Chpt 7Balm, Service, The Rally, Weston's Revenge

by wanderingchat

Injured Sons return to active duty as the MC determines Jax' future. Tig and Gemma confess their darkest secret. Cat's Rally unites the town as Weston reminds the MC he is a force to be reckoned with, making Tig fear he'll lose what matters most.

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 purely coincidence.

Much thanks and love go to:

My DH (who is thankfully very much alive!), for taking the time to offer insights. Also for having the love in his heart to allow me all my little obsessions and not feeling threatened by them. We've had 15 great years together; here's to many more!

My best friend (who does live in FL) for kicking my ass when needed and for love throughout these many years. My unofficial 'Godchild', her daughter, for her love as well.

The Indy Tarts and Tartans fan group, for giving encouragement, even though there was little GB involvement. Tignation, Samcro forums, SOA and Kim Coates Yahoo Groups, Facebook and Sons of who also took an interest and added their encouragement. You know who you are.

Kim Sisk (Sisko44 on , check out her SOA/Tig Story called 'Sapphires and Whiskey'. It rocks!) for the wonderful cover art. I love it!

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 Two

Chapter 7

Balm, Service.

The Rally

and Weston's Revenge

Cat smiled grimly at the green Bronco behind her. 'Gotta give the boy props for persistence,' she observed, keeping one eye on the rear view and the other on the road ahead. 'Guess he thought he was smart keepin' two cars between us; he just didn't think ahead in case he lost his camouflage. Doesn't help him that there aren't that many older Broncs in Charmin'.'

Cat briefly considered going to the garage, or calling Alex for help. 'By the time he gets out here, or I get there, Weston could pull anything. Alex'll have a fit when he finds out I was being tailed and didn't ask for help, but if I start runnin' to the guys or callin' them for help every time some shadow crosses my path, we'll never get anything done! Best thing to do is go to the source of the problem!' So instead of heading to Teller - Morrow, Cat turned onto Main Street as if she were going to the coffeehouse.

She'd always found it amusing to watch a TV show where the main character would find a parking spot right in front of his or her destination. "Something like that never happens in real life!" Cat's good luck was continuing, as there were several spots open in front of 'Impeccable Smokes'. She parked directly in front of the entrance and hurried inside.

It occurred to her that use of the two-way might be in order, just as she'd used it the day Agent Stahl had interrogated her. 'Never been here, and Pete didn't mention Zobelle having a sound system. If the two-way were to cut off and there's nothing to cover that sound, it would be difficult to explain away, might even cause more difficulty. I'm on my own this time.'

A petite blonde stood behind the counter where she'd expected to find Zobelle. "May I help you, ma'am?" Though the girl smiled at her, it was the retail 'I have to be pleasant in order to sell you something' smile. Cat had the feeling the blonde might turn out to be anything but helpful.

"Please tell your boss I need to talk to him right now," Cat replied tensely, keeping one eye on the street. Classical music drifted from the expensive bookshelf sound system sitting on one of the cabinets, but it was muted. 'That music definitely wouldn't have been loud enough to cover the sound of the two-way goin' off.'

The girl eyed her for a moment, taking in the red palm prints on each cheek, then turned towards the back entrance. "Dad, Ms. Marshall from the coffeehouse is here to see you. Sounds like it might be urgent."

'Zobelle's kid. She obviously knows me, probably been to the coffeehouse. Doesn't matter right now. Calling off Weston does.' She nodded to the blonde and replied, "It's very urgent, Ms. Zobelle."

Weston's Bronco pulled to a stop behind her Cruiser as she waited. She shifted her feet, assuming what appeared to be a casual stance, one foot planted slightly behind the other with her hands sliding into her back pockets. That position afforded her quick access to the semi-automatic should it be needed.

Ethan Zobelle strode into the business area at the same moment his lieutenant passed through the doorway. The merry tinkle of the bell over the door was a sharp contrast to Weston's intense presence. Cat shifted slightly so that she could keep both men in her line of sight.

"Miss Marshall, how nice of you to visit! I wasn't aware that Mr. Trager had developed a taste for the cigars I offer!"

Cat knew he was referring to the 'protection' Clay had offered to provide just after Zobelle's store opened. 'Alex got a box of those expensive things. Smelled like shit considering how much he charges for them!' She didn't respond to the taunt, merely looked from Zobelle to Weston.

"And then again, perhaps his palate isn't sophisticated enough to appreciate fine tobacco. Perhaps you're here for a supply of cigarillos for yourself?"

"You've got a good memory, but I'm not here as a customer. Got a complaint about your employee, here," she replied, nodding her head at Weston. "Call off your boy, Mr. Zobelle. His intimidation isn't gonna work; I'm not backin' off on the rally."

Zobelle looked at her in genuine surprise. "AJ, can you shed some light on this? Just what is Miss Marshall referring to? Have you been following her or bothering her in any way?"

"No. I'll admit my car was a couple of cars behind hers earlier. How else was I supposed to get here? Not my fault if she assumed I was following her," Weston replied stonily, his expression daring her to contradict him.

"That's your story and you're stickin' to it. I've got swamp land in the desert for sale at a great price!" she snorted. "Too many people saw you stop on my back bumper and get out of your Bronco to confront me earlier this mornin'. It was obvious to anyone lookin' on that you weren't intendin' to check my tire pressure!"

'Shit! She has balls! I didn't think she would bring that up!' Weston glared angrily at her, hoping his intense stare would make her back off. Though his stare was often all that was necessary to quell most complaints against him, it didn't work this time. Cat returned his intense glare with 'the look'.

Zobelle glanced at the two antagonists, then turned his attention to his daughter. "Polly, go into the back and finish the inventory. This does not need to concern you," Zobell spoke quietly to her. If Cat's accusation against Weston surprised him, he wasn't letting it show. "AJ," he continued in the same calm manner, "go with Polly. We will discuss this matter later."

Weston acted like he was going to argue, then nodded once and stalked angrily past Cat and Zobelle. He gazed angrily at Zobelle as he passed the dapper businessman to the storeroom.

"I admit to being intrigued by your visit, Miss Marshall, considering how our last conversation ended," Zobell intoned while walking past the counter to a set of leather chairs. "Additionally, I'm surprised you would allow yourself to be seen coming in here, considering you are hosting a rally against the ideals that AJ and I espouse."

"If I had my druthers, I wouldn't step foot in here. I've come across rotting bodies that are less offensive than being around y'all!" She replied tersely. "I made an exception in order to tell y'all to call off your attack dog."

Zobelle gestured to one of the chairs, indicating she should sit. She shook her head, preferring to remain standing in case she had to leave in a hurry. Zobelle shrugged and settled in one of the chairs, crossing his legs and resting his arms along the sides. "Honestly, Miss Marshall, I've given no orders for you to be followed, nor for you to be accosted on the street." Zobelle tented his fingers in front of his chest. "As you so appropriately pointed out previously, you have the same right to freedom of expression that I enjoy. I would not infringe on that right by ordering anyone, including Mr. Weston, to frighten you from holding your rally."

"Then your boy is actin' on his own," Cat replied quietly. "A couple of the Brotherhood followed me from the county line into town this morning. When I caught on to them, your boy took over the tail. He and two vehicles full of the Brotherhood tried to box me in at a traffic light. Check it out with Hale; CPD got a few calls about the incident."

"I fully intend to investigate your allegations, Miss Marshall. In the meantime, you will understand if I take the opposing point of view and support my employee. You would do the same."

Cat smiled derisively. "Whatever you do about your employee is all y'all's business. I'm puttin' you on warnin' that you need to put a leash on Weston and the brotherhood. If any of them follow me or my employees, or if there are any other attempts at intimidation both the Sons and the cops will come see you. I promise you that a visit of either will make your day a miserable one."

She turned and strode from the shop, the bell tinkling merrily as the door closed behind her. Zobelle watched her dignified retreat to her car, a derisive smile crossing his face. 'She's a very bold and brave woman. An admirable quality. I can see why Mr. Trager favors her. But she is also a very foolish woman, and she'll soon reap the folly of her actions.' He rose and walked into the back room where Polly and Weston were supposed to be working. 'I suspect they have been eavesdropping. I would be disappointed if they weren't.'

Weston and Polly hovered on either side of the entrance to the storeroom, listening to the conversation between the two business owners.

"What did you think you'd gain by confronting her at a traffic light right out in public?" Polly inquired in an indignant whisper.

"Make her postpone that damn event of hers!" Weston growled angrily. "Your father sure as Hell isn't doing anything to stop it. He finds it amusing! I figured if she got scared enough, she'd cancel it. Didn't expect she'd come here to confront your dad about it."

They heard the bell above the store entrance ring, signaling her depature. They scurried to opposite corners of the storeroom, pretending to be busily engaged.

"Confronting Miss Marshall the way you did was not a particularly smart idea, AJ," Zobelle intoned, walking into the store room. He wasn't fooled by their industriousness. "Your misguided actions only succeeded in making her more committed to her own cause. I told you when you ran her employees from the premises that I would deal with her in due time. Patience, AJ, can accomplish more than acting without due forethought."

"That adjust and adapt crap you're always going on about!" Weston replied, the words coming from between gritted teeth. "While you were adapting, I adjusted my thinking on the matter and adapted that thinking into action so that damn bitch doesn't hurt The Cause!"

Zobelle smiled benignly at his lieutenant, looking at Weston the way a lab technician would look at a specimen on a slide. "I appreciate your attempt to embrace the concept, AJ. I fear you have not fully grasped the meaning. Let Ms. Marshall hold her protest. The cause has broad shoulders. When the time is right, we shall demonstrate to the Sons the full extent of our power. Trust me. I am thinking of the big picture."

Zobelle nodded at his daughter and Polly wordlessly left the storeroom. She knew her father wished to speak to Weston on his own, most likely to lay down the law.

Weston stood in the center of the storeroom, his intense gaze locking with Zobelle's calm one. Inwardly, Zobelle was disappointed in his right hand. 'AJ has not been able to concentrate on business since his children were taken from him. I would like to bring him further into the circle, but if he is going to be this unpredictable, I cannot rely on him.' Zobelle shook his head at his lieutenant. "AJ, you are not to follow Miss Marshall, or have her followed by any of the Brotherhood. She is off limits. Do not disobey me in this."

Zobelle turned his back on his seething lieutentant and returned to the front, leaving Weston standing alone. A cold fury shone in his eyes while his hands curled into clenched fists. 'There's gonna be a demonstration of LOAN's power all right. A very strong demonstration, and it'll happen a lot sooner than you think!'

Polly resumed her place behind the counter and gazed thoughtfully at her father. Zobelle stood calmly in the center of the showroom, appearing to be unconcerned over his lieutenant's rash action. She knew Weston was angry and wondered for the millionth time if he was more of a liability than an asset to them.

"I know what you are thinking, Polly. Despite his misguided actions today, AJ still has his uses."

"That may be the case, Daddy. But you've been pretty lenient on that club ever since we attacked Gemma Morrow. We should've done something long ago about that woman. I don't like it that he took it on himself to go after her. She's tight with the Sons. The whole town knows Trager's claimed her as his 'old lady'. Has SAMCRO actually managed to scare you?"

"SAMCRO has nothing to do with the fact that I have refrained from acting against Miss Marshall's peace rally. The support she is receiving from the citizenry has worked against her; she will not be able to hold the event at her coffeehouse."

"She'll just find another place to hold it, Dad. She's pretty determined."

"I am aware of that. I also know that the police chief turned down her request to close Main Street and hold it outside her establishment, citing crowd control issues. I have it on good authority that the town fathers plan to turn down her request to use the city park. The schools have a policy against use of their facilities for non scholastic functions. As for the churches, I have taken steps to persuade them not to assist her. A few words in the right ears can do more for us than AJ's random attempts at intimidation. Everything is proceeding accordingly."

Polly mentally compared her father's quiet authority to the calm determination of Trager's 'old lady'. Both were forces to be reckoned with. If anything were to happen to that woman now, the Sons would waste no time coming after them. 'We got off easy after attacking Gemma Morrow, that could've misfired on us. Our luck can't hold out forever, so I really do hope you're right about this, Daddy.'

Cat pulled into her driveway, sighing with relief that she was no longer being followed. The street was quiet. 'What a pleasant sight! No suspicious Fords lurking on the street!' She removed the two-way from her jacket pocket and pressed 'send'. Alex's voice mail answered. "Hey, love. Finally done with my running around and home safe. I'll either be at the coffeehouse or our place. See ya when I see ya."

She shut off the two-way and slipped it back in her jacket pocket. 'I'll tell him about the tail and the intersection stuff in person. No reason to worry him over nothin'.' She had plenty to keep her occupied, there was a lot of work to do for the coffeehouse, and she still had odds and ends to finish for the rally.

She left the car and headed for the back yard and the back entrance to the coffeehouse in order to dive into her workday. She shoved the incident with Weston into a far corner of her mind.

The repo Gemma had sent Prospect and Opie to retrieve was located on the Wahewa Tribal reservation. The vehicle's hatchback was full of boxes that the owner claimed contained beads for her work. Though she had begged Opie and Kip to let her keep the beads, the men had no choice; the finance company wanted the vehicle and that meant she forfeited any and all personal belongings stored in it.

Prospect was in considerable discomfort during the drive back to the garage. The vehicle owner had pushed him from behind and he'd landed on his implant. The only thing that made the assault worth it to Half-Sack was the boxes of beads. 'I really liked making that keepsake for Otto. It renewed my interest in macrame. The beads will come in handy.' He got quite a surprise when he opened one of the boxes and found they were full of bullets.

He called Clay and Tig from their work on Cat's Yamaha so they could check out his discovery. It was obvious that the residents of the Wahewa Tribal Council were supplementing their income by making unstamped bullets.

'Might be a good business proposition in the making,' Clay mused, examining the home-made bullets, 'especially if they could make bullets for the AKs.' He instructed Prospect, Opie, and Tig to get ready to ride out to the reservation.

Chibs pushed past them, climbed into the van and tore out of the drive. He nearly ran into Tara's Olds in his haste to leave, but she saw the van moving towards her and backed up onto the street, allowing the van to exit in a tire squealing turn.

None of the men liked the looks of Chibs' departure. Short of duct taping him to a chair, there was little they could do to keep Chibs in one place. He was capable of taking care of himself.

Satisfied with the Yamaha's restoration, Tig waved Dog over. Dog was one of the few garage employees who had no affiliation to the club. "Use the flatbed and take the Yahama to my place. You know the address; behind the coffeehouse. Leave the key with one of her staff if you Cat's not there or at the house. I'd do this myself, gotta leave on club business."

"Got it covered, Tig. Your old lady's gonna be happy to have it back."

Tig nodded and removed his work shirt, tossing it to the workbench. He grabbed his cut, sliding his arms through the armholes as he crossed to his bike. Moments later, the quartet was roaring towards the reservation.

The van's owner was as happy to see the Sons as she'd been about her vehicle's repossession. Prospect stood well out of her way when she approached the riders.

Her son, Fernando, had a cooler head about the situation and was willing to discuss the tribe's bullet making operation with Clay, including leading a tour of the factory which was set up in a school bus. The chief was willing to consider a business alliance if, in exchange, the MC found a distributor for their 'organic' mushrooms.

Clay had Prospect test the 'shrooms. Half-Sack wasn't enthusiastic about the idea, mostly because the smell was more organic than the mushrooms themselves. Under Clay's glare, he hurriedly selected the smallest one and quickly chewed it.

Remembering how he'd gone off on his Sergeant at Arms a few days earlier and wanting to make amends, Clay held the box of psychadelics invitingly to Tig. 'I owe him for being so hard on him. This might perk him up a little.'

"Don't you need me tonight?" Tig asked, referring to Clay's order earlier that they needed a full table for the vote. He was also hesitant about having a tripping 'shroom given his current state of mind.

Clay assured Tig he could proxy his vote. "You deserve some fun. Go on."

Tig glanced at the box of fungus. 'Hell, why not? It can't hurt. Might even help me get over this Donna shit.' He took a large one and quickly chewed it, not bothered by its' odor. There wasn't any noticable difference in taste from regular mushrooms. He knew from experience that it wouldn't take long for the fungi's hallucinogenic properties to take effect. He left the bus and pulled out the two-way, smiling a bit at the message waiting for him.

"Hey, babe. Not likin' this phone tag shit. The bike's fixed and on it's way to ya. Dog's bringing it on the flatbed; he'll have the key. I'm at the Wahewa Tribal reservation. Won't be at the clubhouse tonight, prolly be here 'til morning, so don't wait up. Be safe."

He walked around the reservation, waiting for the psychadelic to kick in, looking for a place to have his trip. To have a good trip, a person needed to be someplace they felt comfortable and safe. The only place Tig really felt that was home. He entered a sales booth filled with hand made dolls and stood in the middle of it as the 'srhoom began to work on him.

Dolls of any kind was something he normally avoided. He had feared them for as long as he could remember, though he couldn't recall the cause of that phobia. His worst fear centered around those large sized baby dolls that girls played with, but small action figures made him uncomfortable.

He could barely tolerate Cat's collection of action figures. Out of consideration for his feelings, she not only kept them in their original packages, but had placed them on the highest bookshelves in the library. Those shelves were a little taller than him, so that he didn't have to look at them.

The tribal dolls didn't bother him. They were strung all over the booth, and made noise as the wind moved them around. He stood in the middle of the lean-to like booth, feeling the wind blow through the enclosure, listening intently to the things the dolls had to tell him.

At one point in the trip, he became vaguely aware that Clay and Laroy were standing in front of him, but his full concentratin was centered on the dolls. He muttered incoherently at the two men, clasping his hands in front of him, the taste of the 'shroom thick in his mouth.

Laroy shook his head at Tig's behavior. 'He's just as loopy as the Prospect. If SOA testing is any indication, the fraternity crowd will literally eat this up. It'll be another profitable endeavor for us.'

LaRoy's lieutenant had already tested the homemade bullets the tribe had prepared for use in the AKs, and pronounced the bullets acceptable.

Clay and LaRoy finalized their deal, then Clay introduced LaRoy to the chief, so they could negotiate their own terms of supply and demand for organics.

With his business on the reservation wrapped up, Clay wanted to ride and take some time to clear his head over the situation with Jax. 'That's why I sent Opie away. With Tig and Prospect otherwise engaged, I can get a little time to myself to wrap my head around all this and prepare for Gemma's reaction. She won't be happy, but the good of the club outweighs what's good for her son.'

He walked over to what the tribe labeled as the 'healing mud pit' again to check on Prospect. The kid was still sitting on the side of the pit, murmuring about how 'cwarm' the mud felt to him. "Have fun, Sack. See ya in the morning." Sack had no vote to proxy. He wouldn't be in a position to vote until his prospect year ended.

As for Tig, Clay found his SAA still enthralled by the hand-made dolls. Tig had taken one down from its' string and was staring into its' painted face, as if it held all the answers to life, the universe, and everything. "Have a good trip, Tig."

Tig muttered something that sounded like an incantation. Clay shook his head and headed to his bike. He adjusted his helmet, mounted and rode away from the reservation.

