Hello one and all! Sons of Anarchy season 4 is driving me crazy! It has made me want to write more and more stories, hence why this little creation is here. Now, for those of you reading my other story, The Ties That Bind, don't worry, I'm still writing that one. I just really wanted to get this one down.

Special thanks to DestinyLynn17 for reading this over for me! I really appreciate it!

I own nothing save for Claire, Monica and any parts of the backstory.

Chapter One

Claire Hayford

From the sanctuary of the garage's office, Gemma watched the girl slowly walk down the lot, a messenger bag bouncing off her hip and a small suitcase dragging behind her. She was a scrawny thing, bones sticking out everywhere, and pale. The wind outside might knock her over if it blew any harder. Her shirt was ill-fitting and her shorts were a couple sizes too big, held up by a belt pulled as tight as possible. All in all, she looked like a mess. That was the last thing they needed.

Gemma sighed and sat back in the chair. Maybe if they just ignored her, she would go away. This was not the first stray to come wandering around and unfortunately she would not be the last. A group like SAMCRO had girls seeing dollar signs but if this one thought she was getting anywhere near that, she was insane.

"Who's the skeleton?" asked a thick Scottish accent. Chibs strolled in through the door and took his place by the window, playing with the toothpick in his mouth as he eyed the girl.

"Just another piece of trash," Gemma replied, settling down to work on bills again. They seemed to have multiplied since she last looked. "She'll get bored eventually and leave."

"She looks a little skittish to be a crow eater."

"Maybe but I'm not risking it. I've got enough shit to deal with as it is."

Chibs nodded, his gaze never shifting. "Looks like you won't have to. Juice is walking over to her."

"He's what?" Gemma asked, standing to look out the window. She watched as the Intelligence Officer sauntered over, the girl visibly taking a step back as he approached. The King of Common Sense trying to talk to their wary visitor. She would like to see how this conversation takes off.

The two watched as words were exchanged. The girl still looked cautious but she gave a polite smile, revealing deep dimples in her cheeks. She pointed at something, it looked to be in the direction of the sign, and in turn Juice pointed to the office.

"Jesus Christ," Gemma mumbled as the girl began to make her way over. "Someone should teach you boys to stop thinking with your dicks."

Gemma stormed outside and headed for the girl who had stopped again at the sound of a slamming door. She watched the caution in the girl's eyes increase about tenfold. At least she had that much intelligence, unlike their not so aptly named officer who was receiving a verbal lashing from Chibs as he headed back to the garage.

"Something I can help you with?" Gemma asked coolly, placing her hands on her hips. The girl did not answer at first. Her eyes darted back and forth between Gemma and the last place Juice had been seen. This gave her a moment to study her further.

Her cheeks were a little hollow, making her cheekbones more pronounced. It gave her lips a pouty look. Her auburn hair was thrown into a messy bun and looked like it could use a good brush. The dark circles under her eyes made her appear very tired and just that much more pale.

A loud smack could be heard from the garage.

For the first time, the girl spoke to her, her voice soft and hesitant.

"Is he going to be-"

"He'll be fine," Gemma snapped. "Mind telling me what you're doing here? Mechanics can't fix a car that doesn't exist."

The girl bit her lip and was quiet a moment. Gemma almost thought she would turn around and head back to where she came from. She nearly prayed for it. Anything would have been better than what she was about to tell her.

"I, uh…I'm looking for Clay Morrow. I wasn't sure if this was the place but his name is on the sign and-"

"And what exactly do you want with him?" Gemma asked, taking a step forward. If this little tart wanted a repeat of the Cherry incident, Gemma was more than willing to oblige her.

The girl nearly fell over when Gemma got closer. Skittish might have been an understatement. "I was hoping to keep that between me and him."

Gemma snorted. "Well, I'm his wife. Whatever he knows, I know so I suggest you start sharing."

There was an audible gulp. "Umm…I think he's my father."

