rush. Christopher was in the kitchen, washing the dishes.

There were a couple of the regular morning customers in the front, enjoying their morning ritual of liquid refreshment and watching the cats. Gerry's driver was sitting in the computer area, a large china Charming Pawse logo mug to one side. Other than those customers and the employees, the coffeehouse was empty.

"C'mon out, Gerry, y'all can see the main operation," she called invitingly.

Anna looked up at the sound of her voice. "Miss Cat! I didn't think -" Her voice faltered as Gerry walked into the front customer area, big as life and very real. "It's him!" Her eyes became very large and awe filled.

"Hope all y'all ain't gonna faint on me, Miss Anna!" Cat remarked jokingly. "Y'all aren't havin' hallucinations. He bought Opie's panhead." She turned to Gerry to make the introductions. "This is one of my managers, Anna. Pete, my other manager, works the afternoon shift. In case y'all didn't catch on, Miss Anna is a bit of a fan."

"Ah kind o' caught tha'," Gerry mused, turning his charm on full blast in his smile to Anna. "Ah'm plazed ta meet ye. Did ye mayke me latte?"

"Y- yes, sir!"

"T'was jest tha way Ah lyke it. Lots o' foam."

Anna shook like a leaf and looked like she was going to melt to the floor. "Sit down before y'all fall down, Anna!" Cat remarked, pointing to one of the comfortable chairs.

Gerry went around her to hold out his hand to Miss Anna. "Ifn ye will aloo me?"

Anna stared at the hand held out before her, wondering if it was real. She timidly placed her hand on his to find it was real and warm and strong. Gerry led her to the chair near him and helped her sit down.

"Tayke slow, deep breaths, darlin'. Tha feelin' weel soon pass," he advised.

"Spoken like someone with experience," Cat observed wryly. She spread her arms wide, encompassing the entire front area. "This is my 'baby', as June put it. The book exchange, the cat room, the computer area makin' it the most comfortable coffeehouse in Charmin'."

"Ah see," he marveled. "All tha coomferts o' 'ome, includin' an ATM!"

"I had that put in by the Charmin' bank and pay the fee for it so the customers can get cash," Cat explained, pointing to her sign that read 'In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash – Seriously, No Checks, No Debit or Credit.'

"Why?"

"I don't like to pay those fees for the card readers; cuts into profits. I'd rather pay one time to the bank for their machine than pay 'em 12 cents per transaction."

"Maykes sense," Gerry nodded. He looked through the window at the cat room, watching Ebony drowse in a sunbeam. He was stretched out his full length, looking like a puddle of black ink in the middle of the floor. Ming was sitting majestically high atop a tall cat tree, starting unblinkingly at the customers as if he were a regal being.

Then Gerry caught sight of a smaller, one eyed black feline prowling along the floor, batting a small yarn ball. "Is tha' the faymus 'Misty'?"

"That's my scaredy girl," Cat affirmed. She likes to show off, but if anyone other than me, Tig, or Chibs comes near her, she scampers away."

"Chibs?"

"One of the Sons," Cat replied. "He usually comes in for his 'tay' and a scone, and watches the cats. He and Misty have a love affair of their own."

The two customers, both older men who liked to sit around, drink coffee, and talk about sports ignored the goings – on, not caring that a celebrity was in their presence.

"Thought you were taking the day off, Miss Cat!" one of the men stated.

"I am. Just showing a friend from out of town the place," she assured the customer.

"That was a nice song you did yesterday," the other complimented. "The kids were good, too."

"They worked hard on their part. You should let them know you liked it when you see 'em," she advised.

"I'll do that."

The pair returned to their conversation about baseball and other sports, quickly becoming completely absorbed in their debate to the exclusion of all else.

Gerry had been talking quietly with Miss Anna, gradually enabling her to overcome her 'fangirl' reaction to him. He asked her about her children, and her work with the coffeehouse. She soon found herself completely at ease with the actor, as if she'd known him for years.

"Wuld ye lyke a pitcher wi' me, Miss Anna?" Gerry inquired.

Anna nodded, her inner 'fangirl' threatening to overtake her again.