Night fell and the wind died. The dolls quit talking to Tig, but another voice was making itself heard loud and clear. Donna Winston kept asking 'Why did you kill me?' over and over. Her voice seemed to issue from the doll he held, though the painted-on lips didn't move.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He tried to tell the doll, his voice shook with pent-up emotion.

The doll wasn't placated by his apology. Though he was genuinely remorseful over killing Donna, the dolls eyes looked back at him in mute condemnation. 'Why did you kill me?'

The event replayed in his mind. He'd thought he'd buried it so deep in his subconscious that it would never plague him again, but the 'shrooms had brought the nightmare back.

The rational part of his mind told him he should've kept away from the mushrooms. Should've wasn't doing him a damn bit of good now. His mind was caught by the hallucinogen and wouldn't let him get away from his hour of reckoning.

Tig ran from one end of the reservation to the other, trying to outrun the whispered question and his memories. They followed right on his heels, until he fell exhausted to the ground, holding the doll in his hands, tears running down his cheeks and sobs wracking his body.

Dog pulled up in front of the house Tig shared with Cat. It was the first time Dog had been to there. He noted the red PT was parked in the drive, but the house was closed up. 'She's probably at the coffeehouse. Hope she doesn't mind me bringing the bike home instead of Tig.'

Dog quickly unloaded the Yahama and pushed the bike to its' normal parking place next to the Cruiser. He removed the key and stuck it in his pocket, then turned off the engine to the flatbed. 'I'll just walk around the block and deliver the key. A cookie and coffee sound good right now. I've got a little time before I have to go back to the garage. Gemma won't say anything about how long I was gone.'

Dog liked the coffeehouse, and had been there several times. He only knew Tig's old lady by sight. He'd never done more than say a quick 'Hello' or to thank her for filling his order. Tig had made it very clear to the mechanics that Cat belonged to him. None of them wanted to get on his bad side by getting too friendly with her.

'People say I look like that Hawaiian bounty hunter on TV. Something tells me that particular Dog wouldn't want to mess with Tig.'

The coffeehouse was nearly deserted; it was that dead time between the lunch and after school rush. Only one employee was manning the counter. The stereo was playing some little ditty about 'Eileen' that sounded like something MTV played when it was first starting out. The cats were snoozing in their room in a square of sunshine. He didn't see Cat.

"Hi! What can I get started for you?" Adrian called out in greeting. His smile was genuine, as was his invitation to assist Dog.

"Lady Cat here? I have the key to her bike. Just delivered it to the house." Dog replied.

'The boss will be happy to hear that!' Adrian smiled broadly. "Miss Cat! Special delivery out here that needs your attention!"

A muffled grunt from the back met his call. Adrian grinned at the response. "I think that means she'll be right out. Can I get anything for you?"

"Would you mind making me a large cappucino and may I have a chocolate chip cookie with it?"

"Coming right up!" Adrian replied with a grin. Even if Dog hadn't been wearing the Teller - Morrow shirt, Adrian knew the man worked at the same garage as Mr. Tig. He'd served Dog many times in the past and liked the large mechanic.

Adrian quickly filled the drink order, adding an extra dollop of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle on top. Adrian then selected the largest cookie with the greatest amount of chips, placed in on a plate and nuked it a few seconds in the microwave to warm it.

"What do I owe?"

"Miss Cat won't charge you when she finds out you brought her bike home."

As Dog bit into the warm, soft cookie, Cat stepped into the front, wiping her hands on a towel. She'd been mixing batter for the next day's baking. "Hey, Dog! Nice to see you!" She waved him over to one of the seats. "Sit down and rest a spell!"

"Didn't Tig call you?" Dog asked, settling into one of the comfortable chairs. He stretched his legs out in front of him.

"He probably did. I haven't had a chance to listen to the voice mail." She curled up in a chair next to his, a cup of shaved ice in her hand.

"Bike's fixed. It's in the driveway."

"That's your special delivery, Miss Cat," Adrian added from the counter. The staff had read all about their employer's encounter with the Caracara actresses in the morning paper, and knew Blackie IIhad been vandalized. She'd not spoken about the episode, and waved off their concerns when they saw the red palm prints on her face.

She looked from Adrian to Dog and leapt from her seat. "Be right back!" She ran into the back and out the door to her driveway. Blackie II sat in his usual spot, looking as good as the day she'd bought him.

She examined the cream, crimson, and silver detailing of the cat logo and lettering. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized that Tig had used the colors from her wedding to Bill for the artwork. It was further proof of his commitment to her and lack of jealousy over the love she still felt for her first husband. 'Damn you! Wish you were here so I could thank you!'

She felt in her pocket for the two-way, intending to call to thank him, but it was missing. 'What the Hell?' She was momentarily concerned, then remembered it was in the coffeehouse. She always left her phones on the desk when she was working on the baked goods. 'I'll call later and thank him, then give him a demonstration tonight!'

She walked around the bike a couple more times, enjoying the look of the detailing. She couldn't wait to take him out for a test ride.

"I didn't think he'd be able to get the bike fixed so fast!" she exclaimed on her return to the coffeehouse. Dog was finishing the last of his drink, the only evidence of his cookie were a few tiny crumbs on the plate.

"He had some help from Clay and Chibs," Dog replied, wiping whipped cream and chocolate from his mustache. "They gave it a thorough inspection. Tig said he didn't want to take any chances."

'Sounds just like him. Always watchin' out for me when I least expect it.'

Dog stood up and took his cup and plate back to the counter. "I've gotta get back to work, Lady Cat. Enjoy your ride."

"You can take the short cut out the back, Dog. No need to walk all the way back around," she replied.

He followed her to the back of the store, taking in the large roasting machine and the baking setup. "So this is where it all happens, eh?"

"Yupper. Roastin' and flavorin' beans, the packagin' and the bakin'. Just finishin' up all the mixin' for a new batch of baked goods. The door's this way," she indicated the back door as she spoke. "That'll take you to the back yard and the gate opens to the drive. Thanks again for bringin' Blackie II home. I imagine Tig's up to his ears in club business, so don't work too hard to make up for him bein' away."

Dog nodded at her. 'She's really easy to talk to, makes you comfortable, and she catches on fast to things. She's OK with Tig not bringing her bike back and figured the reason fast. Good women like her are hard to find, the lucky bastard.' He quickly crossed the yard and climbed into the cab of the flatbed.

As soon as she finished the baking, Cat took the Yamaha for a test ride. Blackie IIresponded as smooth as silk. 'Except for that blasted write up, no one would ever know he'd been messed up!'

She kept an eye open for tails, but no one followed her as she ran the bike through its' paces. Half an hour later, she returned from the test ride with cheeks reddened from the sun and wind, proof that she'd not worn her helmet. 'What Alex doesn't know won't hurt either of us.'

She'd been so intent on getting to her ride that she didn't check the two-way. Normally, she didn't delay in listening to his messages. 'It'll just be a repeat of what Dog told me. I can listen later. Be interestin' to hear how he announces Blackie II's return.'

She'd returned in time for a scheduled meeting with her staff. They discussed the peace rally, and the part they would play in the opening. She also announced the T-shirts. "Tig ordered them from the place that supplies the garage. These will become part of the merchandise line-up. He says they'll be ready for us to wear tomorrow night, but I haven't heard from the suppliers yet. If they're delivered in time, hope y'all won't mind modelin' them!'

"We'd be happy to, Miss Cat!" JR replied, fresh from meeting with the school board. He'd returned bearing the news of their refusal and felt he needed to make it up to her.

"Nobody has to wear 'em if y'all don't want to," she replied, casting an understanding smile at JR. "Don't worry JR, we'll find a venue."

After the meeting, she spoke with Bobby Elvis about participating in the opening number along with her employees. He'd stopped in to discuss the Elvis song with Pete. Cat pounced on the opportunity to enlist his help.

"Sure, Cat. I'll be glad to be part of the opening," he replied grandly. "Y'know, Tig's been concerned about your safety in hosting this thing, and with good reason. But we're also enjoying the fact that you're making things uncomfortable for Zobelle and LOAN. I want a piece of that myself."

After Bobby left, she roasted and flavored beans the remainder of the afternoon. She had put the phones on mute during the meeting with her staff and neglected to put them back into normal mode afterwards, so she missed Alex's call about being away all night. When she got done with the roasting and packaging, she checked the two-way, and found Alex's messages about the bike and his whereabouts.

'Now what on God's green earth would he be doin' on the reservation? What kind of business would take the club there?' she mused. His message was brief, so she decided it couldn't be any more obscure than the club's other associations.

Just as she closed the two-way, the coffeehouse landline rang. She picked up the desk phone on the second ring. The contemporary music coming from the sound system told her the after school crowd had come in and were keeping the staff busy. "Charming Pawse, Cat speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hey, Lady Cat! Juice here!"

"Juan Carlos! How ya feelin' darlin'?" She'd not had a chance to visit him since his transfer back to St. Thomas.

"I'm getting released. Everything, and I do mean everything's all clear!"

She grimaced. "Oh-kay, thanks for sharin' that! But I am glad to hear you're getting out. I'm sure you're about to go stir-crazy in there."

Juice laughed heartily. "After you outlawed pay-per-view porn, I found the Discovery Channel. It kept me entertained."

"You might've learned something as well. You need a pick up, darlin'?"

"Wow! You don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"I'll take that as a yes," she laughed. "Imagine I wasn't yer first choice, though." There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end. "I'm just teasin' ya, Juan Carlos. What time are you gettin' out?"

An audible sigh of relief greeted her ear. "In about an hour. Should I watch for the PT or the bike?"

"Now you know good and well that Tig would have kittens if I let you bitch-ride behind me! Otto was an exception to the rule."

"The PT, then. I'll see you in a bit."

Pete walked into the back office as she hung up. He noticed how tired his boss looked, the hand prints on her cheeks stood out against her pale skin, despite her recent ride.

"Good news?"

"Yup. Juice is gettin' out of the hospital tonight!"

Pete wiped his hand across his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of relief. "Great! I wasn't looking forward to trying to hook up the notebook to the karoke equipment. He makes that stuff look easy!"

"That's how I feel about tryin' to work on cars these days!" she replied. "I'm goin' to the hospital to pick up Juan Carlos. Y'all know how to reach me."

"Be careful, Miss Cat. Keep an eye open for the Aryans."

"I will, darlin'." She'd not said anything to her staff about being followed; Pete had been reminding her to be watchful ever since Zobelle's visit. She exited out the back to the PT and paused next to the Yamaha for a moment. Her heart warmed again at the detailing. She smiled, patted Blackie IIon the gas tank, and slid behind the wheel of the Cruiser.

She pulled up in front of the hospital entrance where Juice would be released and turned on the emergency flashers. She'd called Juice and told him she'd be waiting with the car. 'Unless I have to sign anything for you to be released.'

"Just wait out front, please, Lady Cat. I'd rather keep you away from that administrator. Tara said you wanted to get your claws into her, and that could be bad for Tara."

"Hmmm. My reputation proceeds me! For the record, I only wanted to rip her a new one for scarin' Chibs. Don't wanna give that bitch a reason to make more trouble for Tara."

She leaned against the passenger side of the PT, waiting for Juice to emerge from the hospital. Before long, the automatic doors opened to reveal Juice in a wheel chair, being pushed by two young nursing aides. One held each side of the chair's handles and Juice was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Thanks for the ride, ladies!" he grinned at them. The two smitten aides cooed soulful goodbyes as he got up from the wheelchair and walked the few steps to the car.

Cat laughed and shook her head. "I don't get it, what is it about you guys that attracts the girls like moths to flames? Is it the machines? The leather cuts?"

"Nah, it's my natural good looks that attract the ladies to me! Can't answer for the others!" Juice smiled and gave her a quick hello hug. "You look pretty good for getting slapped about. Read all about it in the paper."

"Liquid makeup can cover a lot of sins, my friend. I don't need people eyeballin' the marks, so I cover 'em up in public."

Juice squirmed a bit under her intense gaze. 'Don't think I'll remark on her using cosmetics. She might knock me upside the head!' He quickly changed the subject. "Thanks for taking care of my bill and keeping me safe. Heard about the double blood drive from Tig. He was upset you put yourself at risk. I'm not real happy about that idea, either."

"Darlin', it was necessary. You needed to be kept safe, and it worked out for everyone. Glad you're better. I don't need any more white hair from all y'all! Speakin' of hair, you look good with a full head of it!"

She opened the passenger door for him then went around to the driver's side. Juice settled himself and noted with a grin that she still foiled the seat belt sensor. "You and Tig still fighting that battle I see."

"No fightin' goin' on. I just don't wear it when I don't have to, especially when he isn't around to enforce the issue. Can't fight someone who's not around to fight about it, y'know."

Juice ran a hand over his hair. "So you really like this look, eh?"

"Sure. But I suppose you want to stop at Floyd's so he can shave yer skull and you can show off your tats."

"You don't mind?"

She smiled reassuringly. "First stop, Floyd's barber shop. While you're getting your head shaved, we can talk about the rally. I could really use your help with setting up the computer for the opening, as well as a podcast of the event."

"I suppose Tig doesn't know about this podcast idea?"

"Remember the premise of don't ask, don't tell? If he doesn't ask, no need for him to know about it in advance. It'll just add to his worry, and he's done too much about this thing already."

"Cat, I don't think that's a good idea. I don't like lying to a brother."

She looked out the side of her eye at him. "I'm not askin' you to lie, Juan Carlos. I'm just askin' ya not to volunteer the info to Tig. It's a fine line, I know. It's one of those things he doesn't need to know. It works both ways."

Juice remained silent, but Cat could see he was giving the matter some thought.

"I can set up the podcast without you, Juice. The only reason I'm askin' for your help is because you're better at it than me. The podcast is gonna happen."

By the time Floyd had shaved Juice's hair into its' regular Mohawk, Cat had obtained Juice's promise to help set up the podcast. 'She's gonna do it and is just stubborn enough to hire some kid to set it up. Might as well help her out and keep it in the family since we'll be there anyway. Tig'll be upset, but I can handle him.'

Having been away from his bike for awhile, Juice quickly saddled up and rode out for a nice, long ride when they reached the clubhouse. He'd given his proxy to Bobby earlier, as they'd not expected him to be released in time for the vote. He didn't have to attend the meeting that night. 'I just can't be there to see Jax remove his patches. No law says I have to be there after giving my proxy.'

Chibs pulled into the lot just after Juice left, waving at Cat from the van's front seat. He parked and walked up to her, a broad smile of delight replaced his worried frown for a moment.

"'Tis glad I am ta see ya, Lady Cat. Yer a sight fer sore eyes!" He kissed her on the cheek and stepped back, looking surprised that he couldn't see any marks on her face. "Ye don't look the worse fer wear from bein' slapped aboot."

"Liquid makeup can work wonders," she replied. "And no snarky comments from the peanut gallery about my usin' it, thank you very much!"

"I imagine Tig was surprised ta find oot ye knew how ta use it," he grinned. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes and didn't last very long.

"You feelin' OK, brother?" she was concerned over his sudden change in mood, as if something was weighing heavily on his mind.

"Shure. Jest a wee bit weary, furst day oot of tha hoospital. Hev ye been oot on tha bike?"

She favored the rider with 'the look' for the abrupt change of subject, but chose not to press the matter. "Sure have. Handles like a dream. I love the detailin'. Thanks for helpin' him check my toy. Have to admit to bein' a little surprised to see you here. Figured you'd be off with the guys."

"Had a leetle business o' me own ta attend ta," he replied off-handedly. "Guess ye know we hev a meetin' tanight. Tig'll be late."

"He said he's gonna be at the Wahewa Tribal reservation until mornin'. He tell you about it?"

"Nah. News ta me. Guess he's got club business oot there," Chibs quickly covered for his near slip.

"Most likely, darlin'. Either way, it means he won't be home tonight and that's all I 'need to know' brother," she assured him as she climbed into the Criuser. "Don't overdo on your first day home, Chibs! Misty'll be happy to see you in the mornin'!"

"I'll be there at me normal time. See ya later, sis!"

The two-way remained quiet throughout the remainder of the afternoon and on until the evening. Cat didn't worry about the silence due to Alex's message. She did become concerned when the two-way went off and there was no answer on the other end, just heavy breathing. 'Maybe he hit 'send' while leanin' up against something,' she thought, turning off the phone after getting no response.

After the fourth such call in as many minutes, she became rather annoyed. "Alex? If this is your idea of foreplay, it's really not doin' anything for me," she groused. "What the hell do ya think yer doin'? If you're playin' games, I am not amused!"

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" he sobbed.

His cry wasn't an apology for annoying her, there was something else behind it. "Alex? Love?" She hadn't heard him cry like that since the night Donna died. 'Somethin's wrong; he's callin' me to help him. Maybe he's not on the reservation on club business after all.' She gripped the phone tighter. "Hang in there, love. I'm comin' after ya!"

She grabbed her big camp flashlight and her jacket and ran to the car. She knew where the reservation was located, so it was just a matter of getting there and finding him.

She drove as fast as she dared to the reservation. In her concern for Alex, she didn't watch for tails. When she reached the turn off, she slowed down, turned on the car's emergency flashers, and shone the flashlight to either side of the roadway. The tall weeds and grass blocked her view of the ground. 'Shit! I'll have better luck parking the car and going on shanksmare!'

She parked next to Tig's and Half-Sack's bikes. The engines were stone cold, a good sign their owners had been there for a considerable amount of time.

She walked away from the car and listened to the sounds around her, hoping to hear Alex and gain an idea of where to find him. She turned towards a high pitched giggle of "Cwarm! It's cwarm!" She followed the giggling to a mud pit where she found Prospect sitting waist deep in the brown goo.

"Kip! Have you seen Tig?" she called out, shining the powerful beam of light on the rider.

"Cwarm! It's cwarm!" was his gleeful, sing-song response. "It's healing me and it's cwarm!"

"Terrific! He's got a snootful of firewater or wildwood weed," she grumbled. "He's not gonna be any help."

She shone the light around in a full circle, but there was still no sign or sound of Alex. She figured she could use the mud pit as a base and search from there.

'Shit!' she thought angrily. 'Forgetful old woman! Use the frackin' phone!' The two- way's ring would help her find him, or at least give her an idea of where to look for him. 'Provided that his phone hadn't lost its' charge or been turned off.'

She pulled the phone out of her pocket, pressed 'send' and was rewarded by the faint sounds of his companion phone's ring. She followed the sound until his voice mail answered, turned off her phone and turned it back on again as she continued followed the ringing. As she got closer, she heard Alex's sobs and cries of "I'm so sorry!"

She continued forward until the flashlight beam captured him sitting cross legged on the ground, his hair looking like it'd been combed with an old fashioned eggbeater. He was holding something in front of his face.

She was too far away to know for sure what he held. 'Is he holding a kitten or somethin' like that? Looks furry, whatever it is. From the way he's cryin', could he have hurt it by accident?'

Most people considered Tig to be cold hearted and uncaring. She knew otherwise. It didn't surprise her that he'd be upset over an injury to a small creature, just that he'd call her about it.

'There's somethin' else involved here. Dunno what, but it's really upset him.' She walked over to him and squinted at the bundle in his hands. 'Lord love a duck! He's holdin' a doll!' She squatted in front of him, the flashlight beam turned to the side but still giving off enough illumination for her to see him. "What have you gotten yourself into, love?"