Fainting was not in Gemma's nature, and she was not about to start but she could not help but wonder if the pounding of her heart was going to lead her to it. She put a hand to her chest as though keeping her scar from ripping open.

"What?"

"My name is Claire Hayford," the girl started, sounding as though she had memorized these lines for weeks. "Growing up, my mom would always talk about my dad, Clay Morrow, but I could never see him. And…and now that she's…gone, I figured I could find him."

Gemma paid little attention to what she said after her name. Hayford sounded so familiar and she was racking her brain to figure it out. Suddenly, as she looked over Claire one more time, it dawned on her: Monica Hayford, a crow eater well known by the Sons, particularly for her infatuation with the then Vice President. Claire was practically an exact replica, save for her eyes. Monica had deep brown eyes that had crazy written all over them. Her daughter had light blue, a very familiar light blue.

"Holy shit."

It had been over an hour since Claire had confessed her secret to a woman named Gemma and she was starting to get nervous. Immediately after she had been shoved into what had been referred to as the clubhouse and told to stay put. Always one to do what she was told, Claire had sat down on a barstool and proceeded to examine her surroundings. The building had a very intimidating feel to it but it also looked well worn. Someone called this place home, a kind of person she did not really want to know.

A combination of anxiety and boredom urged Claire to stand and move around. She could not stand sitting still any longer like some caged animal that just wanted to be set free. Though she did have the option and the longer time went by, the more tempting the door looked. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Claire told herself there was no option. She had come this far, there would be no turning back now, not that she had anything to turn back to.

Slipping out of her bag and putting it on the bar, Claire walked over to the wall across from her where several pictures hung for all the world to see. She looked at each one of them, noting they were mug shots, all proudly displayed like a child's drawings on the fridge.

Who were these people?

The door to the clubhouse opened and Claire bolted upright, gasping in surprise. She stared wide eyed at the newcomer. He was an older man with curly black hair and a mean look on his face. He stopped about midway through the entrance and gave her a hard look, fiddling with one of the many rings on his fingers. He wore a leather vest over his clothes. There were several phrases sewn onto it. She could make out "Men of Mayhem," "Sgt. at Arms," and "Sons of Anarchy." None of them seemed friendly in the least bit.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She felt cornered. "I…um…uh…"

"When a guy kicks you out, you don't just hang around all day for them to come back. You vacate the premise, understand?"

Claire blinked, very confused and upset at his tone of voice. "What?"

The man sighed, shaking his head. He moved over to the bar and poured himself a generous shot of whiskey. "Sweetbutts just never learn," he mumbled, appearing to not care if she heard or not.

"Excuse me?" Claire said, walking toward the bar. She was never an individual who angered quickly, in fact she preferred to avoid confrontation altogether, but she was not about to sit there and let a man she had never met throw insults at her like it was his day job.

"And what's this?" he asked, picking her bag. Claire ran over and snatched it from him before he had the opportunity to do anything to it. She glared at him but he was quite unaffected by the look; she blamed it on the fact that he was probably some sexist pig.

"Look, I don't know who you are and you don't know who I am. Maybe next time you should wait a few minutes before making a complete ass of yourself." Grabbing her suitcase, Claire made her way to the door. Her father could wait until later or at the very least he could meet her in the parking lot.

Just as she reached the door, it opened to reveal a rather flustered looking Gemma.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"Not happening," Gemma said, grabbing her by the arm and leading her back into the clubhouse. She glanced over at the man and sighed. Claire imagined her putting two and two together. "I take it you met the princess."

"Princess?" They both echoed, looking at Gemma like she was crazy.

The man gave her a long, uncomfortable look and then reverted his gaze back to Gemma. "Would you care to explain?"

"Later, Tig. Right now the two of us need some alone time."

Tig seemed unwilling to leave but after a few moments of looking between the two, he finally went to the door, though not before giving Claire one last look. She had figured on being scared when she met her father, but not in this way. Seeing these people gave her the feeling that the only way she would be getting out was in a body bag. She crossed her arms in an attempt to keep the chill creeping up her spine in check.