"I've got my Iphone with me," Cat offered. "The camera's pretty good on it, and I can print out a picture from it later on."

Anna glanced at Cat in supplication. Hope dazzled in her eyes. "Yes, please!" she squeaked.

Gerry smiled and sat on the arm of Anna's chair, placing one arm casually around her shoulders and bringing his cheek close to hers. "How's this?"

Cat dug her Iphone from her pocket and activated the camera ap, pointing the back of her phone at the pair. She lined up the shot and snapped off three pictures in succession, so that Anna could choose the one she liked best.

"Got it. Wanna see, Miss Anna?"

"Later, please!" Anna breathed.

Gerry patted her shoulder and stood up, gazing around him again. The coffeehouse was bright with natural light from the large picture window. The chairs and sofas looked comfortable and inviting. 'A boddy culd relax quite weel 'ere!'

He moved to the merchandise table, looking over the many cups, key chains, shirts, and the plush. He selected a large logo coffee mug, the smaller feline plush set and a few shirts, taking them to the counter.

"Sumboddy wanna ring me up?" he asked.

"My pleasure!" Cat grinned, limping to the cash register and entering the purchases. She'd have been willing to give Gerry anything he wanted, but she respected that he wanted to pay his way like any other customer.

"An' why noot add a box o' them Snicker Bar Muffins' fer gud mayshure?" he added, pulling out his wallet and some bills.

"Y'all are givin' me too much, buster!" Cat slid some of the bills back to him after taking out the total for his purchase.

Gerry took the bills and stuffed them in the glass jar with the cats' picture on it and the caption balloon reading 'Thanks for feeding the kitties!' His green eyes gleamed challengingly, as if to tell her 'So there!'

"I accept that!" Cat grinned, wrapping the logo coffee mug carefully in paper, then folding the shirts and placing them in the bottom of a shopping bag with the logo printed on it. She placed the wrapped cup in the center of the bag and the plush around the cup so it wouldn't break.

Anna had found her legs again, and had prepared Gerry's box of muffins, taking fresh muffins from the back area. She placed the box on the counter and started to step away.

Gerry held up his hand to stop her, grabbed a napkin and withdrew a Sharpie pen from his back pocket. He scribbled on the napkin and handed it to Anna with a wink.

She looked at the inscription, winced at the pun he'd written, and sighed contentedly. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Miss Anna," he replied.

Gerry's driver had logged out of the computer and brought his empty cup to the counter while Gerry was paying for his purchases. He quietly picked up the bag and pastry box, then waited to follow Gerry and Cat out the back way.

"You go rest, Miss Cat," Anna stated. "We've got things under control."

"And I thank all y'all for it," Cat limped into the back area, followed by Gerry and his driver.

She was known to the locals as Honey. To many, she was their friend and their life preserver. She'd earned a pharmacy degree many years ago, but eventually became dissatisfied with her work. She felt she wasn't helping people better their lives when she the poor and the elderly having to choose between their medicines and food or other basic living essentials.

When the company she was working for needed to downsize, they offered the more senior employees the opportunity to retire early. Honey took the offer and bought a house in rural Oregon. She then began her new life helping others by mixing prescription medications and selling them at a reduced cost – if any - to those in need.

Her house was secluded enough that she didn't have to worry about nosy neighbors. She could have as many deliveries made to her home as she wanted without the trucks drawing unwanted attention. It was also close enough to town that she could enjoy municipal utilities without worrying about the elements causing power outages.

Honey lived a quiet life, just herself and her beloved cats. Her house was clean and comfortable for her. A safe haven that housed a secret room where she stored and mixed the medicines she provided.

Though she had internet access, she did not advertise her services on the world wide web. Doing so would have eventually led the narcs to her door. Word of mouth was the most reliable method to get the information about her business to the people who needed it. That method had served her well, enabling her to live comfortable without drawing heavily on her savings.

A bright sunny day in Oregon found Honey snuggled on the couch with her cats, sipping tea and reading a book. She was waiting on a delivery so she could fill a few orders. If all went well, she'd be able to make deliveries that night.