Alex squinted at the light. His face was flushed and wet from sweat and tears. She could see that the doll was one of those the tribe sold to tourists. Though he looked right at her, Cat knew he didn't recognize her, and not just because of the flashlight.

"Donna? Is that you, Donna? I'm sorry, so sorry Donna!" he cried.

'Donna?' One of the few promises she'd asked of him was that he never call her by another woman's name. She reminded herself of the other half of that provision, and he was certainly not in the throes of passion at the moment!

"No, love. I'm not Donna."

"No, it can't be you, Donna. I killed you. I'm so sorry!" he replied.

She fell back on her butt with a surprised grunt. "Wh-what did you say?" she asked in a shocked whisper.

"I didn't mean to kill you, Donna! You have to believe that! Opie was supposed to be driving the truck that night!"

A cold hand clenched her insides. She shivered in sudden comprehension.

"Donna! Please, forgive me!" Tig moaned, holding her hands in his, still seeing the woman he'd killed. "I don't deserve it, but please do it! I can't take it anymore!"

She stared at him, her eyes wet with tears of pain for him. 'Whatever he's gotten into is makin' him think I'm Donna Winston's ghost. He's been carryin' this all this time! Oh, God!' she moaned inwardly. 'What am I gonna do?'

The club met in the chapel to vote on releasing Jax to go 'nomad'.

Unser had met earlier with Jax, and explained that the fire at Caracara was definitely arson, but the work of several people, not just one. That meant Clay couldn't have taken out the porn studio, but the news came too late. Jax had already stated his intentions in the heat of the moment.

Jax tried to make things right with Clay, but when he apologized and asked his step-father if he should still go nomad, Clay had said yes.

"It's the best thing for the club," was all Jax could say when Clay asked him if he wanted to address the matter.

One by one, the membership - minus Tig and Juice - cast their vote in favor of releasing Jax from the charter. No one knew Juice had been released from the hospital. Bobby had obtained Juice's proxy, and Clay had Tig's. Those were added to the 'yays' Clay and Bobby had cast.

Piney was disgusted with Jax. 'I know and Jax knows Clay had something to do with Donna's death. Jax was going to make things better; get justice. Now he's turning his back on Donna, on Opie and me. Fine! I don't need him to get justice!' Piney stood up, his eyes boring angry holes into Jax. "Yay!" he snarled then stormed out of the chapel.

Opie was more resigned and quiet when casting his vote in the affirmative. Now it was up to Chibs.

"Is this whot ye really want, Jackie bhoy?" Chibs asked, giving the VP one last chance to say or do anything to give him a reason to cast the one opposing ballot needed to keep Jax in the club.

Jax didn't respond.

"Aye, then."

"Motion passed," Clay barely touched the gavel to the base, turning his back to Jax as he did so.

Jax stood up, removed his cut and took out his knife. He cut through the threads binding his 'Vice President' patch to his vest. Once it was free, he tossed it over Clay's arm onto the table next to the gavel. Jax continued cutting through the 'Redwood' and 'Original' patches, while the remaining Sons watched in discomfort. Soon, those other patches joined the first and Jax left the chapel for the last time.

Cat's mind was in turmoil. Alex's revelation had caught her by surprise. He held both her hands in his, the doll rested in their clasped hands, his forehead rested on the doll. He was crying in pain and agony, begging her over and over to forgive him for killing her.

Her heart and soul cried for him. 'Forgiving is easy. How in Hell can I ever forget learnin' this? He killed an innocent person!'

She remembered many months earlier, when Alex had told her that he'd done terrible things – sometimes to women – in the past. She'd accepted it at face value thinking he was referring to his sexual exploits. 'Looks like I just got smacked upside the head with the reality stick!'

Alex's 'shroom controlled mind mistook her silence for censure. He tearfully told her the whole story. "It was all Stahl's doing! She made it look like Ope was turning against us; what were we supposed to think?" he added miserably. "I shot from the back of the truck because I couldn't watch a brother I loved die at my hands. Had I known you were behind the wheel, I wouldn't have pulled the trigger! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, Donna!" His voice cracked and broke into raging sobs.

Unable to endure his personal torture, Cat gently disengaged one hand and began stroking his unruly hair. Tig's face was buried in the doll he held. "Hush. Don't cry, Tig," she whispered. "It's history now. It's all in the past."

"Not until you forgive me!"

She continued to stroke his hair. 'This is the man I vowed to stick by for better or worse. It sure as Hell can't get much worse than this!'

Her head and heart were waging war with her and with each other. She could almost picture a little cartoon angel sitting on one shoulder, while its' devilish alter ego perched on the other, both telling her what she should do. She looked to either side of her but found no such minatures hovering above her. That didn't stop her from hearing two beloved voices. One belonged to Bill, the other to Alex.

Bill's voice held a cold, hard edge to it, one she'd never heard him use in Life. 'Don't do it, Cat. He killed an innocent woman in cold blood. He shot her from behind. Only a coward shoots someone in the back. You don't owe him a thing. No loyalty and certainly no forgiveness. This isn't the life you deserve! He's evil personified. You need to leave him and get him out of your life before it's too late for you.'

Alex's voice responded with a growl, "What a crock of shit! He's playing on your emotions, babe! There are extenuating circumstances. Stahl played the Winstons and the Sons. If not for her, Donna would still be alive and I would've never been given the assignment in the first place! It's no different than if I'd been acting an orders while on duty in the Marines! Would you have left Bill if he woul've ever been in such a situation?'

Bill's voice was full of derision. 'Talk about playing with emotions! If that's not the pot calling the kettle black! He's full of excuses! There's never an excuse for murder. That's what he did, Cat. He committed cold, calculated murder. He wasn't in a foreign country and he isn't in the Marines. He's a criminal. An outlaw biker. He accepted the job willingly. He doesn't regret what he did, just that he killed the wrong person. You know what your father would want you to do. What I want you to do. A moral person wouldn't have to think twice!'

'The fact that you're thinking about this at all shows you have more morals than your first husband is giving you credit for!" Alex snarled. 'I don't know I'm confessin' to you! I think you're the woman I killed and I'm genuinely remorseful, askin' the person I wronged for forgiveness! Only a cruel, heartless bitch would turn her back on me. That's not you, babe. The real criminal here is the so-called law enforcement that plays with people, it's not all my fault!'

Bill's voice implored her to listen to him. 'Don't you want to be with me in the next life? Don't you realize that forgiving him means you're condoning what he did? How can you turn your back on everything you were brought up to believe? He doesn't love you like I do. He's never there for you, never says how he feels. Cat, if he loved you, he wouldn't be asking this of you!"

"Look, baby. I don't know how to tell you the things you prolly need to hear. And you know why I can't always be with you," Alex's voice was sad and resigned, as if he knew he was losing the battle to Bill. "That doesn't mean I don't care any less about you than he did. I wouldn't have married you if I didn't love you. You know better than anyone that I've genuinely regretted killing Donna. You held me through the nightmares, helped me get through that awful night. You're my anchor, and it tears me up to think you might leave me here to rot. Bill's right about one thing: I should man up and let you go, but I can't! So help me, I need you!'

There were two choices in front of her. She could continue the charade she'd started and release Alex from the pain eating away at him. By doing so, she'd have to find a way to pretend that she remained ignorant of the truth, and keep the secret locked in her heart and mind.

The other option was to get up off her ass, brush the dirt off, get in the car and keep going until she'd put plenty of distance between herself and Alex, fleeing from the truth and from the evil thing he'd done. That meant condemning him to a life without her. She knew if she left him for good, it would tear him apart. It wouldn't do her a lot of good, either.

Her mind kept telling her to do one thing, her heart to do something else. Both had valid points to support them.

Alex himself had no way of knowing of the internal battle Cat was fighting. He cried like a frightened child, begging her to forgive him for killing her. She was absently stroking her man's hair, making soothing, comforting nonsense sounds to him as the war of wills continued.

'Enough!' Her mind yelled angrily at the voices. 'Both of ya can shut the Hell up. I've made my decision. God forgive me.'

Jax walked from the clubhouse and crossed the parking lot towards Tara. The doctor had been sitting at a picnic table awaiting the vote. She hadn't yet told him that Margaret Murphy had suspended her privileges pending the outcome of a board inquiry. The administrator claimed she had helped Chibs fake symptoms to go back on the critical list and avoid transfer to another hospital.

Murphy had completely ignored the fact that she had been the one to force Chibs to fake symptoms in the first place, but that didn't matter to her. She had managerial power Tara didn't have and had filed a complaint against Tara for Gemma's confrontation with her over Chibs' welfare, claiming Gemma was her proxy. It didn't surprise Tara that Margaret would use Chibs' set back as another weapon against her and the Sons.

'Maybe this suspension is a good thing,' she thought. 'We can take Abel and have a vacation. Go somewhere and be a normal family. No ATF, no Zobelle, no MC. Just us.'

She had just suggested it to Jax when Gemma walked up to them. Even though the vote had been cast, Gemma was determined to keep her son safe and in the club. She ordered them to meet her at the house. She had something she wanted Jax to know and wouldn't say any more until she could talk to Clay and Jax together, at home.

Without waiting for a response, Gemma walked into the clubhouse to deliver the same order to Clay. She'd decided that she was going to come clean about the night of Bobby's homecoming, but she was only going to tell it once.

"Tig," Cat spoke quietly, cupping one hand under his chin to raise his head to look at her. She'd lodged the flashlight behind her knee so that the beam was pointing at her face, the same effect she'd used as a kid to tell ghost stories by the ccampfire. She hoped it would make Alex continue to think he was seeing Donna.

She remembered that Donna didn't have an accent and called on her drama training to put her voice in a higher register and control her accent. "Tig, I understand what happened. Killing me was an accident. You never should've accepted the Feds' evidence against us at face value. But what's done can't be undone. I know that you didn't intend to kill me, Tig." She took a deep breath and spoke the words she knew he needed to hear. "I forgive you, Tig."

His eyes widened with disbelief. "Wh-what'd you s-say?"

"I forgive you, Tig," she repeated, her tone firm.

Tears of joy poured from his eyes, and he raised her hands to his lips, kissing the backs of them. "Will you take this, Donna?" He asked, holding the doll out to her.

"Yes. There is something you need to do for me, Tig. You must forgive yourself. You need to put this matter behind you; let it go. What happened to me wasn't all your fault, and you've punished yourself long enough for it." She placed her hands on each side of his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, wiping the tears away. "Forget about what happened that night and remember that I forgive you. It's over now. Will you do that?"

He nodded his head, gulping like a small child winding down from a monumental temper tantrum. His hands slipped out of hers, leaving the doll in her grasp.

"Good. You stay right there. Don't move. Cat is here, she's looking for you. When you hear the two-way ring, don't answer it, the ringing will help Cat find you. Good bye, Tig. Know peace and be happy with your life."

She stood up, keeping the light shining under her chin in order to maintain the illusion that she was Donna.

"G-good bye, D-donna," he gulped. "Th-thank you."

She backed away, keeping the flashlight on until she'd covered several yards, then she turned her back to Tig and extinguished the light. She waited quietly, barely able to breathe, waiting to see if he started crying for Donna again.

She ran back to the car and tossed the doll in the back of the Cruiser, where it fell on the floor. She folded down the rear seats, intending to let him lay there instead of putting him in the passenger seat. 'I have no way of knowin' how he'll behave. It'll be safer if he's laying in the back where I can keep an eye on him but he can't touch the controls.'

She locked the car again and pressed 'send' on the two-way so that Tig's would ring. The voice mail answered. 'I gotta remember to erase the incoming call logs and the blank voice mails.' She pressed 'send' again and called his name as the companion rings grew louder.

"Alex?" she called out as if she didn't know where he was. "I can hear your phone! Can you hear me, love?"

"Cat?" His voice was faint and hoarse, but it was her name he was calling! "Cat? Is that you?"

"Keep talkin', Alex! Raise an arm so I can see you! I'm tryin' to find you!" She swept the flashlight about, as if she were looking for him, and saw his upraised arm. "I see you, love! Sit tight!"

She ran up to the spot where she'd left him a few moments ago. He was shivering despite the warm air and the long sleeved shirt he wore under his cut. "Alex, love, what have you gotten in to?"

"Shrooms," he murmured. He was tired. The emotional upheaval had pushed the last of the hallucinogens out of his system and he moving to the 'coming down' phase.

'Shrooms?" she asked. "What do you mean, 'shrooms?" She thought a few more moments then exclaimed, "You mean psychedelic mushrooms?"

"Home grown right here on the farm," he murmured then broke into a high pitched giggle. He was giddy as if he'd drunk a case of beer.

She rolled her eyes to the heavens. She was familiar with pot and booze, but not 'tripping mushrooms'. She'd have to research that on the internet later. "Do you have any idea how long ago you ate them, or how many?"

"Jesh one, shumtime ago," his voice was getting slurred.

She'd get more sense from a brick wall. "Time to say 'bye-bye' to the field and go home, love." She put her hands under his arms and pulled him to his feet. He was unsteady and leaned heavily against her.

"Bye, bye, field!" He waved at the ground where he'd been sitting, nearly knocking the two of them over. She had one arm around his waist and drew his other arm over her shoulder, nearly carrying him out of the field to the car.

'Thank God for remote locks!' she thought, pushing the button on her key fob. The interior and headlights of the Cruiser blinked on and flashed twice. Leaning Alex against the side of the car, she lifted the tailgate then positioned him so that he faced her and his back was to the hatch. She pushed him backwards until his legs were against the bumper, then she forced him to sit on the tailgate.

"Sit right there," she panted. "Don't move."

"'K." He grinned up at her, his hands clasped between his knees.

She grabbed his legs and pushed him back until his shoulders rested against the passenger side front seat. To her relief, there was a couple of inches to spare so that she could close the hatchback without having to bend his legs at the knees to make him fit. She removed her jacket, bunched it up, and placed it behind his head so he'd be more comfortable, then moved the front seat forward a little to give him a little more comfort.

"It's cwaaaaaarrrrmmm!" she heard Prospect giggle from the mud pit. "It's heeeaaaaling me!" He sounded as happy as a pig. 'As far as I'm concerned, he can stay there the rest of the night. Dealing with one senseless male is about all I can handle right now!' She was already exhausted. It had been some time since she'd had to carry a grown man anywhere and she still had to get Alex into the house.

She pulled a twenty from her wallet and tied it to a string in the hut where the dolls were sold. 'Dunno how much they cost and I don't give a shit. At least it's something for the damn thing.'

She climbed into the driver's seat but didn't start the car right away. Her heart hurt, warning of the advent of a nasty migraine. She lay her head against the steering wheel for a few moments. 'At least he's being quiet,' she thought, glancing to her right at his prone figure. He looked like he was asleep.

She turned the key and the tape player nearly blasted her out of the seat. She'd left it turned on when she'd parked the car, and forgotten that the volume was cranked up. Supertramp's 'Lord, Is It Mine?' blared from the speakers.

She glanced worriedly at Alex, but the noise didn't seem to faze him. 'Appropriate choice of music given the current situation,' she mused. She adjusted the volume on the stereo and glanced at Alex again. His eyes remained closed, his head rested against her shoulder. 'My poor love!' She kissed the top of his head, inhaling the scent of earth and sweat in his hair, then started the engine, put the car in gear, and drove towards their home.

She reversed the tape to the start of the song and softly sang along:

". . .You know I get so weary

from the battles in this Life

And there's many times it seems

that you're the only hope in sight.

It mine?

Oh, Lord, is it mine?

When everything's gone

And nothing seems right

There's nothing to win

And there's no need to fight. . .

If only I could find a way

To feel your sweetness

through the day. . ."

The lyrics gave her a measure of comfort and her voice seemed to keep Alex calm. 'He's so far out of it that the words probably don't mean anything to him,' she consoled herself. 'He's carried this burden for such a long time; he needed to unload it. That field was probably the best place for him to leave it. He asked to be forgiven, I don't regret giving that to him. Now I've just got to figure out how to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life. He can never know that he confessed to me.'

Though he'd been ordered by Zobelle to ". . .refrain from any further attempts to intimidate Ms. Marshall," Weston had staked out her house that evening, hoping for another opportunity to confront her about the rally. During his stakeout, using nighttime as a cover, Weston threw a couple of good size rocks at the street lamp across from the Marshall house, breaking the bulb and turning the yard into a black void.

'Wonder where she's going this late?" he mused, watching her dash to the Cruiser. He lay down in the seat of the borrowed Chevy sedan until he heard the woman's car stereo pass him. He sat up and saw the tail lights ahead of him. He watched the Cruiser make a right turn, then started the sedan and followed.

'I'm not taking any chances that she'll see me this time," Weston thought, scratching at the knit cap over his close cropped hair. He had switched out his light colored shirt for a dark colored one. It wasn't hard for him to follow the PT with the stereo turned up so loud. He could follow at a safe distance and not raise her suspicions.

'What would take her out to the Redskins this late at night? They can't afford her coffee!' He watched as her emergency flashers came on and a beam of light shone from the car's windows into the field on either side. 'What the Hell is she looking for?'

Weston watched the PT pull into the reservation, make a wide turn, and park next to two Harley motorcycles. 'There are Sons here! Could she have led me into an ambush?' He turned off the headlights and pulled forward behind the line of makeshift sales booths, parking in the shadows of the buildings.

Weston picked up a pair of night vision goggles and put them on so he could better observe the woman's movements and watch for trouble. He observed her walk to a mudpit and speak to the young blonde sitting in the ooze. Then he watched her swing the light about and call for Trager.

'Oh, this is rich! I should've brought my gun, could've taken out three birds at one time and blamed it on the Redskins! Could've started quite a war!' He reminded himself that guns weren't in the game plan to co-erce the coffeehouse owner into cancelling her rally.

From what he could tell, neither the blonde nor Trager were in any shape to help her. The blonde was singing about the mud being 'cwarm' and healing him, while Trager was nearly falling down drunk. 'This is gonna work out great! I'll make that woman back out of her rally and the Sons will be on the outs with her for being unable to protect her!'

He opened the car door and stepped out. There was no telltale interior light shine to betray him; he'd had the foresight to remove the bulb from the roof. Weston moved steathily forward so he could confront her.

He watched his prey help Trager into her vehicle and moved quicker, figuring he didn't have much time before she got the blonde out of the mud and into her car. To his surprise, she climbed into the driver's side of the Chrysler, adjusting the volume on the stereo to a more manageable level.

Weston hurried back to the Chevy. 'Shit! She's actually going to leave the blonde in the mud pit! That's not her normal style. Gotta admit, she's physically stronger than I gave her credit for, to be able to get Trager's dead weight into her car and still be able to move! I'll just follow her to her house and confront her there! Won't be as much fun, but it'll be worth it to save The Cause!'

Cat pulled into the drive, parked the car, then opened the front door to the house and grabbed Ebony, locking him in the bathroom so she could keep the front door open. She returned to the car, opened the hatchback and said, "I'm goin' to borrow your sled, love!"