As soon as the door was shut, Claire's curiosity unleashed itself. "Who was that? Why was he calling me a…a…sweetbutt? What is this place?"

"Listen princess," Gemma started, turning to her. There was that word again. Every time she said it, her tone of voice was condescending. She had hoped to escape that when she left home. "You butted into our business, not the other way around. We don't have to explain anything to you." As much as Claire hated that fact, she knew Gemma had a point. They did not owe her anything and frankly if she was in their shoes, she would probably be acting the same way, save for the multiple insults and the air of a death threat in her voice.

Gemma took a step back and sighed again. "Look, Clay isn't here."

"It took you an hour to figure that out?" Claire bit her tongue after the icy look she received. Now was probably not the time to make anyone angrier than they already were.

"Yes, it did," Gemma said matter-of-factly. "You're going to have to come back later." Claire could practically hear the intended 'or never,' but said nothing. She looked at her feet, noting the dusty flip flops and worn nail polish, and bit her lip. This certainly was not how she thought it would go. From the picture her mother had painted of him, she thought she would find herself amongst warm, friendly individuals, not the headlines for America's Most Wanted. Maybe it was best that he was not here. Something told her she would not want to meet him now. This was not a life she wanted anything to do with. Still, it hurt.

Looking up again, Claire blinked back the tears and whispered, "Okay." She moved to the door, uncertain of where she would be staying that night. Most of what little money she had was spent on getting herself to California. She never had a plan for after she got there. Her future was a giant ball of nothing.

"Are you staying anywhere?" Gemma asked suddenly, sounding as surprised as Claire felt at her question. She turned to the woman and shook her head. Gemma rolled her eyes. "Jesus, I can't believe I'm doing this. Come with me."

Claire did not question her. She followed Gemma down a hallway in the back, glancing at all the pictures hanging on the walls and stopping briefly at a beautifully displayed motorcycle. She had only a moment to wonder who the man in the picture was before Gemma was calling after her.

Picking up the pace, Claire stopped at the doorway of a room. It definitely had a lived in feel to it but appeared to have been cleaned recently. There was a large bed in the middle with several dressers, a microwave, an attached bathroom and a desk with a TV. Motorcycle memorabilia was scattered throughout as were several bottles of alcohol. Claire gave them a wary look as she stepped through the threshold. Gemma was checking the bed as she did so.

"Good, clean sheets," she mumbled, turning back to Claire. "You can stay here for the night."

For the first time since she had gotten here, Claire genuinely smiled. "Thank you."

"Don't get used to it," Gemma replied as she moved back to the door. "And for Christ's sake, eat something!"

Claire looked down at her tiny frame as the door shut. Food sounded like a very good thing, a luxury even. She wondered if that gave her permission to use the kitchen she had passed by; she certainly did not have much to buy food. Maybe she would ask later.

Leaving her suitcase by one of the dressers and tossing her bag on the bed, Claire observed her surroundings once more. She then proceeded to hide all the bottles in one of the empty drawers she found, handling each one as if it would bite her. After that, she sat down at the side of the bed, leaning her head against the mattress.

Maybe things would be okay, just maybe.

It had been a long day for Clay Morrow. Shit just seemed to be piling up higher and higher, and he had the feeling it was nowhere near finished. Jax was right when he said it was not easy being king. It was during days like this that he was more than willing to hand off his crown to the Vice President.

After parking his bike, Clay was ready to drown some of the chaotic thoughts in his mind with several shots of some form of alcohol. However, he knew that was not going to happen when he saw his wife making a beeline for him, her heels hitting ground with a harder 'smack' than usual due to her anger. He knew he was in trouble. When the Queen was not happy, well…everyone knew how that adage went. There would be no warm welcomes home today.

"You just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you?"

Clay blinked. "Pardon me?"

"There is a scrawny little thing waiting for you. She claims you're her father."

A loud crashing noise could be heard throughout the lot as Clay, who had been trying to get off his bike at the time, tripped and sent it toppling to the ground. He hardly paid any attention to it, a little more concerned with the words that had just come out of Gemma's mouth.