She heard the sound of a vehicle on her road. She frowned at the sound of loud, raucous music. Most delivery trucks didn't have sound systems. She stood up, disgruntling several of her furry friends who'd been drowsing on top of the blanket.

Just as she got to the door to take a peek, it burst open to admit several heavy, hairy, and smelly men, armed with rifles. The cats fled for cover as soon as the door flew open.

The lead man, who stood a little shorter than his cronies but was every bit as hairy and pungent, pushed Honey out of his way, sending her flying across the room.

"She's alone! C'mon! We'll find those drugs and maybe have a little fun as well!" he called out to his friends.

Several other men ran into the house, rifles in hand. They began to methodically search the house, opening drawers and cabinets, flinging everything they found that wasn't a drug onto the floor.

Honey lay where she landed, struggling to get her breath back. The short man walked up to her and nudged her with his foot. "Make this easier on yourself. Give us the drugs you keep here and we'll leave."

"Eat shit and die, Peckerwood!" Honey cried, glaring up at the crank dealer.

"Wrong answer, bitch!" he drove the butt of the rifle into her stomach, smiling in satisfaction as the wind rushed out of her lungs. "Wanna try again?"

"Fuck off, asshole!" she shouted defiantly.

A red haze of anger clouded the little peckerwood's vision. Without thinking of the end result, he viciously kicked Honey in the stomach.

"Be careful, man! If you knock her out, we'll never find the drugs!" one of his larger accomplices shouted.

"Shut the fuck up and keep searchin'! She's gotta have 'em stored somewhere! Look for a trap door of some kind! I'll deal with the bitch!"

He turned to look at her, frowning when he saw her using her arms to move away from him.

"Oh, no you don't, Missy!" he snarled, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her back to him.

Honey refused to cry out, though her scalp hurt where he'd pulled a hunk of her hair out by the roots. 'I'm not gonna give that piece of shit the satisfaction of knowin' he's hurtin' me!' She continued to glare silently at him, refusing to answer his repeated demands for the drugs.

'Too many people depend on me. If they get my stock now, they'll keep comin' back, and they'll raise prices on the people I help! I'm not gonna allow it to happen!'

Honey's continued disobedience angered the small peckerwood. He threatened to kill the cats and she still refused to give him the answer he wanted. He smacked her face so hard that she lost consciousness.

'Shit!' He left Honey lying on the floor and started searching through the living room, throwing things all over in his hunt for the hidden treasure.

"What the fuck did you do? Kill her?" one of his co – horts cried at the sight of Honey's prone form on the floor.

"Nah. Knocked her senseless. Not that it was that difficult. Keep searchin'!"

The heavy metal music was the only other sound in the clearing, keeping one of their crank dealing pals company as he keep watch from the back of the pickup truck.

The peckerwoods didn't expect Honey would have any visitors; a few bullets into the side of the Fed Ex truck had seen to that. The driver had high tailed it out of town when they opened fire on him. No one would come to Honey's aid. They had all the time they needed to find the prize they sought.

Neither Gemma nor Nate spoke as they slowly walked along the garden's stone pathway. Color flowers of all kinds; roses, hyacinths, peonies, iris, primroses, and daisies made colorful borders on either side of the path.

The garden represented years of her father's nurturing care of the plants. The garden was a place of peace and tranquility where he could be closer to his God. Gemma recalled that her father would go for walks in the garden whenever he was troubled or sad.

'He's really going to miss this. If the nursing home has a garden, it'll be a dinky little thing. Nothing as soothing and colorful as his!' Gemma held her father's arm firmly as Nate stopped to admire one of the very first plants he'd placed in the garden years many years earlier.

"Clay and Jax are comin' up today, Daddy. They're gonna help us with things here."

"It'll be nice to see my grandson again. Are they bringing my great – grandchild for a visit?"

Gemma's heart leapt at the idea of seeing her father and grandchild together. "I wish they were, but since they're on the bikes, I doubt Abel will be with them."

"Guess I'll never get to see or hold him," Nate sighed dejectedly.