The phrase came naturally; she'd heard it many summer mornings at her grandparents' farm. Grandpa Marshall would holler it as he'd tromp up the stairs to wake her up while she lay giggling under the sheet. His big, warm hands would grab her by the ankles and pull her to the side of the bed.

As she recalled that childhood memory, she grabbed Alex by both ankles and pulled him to the end of the tailgate. The blanket she'd spread on the folded seats fell to the ground. 'It'll keep,' she had to get him into the house first.

"Wheee!" He shouted. "Can we do that again?"

"No, love, time for all good little outlaws to go to bed," she replied. She tried to help him stand, but he kept falling back onto the tailgate. 'There's gotta be a better way to do this!' She placed her hands between his legs and spread them far apart enough that she could slip between them. 'Hope he doesn't get any lecherous ideas!' She turned her back to him and grabbed his hands in hers, lifting his arms over her shoulders.

She moved forward so that he was leaning against her back, and was able to half-lead, half-carry him into the house and on into the bedroom. She turned around so that his back was to the foot of the bed and they fell onto it, Cat landing on top of him.

She was tired enough to pass out where she lay, but there was still too much to do, especially with Ebony reminding her he wanted "ME-OWT!" of the bathroom. She moaned and rolled off Alex.

He rolled over onto his side, throwing his arm around her and fiddling with her belt. She was definitely not in the mood at the moment! "Sorry love. Ya gotta take a rain check for now. I left the front door wide open."

"Mmmmkay," he muttered, sounding like the Mr. Mackey character in South Park.

She got up from the bed, stumbled to the front door and checked to make sure that Ming and Misty hadn't ventured outside. She closed the front door behind her and righted the rear seats, folded the blanket and retrieved her jacket and the doll.

Weston parked two lots away from the Marshall house, grabbed his night vision goggles and walked quietly towards the darkened property. The Cruiser was parked in the drive and the woman was laboring to get Trager into the house. 'He's gorked! This is almost as perfect as the reservation!'

He watched as she left the front door open and staggered down the hall to the bedroom, Trager's dead weight weighing her down. 'Which is better? Confronting her in the house, or out here? What if Trager's playing possum and she's setting me up? Better to wait until she comes back outside and use the darkness to my advantage.'

He stepped onto the grass and moved behind a tree so he could watch her movements. 'She'll have to come back to secure the car. I'll make my move then.'

He didn't have long to wait. He watched her fold the back seats upright and retrieve a jacket and doll. She had her back to him as she lowered the hatchback. Weston took a deep breath, let it out, and stepped forward. . .right onto a small limb that snapped under his weight. The sound echoed like thunder in the darkness.

The sound of a limb snapping alerted her that she was not alone, and her hand automatically went to her back, removing the semi-automatic from the holster. Her jacket and the doll fell to the ground beside her. "Whoever's there, I'm packin' and know how to use it! Hands up and speak up or eat lead!" She grimaced at the hokiness of her comment.

Silence met her command. She stood with her back against the PT, listening for any other tell-tale sounds. The front porch light didn't give much illumination into the driveway, and the street light was burnt out, making the shadows darker and more menacing.

'Damn it! I was so wrapped up in takin' care of Alex that I let my guard down! Should've known Zobelle wouldn't keep his guard dog leashed!' She took a deep breath and shouted "C'mon out, Weston! I don't wanna pump lead in ya, but I will if you don't step onto the porch and into the light with your hands where I can see 'em! Now!"

Her voice was calm and controlled, though her heart was beating furiously. "This ain't gonna make me back off from the rally, Weston! If anything, you're makin' me more determined to hold it! Now get your ass to the porch. I can use this thing, and don't have to see to hit ya!"

There was the sound of footsteps thudding hurriedly away from the drive. She ran to the end of the driveway just in time to see the tailights of a Chevy Malibu recede down the street.

She aimed the gun at the receding tail light, but the vehicle had a head start and she wasn't able to fire before it ran the stop and made a screeching left turn. Weston had removed the license plate, making it impossible for the police to track the vehicle.

'Frankly, I don't have anything to give to CPD. I can't provide it was Weston and he'll have some kind of alibi. There's too many dark colored Chevy Malibus in Charming for the cops to try to find the one that was here, much less who was driving out. Let's face it, I'd have a better chance of finding Ebony in the dark yard! Weston is one lucky fucktard!'

'Shit!' Weston froze in place, not daring to breathe as the snap ricocheted through the yard. He watched the woman drop the jacket and doll and reach behind her. The porch light glinted on dark metal as she raised both hands in front of her and called out a warning.

'She can hold a gun, obviously knows which is the business end. With my luck, she probably has a good aim. Her voice doesn't sound like she's scared. That's not good. I'll be better off going with plan B. Far safer for me and the Cause.'

He slipped quietly from his hiding place, clinging to the shadows until he reached the driveway, then he ran pell-mell for the safety of his borrowed Chevy. He heard the woman running after him, but he had a head start and managed to get away.

"You may have won this round, but you won't win the next! I'll win, by any means necessary!" As far as Weston was concerned, he had just taken a blood oath, and the blood to be spilled would be Cat Marshall's.

She reholstered the gun, returned to the house and released Ebony from his confinement, then went into the garage and retrieved a can of lighter fluid. She stepped out to the back yard to the stone grill, set the doll on the grill and soaked it thoroughly then set fire to it.

Orange blue flames licked and hungrily consumed the doll. She stood and watched it burn, adding more fluid to the fire when it started to die. 'I wanna make sure there's nothin' less of the damn thing but ash! I don't want anythin' around that will remind him of tonight!'

With the doll destroyed, she returned to the house and fed the patiently waiting cats. The smell of their moist food made her lean over the sink to pay homage to 'Ralph'. There was nothing in her to throw up, so she suffered through dry heaves for a few minutes. Once the dry heaves had run their course, she rinsed out her mouth, finished feeding the cats and turned out the lights.

She locked the doors and went to the office to research psychidelic mushrooms so she'd know what to expect when Alex went through the 'coming down' period. Once she'd read everything Wikipedia had to offer on the subject, she turned off the computer and returned to the bedroom.

Alex was still lying on the foot of the bed where she'd left him. He was snoring lightly. He didn't wake as she removed his clothes. She emptied his pants pockets, putting his wallet, knife and gun in the bedside drawer. She put the phones on their respective chargers, making sure that the incoming call log on Alex's two-way was erased.

She removed a pair of wash pans from under the bathroom sink, filled the first with warm, soapy water and carried it to the bedroom. She filled the second with clear warm water, grabbed a towel and washcloth, and returned to the bedroom, setting the second pan next to the one of soapy water on the floor.

She removed her shirt and pants and threw them on top of his dirty clothes. She swished the washcloth in the soapy water, wrung it out, and proceeded to give him a sponge bath, working from his head to his feet, gently and lovingly cleaning the dirt and sweat from his body.

Alex moaned a few times and stretched, but he was too deep asleep to fully appreciate her ministrations. Only his lower regions took notice of her actions, and waved an invitation to her.

"Not tonight, Big Fella," she murmured apologetically. "I hate to hide behind an old, worn-out excuse, but I really do have a headache." She kissed his newly washed member, which bobbed hopefully at her, asking for more attention. She ignored it and moved the washcloth on down Alex's legs and feet. His dick waved at her a few more times then deflated from neglect. She wrung out the washcloth once more in the rinse water and rubbed it over his feet. 'At least he should feel more human when he wakes up.'

After toweling him dry, she pulled the covers down on her side of the bed and pulled him forward until his head was even with the pillow. She covered him and returned the wash pans to the bathroom, emptied them, and put them back where they belonged.

Satisfied that she'd done everything possible to make Alex comfortable for the night, she removed her underwear, wincing as overtaxed muscles screamed in protest. She treated herself to a long, hot shower, letting the heat soak into her aching muscles. Her head throbbed in sympathy with her muscle aches. Tears of pain and anguish streamed down her cheeks, washing down the drain with the shower water. Crying gave her a much needed release of her own, though it intensified the migraine.

When the water grew cold, she turned off the shower, toweled off, and slipped into a nightshirt. She swallowed a pain pill prescribed for her worst migraines and returned to the bedroom.

Alex had rolled over to his side of the bed. His breathing was slow, deep, and even. She hoped that he would do most of the coming down during his sleep. She slid onto the matress next to him and drew the covers over her.

He sensed her presence and rolled over again, throwing his arm over her waist and resting his head on her breast, sighing contentedly. Cat lay in the dark, her hand idly stroking his hair as she listened to his breathing and waited for the pill to take effect. After a few minutes, she, too, was asleep.

It was the most difficult thing that Gemma had ever done, other than keep the secret of the attack from Clay and Jax. She couldn't look very long at either as she told them of the attack the night of Bobby's homecoming.

Clay never said a word; his eyes betrayed his pain and anguish for her. Jax was the more demonstrative, smacking the table as if he were killing bugs when she identified Weston as one of her attackers.

Gemma kept her eyes fixed on Tara, who had shared the secret. When she ended the story, Jax stood up, walked around the table to her and took her hands in his, raising them to his lips. He then moved to stand behind Clay, placing one hand on his step-father's shoulder in a gesture of understanding and support. Clay's hand reached up to grasp his former VP's wrist while Jax's other hand fell on his step-father's other shoulder.

Tara took his hand as they walked to the back door, leaving his mother and step-father to deal with her confession. He paused by the cabinet long enough to retrieve his patches where Clay had left them with his gun. He wasn't going nomad now. There was justice to be obtained.

Clay and Gemma remained seated at the dining room table. His eyes were full of pain for her having kept the secret for so long. He reached out a hand to caress her cheek. There was nothing he could say. 'I love her so much and for her to have suffered for so long on her own hurts.'

They didn't speak of what had happened. Clay couldn't speak of it as it sickened him. But he tried to show he wanted and loved her. There was still a wall between them. He couldn't get past it, and didn't feel it was right to make love to her right after she'd confessed to the gang rape. He felt helpless.

Gemma shared that helpless feeling, and feared he'd never want her physically again. 'I can't make the first move, baby. You've got to be the one to do it. Show me you still want me. It's been so long!' Her heart sank to her stomach when he didn't make any overtures to her. He might still love her, but Gemma felt he would never want her body again.

Prospect awoke to find he was sitting waist deep in the mud pit. The sky was just beginning to turn light and birds were chirping happily.

His nuts weren't singing, they were throbbing with pain. The pain had gone away while he'd been sitting in the mud under the 'shroom's influence. Now the implant hurt worse than ever. 'Something definitely isn't right,' he thought worriedly.

He climbed out of the mud pit to discover the reservation offered no facilities for rinsing and/or drying off. He used his hands to remove as much mud as possible before putting on his clothes.

He walked to his bike and noticed Tig's was still parked where he'd left it. There was no sign of him. Prospect considered calling Tig's old lady, then decided against it. 'Tig's a big boy and can fend for himself. It's not my place to call her about him,' Prospect decided. He needed a shower, a change of clothes, and breakfast. He rode off for town.

Tig wasn't sure where he was or how he got there when he opened his eyes. A faint light was the only illumination in the darkness. 'Where the fuck am I? It sure as Hell doesn't feel like the reservation!' He turned his head and saw Cat was lying next to him. He knew then he was home and the light was the bathroom nightlight.

'How the Hell did I get here?' he wondered. He recalled the 'shroom induced trip; that he'd imagined speaking to Donna Winston, explained what he'd done and why, and that she'd forgiven him. Then he remembered that Cat had found him in the field and brought him home. 'She cleaned me up and put me to bed!'

The experience with the mushroom had drained him. He was fatigued in spirit and mind as well as body. He stretched luxuriously, enjoying the feeling of being clean and safe; of the comfy bed under him and the warmth of his woman next to him. He rolled over, sliding one arm under Cat's head and the other around her waist, snuggling spoon style. His lower regions began to stand at attention.

She was sound asleep, but that didn't keep her from feeling him stiffen against her back end. She was just too out of it to respond. The alert part of her mind felt guilty about turning him down again, but she couldn't respond to his unspoken invitation. All she could do was rub her cheek along his arm. Because she didn't respond to his half awake overture, Alex's cock eventually relaxed and he drifted back to sleep.

A few hours later, she awoke to an intense pressure on her bladder caused by Ebony standing on it. That was a sure sign that he was hungry. She opened one eye to glare at the 20 pound black cat, who purred and nudged her nose with his paw as if to say "I know you're awake. Get up and attend me!"

She sat up wearily, her muscles protesting the movement. "Why the hell don't you ever sit on your Father's bladder?" she whispered irritably, scratching the cat under his chin. "Thanks to where you choose to sit, you'll just have to wait a few more minutes for your breakfast."

Alex was sound asleep, and she wanted him to stay that way as long as possible. Sleep was the best thing for him while he was coming down. She slipped into the bathroom, dressed, and tried not to groan as her muscles protested every move she made. The drug-induced sleep had eliminated the headache, but did nothing to lift her spirits.

She limped to the kitchen, fed the cats and started the coffee. While it brewed, she picked up the dirty clothes from the previous night and put them in the hamper, then called the store to check in with Anna.

"Mr. Chibs was just asking about Misty," she added. "It's nice to have him back in his corner."

"Tell him she's on her way," Cat replied, opening the cat door that led to their run. The trio raced to the coffeehouse for their overdue morning appearance.

She sat at the dining table, nursing a cup of coffee. Her mind and heart had renewed their battle of wills with each other, as if they thought she'd change her mind. The thought of food made her ill, though her empty pouch rumbled from hunger.

A knock at the back door intruded on her thoughts. She welcomed the interruption. She limped over to admit Chibs, who had a cup of tea in one hand and a large pastry bag from the store in the other.

"Mornin' darlin'," she stepped aside to let him enter.

"The cats were runnin' a wee bit late, Lady Cat," he replied, shutting the door behind him. "Little Misty almost missed 'er long awaited mornin' cuddle."

"Almost only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and atom bombs," she replied, limping back to her chair. "The important thing is that she finally got to be with you. As for their late appearance, we had a rough and late night."

"I jest wasna gonna say anythin', ' he winked and grinned mischievously.

"Watch yerself, laddie," she warned, giving him 'the look'. "T'aint nice to make ribald comments like that at yer hostess."

"Is that Chibs I hear being disrespectful to you, babe?" Trager called from the bedroom.

"Nothin' I can't handle, love," she called back, pouring a cup of coffee for him. 'Damn! Wish he'd stayed asleep awhile longer. He can't have gotten all the way down from that damn fungus!'

Tig sauntered into the room, dressed in clean clothes, a black long sleeved shirt and black jeans. His hair was unwashed, but it looked like he attempted to tame it with something besides an egg beater.

"I dint know ye was hoome, bruther. Where's yer bike?"

"It's still at the reservation," Cat replied, hiding a smirk behind her cup. "He and Prospect got into some of the 'organic produce'. I brought him home in the MF6."

"That explains tha mud all o'er the kid! 'E looked like 'e slept in a mud 'ole all night!"

"He probably did, he was sittin' in one when we left," Cat replied.

Alex settled in the chair next to hers and sipped his coffee, one arm draped casually over the back of her chair, his hand caressing her arm. "Take a load off, brother," he invited. "You're obviously not here to encroach on my territory. What brings you here besides that bag?"

Chibs took the chair directly opposite Tig and set the Charming Pawse bag on the table. "We tried ta call, but both yer phones kept goin' direct ta voice mail. Got club business ta tell ye aboot."

Cat started to get up to give them privacy, but Chibs shook his head. "Stay put, Lady Cat. There's na need fer ya to gie us privacy, not after all ye've dun fer us. Clay's called a meetin'. 'E wants everyone in tha chapel inna coupla hours. 'E figured Tig needed a leedle more cooming down time, otherwise we'd be there now."

"I'm OK," Tig replied gruffly. "At least I'll have time to get my bike. You bring anything to eat besides scones?" He slid the bag in front of him, his nose quivering at the smell of the baked goods. He licked his lips in anticipation.

Chibs nodded. "Miss Anna sent a Snickers Bar Muffin fer ye. It won't take long ta get yer bike, so ye might as well 'ev sum breakfast." He gazed at Cat and winked conspirationally and explained, "After seein' how messed up the kid was, I thought ye'd appreciate not havin' ta cook fer the beeg lout."

Tig was too busy tearing into the bag for his muffin to respond to Chibs' taunt. Nor did he care that he was getting crumbs all over the table. The muffin was golden brown and smelled fresh baked and heavenly. It was also slightly warm, as Miss Anna had warmed the baked goods in the microwave for Chibs. Tig was hard put to keep from drooling at the sight of chunks of his favorite candy bar baked in the muffin.

Chibs set a white chocolate strawberry scone in front of her, and slid an oatmeal scone over to him. The smell of the baked goods had the opposite effect on her that they'd had on Alex. The smell made her nauseous.

'I'm doin' well just to keep coffee down, but if I don't eat, they'll know somethin's wrong.' She nibbled a couple of small bites in hopes of making it appear everything was fine with her.

"Ye feelin' all right, lass?" Chibs inquired, noting her pained expression and lack of appetite.

"Sure, darlin'. There were a bunch of skeeters flyin' around the reservation last night. Probably just picked up a bunch of skeeter bites," she replied airily. "Damn things think I'm a blue plate special! Don't know why when I have so little iron in my blood. Too many skeeter bites always makes aggravates my anemia. Nothin' major."

Chibs smiled at the way she called the pesky bugs 'skeeters' instead of mosquitos. 'Ach! I missed her way wi' words! 'Skeeters'!'

"Chibs and I can take the Cruiser to get my bike, then he can bring the car back so you can stay here and rest. I don't want you going out if you don't feel well, baby," Alex offered, not convinced by her excuse. 'She's obviously not feelin' good on account of me! She went and overextended herself!' He felt guilty for putting her in that position, and placed his hand on her forehead to check for fever.

"I keep tellin' you, love, that's not the way to see if I'm sick. My temperature goes down when I'm under the weather," she leaned into his hand, enjoying the contact between them and appreciating the warmth from his hand.

"That's what worries me," he replied. "You're colder than usual. "

"I'm fine," she assured him. "No slight intended on you, Chibs. I'm just as particular about who drives the 'MF6' as all y'all are about your bikes."

"Na oofense taken, Lady Cat. Ye just take it easy gettin' him oot ta his bike. Yer a gud friend. I don't want anythin' bad happenin' ta ye."

'Oh, Chibs, if you only knew! Somethin bad's already happened, and I'm still tryin' to come to grips with it!' But her cry wasn't an audible, it ws in her mind. On the outside, she smiled warmly at the rider, acting as if the bottom hadn't fallen out of her world. "We'll be just fine, as long as this one stays out of the 'organic produce' today."

Chibs glared at his friend and then walked around the table to kiss her cheek. "E'd better, ifn 'e knows what's gud fer 'im. See ye later, Tig. Don't get up, Lady Cat. I'll let meself oot."

"Thanks for bringin' breakfast, Chibs!" she called after him.

Alex remained seated. He'd finished his muffin and coffee and scooped the crumbs into his empty cup. It was just a small gesture, but she appreciated the effort.

"You're so all-fired worried about me, you've not said one word about how you're feelin'."