"What!" he shouted, voice practically echoing. Jax and Opie looked up from their conversation near the garage while a couple of mechanics stepped out to see what was going on. Clay threw his helmet down, pointing his finger at Gemma. "If this is some kind of twisted joke…"

"She looks just like Monica," Gemma replied, not flinching.

Clay was frozen for a moment while he tried to piece it all together. In the end, he was only able to say one word: "Where?"

"Last I saw her, she was in the kitchen."

Turning with no further responses, Clay barreled through the parking lot, ignoring all the curious looks trained on him. With one simple glare, he cleared out all patrons that had gathered in the clubhouse at the time, all except one: the young girl in the kitchen, her back to him, completely unaware of his dominating presence in the building. Right before he approached, Clay put his cut on the bar. Right now, he did not need her getting any ideas.

He stopped in the doorway and watched her a moment. Damn, she really was scrawny. He could probably break her in half if he wanted to and that sandwich she was making looked much bigger than her stomach. She was humming some song to herself, sounding quite content with her situation. If she was here to take advantage of his money, food and home, she had another thing coming. He ran Monica out of town years ago and he had no problem with doing the same with her daughter.

The girl abruptly stopped her movement and Clay tensed up a moment. She turned around slowly and jumped when she finally did see him watching her. He saw her look out to the clubhouse, noting the sudden emptiness of it. She seemed to pale very quickly.

He was hit with the image of Monica then. Gemma was right, she did look just like her. She was obviously taller though, thinner, much more jumpy and, fortunately, she did not ooze crazy out of her every pore. But other than that, he felt he was staring at Monica, until he met her eyes and the light blue they contained.

Oh shit.

"Sorry to scare ya," he said calmly, snapping out the stupor he had found himself in. He stepped into the room and gave it a onceover, as though he had never been in it before, before landing his gaze back on her. Those eyes were killing him.

"It's okay," she replied with a faltering smile, tucking a hair behind her ear. "I, um…was just…Gemma said that I could make some food."

Clay shrugged. "That's fine with me. Whatever she says, goes."

"I got that impression earlier." She watched Clay as he leaned against the wall, obviously wary. He pulled out a cigar and lighter.

"You mind?" he asked, cigar already in mouth. She shook her head. "The name's Tig."

There was a long moment of silence. Clay looked up from lighting his smoke to see her staring at him in a peculiar way. Noticing his look, she blurted out: "Claire. Claire Hayford."

"How old are you, Claire?"

"Nineteen…almost twenty."

Clay struggled to do the math in his head. "What brings you here?"

"I, uh…I'm looking for someone." She kept glancing at her sandwich hungrily.

"Look, Claire, I don't offend easily. You let me smoke, I'll let you eat."

"No, that's alright," she replied, smile looking more at ease. "My mom raised me not to."

He highly doubted that. "You find who you were looking for?"

She was quiet again, staring at the ground a moment. "I'm waiting on them it seems."

Clay nodded, getting the feeling there was a double meaning behind her words. He took this as his queue to exit. Lifting himself off the wall, he made his way over to the door. "Good luck, kid."

He had a lot of thoughts to mull over. She seemed innocent enough, unlike many other girls that had washed into their life over the years, but as President, he had to take everything with a grain of salt. If there was anything he had learned, it was that people always had ulterior motives and the person they presented themselves as was never the entire picture. This girl would be no exception.

"Tig?" her voice called quietly from the kitchen. He turned to face her, forced to look into her blue eyes again. She stood partially out the door, her sandwich on a paper plate. "I know that's not your name…and I understand." She then took off down the hallway, leaving Clay staring at the spot, stupefied.

At this point, he was all but certain she was his daughter. He could not explain why, he just knew. However, if it were not for her looks, he would seriously wonder if Monica was actually her mother.

There it is! I hope you guys liked it! Thanks for reading! Reviews are most welcome! Happy Halloween!