"Once things settle down, Daddy, we'll bring him up to visit," Gemma promised vehemently. 'I wanted to tell you I was gonna ask Clay to let me stay with you a few more days. I don't wanna raise your hopes only to dash 'em if Clay puts his foot down!'

"That would be nice, though it won't be the same as getting to see him here at home," Nate replied, resuming his slow shuffle along the path. "I imagine you'll be more inclined to visit now that Rose won't be around to make you miserable for living."

Gemma looked at her father in surprise. "What do you mean by that, Daddy?"

"Let's sit down over on that bench, honey. I'll try to explain it to you," Nate replied, guiding her to a bench similar to the one he and Tig had occupied a little earlier.

They sat quietly together, Nate observing his colorful garden, Gemma thinking of her family – past and present.

"You and Rose didn't always hate each other," Nate announced quietly, not looking at his daughter. "At one time, you two were close as could be."

"I wish I could remember that," Gemma replied grimly.

"You could, if you tried, honey. But I'm not going to push you to," he sighed deeply. "You were just a tiny thing when you had to have the operation on your heart to save your life. Your mother sat with you night and day in that nursery, watching over you, praying that you'd survive."

Gemma glanced at her father. She'd never known that had happened. She knew of the surgery and carried the scar to remind her. She never knew her mother had cared that much for her. 'Or maybe I knew and just couldn't believe it didn't exist any more.'

"We hoped that Nathaniel Jr., would be spared your mother's genetic problem. Things looked promising when he was born, but it didn't take long for the heart problem to become apparent."

Gemma remembered that period. She'd just entered kindergarten when her baby brother was born. The family had known a brief interlude of peace and happiness until her little brother's heart began to fail.

"We took all the tests after he was born! Everything looked promising that he'd never endure what Gemma had to go through!" Rose protested to the family doctor who'd just delivered the sad news.

"We didn't know, Rose, that his heart would deteriorate so quickly!" The doctor rushed to explain. "At birth, his heart was as sturdy as any other baby's in the nursery. The genetic defect grew with him, just as it did with Gemma, only more rapidly. If we wait too long to operate, he may die."

Rose turned pain filled eyes to her husband. "Not little Nathaniel, too! He's not as strong as Gemma was at that age!"

Nate placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "God will watch over him, darling. We've got to trust the knowledge of the doctors to help our son live a long and healthy life."

"You're right," Rose straightened her shoulders determinedly. "When?"

"The sooner the better. Tomorrow morning won't be soon enough."

Rose and Nate made arrangements for Gemma to stay overnight with one of her friends. The adults spoke in hushed tones about the upcoming surgery while Gemma and her friend played in the center of the room.

"Little Nate will be in the hospital for several weeks," Nathaniel explained. "Rose will be able to stay with him, I'll be driving back and forth as often as I can."

"We'll do what we can to help. Gemma's welcome to stay with us as long as you need her to," the parents replied.

Nate and Rose said a cheerful goodbye to Gemma that night, deciding to share the somber news about her brother after the surgery was over with.

They drove to Portland that night, arriving late in the evening to admit their son to the nursery. Neither parent slept that night, taking turns holding their son in their arms.

'Lord only knows when we'll have the opportunity to hold him like this again!' Rose thought sorrowfully.

Sometime in the night, while holding his son close to his heart, Nathaniel prayed for God's intervention and healing for his little son. He looked down at the tiny face, noting the pale skin and slightly blue tone to it. 'Whatever your will, Father, give us both the strength to accept what comes.'

Their son went under the knife at 8AM. The parents sat together in the waiting room, comforting each other by wordlessly holding hands. They napped lightly, Rose's head pillowed on his shoulder.

Hours seemed like days to the waiting couple until the surgeon walked through the double doors leading to the operating theatre. His scrub top was soaked in sweat and he looked beyond fatigue.

One look at his face and both parents knew the sad news. Their son's heart had been damaged too much, too soon, and was beyond repair.

"How long?" Nathaniel asked, swallowing hard to get the words past the lump in his throat.

"It's hard to tell," the surgeon replied. "A few weeks, maybe a few months at the most." His eyes clouded as he thought, 'If he makes it through tonight, that is.'