"A little better, thanks to you. How'd you know to come get me last night?" He helped himself to another cup of coffee before sitting down next to her again.

She gave him 'the look'. "Because you called four times in almost as many minutes and didn't do anything but breathe heavy. Since you've never made one - much less four - obscene calls to me, I had a feelin' you needed help, so I came out to the reservation."

He nearly spewed his coffee on the table. 'Shit! Did I confess to the wrong person?" He had a bad feeling that his memories of the night before were full of as many holes as a block of swiss cheese.

He gazed intently at her, watching how she sat silently beside him just picking at her scone. She'd barely eaten a full bite, but that was nothing he could use to measure her feelings.

He rose from his chair and took his empty cup to the sink, then returned and took the untouched scone away. "I'll wrap this up so you can have it later," he explained.

"Thanks, love."

There was nothing in her tone of voice to indicate that her feelings for him had changed. 'Damn fucking shrooms! The paranoia they bring on is never worth it!' He leaned against the sink, drinking in her profile, trying to convince himself that his secret was safe. 'Relax, man! If Cat knew you'd killed Donna, you wouldn't have woken up in your own bed, safe, clean, with her lying beside you. You'd still be sitting in that field. She wouldn't be here. She's too decent to understand the reason, she'd only see the deed and run away in horror.'

Cat knew what he was thinking. She needed him to believe his hallucination was real. Her internet research had indicated paranoia was a possible side effect. She could tell that Alex's paranoia was running in overdrive. "You ready to retrieve Blue?" she asked, giving him a bright smile.

"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked worriedly.

She rose from her chair and walked over to him, her arms encircled his waist as she rested her head on his chest. "I'm fine, love. If you've got a meeting, we'd best get your bike and get back. I've got a lot on my agenda today, too."

His arms went around her, his chin rested on top of her head. 'Everything feels normal, it's just that fucking 'shroom messing with my mind.' He relaxed in her embrace and that told her Alex was convinced nothing had changed between them. His arms tightened as he asked "Are we driving, or riding?"

"Which do you prefer?"

"It's a nice day, why don't we ride?"

She grinned up at him, her right eyebrow moving up her forehead. "Hmmm. There's only one problem with that; you sittin' behind me. Might set your 'tough guy' image back."

He cleared his throat. "Well, naturally, I figured you'd ride behind me."

"Isn't there some kind of biker thing about sittin' on another man's bike?"

"You're not a man," he pointed out with a knowing leer.

"Nice of you to notice. You sure you're up to handlin' a bike?"

He gave her 'the look'. "What is wrong with you, woman? You ask that after watching me ride with a few beers under my belt? "

"Temporary insanity, love!" she laughed. "Time's wastin'. You get to sit up front, where you belong."

He thought back to the last time they'd ridden together on one bike, when he took her to Stockton to meet Otto. Being with his lady on her bike reminded him of another good thing in his life that shouldn't be wasted or taken for granted.

'This rice burner's not a bad ride. It's powerful; she's never had a problem keeping up with my Dyna, and she handles it well, despite her size.' The Yamaha was a large machine for someone her height, yet she rode it with skill and confidence. 'Now that I've finally had a chance to try this thing out, I won't worry so much when she's on her own with it. Clay's right. She knows how to handle machinery.'

They pulled into the reservation, parking next to his Harley. He shut off the engine and they removed their helmets. "So where did you find me?" he asked.

She pointed to a field full of weeds while shaking her hair back into place. "About a hundred yards or so that way." She got off the bike and added, "It was pretty dark but it didn't take long to find you. I'm glad for it. Don't think you'd have liked wakin' up in a field."

"Will you be ok getting back?"

"Sure. You're goin' ahead of me. I'll follow you -- at least as far as the clubhouse."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked teasingly, draping his arm around her waist and drawing her next to him.

"Always. The 'shrooms are a whole 'nother factor. I'll be much happier once we've put some distance between us and that fungus."

"That makes two of us, babe," he replied, squeezing her shoulder before moving to his bike. He waited for her to mount her bike and put on her helmet. He noticed that her movements were stiff, as if every muscle in her body hurt. 'If I was as high as I think I was, she has every right to be stiff. She got me to the car, home, bathed me and put me to bed! Shit! I don't deserve her.'

He walked over and put his arms around her, part apology and part gratitude for her taking such good care of him. She leaned contentedly against him for a moment. "I'm not starting my bike until you're on the highway," she remarked.

"Evil woman," he murmured. He straddled his bike and adjusted his helmet, glancing over his shoulder at her. She was sitting with her arms folded, waiting and watching. He nodded and put his bike in gear. She didn't move until he'd turned onto the highway, then she started her bike and followed him.

It didn't take long for her to catch up to him. They rode side by side back to town. Her behavior throughout the morning convinced Tig that his secret was safe. 'At least I still have one decent thing in my life, even if everything else is shit.'

They were about a block from Teller - Morrow when he signaled for her to pull over. They parked and he walked over to talk to her. "Will you be home later?"

"Either there or at the store, at least for awhile," she replied. "I've got to attend a couple of meetings this evening about the rally."

"Watch your back, babe. Zobelle could strike out at any time. The closer your rally gets, the more worried I get."

"You shouldn't worry about me, love," she replied. "You've taught me well." She wanted to tell him about the tails and the incident in their front yard the night before. 'Nah. T'aint fair to burden you with a lot of bullshit after the night you had. Weston's got to know by now he's wastin' his time and will leave me alone.'

"I always worry about you. That's part of my job," he growled, kissing her hungrily. "Wish I didn't have that damn meeting to go to right now. I'd rather spend the time thanking you properly."

She rested her face against his chest, inhaling the aroma of grass and dirt from his cut and his own masucline scent. "I haven't had a chance to properly thank you for fixin' my toy, so that gives us both somethin' to look forward to later," she swatted his rear end to send him back to his Dyna. She waited until he'd mounted again, waved and said "See ya when I see ya!" She started her bike and raced off.

Tig was surprised to see Jax sitting in his normal spot when he entered the chapel. He thought that the vote had taken place and the VP had gone nomad. 'Chibs didn't mention it at breakfast. 'Course, he might not've known.' He had a nasty headache. Retrieving his bike had taken a lot out of him, as had the needless worry that Cat had learned his secret. He sat in his chair, holding onto his head like he feared it might fall off. He also felt the weight of his secret descending on his shouldes again.

Juice had returned from his joyride and was sitting in his usual spot. Prospect, cleaned up from his mudbath, was sitting in his corner. 'First time we've all been together since the firebomb,' Tig thought wearily. 'It's good that we're intact.'

Bobby looked over at Jax and asked if the meeting had anything to do with the patches sewn back on Jax's vest.

It was then that Clay told the club of the attack on Gemma weeks earlier by Zobelle's crew. 'So I was right,' Tig thought. "I'm sorry, man," he murmured to Clay while the others roared their anger and indignation for Gemma.

The club spoke of retaliation. They needed to get justice for Chibs, Gemma, and Juice. This time around, Jax was in complete agreement but cautioned that they needed to use their brains about it. They'd already learned that storm trooping Zobelle wasn't going to work. They had to get intel they could use to bring him down.

They also needed weapons. Clay ordered the club to bring in all their personal hardware. The Sons dispersed to get their guns. They accepted that Jax was not going nomad.

Clay pulled Tig aside and asked him to go by the house to get his own stash of hardware. "How was the trip?"

"Rough. Cat found me last night in a field, brought me home. I don't want to see another 'shroom as long as I live, man."

"You look like Death warmed over," Clay observed. "I'd get the hardware myself, but need to stay here to catalog what we've got."

He didn't mention that Gemma was at home that morning. She'd stayed up all night, chain smoking and sitting at the dining room table after confessing what LOAN had done to her. Her expression had been bleak with sadness at the distance between them. 'Try as I might, I couldn't break down the wall between us. It's been a long time since I've slept alone in the bed while she's in the house. I don't like that.'

Tig rode to the Morrows home and let himself in with his key. He didn't notice that Gemma's Escalade wasn't parked at the garage lot, nor did he have any way of knowing that it was parked in the garage at the house. He just assumed she was running an errand.

He walked straight to the cabinet drawer where Clay stashed all his hardware and started packing the guns and ammo in a carry bag. There was a partially empty bottle of vodka on the counter, so he helped himself, figuring the booze couldn't make him feel any worse.

Gemma wore a black robe as she walked into the room where he was working. She'd just come out of the shower and needed a cup of coffee, which had brewed while she was bathing.

Tig looked up, saw her weary face and felt a wave of sympathy for what she'd endured, along with momentary surprise at her presence. It seemed right to him to greet her with a hug and light kiss before explaining his presence.

She went to get her own stash of guns to add to the pile Tig was collecting. Gemma had to stand on her toes to reach the boxes at the very top of the shelf. He walked up behind her, intending to help to help her. He placed one hand lightly against her back to steady her as he reached up to grab the boxes of guns. His shirt came out from under his belt, exposing a swath of skin.

They were reaching for the boxes at the same time, both aware of each other's presence. Several things happened at one time. As they reached for the guns, Gemma dropped back to her heels and tentatively touched Tig's exposed flesh. He jumped and the guns fell behind them, scattering all over the rug as she brushed his side with her fingers.

His skin felt warm and smooth. 'It's been so long since I've been with Clay, much less touched him or been touched by him. Is it so wrong to want to feel normal again?'

Tig mumbled an apology and knelt on the floor to pick up the scattered guns. Crouching on the floor put him in close proximity to Gemma's leg, which was peeking out of her robe's opening. He looked up at her, she reached out with both hands, placing them on either side of his head and drew him to her. His face was even with her crotch, a place that he didn't get to visit often enough with his wife.

He didn't know where he was or what he was doing as he inhaled Gemma's scent. A different scent from his wife's, yet arousing in its' own right. One of Gemma's hands was on the back of his head, holding him prisoner against her. He looked up at her for a moment, then rose to face her, his lips claimed hers and they kissed passionately.

Gemma didn't care that it wasn't Clay's lips on hers, or that she was giving herself to Tig. 'He knows what happened to me, and he still wants me! He wants me!' her mind sang with the knowledge that somebody found her desirable.

Tig pushed Gemma against the wall, the pictures hanging there clattered to the carpeted floor. Gemma tore the front of his shift open, the snaps coming apart to reveal his chest. He roughly drew the robe from her shoulders, revealing her black bra. He unbuckled his belt while spinning Gemma around, pressing up against her back as he lowered his pants.

Tig started to enter her from behind in the position called 'doggy style'. As he started to thrust, his eyes gazed at the fallen picture of the two boys she'd given to John Teller. The glass in the frame covering the picture of the little boys had cracked when it fell to the floor.

The sight of that picture brought him back to reality like a dash of cold water in the face. 'What the Hell am I doing? This is my best friend's wife for God's sake!' He moaned questions more to himself than to Gemma, pulling out and and away from her and hurriedly pulling his pants back up. "Jesus!" She pulled her robe back over her shoulders and fled from him. Tig put himself back together, quickly gathered the spilled guns, threw them into the carry sack, and ran from the house.

Cat walked through the rear entrance of the coffeehouse and paused a moment, breathing in the smells of coffee and baked goods. 'Thank God, my stomach's behaving at last!'

She'd ridden straight home after seeing Alex safely to Teller - Morrow. The morning rush had ended; the cats were snoozing in the sunlight in their room, and Anna was restocking the pastries.

Pete was at the desk working at the computer, where he'd been compiling appropriate songs and checking the karaoke catalog against his research. "I've found a lot of good songs from the last forty years. I put the Elvis song that Bobby Munro is doing in front of the Three Dog Night tune Miss Anna's kids want to do with their class."

Cat looked over the list and nodded. "Looks good; there's plenty of selections for the customers to choose from. Good work, Pete."

"We're still looking for an alternate location for the rally, Miss Cat," he added. "The police chief turned us down on the idea of closing the street."

"I don't blame Unser. He's got a whole town's safety to consider. Crowd control in a street is hard to do. I'm goin' to talk to the city council tonight about usin' the park. The weather's still nice, and an outdoor event might bring more people," she replied.

"JR still feels bad that he couldn't talk the school board into letting use their facilities," Pete added.

"Something will work out for us. The town's ministerial association is meetin' tonight, they asked me to speak about the rally. If the city refuses the park, maybe a church will offer their fellowship hall. Keep thinkin' good thoughts," she replied.

Turning to Anna she continued, "If y'all need me, I'll be at the house workin' on the montage."

"How's that coming, Miss Cat?"

"Good. It's basically finished, just tweaking it here and there. I'll update y'all on the meetin's tomorrow, if not sooner. Pete, I'll have the scripting for you for the montage, just in case you have to run it. Juice agreed to help set up the podcast and the notebook."

Pete gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. Anna grinned and replied, "Ok, Miss Cat. I'll handle things here for you."

Cat smiled her appreciation at Anna's quiet support. She knew Anna had been apprehensive about opening on her own after Weston and Zobelle had scared her, but she'd never asked to be reassigned or given time off.

Neither man had come into the coffeehouse since that afternoon, including the day the club was jailed. The Sons had been helpful by making sure a club member dropped in at different times, making a good deterrent against LOAN. The only exception had been the day the guys were in jail, but Anna had stayed at her post.

Cat returned to the house and settled into the office with a cup of coffee and her scone to do more work on the montage. She had compiled a lot of news images from the internet, and also set up a tape of selected music that would accompany the images that would eventually be placed on a power point program.

She had a personal tape player next to the computer to play the music selections she wanted to use. Besides the power point and music, she had a separate Word file for the script and timing guide open so she could add notations to it.

With the images from World War II to 9/11 selected, she started to work on mixing the good and positive images with events inspired by hate and racial prejudice. She had the music picked out for the 40 years spanning the 60's to the current decade so it was just a matter of editing.

She'd forgotten how much fun it was to edit pictures and music, to produce media to make a message. The radio station reunion had stirred up old creative yearnings.

She considered all the advantages of the computer age and that Juice was going to set up the podcast. She knew it would work properly with his expertise. Getting the word out about people like Zobelle and LOAN on the world wide web would be another thorn in his side, a thorn that she was quite pleased to stick in him.

The coffeehouse website and Facebook page advertised the podcast with the Facebook page showing an RSVP for the event. There was a large number of RSVPs from Facebook fans outside the state indicating their intentions to watch.

There was a personal mailbox message from June wishing her well. "Give 'em Hell tomorrow night kitten! Wish I could be there in person, but the California assignment fell through. I'll be watchin' from Florida. Know your man will be there, even if he doesn't sing. Hope he gets in front of the camera once or twice so I know he's watchin' out for you. I'm proud of you for doin' this. Miss and love you!"

She also noticed an RSVP from the prison in Stockton. 'That has to be from Otto. I didn't think the prison library was open that late! I'm glad he'll get to hear it!' It didn't occur to her that the RSVP might be from LOAN affiliates in the same prison, intent on watching to see how much damage she would try to inflict on their cause.

She was listening to the lyrics of the music she was using and making notations on the Word file. It was painstaking work and the discovery she'd made the prior evening weighed heavily on her mind, making the work more difficult.

She finally decided to go to the back yard and indulge in one of her Tai Chi workouts. She needed to clear her mind and soul, a workout just might do the trick. It would also help limber her aching muscles.

She took the tape player with her, replacing the montage tape with a different one. She felt a need to listen to selections she felt best reflected her feelings for Alex while she worked out.

Tig felt sick to his stomach. 'What the Hell was I thinking? I damn near betrayed the two people who mean the most to me! What kind of asshole am I, to be so thoughtless of Gemma's feelings, after learning what Weston did to her?' He recriminated himself harshly. 'The only reason I ate that damn 'shroom was to escape all the shit from killing Donna! It's only made me miserable and caused more trouble! There's only one woman around who makes sex mean something. It's not a means to an end with her. She the only woman who's ever accepted me for what I am and hasn't tried to change me or my lifestyle. She took my name and has fit into my life like the perfect puzzle piece. That's the woman I want, and I need her now!'

Instead of taking Clay's guns back to the clubhouse, he rode fast and hard to his own home, his sanctuary. 'I'll leave the fucking bag in the garage, it'll be ok there for awhile. Gotta get my own personal stash anyway. I'll add mine to Clay's and go back to the club later. Make one trip of it. All that shit can wait.'

He was relieved to find both vehicles in the drive. He heard music coming from the backyard so he knew exactly where to find her. The selections he heard playing upset him further. She was playing a mixture of country and pop music that had a wistful note about relationships.

'God, I hope that doesn't mean she's having second thoughts about us! She can't be! Not after the way everything seemed so normal this morning! But she usually listens to instrumental stuff when she's working out. What the fuck is going on?' He opened the back gate and leaned against the doorway, watching her complete her workout while he listened to the song that was playing:

I say goodbye and I choke

I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it, it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near

.

'Damn! Is she thinking of leaving? Does she know? I've got to convince her to stay; that I need her!' He quietly locked the gate and slid out of his cut as he watched her begin the cool down exercises. John Mellencamp's 'My Sweet Love' set the proper tempo for her to do the breathing and movements in the stretches.

Cat slid to the ground and rolled onto her back, completely oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. The Mellencamp tune ended and was replaced by Paul Stanley's 'Second to None' . The fact that he'd played that song for her months ago and she was listening to it didn't give Alex any comfort.

She was starting the last stretch, one he was very familiar with and that often turned him on. He was definitely aroused from watching her; his cock was rock hard. She was laying on her back, her hands to her sides, knees drawn up and slightly apart as she lifted her butt into the air while keeping her shoulders on the ground.

'She's getting better at that stretch, and it's so inviting I won't resist!' He knelt on the ground in front of her raised knees, grabbed her pants with both hands, and slid them and her underpants down her legs, tossing them to the side.

Cat sat up quickly, her eyes full of fear for a moment, afraid that Weston had snuck up on her and ready to kick the tar out of him. She smiled with relief to see Alex kneeling in front of her. She smelled liquor on his breath, but knew he wasn't drunk. His eyes were wild with desire and fear. 'Something has spooked him.'

He didn't speak as he pushed her onto her back and drew her knees over his shoulders before lowering his face to her crotch. She shivered, knowing what he was going to do and feeling self conscious about it. Despite the experience on the plane, she still had issues with him giving her oral sex; he often had to coax her into it. The recent fracas with the actresses hadn't helped. 'It can't be very nice down there! Not after a workout!'

Alex looked up at her. He knew what she was thinking. "It's not unpleasant," he assured her in a whisper. "Please, I gotta have this, baby," he inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of Ivory soap and her berry scented lotion. There was just a hint of perspiration from her workout. Her scent intoxicated him, more than Gemma's or any other woman's scent could ever make him feel. He didn't wait for her consent, but bent and put his mouth up against her 'G' spot, sucking and licking it, tasting and teasing.

"I'm here for you, love," she gasped, laying back and trying to relax. 'If he's not complainin', then it must be ok,' she thought, placing her hands on each side of his head in surrender. "Do whatever you need to do."

His tongue traveled into her private area, tasting the hot, sweet nectar that awaited him there. His hands traveled to her rear, cupping the cheeks and holding her prisoner as he continued teasing, licking, and sucking until she cried out and that hot liquid flowed into his mouth, making him feel as drunk as if he'd chugged a full bottle of whiskey.