The little child did live through the night of his surgery. He grew strong enough to return to Klamath Falls and his home. When the car pulled to a stop in the driveway, Gemma ran to the passenger side door, yanking it open and climbing into her mother's lap.

"Be careful, Gemma! Nathaniel is still very weak and delicate!" Rose snapped. Worry and fatigue made her voice sharper than she intended. She tried to make up for her thoughtless words, but Gemma had already crawled away from the car, nursing her wounded psyche. She refused to turn back at her mother's plea, disappearing into the house and into her room. She never tried to embrace her brother again.

Nate rose from the bench, wishing he could move away from his memories as easily. Gemma stood up and took his arm again. "I haven't thought about my brother in years, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"There's no need for you to be sorry. It's not your fault that you survived and he didn't."

"Rose seemed to think so," Gemma mused dryly.

"Your mother never got over your brother's death, honey. We hoped our children wouldn't inherit her heart defect. Both of you did and she felt guilty."

"She had a strange way of showing it," Gemma retorted. "I remember she was always fiercely protective of little Nate."

"That's what allowed him to live as long as he did," Nathaniel replied. "The doctor didn't expect him to survive the night of the surgery. When we brought him home, Rose watched him like a hawk."

They walked slowly along the path. Nate regretfully recalled how he tried to bridge the gap between his wife and daughter, prayed for divine guidance in taking away his wife's pain.

Gemma summed it up in a few words, noting her father turned to God, while Rose engaged in self help. Her father countered that her mother regretted losing her daughter as well as her son, admonishing her not to let the same thing happen to her family.

Gemma didn't know how to respond to that. 'I grieved the loss of my mother years ago when she blamed me for living!' The roar of approaching Harleys made her heart race and lifted her spirits.

Tig called out that her men were pulling into the drive. She quickly led her father to the front of the house, eager to see her husband and son again.

Tig strode out the front door just as Jax was untying Clay's hands from the grips. Clay leaned on his bike, looking for just a moment as if he were as old as time.

'Man, he's really in bad shape! Hope he'll be able to make it to Canada without bein' tied!'

Gemma and Nate had reached the end of the fence leading to the garden, but she wasn't able to wait any longer to feel her man's arms around her.

"Wait here, Daddy!" Gemma left her father and ran past Tig straight into Clay's arms.

Clay and Gemma embraced fiercely, nearly climbing into each other's skin. Having Gemma in his arms again seemed to renew him. Clay stood straighter and looked more like his commanding self than ever.

Tig stopped in the middle of the walkway that led to the front door when Gemma raced past him. He watched with envy as Clay and Gemma greeted each other, ending their separation. He wasn't really seeing their reunion. Instead, he envisioned the eventual reunion he'd enjoy with his woman.

'I'm happy for both of 'em. Wish to Hell I could be with Cat right now! Damn I miss her!'

Gemma turned away from Clay to embrace her son. She asked about Abel and Jax casually affirmed that he was doing well in Netta's care.

Clay wrung his pain – filled hands as he walked up to greet his friend and SAA. They engaged in the usual double back tape bro hug. Tig's was one handed owing to his sore shoulder and Clay was careful not to touch the wound.

Clay turned back to his wife while Tig leaned against the stone lamp post. He watched the trio talk about Tara's presence and Nate's pending move to the nursing home.

'Where's Nate?' Tig wondered, realizing that Gemma's full attention was on her men. He looked over his shoulder to check on Gemma's dad, finding Nate standing all alone next to the fence. Suddenly, he turned and shuffled slowly away from the small family reunion. Tig murmured a warning to Gemma that her father was wandering off and she hurried off after her father, leaving the three men to talk privately.

Jax and Tig exchanged brief hello hugs. Tig assured his VP that his shoulder was holding up as long as Rose's pain killers didn't run out.

Clay mused ruefully that he might need to raid the medicine cabinet for his hands. The trio walked on into the house.

Gemma caught up with her father, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. "Don't you want to say hello to Clay and Jax?" she inquired softly.

"Maybe later. You go on inside and visit with them. I'll be all right out here for a while."