She lay back, panting from the orgasm he'd given her, not caring that they were in their backyard instead of inside the house. 'To Hell with propriety!' she thought, watching as he unbuckled his belt and slid out of his jeans. He kneeled beside her, raising her up to him, his cock erect and waving a greeting to her, reminding her of her promise from last night.

He didn't have to ask; she took him in her mouth willingly, using her teeth and tongue on him just as she had that very first time. Her hands slid around his waist, dropping down to his butt, kneading the muscles as she sucked him. Her mouth slid over his shaft, taking him all the way to the back of her throat and out again, until he was nearly wild.

While she worked on him, Alex removed her shirt and bra, his hands grapsing both breasts, fingers teasing and kneading the taunt nipples. His own mouth and tongue worked on first one, then the other; tasting and licking until he could tell that she was more than ready for him to enter her. He lowered them to the pad she'd been using for her stretches, then positioned himself over her.

The tape had moved from 'No Matter What' to Bon Jovi's 'Bed of Roses' as he plunged inside her, feeling her throbbing hot wetness welcome him with each hard and fast thrust. He felt her muscles tighten around him, tensing when he pulled back and releasing as he thurst deep inside her.

His mouth moved from her breasts to her lips, his tongue probing her mouth while he continued to thrust. She tasted herself in his mouth for the very first time. His rhythm was hard and fast, he needed to possess her and couldn't be kind and gentle about it. He could feel her moving with him, her breathing and gyrations matching his until they both came at the same time.

Alex collasped, panting, on top of her. He knew he was crushing her under his weight, but he couldn't move. He felt her spasms and felt himself growing hard again. 'I can't get enough of her!' Tears of relief streamed down his face. 'She still belongs to me. She wouldn't have given me what I needed if she didn't. Everything's ok with us.' He felt a breeze drying the sweat on his back, his breathing became more steady and even. "I'm crushing you, baby, I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically.

Cat tightened her arms around him while keeping him imprisoned inside her. "No, you're not, love. You're just fine where you are."

He found the strength to raise his upper body a bit, to give her a chance to breathe freely. "No, I'm not fine. Not yet."

She smiled while she squeezed him from within, causing him to gasp and collaspe on top of her again. "Did I hurt you? Was that squeeze too hard?"

"Baby, there's no such thing," he assured her. Then he began moving slowly within her, making her gasp.

The tape had recycled to the beginning and was playing an old 70's ballad from Climax Blues Band called 'I Love You'. Alex smiled at the lyrics. 'Hittin' the beer? Yup, that's me all right. I like that; it says what I feel but can't ever tell her.'

He moved with the music, being more deliberate this time, wanting to bring her pleasure. The tape moved to another song, Melissa Ethridge's 'I'm the Only One'. He matched his thursts to the beat, moving inside her, plunging as deep as he could, then slowly retreating until the very tip of his dick touched her opening before slowly plunging inside her again. In turn, her muscles contracted and squeezed with each plunge until he couldn't hold back and reached a second climax. Hers followed just a few heartbeats later.

He rolled to one side, still implanted inside her, and they lay at rest, their arms wrapped around each other. He noticed that Cat was crying now. He kissed the tears, stroking her back and holding her as close to him as physically possible.

"Are you ok now?" she whispered against his chest. She could feel his heart beating under her cheek. She looked up at his face, relieved to see the fear had left his eyes.

"I'm very much ok," he replied, burying his face in her neck, inhaling her unique scent. He wanted to tell her everything he felt for her, but couldn't find the right words. "Thank you, baby."

Opie had been rebuilding a classic Harley in his spare time since his return. The bike was nearly finished, just a few odds and ends remained to be done. He had moved the classic out into the parking lot in order to have more space and better light to work. The bike was painted blue and white and was a thing of beauty.

Tig rode into the parking area, the carry bag of hardware secured to the saddle behind him. The interlude with his wife had restored some of his equilibrium. He no longer feared that he'd told his secret to the wrong person. He'd decided he was going to come clean with Opie. It was the only way he was going to have any freedom and peace from his demons.

He parked the bike and walked over to where Opie was crouched next to the classic, commenting on how well the other rider had done with the restoration and offering assistance with the endeavor. Not surprisingly, Opie turned him down.

Tig then commented on what had happened to Gemma. 'I'm scared to tell him, but I gotta do it! I can't live with this shit any longer!'

Opie was confused. Tig wasn't the type to make small talk, and his voice sounded weary, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. Tig shrugged a 'yah' when Opie asked if he were ok, turning away towards his bike. Then he turned back, and asked Opie about why Donna was driving the truck the night she was killed. Opie looked up at him, his expresssion quizzical. He couldn't figure out why Tig was harping about an event he was trying to forget. Tig stated forcefully that Donna wasn't supposed to be driving the truck that night and everything fell into place for Opie. 'He killed her!' Opie leapt to his feet and slammed his fist into the right side of Tig's face, his rings cutting deeply into the other man's cheek.

Tig didn't defend himself. He was going to take the pummeling he felt he deserved. Opie followed the first punch with several more blows, keeping Tig backed against the tow truck. When Tig started to collaspe to the ground from the beating, Opie hauled him up and threw him back against the tow truck, then he continued meting out Tig's punishment.

As Opie's fists bashed his face, Trager explained how Agent Stahl has planted evidence to make it appear Opie was ratting out the club, which led to Clay ordering the hit on Opie.

Jax rode up, saw the fight and yelled to the others to come help before racing over to put a stop to the one sided fisticuffs. Clay, Juice, Piney, and Bobby followed behind Jax. Jax sent Juice off to call Tara while the others broke up the fight.

Both Opie and Tig were gasping for breath. Tig's face was bleeding heavily from several wounds. Opie stood in silent anger, realizing that Jax had known the truth all along. Opie stormed past Jax to his bike.

Clay asked Trager what he'd done and Tig mechanically confessed to telling their secret. Not caring that Bobby and Piney were watching, Clay asked Tig what was he thinking. Tig replied in the same robotic manner that he didn't know what or who he was anymore.

Bobby looked on in shock, dismayed by the discovery. Piney looked down at the ground, he couldn't stand the sight of either Clay or Tig at the moment.

Jax gazed after Opie, fearing that the grief stricken man would do something stupid. 'As much as Tig deserved that beating, it won't be enough to satisfy Ope.' Jax also knew they couldn't risk taking Tig to St. Thomas for treatment. There'd be an information trail too wide to control. This was something that had to stay with the club. Tara would treat Tig's wounds without asking embarassing questions.

'It's not been long since Tig lifted the 'need to know' edict concerning Cat. This is something she definitely has no need to know. None of the women need to know this.' Jax decided that whatever Tig chose to tell his old lady about his wounds was his problem. He had to catch up with Ope before he did something they'd all regret.

Clay sensed Bobby's shock and surprise over Tig's confession. This couldn't have come at a worse time. 'Dammit! I should'nt have given him that damn 'shroom.' He glared at his friend. "Get yourself to the apartment," Clay ordered tersely. "We'll send Tara in when she gets here."

Tig walked dejectedly into the clubhouse. 'So much for confession being good for the soul. Got my face busted, and my soul doesn't feel any better.' He had a feeling he'd just stepped in a big pile of shit and sunk asshole deep.

Bobby and Clay sat at the bar, discussing Tig's confession. They both agreed the story had to stay in the club because it would destroy everything SAMCRO had built over the years, including the charters.

Tara walked into the clubhouse, escorted by Sack, who was limping. She nodded at Bobby and Clay as she passed them. 'This is starting to become a habit with these guys. At least it's not a gun shot wound. Wonder if they've let Cat know Tig got hurt?'

As she started towards the apartment, Clay murmured a quiet thanks to her. She nodded and continued towards the apartment.

Bobby and Clay moved into the club's workout room, surveying the paltry amount of personal hardware that had been brought in. It wasn't going to be enough to protect them when they went after Zobelle. Clay could see no other option but to make things right between SAMCRO and Jimmy O. 'Chibs will just have to accept it. We'll have to deal again with the Hayes, and forget that they turned on us to sell guns to Zobelle.'

Chibs wasn't pleased that the Sons were going to reconcile with the Irish, but he had no choice. Fi hadn't needed his help, she'd lured him to a meeting with Jimmy O in that bar, and Jimmy O made it clear he wanted to get back in good with the Sons. He turned and left the clubhouse after Clay broke the news to him.

Opie rode to his house, hurt and angry that so many Sons had known who had killed his wife. Clay might have ordered it, and Tig might have been the triggerman, but Tig had spoken the truth that Stahl was the main contributing factor in his loss.

He parked the bike at his house and climbed into his truck, the very one that Donna had died in. He couldn't bear to part with it, and it had been cleaned and repaired. It was that truck that he would use to find Stahl.

He drove to CPD, figuring that would be the best place to find Stahl. He was right. Stahl walked out of CPD after he'd been parked for a few minutes on the street nearby. She got in her car and headed towards Galt. He discreetly followed her, watching as she parked her vehicle in a marina parking lot and walked into a store across the street and catty-corned from the Hayes surplus store.

Opie parked his truck on the street, a little ways from the Feds' storefront. He watched from that vantage point, waiting to confront Stahl. He remained sitting in the driver's seat and watched a familiar figure walk out of the storefront, holding a blue sheet of paper.

"Oh, Chibs! Don't do it!" Opie moaned. He knew Fiona was in town; she'd arrived the day the club had been released from jail. 'It must have something to do with Fiona and Carrianne. Chibs isn't a rat."

At least it made sense why the ATF was in Galt, and in a storefront near the Hayes' military surplus store. Chibs had apparently told the ATF about the safe house in hopes of protecting his wife and child. 'Judging from his expression, the deal didn't go the way he wanted it to.'

Once Chibs had ridden away, Stahl and her fellow agents walked out of the building. The men piled into their vehicles, Stahl and a couple of other agents kept walking to a parking area in the marina.

'Perfect place to hunt a rat,' he thought, starting the engine and rolling quietly into the marina. When Stahl was alone, he'd get justice for Donna.

Jax intended to follow Opie, but realized he had something just as important to attend to. He had to find out what Zobelle's weakness was so the club could use it against him. He'd heard that Zobelle had been meeting regularly with Alvaraez, the leader of the Mayans. Another meet was supposed to happen that day. He traded his bike for his truck and staked out 'Impeccable Smokes'. Eventually, he saw Zobelle and Weston depart. Another Aryan and Zobelle took off in the Mercedes, while Weston drove away in the opposite direction, towards Jax.

The VP lay on the passenger seat until the Bronco was past him, then sat up and watched the Mercedes make a u-turn and head towards Oakland.

Jax followed from a discreet distance, part of him hoping that Opie wouldn't do anything stupid. 'Damn it, Tig! Why did you have to decide now to come clean? Jesus!'

Tig restlessly paced the length of the apartment as he waited for Tara. He was apprehensive about the fall out to come from confessing to Opie. He wanted to go home, but knew Cat would take one look at his face and go on the warpath.

'It'd be worth puttin' up with her temper just to be with her. That song playing when I first got home, dunno the title, but it says a lot; things don't make sense when she'd not around. I've never let a woman have that effect on me. I can't help it. She's my anchor. Dunno where I heard it, but it really seems that she's the only hope in sight. Face it, Tigger. You'd be lost without her.'

He considered calling the two-way. If he couldn't leave the compound, he could at least talk to her. No one was in the apartment with him. He knew Bobby and Clay were at the bar, Juice and Half Sack were around the lot somewhere. Anyone could come in at any minute. 'I'm in enough shit without askin' for another helpin'. Besides, what the fuck would I say? She'd never believe that I just called to say 'hi' or hear her voice, not when I've never done it before. She'd know right away something was wrong. Damn!'

Tara walked in with her first aid kit, Kip leading her into the apartment. Tig concentrated on not letting his inner turmoil show as Jax's old lady treated him.

"That cut needs a couple of stitches," she advised, using peroxide and a long cotton swab to clean the deep cut on his cheek. Tig nodded in response. She injected a local and sutured the wound closed, then covered it with butterfly bandages.

She jokingly asked what had happened, he refused to tell her. 'Tara and Jax might have full disclosure between them, but Clay had made it clear the killing was not something the women needed to know.' He attributed his injuries to hard play between brothers that got out of hand.

'Sounds possible,' the female doctor thought to herself. 'They're like a bunch of overgrown kids at times.' She handed him the peroxide bottle so he could clean the scrapes on his hands. Tig accepted the bottle and went into the bathroom to clean out the scrapes.

Half Sack took advantage of Tig's departure to get Tara's professional opinion about his implant. He dropped his drawers to reveal his swollen gonads. She confirmed what he already knew, his body was rejecting the implant and it was infected. He'd have to go to the emergency room right away to get it taken care of.

Clay and Bobby walked into the apartment to check on Tig, saw Prospect's swollen artificial nut and made appropriately lewd comments. Their voices drew Tig from the bathroom, and when he saw Half-Sack's red, swollen nut, his stomach rebelled, causing him to lose all the booze he'd drunk at Clay and Gemma's house. Another heave brought the muffin back up. 'Doesn't taste as good the second time,' he mused.

Opie felt empty inside when he returned to the clubhouse. Though everything in him had screamed to take out Stahl, he had shown mercy to the agent. When he'd left her, Stahl had been crying uncontrollably, crouched in the driver's seat of her car, holding the clip of bullets he'd put in her hand.

He felt like the foundation had been knocked out from under him. Everything he'd believed in lately had been a sham. How could he share a patch with Tig and Clay after what they'd done to Donna? 'How on Earth can Jax change the direction the club is taking as long as people like Tig, Bobby, and Clay remain in positions of authority? If I leave the club, what will I do? It's all I know!'

Jax returned from his satisfactory surveillance of Zobelle, armed with knowledge that would help the club in the long run. He saw Opie's bike parked in its' usual spot and caught up with him in the apartment where Tara'd treated Tig.

They talked about his issues, Jax assuring him change would come, but it would take time. Opie confided to Jax that he hadn't killed Stahl. For the first time in a long time, the two were on the same page. 'It feels good to be able to trust him again. Will I ever trust the others?'

Jax sensed his friend's mood, and handed over the copy of his father's writing that Piney had given him. Jax urged him to read it over for himself. Opie retired to the roof to read and continued reading until he saw the bikes and van return to the lot.

Clay, Bobby, Chibs and Juice met with Jimmy O about their relationship. Ironically, the meet was in the same bar Fi had lured Chibs to the day before. The meeting was short and to the point. The one thing that Jimmy O couldn't avoid was the backstabbing his representatives, the Hayes, had done to the Sons.

Jimmy agreed to give the next shipment of Russian stock, which the Hayes had originally intended for Zobelle, to the Sons at no charge. Clay warned O'Fallon that one misstep would not only lose Jimmy the Sons, but also his affiliation with the Ireland charter.

Jimmy agreed as it was only fair. 'I doubt I've heard the last of this shit the Hayes have pulled. Especially with the ATF sniffing around.'

Chibs sat in his garage bay while the others went into the clubhouse. He was holding his head in his hands. He felt terrible. 'Now I unnerstand whot Cat means when she says 'er 'air 'urts. Fi and Carrieanne are at the mercy of Jimmy O; tha rat basturd wants me daughter now that Fi's gettin' old. I can't let that happen! I thought tha feds wuld 'elp, tried ta 'elp tha club. Stahl only wants what 'elps 'er. Tha bitch!'

He'd told the agent what she could do with her deal, but that didn't mean that she'd let up on him. Now Chibs was looking at being tagged as a rat against the Hayes as well as the Sons. He wished he were back at the hospital.

'What am I gonna do?' he thought to himself. 'Who can I talk ta? Cat 'n Gemma are tha closest famly I've got. But they've both got enuf on their plates. Enny way I look at it, I'm fooked!'

Gemma walked through the garage, noticed Chibs sitting so despondently, and asked what was wrong. He didn't want to tell her, not after what she'd already gone through. Gemma refused to take 'no' for an answer. He told her he'd done smething he thought would protect his women, but he'd fallen into a hole. He didn't give details, but Gemma could tell he was in a big mess.

'I can't recall the last time Chibs has cried," she thought as his head rested on her shoulder. She held him close, whispering words of comfort. She advised him to come clean with the club. She assured him they'd understand and help him out of the hole he'd fallen into.

Chibs stood up, accepting her words of wisdom. 'She's Clay's wife, she'd know better than anyone how he'll react to this. The club follows his lead.' He hated to admit that this time, his heart-sister wouldn't have the best answer. "Dunno whut we'd do without ya. We love ya," he told Gemma, kissing her cheek before resolutely walking into the clubhouse.

Tig's declaration had put Opie in a unique position. He realized that he had the opportunity to make a few things happen to everyone's benefit, including his own. He closed the leather binder containing John Teller's manuscript and headed downstairs for the chapel.

The others, with the exception of Chibs and Piney, were already assembled and waiting. Tig's face was swollen and turning several colors. 'He's gonna have quite a time explaing that!' Opie thought. He took his seat and stared at the men for awhile, then laid his cards on the table. He intended to stay with the club and decreed that the issue of Donna's death was never to leave the chapel. None of the women – Tara, Cat, Gemma, and Lyla – could ever know. The men agreed to that provision.

Opie then related his observation of Chibs' meeting with Agent Sthal. He extracted a promise from Clay that he would listen to Chibs in full and not go off after the man until he'd heard the whole story. Clay agreed to that provision. 'Look what happened the last time we didn't look beyond the obvious.'

Jax related what he'd discovered in his surveillance of Zobelle, alerting them that Zobelle was the Judas Iscariot of LOAN, meeting with Alvarez discuss the drug trade. Jax had uncovered Zobelle's weakness, as Weston had been absent from the meeting.

Tig was amazed at the irony of a white separationist working with a Mexican gang leader to control the heroin trade. 'White using Brown to control powder. And it's all happening under Weston's nose! He'll bust a gut when he finds out!'

Chibs entered the chapel and asked to speak to the guys. He poured out the entire story to the astonished group. Opie gazed intently at Clay when Chibs had finished his confession. Clay looked straight at Opie as he assured Chibs he was no rat, he'd never taken the agreement and he was straight with the club. Clay's eyes assured Opie that this time, his words were his bond.

Piney had been absent since Tig's confession. No one knew where he'd gone so it was a surprise when he burst into the chapel without his cut. He had a pistol in his hand aimed directly at Clay. Everything happened in an instant. Piney squeezed off a shot as Tig flew to Clay and pushed him out of the line of fire. A second shot quickly followed. The bullets struck the wall behind them. The men were shouting at each other and Clay nearly attacked Piney.

Opie intervened, took possession of his father's gun, and requested the others leave the chapel so he could speak to his father. The riders filed out, Tig and Clay were the last to leave the chapel while Opie made the gun safe and stood glaring at the old man.

Cat was past annoyed, she was downright pissed. The interlude with Alex had been surprising and wonderful, but the rest of the day had gone to pot. Both the city council and the school administrators had refused to allow her the use of their property for the karaoke event.

The school actually had a good reason for turning her down. The administration had a written policy concerning non-school related events on their property. The city council, led by Jacob Hale, was a different matter.