She gazed intently at him. He seemed like his old self, and she didn't know how much longer that would last. "Are you sure?"

He kissed her cheek and gently pushed her towards the back door. "I'm not going to run off, honey. You go see your boys. I'll be in shortly."

Happy and Bobby pulled ahead of the van as they neared the secluded house that Honey called home. They couldn't hear the heavy metal music blaring from the truck parked in the trees until they'd switched off their bikes and removed their helmets.

The lone gunman left on watch stood up in the truck's bed, his rifle held diagonally against his body. He glared at the bikers, but didn't raise the gun to his shoulders. He didn't like the odds, nor did he like the patches. He was familiar with SAMRRO, and the 'California' bottom rocker on the cuts warned him that this version of the Sons was likely more dangerous than the local one.

In return, none of the SAMCRO men liked the looks of the peckerwood. They had a feeling something wasn't right and rushed toward Honey's house. The wide open front door reinforced their discomfort.

Piney found Honey huddled on the floor, sobbing in pain. Her cats cried out in protest as the other peckerwoods continued to search for her drugs. Piney helped Honey to her feet and out of the living room, while Bobby and Happy had their guns ready.

They tried to move quietly to get Honey to safety. One of the peckerwoods happened to look up at the wrong time and yelled a warning to his cohorts. Gunshots were exchanged as Honey and the three SAMCRO men sought cover in another room, slamming the door closed behind them.

That room happened to lead to her safe room. Though the peckerwoods fired into it, and SAMCRO returned fire, no one was hit, including the cats. Honey quickly briefed Piney on the identity of her rude visitors, local crank dealers who wanted to horn in on her prescription business.

Happy tried to call Clay's phone, but there was no signal. 'I hope those assholes didn't cut the land line! Providing I can get to a working phone!'

Honey moved a cat tree aside, revealing a looped cord. She pulled on it and the hidden door opened into her safe room. She stepped inside, followed quickly by Piney and the other two. She closed the door and pulled the cord towards her to keep the crank dealers from finding the hidden room.

Bobby was amazed at the room's contents. Shelves lined two of the walls, filled with different medicines. A work table held more medicines and a mortar and pestle for mixing. There was a desk in the corner with a computer and a telephone.

Happy picked up the receiver and listened to the reassuring buzz of the dial tone. He tapped the number to the SAMRRO clubhouse. Slick answered the phone.

"Happy, SAMNOM. You familiar with a local scripto maker named Honey?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Peckerwood invasion. They're tryin' to horn in on her operation. We're holed up in her safe room."

"Hang on, brother. We'll be there in 20."

'Shit! We might not be able to hold out that long!' Happy disconnected the call and dialed Tig's pre pay to call in additional, closer help.

"What the Hell was the big idea of Ope askin' my girl for a favor?" Tig growled as he led Clay and Jax into the house.

"He turned into a wild buffalo in a Chinese restaurant," Clay replied. "It really fucked up our deal with Lin for guns for the Bastards. He extracted a heavy penalty from us."

Jax briefed the SAA on the cause of Opie's rampage. Tig raised his eyes to the Heavens and snorted, "Not a good move, man! Lyla shouldn't have been there workin'."

"She turned over her share of the fee to the club," Jax retorted.

"Then ya should've kept Ope away from there, not rubbed his nose in it!" Tig snarled.

"Opie felt he had to make up for losin' our money for the Canadian tracker," Jax continued, choosing to ignore Tig's outburst. "He turned to the only person he knew could be trusted to sell the panhead. She came through – as usual."

Tig winced to learn that Opie had parted with a bike he'd painstakingly restored. 'It makes sense. It was gonna be a constant reminder that I killed Donna. Not real happy he asked Cat to help with the sale, but not much I can do about it.'

Sensing where his SAA's thoughts were going, Clay hastened to reassure him. "She didn't overextend herself to help out. Took some pictures, posted the ad and took a few calls on it. Ope was there for the sale, so she was safe."

Tig relaxed at that news. He'd worried that someone from the rival clubs, including the troublesome Calavarez, might've tried to cause trouble by posing as a potential buyer.

"Where's Tara?" Jax inquired.

"In the room I'm sleepin' in," Tig pointed to the open door, then led Clay to the main bathroom.

"C'mon, let's see what grandma has for Uncle Arthur."

Jax paused in the doorway to Tig's room at the sight of Tara kneeling in front of an open drawer. There were a couple of boxes on the unmade bed.

Tara sensed someone was behind her, looked over her shoulder and felt her heart race to see Jax watching her. She rose fluidly and remarked on their arrival as if she hadn't heard the two powerful bikes outside. She walked up to him, giving him a light peck on the lips that he returned just as lightly.

Jax brushed past her, remarking on the packing going on. She explained the valuables and mementos were being packed for Gemma to have while everything else would be handled by the church.

Jax sank tiredly onto the bed, making himself comfortable while asking how Tara was feeling. He debated whether to tell her about the latest news. He started by telling her of the bond revocation, then handed her the picture of Abel and Cameron in Vancouver.

Tara picked up quickly on the key word in Jax's admission, that they were supposed to turn themselves in. She knew the club was going to Canada in search of the child.

Jax explained the plan to take Gemma across the border where she could safely hide from the Feds. Before Tara could reply, Tig stepped across the threshold to announce that Clay wanted to talk to Jax.

Tig asked if the two boxes were ready to go downstairs. Tara affirmed they were and he picked up one of them. Jax stood up, picked up the other box, and stared in surprise at the amount of blood on the sheets.

Tara admitted Tig hadn't changed the sheets since he'd been shot, but assured him that the SAA's shoulder was healing. She also indicated that the caregiver had left for home as their presence had freaked her out.

Jax carried the box out of the room, leaving Tara to think over their conversation. She sighed and returned to her interrupted sorting.

Gemma hurried into the kitchen to start another pot of coffee brewing. She used the last of the whiskey blend, then set about fixing sandwiches for her men and her father.

She glanced out the window and smiled softly at her father. His back was to her as he wandered through the garden, touching a flower here or sniffing the fragrance of another there.

She turned at the sound of footsteps and smiled brightly at her husband. "Fresh coffee's brewing. You hungry?"

"Starved. And not just for food, but I respect Nate too much to do anything about that in his house," Clay replied with a leer. "Besides, I don't wanna get a bullet in my shoulder."

"You won't. Daddy got rid of the rifle; threw it in a lake," Gemma assured him. "I blame the caregiver for not makin' the place more secure in the first place. She didn't even hide the car keys!"

"I assume she's gone home?"

'In a manner of speaking,' Gemma thought. "She would've left when Daddy entered the nursing home. You could say I 'persuaded' her to leave a little early. Especially after all the trouble she caused!"

"Now, baby! It takes two to tango, y'know."

Gemma glared at him as Tig strode into the kitchen, followed by Jax. They'd both heard the conversation between the couple. Tig grinned and ducked down the basement steps.

"We need to talk, baby. We've got some plans about keeping you safe," Clay remarked, sinking tiredly into Nate's chair at the table.

"I'll go get Tara. She's part of the family, too."

Gemma set a plate in front of Clay. "Help yourself to the coffee, cups are up there," she pointed to the cupboard over the coffeepot and headed to the hallway.

Tig and Jax trooped back up the stairs from the basement, lured by the smell of fresh coffee.

"Your old lady's whiskey blend," Jax noted, moving to the patio doors in order to smoke.

"Ya didn't happen to bring any with ya?" Tig asked, taking down a couple of clean cups while the brewing cycle ended.

"Sorry. Didn't have time."

Tig shrugged and poured coffee into the two cups. "I take it Gem doesn't know about the plan yet?"

"We're about to discuss it. She went to get Tara," Clay replied.

Jax raised his eyebrows in exasperation, keeping his back turned so the other two wouldn't see his reaction. 'The more I try to keep Tara out of harm's way, the further in she gets drawn!' He opened the patio door to smoke and leaned against the door frame.

Gemma returned with Tara following her. They sat around the table, Tara choosing to sit a little apart from the group. Jax continued to lean against the patio door frame.