"We commend your community spirit, Ms. Marshall, but you have to understand our concern over the liabilities such a large gathering presents." Hale pronounced.

"Really? Then why bother havin' a park at all if you're that worried about liability?"

Cat suspected Hale had taken up residence in Zobelle's back pocket. She knew he was a frequent patron of Impeccable Smokes and had been seen at a number of community events with Zobelle. Hale's blatant favoritism annoyed her but she kept her temper in check.

"There's little liability for events held in the daytime. We're discussing an evening event, and that results in more liability for us should anyone get hurt, " Hale replied smoothly. "A large crowd and the cover of darkness, along with the inevitable presence of SAMCRO means anything could happen. We have to look at the bigger picture, Ms. Marshall. Enough talk. All those in favor?"

Three of the four council members raised their hands.

"Opposed?" Hale raised his hand with a knowing smirk, as the remaining three voted with him.

"As you can see, we don't believe this is a good idea. We're not allowing you to hold your event in the park."

Cat glared at the council but saved her most venomous look for Jacob Hale. "I've developed as much of a foothold in this community as certain more prosperous appearing business owners. Trust me, I won't forget this when election time rolls around."

She hoped for a better result with the church association. The local pastors were interested in the rally, and wanted to know more. She was more than happy to speak with them, and answered their questions honestly and openly.

"We've had a great deal of positive response from the community since we started talkin' this up at the coffeehouse. The major exception is the Aryan Brotherhood that's tryin' to establish a foothold in our town."

One particular minister, about her age with thinning blonde hair, grinned encouragingly at her. He looked familiar, but one problem with being a preacher's kid was the number of moves necessitated by different appointments. After awhile, it was hard to remember faces and names. He probably just reminded her of someone in one of her father's churches.

"The one drawback to all the interest is that our karaoke night has already outgrown Charming Pawse. We can't hold all the people safely, so we need a facility with enough space to accommodate a large gathering," she continued.

"I'd hate to see something that might bring our town together for a common good be cancelled because no one is willing to provide a place for us to hold it. Since you invited me to speak about the rally, it's obvious you support this and feel the same way. It's my hope that one of the churches would open your fellowship hall to us for that one night."

She gazed hopefully at the sea of faces in front of her. These were men of God like her father, but she also knew they had committees and congregations to answer to. They might also have been taken in by Zobelle, who liked to pass himself off as a Christian.

She stayed through the end of the meeting, but the majority of the ministers did nothing more than thank her for taking an interest in the community. 'Guess I'll have to ask Clay if he'll let me use the garage parking area,'

She felt let down and decided not to speak to the remainder of the pastors milling about. She was heading dejectedly for the exit when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder.

It was instinct and reflex that caused her to grab that hand by the wrist and pull herself under it. The move caused the owner of that hand to lose his balance and land on the floor. She rolled her eyes heavenward. 'Shit! Smooth move!' she thought to herself, gazing at the minister who'd been smiling at her during the meeting. She extended a hand to help him up. "I'm sorry, Reverend. Are you ok?"

He grinned sheepishly at her. "I'm fine, Cat. I forgot that you never liked to have people sneak up on you. You've learned a few new moves since the las time I saw you."

She stared at him, trying to place the face. "Do I know you?"

"It has been a few decades," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "Back then I had more hair and the Pinto."

A mental picture flashed in her memory of a blonde teen who resembled Peter Frampton in the late seventies. She had developed quite a crush on him when they'd served on the United Methodist Youth Conference on Ministries back in Indiana. He'd broken her heart that following summer when he'd gotten engaged to another woman. They lost touch after he'd married the girl and she had graduated from Vincennes.

"Chris? Chris Bush?"

"The very same. A few years older, shorter hair, and a little more weight around the middle."

They embraced. "Still breaking hearts? And what in the world are you doing here in California?"

"One question at a time! Not a heartbreaker like back in the day," he replied. "As far as being here, the same question applies to you, Cat."

"A long story to tell at another time and place," she replied.

"Same here," Chris replied, a tinge of sadness in his voice. He brightened as he continued, "You've done well with that coffee shop. I wasn't sure it was you until the night I heard you sing."

"How on Earth did I miss seein' you?"

"Your attention was taken up by that tall, black- haired outlaw biker. You and he are pretty tight, but he looks mean."

"You of all people should remember that outward appearances can be deceiving," Cat replied quietly. "If you intend to judge me by my friends, then I guess we have nothing more to talk about. It's been good seeing you again." She started towards the exit.

"Wait, Cat!" Chris called. "I'm sorry. You still stand up for what you believe in. That gang does some good for the town, but they're still outlaws. I'm concerned for you as a friend."

"I know what they are, Chris. Your concern is misplaced, and that friendship of ours was decades ago. I'm not the same overweight, starry-eyed little girl you knew."

"No, you're not. It's obvious from that move you put on me that you know how to take care of yourself."

"So what's your point, Chris?"

"You're right about that rally being a good thing that unites the community. Even if it includes the motorcycle gang –"

"Club," she interjected. "It's a motorcycle club, Chris. If you're going to be my friend, please learn the difference."

He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "OK, you win. Your event is uniting the town in a way that's not happened in a long time. You know I don't condone the Aryans any more than we did the Klan back home. Your event needs a venue, my church has a fellowship hall with a nice stage and a kitchen."

"You're offering its' use?"

"Yes, I'm offering the use of that hall for your event."

She stared at him warily. "What's the catch?"

"No booze, no drugs, and no smoking in the fellowship hall, or within 50 feet of the building. And no swearing, it is a house of God, y'know," he replied with a grin.

"And the MC?"

"They're invited too, as long as they behave."

"Believe it or not, they can be civil when they want to be," she replied. She held out her hand. "You've got a deal, Reverend."

He took her hand in his. "I prefer you call me Chris. Maybe you'll come to services?"

"Maybe. See you tomorrow night," she replied, making her exit. She walked to her bike, feeling like things were finally coming together.

She didn't see her old friend watch her straddle her bike, a sad smile of regret on his face. He'd been stupid to pass her over all those years ago, though he'd been happy with his wife. Now that he was single again and he'd learned his old friend had moved to town, he'd hoped for a second chance, but it looked like he'd missed out again.

Cat wasn't thinking of him as she rode home. Her mind was centered on getting the good news out about the rally. The PT was the only vehicle in the drive when she got home. Alex wasn't home yet, so she hurried into the house and started working to get the word out.

The Sons had experienced an emotionally trying day. It started with learning of the attack on Gemma, escalated to Tig confessing to killing Donna and getting beat up by Opie, moved on to Chibs' near alliance with Agent Stahl and ended with Piney trying to shoot down Clay for Donna's death.

Tig's day had been even more trying, having nearly betrayed his friend and his wife. The beating from Opie left marks that he wouldn't be able to easily explain away. Tig knew he wouldn't be able to get away with giving Cat a made up explanation and he didn't intend to keep the truth from her any longer.

'A'right. We agreed to keep the truth of Donna's death within the walls of the chapel. It could still slip out, meaning Cat would find out. She doesn't deserve to hear this second hand.' Tig was the type of man who hated having any kind of 'sword of Damocles' hanging over his head. 'It'll only be a matter of time before she learns the truth and leaves me. I'd rather be the one to tell her and get it over with."

Before he could go home and face the end of the most decent thing he'd ever had in life, he needed to make things right for Gemma and Clay.

The club President had just told Tara and Lyla to go easy on their men. Though it would've been nice to see his woman waiting for him, he was glad Cat had another agenda. He wasn't ready to face her just yet.

Clay started to cross the parking lot when Tig stopped him. The last time he'd said anything to Clay about Gemma was the night of the wrap party, after they'd had the meltdown in the Caracara parking lot. Tig had told Clay that night to go talk to her.

The couple had talked, but it was obvious that nothing was resolved. Otherwise, he knew that what had occurred between him and Gemma earlier might not've happened. He hoped they'd get closer to a resolution this time.

Clay eyed his friend quizzically. 'What the Hell did that mean, to let her know he loved her? Of course I love Gemma! It tears me apart to know she'd carried this burden alone for so long.' The emotional distance between them cut him like a knife.

"She thinks you don't want her any more," Tig explained. He moved forward, hugged Clay and slapped his back twice before stepping away.

Clay turned away and continued towards the garage office. Trager walked past the two couples to lean against the wall where he could watch the office door and have a smoke.

In a matter of seconds after Clay entered the office, the door closed with a decisive thud. Tig listened for any sounds of fighting, but there was only silence. No angry words, no sounds of things being thrown. He had a good idea that Clay and Gemma were making up. That left one last thing and this terrible day could come to an end. He crushed out his cigarette and headed to his bike. He was going home to his woman, possibly for the last time.

Cat posted the good news on the coffeehouse website and Facebook page, then called Anna and Pete to fill them in on the rally's new venue so they could spread the word in the morning.

"I'll call the radio station and let them know to add the location to the announcements," Pete added.

She'd just gotten off the phone when she heard Alex's Harley pull into the drive. She met him in the living room and her stomach lurched. There were black, blue, and purple bruises all over his face. Butterfly bandages covered a nasty looking cut on his right cheek. It had obviously been sutured. Both sides of his face and his lips were bruised and swollen.

'I've got a bad feelin' about this. Something happened after he left the second time.' Without a word, she retrieved a cold beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and dropped a straw into the bottle.

"Do I look that bad?" He asked, accepting the beer from her and putting it on the table. He swept her into a tight embrace, kissing her gently before releasing her and retrieving the bottle.

"You haven't looked at yourself in the mirror love," she replied. "Whose fist did your face stop this time?"

"You'd better sit down, baby. We need to talk."

His voice was quiet and determined.

She sat on the couch next to him. She knew what was on his mind. 'Maybe I should tell him I know and save him the bother.' One look at the set of his jaw told her that was the wrong thing to do. 'No. He needs to tell me himself. In his own way, at his own pace. I can't take that from him.'

Ebony was laying across the top of the sofa and Ming was curled up in the recliner. Misty leaped up beside her, nestling close and purring contentedly. Alex sipped more beer through the straw, one hand holding hers tightly.

"This life with you, Cat, it's the best thing I've ever had in a long time. I forgot what it was like to have a safe place where I'm wanted and needed. You've given me a true home, a safe place that I look forward to coming back to every day. I have somethin' worth wakin' up to. I don't wanna lose that; don't wanna lose you."

"What makes you think you'll lose anything, love?"

He sipped some more beer. She had a sudden mental image of Popeye chugging a can of spinach whenever he needed extra strength. 'Beer is Alex's spinach. It gives him strength when he needs it.' She fought back a smile at the thought, as she knew it would send the wrong message.

"I've kept something from you, babe, even after we went to full disclosure. I told myself it was to keep you safe. But that's bullshit. There's not a lot that scares me; one of my greatest fears is of losing you. I don't want you to hear this from someone else. Once you learn the truth, I won't blame you for leavin' me."

She gripped the hand that held hers. "You recently told me not to be afraid to tell you anything. It works both ways, love. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever."

"We'll see," he murmured, sipping more beer.

They sat quietly for a few moments, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. Finally, he took a deep breath. "The night Donna was killed was supposed to be the night Opie was to die. That Stahl gash set Opie up as the rat; paying off his major debts, planting listening devices for us to find, even making it look like his family was going into witness protection! All the signs were there. I brought the intel to Clay, he ordered the hit, it was my job to carry it out."

He paused to take another swallow of beer. She could feel his hand tremble under hers. "You did your job, but the wrong person was in the wrong place at the wrong time," she stated softly.

He nodded. Her calm reaction to the news gave him the courage he needed to continue. "Opie was supposed to be in the truck. I didn't know they'd traded cars, and didn't know we'd been set up until it was too late." He looked down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, sure he would see contempt and hatred in them. He spoke the words that would be the death knell to the life he'd grown to enjoy. "I killed Donna."

Cat closed her eyes briefly, sharing his pain and remorse all over again. It was no easier hearing it the second time. She knew he needed her strength and understanding now more than ever.

"You've been carryin' this burden a long time, Alex love. That has to be the reason you froze those last couple of times. Not to mention it's been givin' you the most God awful nightmares!That kind of burden would break Hercules!"

"I've had nightmares?" He asked sharply. 'Is she tryin' to tell me she's known all along?' He gazed at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of duplicity. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't know what to do to stop them, love. It just caused a little interrupted sleep; you'd moan and thrash about, mumbled a lot of stuff that was never clear. You'd always come out of 'em when I held you. I thought maybe you were havin' flashbacks from your stint in the Marines."

He gazed intently at her. 'She tries to sneak so much past me, but she's never out and out lied to me.' He couldn't help wondering if she was soft-pedaling the truth for his benefit. "Last night, I talked to Donna, told her everything, asked her forgiveness and she gave it to me," he continued. "All day today, I've wrestled with the idea that it didn't really happen that way. I thought you knew already and I was gonna lose you."

"That's why you looked so crazed and scared in the back yard," she mused.

He nodded. "This afternoon I confessed to Opie. He did this," he indicated his face while taking another pull at his beer. "We weren't going to tell any of you women about this. But I knew I had to come clean with you, even though you'd leave me."

'Opie really beat the tar out of him. Those bruises and cuts will fade. The damage to his psyche may take longer to heal, if ever.' she inventoried the injuries on his well-loved face before she spoke. "Opie could've done worse. At least you're still alive and kicking and able to came back home to me."

"Yeah. For the last time."

"You plannin' on goin' somewhere, love?"

"No. Are you?"

She got up from the couch, upsetting Misty, who leapt to the floor in a huff. Her move caused Alex to draw in a sharp, deep breath. Cat knelt on the floor in front of him, staring directly into his eyes. She reached up and gently placed her hands on either side of his bruised and battered face. "Got some bad news for you, lover."

He winced at the smile on her face as she looked at him. 'It's like she's enjoying the thought of tearing my heart out by the roots!' He winced and closed his eyes in pain. 'I thought she'd never stoop to that level. At least she's telling me up front and not sneaking off in the middle of the night. It's more than I deserve.'

"Look at me, love," she ordered quietly. Her voice was firm.

He couldn't look at her and hear her ringing condemnation. 'I can't! I can't see the hate she feels for me!' He shook his head in denial. "If you're gonna leave, just say so and go!" he cried.

She gently pried his eyelids open. "There ya go again, takin' things at face value! The bad news is that you're stuck with me, for better or worse, etcertera, etcertera. I meant 'til death do us part' when we made 'em, I mean 'em now, and will mean 'em tomorrow. You're stuck with me, kid."

"You're staying? Even though I killed a woman – an innocent woman?" His eyes filled with tears as her words sank in. He couldn't believe his luck.

"I'm stayin'. Wild horses couldn't drag me away from ya, love."

"I thought you said you had bad news?" he asked huskily.

"You're out of beer," she replied, rising to her feet. "Wait here; I'll get you another one."

"I don't need another fucking beer," he growled, drawing her back onto the couch beside him. "I need you."

She pulled him to her, so that his head rested in her lap for once. She gazed down at him, the love she felt for him glowing in her eyes behind her glasses, a glow he could easily see despite their dark tint. "Ditto," she whispered just before his lips met hers.

He felt a sense of deja vu over her assurances. 'Those words. They sound so familiar. She said I took things at face value.' Memories of his hallucination flashed in his mind as they kissed, and a sudden knowledge blinded him. 'She knew! It wasn't Donna I confessed to last night! I confessed to her!' His eyes widened with shock and wonder as he held her face in his hands. "Why didn't you tell me you knew?"

"You needed to believe the hallucination was real this mornin', love. I was afraid that if you knew you'd told me instead of Donna, you'd go off the deep end. I did what I thought was right by you. Please forgive me for lyin' to you. I didn't intend to make things worse for you."

His hands caressed her cheeks. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "How can I hold a grudge against you when you've given me such a gift? Jesus, baby! It must've been Hell for you to pretend that everything was OK in front of Chibs." He then thought of their interlude in the back yard. "You knew the truth earlier, yet you gave me what I needed anyway. What the Hell did I do to deserve you?"

He kissed her hungrily then, his kiss telling her everything that he couldn't put into words. She surrended to his kiss, opening herself to him, giving him the love and acceptance he needed. "I can't ever seem to get enough of you, baby," he sighed, nuzzling the hand that lay against his cheek. "It's not just the sex. You give so much to me. That's why I freaked out when you were playing that music. Thought you were having second thoughts about us. Now I know better. What's that one song called, anyway?"

"The one that was playin' when you first entered the back yard?"

He nodded.

"I Try. A gal named Macy Grey released it a few years ago," she replied. "Alex, when you confessed last night, the thought of leaving you did cross my mind for a few minutes. I'd be lying if I claimed it didn't."

She felt him stiffen in her arms. She stroked his face with her hands, her touch gentle as a feather on his cuts and bruises. "The idea of living without you made me physically ill, love. If I'd walked away, my world would've crumbled. We made love this afternoon to a lot of music, including 'No Matter What'. That tape just sums up how I feel about our life together. I was seekin' comfort, not thinkin' of leavin'."

He joined his lips to hers, his kiss wasn't desperate this time. It was possessive and promising. "All those different tunes reflect your feelings for me, eh?"

She nodded. "I play it when you're away on Club Business. I needed that comfort today." She sighed and laughed derisively. "Guess you think it's stupid and sentimental."

He smiled at her, his hands brushing against her cheeks. "Nah. There's nothing stupid about you, baby. I've never been around anyone with the unique view of things that you have."

Later that evening, he told her about the attack on Gemma and who was involved.

"Oh, God! Poor Gemma! Your instincts were right all along, love. I doubt Weston has the sense to think of something that hideous. He had to be working off orders from Zobelle."

"I agree. And that makes me more worried about you and your employees," he replied. "Especially once that security tape is shown at the rally."

"I'm not pulling the tape, Alex," she warned. "It's his own words that will be his undoing."

He sighed wearily, pinching his nose with his fingers. "I knew you were gonna say that. Baby, the shit is gonna hit the fan pretty soon. The club is going to get revenge for what Zobelle had done to Gemma; we're getting' revenge for Chibs and Juice, too. You could get caught in the cross fire."

"I've been watching for Zobelle and his goon squad since that day he visited the store," she replied. "You've taught me how to watch out for myself and my crew. Don't worry about me."

"It's my job, baby. Comes with the ring and the certificate. It looks like we're at a stalemate."

"Y'all are going to do what you have to do. I'm doing what I have to do. Zobelle made this personal when he sicced those bounty hunters on you and tried to take you away. After tomorrow night, it's not going to be so charming for him in Charming."

"You're one evil woman when you're riled, y'know that?"

"So I've been told."

"Just do one favor for me?"

"What's that, love?"

"I like a little spice now and then, but don't lose that decent side of you. I need your decency more than your fire."

She kissed him, long and hard. "I promise, love. Once Zobelle is out of our hair, you'll get sick of my decency."

"I doubt that'll ever happen," he replied.

Polly looked up from her breakfast, unable to believe what she'd just heard on the radio station.

"It would appear that my influence with the United Methodist church's affluent members was not sufficient to prevent their minister from offering to help Miss Marshall," her father observed.

"What are we going to do now, Daddy?"