"Jax, you hungry?" Gemma inquired.

"Not right now, Mom. Thanks."

Gemma placed a plate in front of Tig, and another for herself. Tara wordlessly declined a sandwich or coffee. Her eyes were glued to Jax's back.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Gemma inquired after taking a sip of the fresh brewed coffee.

"We didn't risk the Feds havin' us tailed just to pay a social call, baby," Clay announced, removing a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his cut. He unfolded it and slid it across the table to his wife.

Gemma saw her own face looking up at her from the paper, the very same picture Amelia had found on the internet announcing the 25 thousand dollar bounty. She raised her eyes to meet Clay's.

"Juice found it on line. Stahl's gettin' more desperate every day you remain on the lam."

"She's already been demoted and not allowed outside Sanwa county," Jax added. "There's some kind of supervisor ridin' herd on her, keepin' her in line."

"We're takin' you to Canada," Clay continued. "It's the only way we can keep you safe from her until we can prove her lie."

Gemma held up the wanted poster, thinking of Amelia's treachery. She glanced at Tig, who pretended to be more interested in his sandwich and coffee.

'That takes care of any idea of stayin' here with Daddy for awhile! Guess I just didn't wanna admit it wasn't possible. That damn bounty makes stayin' here any longer too dangerous.'

She sighed in resignation, explaining to her husband and son why the bounty didn't surprise her. She admitted that the caregiver had used the internet to find intel on her, which led to her early departure.

Clay frowned intently at the news. "Are you sure she won't rat?"

Tara squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. Her face turned pale and she was momentarily pleased that Jax had his back to her. Gemma had no feelings of discomfort over Clay's inquiry. She met his eyes and replied, "Dead certain, baby."

Clay spread his hands in resignation. He could tell Gemma was disappointed by the news. He explained it was the only option they had available.

'Doesn't mean I have to like it!' Gemma fumed inwardly, worrying aloud as to what she'd do with herself across the border. Tig made a suggestion that she quickly shot down.

Jax tried to assure his mother that they'd figure things out, especially a way for her to see Abel. Gemma continued to glare at the men, including Tig in her displeasure. She knew he'd been aware of the plan while not saying anything to prepare her.

The sound of a hesitant footstep broke into their conversation. Nate had entered the house from the front door and stepped into the kitchen, following the smell of fresh coffee. He stared in surprise at the group of people sitting around his table.

Clay stood up while Jax tossed his cigarette onto the patio. Clay quietly greeted Gemma's dad. Jax's greeting was respectful and restrained. Both seemed happy to see the older man.

Nate's mind struggled to place faces to names. He knew his daughter, her doctor friend, and the dark – haired man in black. The other two men seemed strange to him. They were wearing leather vests with patches on them, signifying membership in a motorcycle club.

The miasma in his mind cleared a moment. 'The silver haired man is Clay. Gemma's married to him now. The other one is my only grandchild. Jackson.' He wanted to greet them warmly, they were family. Something kept him from it. He gruffly asked why they were in his house.

Gemma tried to smooth things over. She could tell that Nate recognized her family and explained they'd come to help her get him settled in his new life.

'The nursing home. Rose's last words were about Gemma and wild boys!' The fog settled back over his mind. He glared at the leather vested men, exclaiming that he didn't need their help. His fierce gaze rested on Gemma as he reminded of her mother's final thoughts and turned on his heel, striding away from the kitchen.

Gemma's heart fell into her stomach at her father's harsh words. Tara winced at the anger in Nate's voice.

It took all his will to stay seated, though Tig wanted to leap to Gemma's defense. 'The old man's mind has slipped again. He doesn't know what he said,' he reminded himself.

Clay sank wearily into his chair. He noted wearily that his father – in – law's opinion of him hadn't changed.

Jax turned to offer his mother some comfort from his grandfather's stinging rebuke. She brushed it off, advising her boys to let her and Tara handle his transition. She stood up and followed after her father.

Tara urged the men to come clean to Gemma about Abel. Clay indicated they would, but after Nate had been admitted. He didn't feel it was fair to keep heaping bad news on his wife.