"Nothing, my dear. There's nothing we can do now. AJ will be all right. He'll see that this rally will not have a long term negativity on our endeavors in this area."

"He doesn't understand the big picture, Daddy. Maybe if you explain it to him?"

Zobelle shook his head at the notion. "No, Polly. Mr. Weston is extremely tunnel-visioned where his cause is concerned. He would never understand that my actions are a means to a greater end. He would only see it as betrayal."

"What do you think he'll do about it?"

"Nothing. I've told AJ Miss Marshall is off limits. To every time there is a season, and now is not the time for us to do anything about Miss Marshall. I will tell him when the time is right."

Weston had already decided that the time was right to strike out against Cat Marshall and her efforts to turn the town against LOAN. Zobelle had no interest or desire to make her see the errors of her thinking. 'I don't have a problem making things happen if he doesn't have the guts! Something has to be done, and I'm gonna see to it that it gets done!"

He pulled out his cellphone and called two of the more faithful of the brotherhood. The same two who'd helped him with Gemma Morrow.

"I have another job for you tonight. Not like the last one, but it'll be just as much fun. Meet me tonight at nine." He gave an address of a 24 hour storage facility and shut off the cell phone, then he picked up the spray can of paint and resumed painting the exterior of a large, 24 foot van he'd rented earlier.

The Charming United Methodist Church fellowship hall was filled nearly to capacity. It seemed to Cat that the entire town had come out, with the exception of Zobelle and the members of LOAN. Men and women of all ages, along with their children and grandchildren, filled the fellowship hall.

The Sons of Anarchy were out as well, keeping a watchful eye for any trouble from LOAN. Hale and Unser, along with a few other officers, were also on hand to keep the peace.

Cat had a surprise for the club; the karaoke night was also going to raise money for their defense fund. She intended to remind the town of the good the Sons had done for Charming and that it was time to give a little something back.

"Love, if you're not up to goin' you can stay home and rest," she told Alex that morning after looking at the swelling and discoloration on his face. "You must be hurtin' a lot."

"No way am I missing this, baby. I'm fine, in more ways than one. I'm stickin' to you like glue today." He grinned at her then winced at the slight pain.

His cell rang. He picked it up and glared at the caller ID. "It's the garage. Dammit! I told Clay I wasn't gonna be available today and he was ok with it! What!" he growled the last word into the phone.

Cat watched his expression change from annoyance to near delight. "Great! I'll come get 'em in the Cruiser!" He snapped the phone closed and shoved it in his jeans pocket. "The shirts are in. I'll go get 'em and bring 'em to the coffeehouse."

"Go on, then. I can get safely from the back yard to the store without you," she grinned. "It's just a few feet, y'know."

"I'm gonna make sure of it. C'mon, woman! I'll walk you to the back door and then get your package."

"Alex!" She rolled her eyes to the heavens in supplication.

"No arguments, baby. The sooner you go to the coffeehouse, the sooner I can go get the shirts and get back."

"OK, OK!" she surrended. "No one says I have to give in gracefully about it, though!"

She still hadn't told Alex about Weston's attempts to scare her off the rally. She felt his protective instincts where she was concerned were in unneeded overdrive, and she feared he'd go caveman on her and make her cancel the rally if she told him. She knew the news of Gemma's attack and Weston's involvement had angered the club. The attack on Gemma bothered her, and made Cat more aware of her surroundings.

"Stubborn, annoying, little spitfire!" Alex murmured, nuzzling the back of her neck as they crossed the back yard. He kissed her soundly at the door, watching until she had gone inside. He listened for the sound of the door lock, then strode to the PT.

He parked the PT near the coffeehouse entrance on his return, glaring intently in the direction of 'Impeccable Smokes'. Weston's Bronco and Zobelle's Mercedes were parked in front. 'Bet those fucktards are plotting something. Let 'em try! I'm ready for 'em!' He carried the box of shirts inside the coffeehouse and was rewarded with a large black coffee and his favorite muffin for his efforts.

Cat opened the box to find not only the one long sleeved black shirt and the tan short sleeved ones for the staff, but other colors and sizes of shirts with the Charming Pawse logo. "What the--?"

"I ordered a few extras; figured you might want to have a few to sell tonight," he replied with a smug smile, chewing contentedly on his muffin.

Though he was favored with 'the look', he knew that she was pleased with the results, and with his foresight.

Miss Anna, Christopher Johns, and JR manned the church kitchen, Mr Pete took up his regular position getting people signed up for their turn at the mic and running the equipment. Mr. Adrian was working the house lights and running errands. They wore their Charming Pawse t-shirts with pride.

Cat had chosen to wear her black velvet cords and black fringe seude knee length boots with her new long sleeved shirt. Her corduroy duster and fedora completed her outfit. 'I feel a bit like the character 'V'. All I need is a Guy Hawkes mask, and a pair of Bowie knives in my belt, but that's not the message I wanna send.'

Alex took one look at her outfit and whistled wolfishly. "Woman, black is your color. You look ready to kick ass and take names!" He was impressed by her ability to use the liquid make-up to hide the fading palm prints on her cheeks and still look like she had no make-up on at all.

Some of the children from the elementary and middle school had drawn posters on the theme. Those posters had been placed all over the room for display.

At the appointed hour, Adrian flicked the lights on and off to indicate the show was about to start. As she expected, there were too many things demanding her attention to allow her to run the montage. Mr. Pete assured her he could handle it and when the audience had settled in their seats, he started the tape player and computer program.

Juice had set up the camera for the podcast earlier that evening after connecting Cat's notebook to the karoke equipment. As Adrian flipped the lights, he moved over to the camera and quietly turned it on, then he checked his own laptop to make sure it was feeding properly on line.

The montage began with 'Sweet Cherry Wine' from Tommy James and the Shondells, followed by 'Message from a Drum' from Redbone, What a Wonderful World from Louis Armstrong, and ended with the Black Eyed Peas 'Where is the Love'.

While the music played, the powerpoint slides showed the historical pictures that reflected how hate and the various groups espousing it didn't make things better. The picture of the American Flag being raised over the rubble of the Twin Towers came up with the last notes of the Black Eyed Peas selection.

Pete then started the security recording, the tape showed Cat and Zobelle sitting in the shop. Enigma's Cross of Change played softly in the background. The music made an excellent accompaniment to the security video.

"I've been watching your business, Miss Marshall. I have to tell you that as a neighbor, some of your clientele and your employees are a concern."

"I'm all attention."

"One of your managers is Asian. There are quite a number of Caucasians who can do the work. Despite the fact that you have young Pete in a similar position, it's disturbing that you didn't promote another Caucasian."

"I see."

"Then there's that motorcycle club, Sons of Anarchy, that frequents your store morning, noon and night. Their presence has to make God fearing citizens uncomfortable. As a parent, I would be very reluctant to allow my child to attend your functions with the riders present.

"Of course, I can see why you might not consider the club a concern. I understand you cohabitate with one of them?"

"Do you speak to all your business neighbors this way, or just the ones that don't follow your idea of how things should be?"

The audience applauded that her response, showing their appreciation and support of her willingness to confront the businessman's bigotry. Alex could see that the audience didn't like what they'd heard Zobelle spew.

Clay looked at Tig and murmured, "Damn! That was nasty of him!"

Tig nodded. "Keep watching, man. Knowing my woman, she's got a few more punches to throw."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Marshall. I'm simply a business owner with concerns for the safety of my clientele."

The store video froze, and Pete started the CD player again. Cat had selected part of Johnny Cash's last hit song, 'God's Gonna Cut You Down' to follow Zobelle's diatribe. The store video showed Zobelle sitting like some kind of wise elder statesman. The contrast between the words of the song and Zobelle's own attitude had the affect she'd hoped for.

"Go and tell that long tongued liar

Go and tell that midnight rider

Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down.

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down.

Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down."

Adrian cut the lights as soon as the last line ended, plunging the room into darkness. Before anyone had a chance to react, Cat's strong voice pierced the darkness with the beginning of Barry Manilow's One Voice:

"Just one voice

Singing in the darkness

All it takes is one voice

Singing so they hear

what's on your mind

and when you look around

you find there's more than

One Voice . . .

Mr. Pete's tenor joined with hers in the lyric, providing a two-party harmony. Bobby Elvis, Rev. Bush, Miss Anna, JR, and Christopher Johns added their voices from different parts of the room. They held battery operated candles that each person activated as they joined in the song.

Cat moved out to center stage as Pete activated the last powerpoint slide, which was the American flag waving proudly against an azure blue sky while the group completed the last verse:

"Shout it out and let it ring

Just one voice

It takes that one voice

And every one will sing!"

The audience was on its' feet showing their appreciation for the montage and the message.

Adrian turned on the lights to reveal Cat in her black ensemble, standing directly under the picture of the flag. Pete started the last song for the opening, John Mellencamp's 'Some Day' . Though it differed in tone from the Manilow tune, the song delivered the message Cat wanted the audience to get:

. . . "Brother brother oh brother

Why are you walking down this road here?

This is the road of madness and trouble

And it's paved with intolerance,

Ignorance and fear. . .

Enough is enough

I look at your face

You look just like me

Hey brother, I'm not your enemy

Someday, someday

But I don't know when

Someday, someday

But I don't know when

How many times can a spirit be broken

For this is the kingdom of heaven we're given

Good fortune will come

On those who create peace

For those are the ones

that will walk in Heaven. . ."

Alex raised one thumb at her in approval from his position at the back of the room. 'Damn! Must be the remants of the 'shrooms makin' me sentimental!' He swallowed against a lump in his throat, looked around at his brothers, and was relieved to notice he wasn't the only Son so affected.

Despite the thunderous applause when the song ended, she waved it off. "Welcome to the Charming Pawse monthly karaoke night! Tonight we're in a different venue because of the interest in our endeavor. Let's show our thanks to Rev. Bush for allowing us the use of the church!"

There was a round of applause for the minister, who waved from the back of the room. "Now if y'all have been to our events before, you know how this works. If you haven't signed up and want to participate, there's plenty of room and Mr. Pete over there will help you out. Miss Anna, along with Misters Christopher and JR will take your drink orders."

She glanced at the men of the MC, lounging against the wall at the back of the room then continued, "All y'all know that the Sons of Anarchy spent a little time as guests of the county lately. They thought they were raidin' a membership rally for the 'League of American Nationalists' which is a white hate group known as LOAN. The Sons are still facin' criminal charges despite a lack of clear evidence against them. Tonight, for every drink y'all purchase, one dollar will go towards their legal fund. If anyone wants to donate more, just put it in the kitty jar. The club has worked hard to keep our town the way it is, so that local venues like mine and Floyd's and the rest thrive. Now it's our turn to show our appreciation for their efforts!"

The audience affirmatively agreed to that as they cheered and applauded the Sons. 'Oh, baby! Did ya have to do that?' Tig thought, pinching his nose with the fingers of one hand. He managed to wave at the crowd, as did the rest of the club.

"Before I turn this mic over to the next performer, I'm gonna climb on my soapbox for just a bit. Our town has been invaded by a cancer. It didn't look bad at first, as it hid behind the guise of a local business. But like most cancers, it quickly spread its' nasty poison.

"Y'all heard for yourselves the hateful sludge the alledged leader of this group spewed. We could descend to the haters level and fight fire with fire. I think we're better than that!"

An affirmative roar met that statement. "So tonight, we're displayin' through song what ideals out town embraces. That we want to work together, live together, play together as one. Not puttin' one group over another. We're gonna put out a message that we don't want what LOAN has to offer. Time for this kitty to get off her soapbox and let the fun begin. As y'all know, we have three rules. Number one, have fun. Number two, no makin' fun of someone else's flubs. Number three, no laughing at my flubs!"

The audience laughed and applauded again, and Cat motioned the next performer, Tristan Oswald, out to the stage. "Our next performer has a story to share with you."

She handed the microphone to Tristan, and the speakers emitted a flue solo, the beginnings to 'One Tin Soldier'.

The night was off to a good start. She could tell that Zobelle was going to have a more difficult time with all the decent residents of Charming, not just the Sons.

As Cat headed towards the kitchen, she felt a familiar arm drape around her waist. She looked up into Alex's proud face. "Damn, baby!"

"That's the best review I've ever had, love."

"Is that the kind of thing you did on that radio station?" he asked.

"Musically, yes. We didn't have the luxury of video to accompany the music."

He held her tightly to him, for once not giving a damn if anyone was watching. "I have to admit, babe, that the security tape worked out well. The crowd didn't like Zobelle's comments."

"That was the intention," she purred.

Clay stepped in front of her, his face a granite mask. She felt herself tense as she waited for him to read the riot act for her public cry for help with the Sons defense.

"That was potent stuff, Lady Cat. An iron fist in a velvet glove. Turning the town against Zobelle like that. I like the way you think."

Despite the kind words, she continued waiting for the 'other shoe' to drop. While Clay might've liked what she did about Zobelle, he might not be so fond of her appeal on the club's behalf without asking first.

Clay held his hand out to her in the age-old gesture of friendship. "Thank you for helping our defense coffers."

The pair clasped hands, and Cat relaxed. The last thing she'd wanted to do was cause any more friction for the club. If she'd told anyone what she'd planned, they might've stopped her. 'Now, if word of the podcast on the coffeehouse's website doesn't get out too soon!' As far as Alex was concerned, the video camera was simply recording the event for posterity, not a live feed.

The kitchen area was under control, and the glass jar for the donations had already been emptied once times since the event began. Bobby Monroe took the stage in full Elvis regalia to perform 'If I Can Dream.'

Cat settled in one of the folding chairs for a moment to get her breath. She was going to do the ending song to bring the evening to a close on a hopeful, uplifting note. All the performers would be participating in the final number.

Miss Anna's kids and their class had signed up to perform Three Dog Night's Black and White, and were slated to follow Bobby.

"You've done a good thing, babe." Alex stood behind her chair, his hands resting on her shoulders, drawing her back against him. She relaxed for a few moments, enjoying the momentary lull in activity. She'd shed her duster and fedora for the remainder of the evening.

"Miss Cat?" Anna called to her from the counter. "There's a TV reporter asking to talk to you."

"What?" She hadn't contacted any media about the event. She walked to the counter, Alex following close behind her. The reporter was standing next to Rev. Bush. A cameraman was taking pictures of the audience, posters, and performers.

"Cat, I want you to meet James Windover. I called all the news outlets and invited them to cover it, only Channel 2 sent a reporter."

"I'd like to interview you about this rally, Ms. Marshall. May I speak with you on camera?"

Cat looked at her employees, they were all nodding encouragement. Alex, on the other hand, didn't look very happy with the idea. 'He's thinkin' about Zobelle, as usual. Hell, I'm already in up to my ears! Might as well go for broke! What could it hurt?' She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess."

The reporter motioned his cameraman over, and they stood in front of one of the posters that the children had drawn.

"Tonight in Charming, the residents have gathered in a peaceful demonstration against a hate group. Cat Marshall, owner of the local coffeehouse 'Charming Pawse' planned the event and took some time out of her busy evening to speak with us."

Turning to Cat, the reporter continued, "Why a song fest of this kind, Ms. Marshall?"

"What better way to get out the message that fightin' hate with more hate doesn't work? We hold these music events at the coffeehouse every other week, and the time just seemed right to wake up the townspeople about what was happenin' right in their own back yard."

"You had your own run-in with the person you believe fronts the hate group, correct?"

She nodded. "I had a security tape of the conversation, and simply let the townspeople hear what he had to say. If he doesn't run the group, he certainly embraces their philosophy. As the old sayin' goes, if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, has feathers like a duck, and swims like a duck, it's definitely not a fish."

"And this has nothing to do with the fact that your boyfriend and his gang were arrested recently for going after the businessman at a similar rally? As I recall, they burst into the Morado Christain Center with loaded guns and scared a gathering of familes."

"Firstly, my boyfriend and his friends are a club, not a gang," Cat replied quietly. Her eyes behind the tinted lenses flashed fire over the reporter's line of questioning. "Secondly, this has nothing to do with their arrest. This event is about decent people comin' together to say 'No thanks' to an indecent set of ideas and uplift the true meanin' of patriotism and 'doin' unto others'. The 'League of American Nationalists' and this businessman hide behind a facade of false patriotism and religious piety when they really espouse race hate."

She glared at the reporter for a few moments. When he didn't ask another question, she announced, "That, Mr. Windover, is your sound bite. I can't prevent you from tryin' to spin this into somethin' it's not to gain viewers and ratin' points. I would hope that anyone with a brain will see past the hype. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She turned her back on the reporter, angry that she'd allowed herself to forget why she'd left the business years ago. 'It was bullshit like this that made me leave the busines. Windover's got his own pre-conceived ideas about this event. His questions about Alex and the Sons prove it!'

"Ms Marshall, wait!" Windover put out a hand to stop her, only to meet with Tig's intimidating scowl and unyielding presence.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he growled. Ever sensitive to Cat's moods, Tig knew that she was angry and disappointed by the reporter's line of questioning.

"It's all right, Tig," she consoled him, laying a hand on his arm. "What do you want now?"

"To apologize. That's not the impression I wanted you to have. Not all of us are out for ratings. I had to ask that in order to get balance for the story. It is pretty well known that this gentleman," Windover nodded at Trager, "and his friends were arrested at the Morado Christian Center. We ran the story."

"Point taken," Cat replied. "As long as you're goin' to be balanced, you can stick around. If you're goin' to make us out to be somethin' we're not, I have no qualms in lettin' Tig show y'all the door."

"I understand, Ms. Marshall. We - my cameraman and I - would like to stay."

"You want him gone, say the word, babe." Tig growled.

"He reminds me of a certain young reporter I knew once with dreams of Jessica Savitch who met with the realities of Les Nessman," she smiled wistfully. "Let him stay, love."

"Thanks, Ms. Marshall. I won't let you down."

"You better not," Trager replied. He knew Cat had been referring to her own experience as a reporter, but he still didn't trust Windover any further than he could throw him. 'I've got my eye on you, so don't fuck up.'

The karaoke night continued with groups and individuals taking the stage and singing their selections. The coffee and tea flowed and the donations for the club continued to pour into the jar. The T-shirts were warmly received, and sold out rapidly.

Miss Anna took orders for more shirts, noting the size and color desired. "'I won't take any money right now, just give me your name and telephone number, and I'll call you with the cost." By the end of the night, she had several full pages of orders.

"I told ya the merchandise would come in handy tonight, baby!" Alex crowed when the shirts had sold out.

"Yes, you did, love," she replied. 'And the profit from the shirts is goin' to the fund!'

The karaoke sessions usually lasted two hours. This one was running longer, and it was getting close to 10pm. Windover and his cameraman disappeared for awhile, only to return to advise Cat they were going to do a live feed as the top story. "I was editing for the feed," he explained.

"Don't y'all have to do that at the station?"

"Not anymore. We have editing units in the van for live feeds. Less expensive, and less wear and tear on the vehicles."

The last singer had taken the stage, so she began rounding up all the performers and asked them to meet her backstage.

"What are you up to now?" Alex inquired when she motioned Bobby, now attired in his regular jeans and cut, to come with her.

"You'll find out, love," she replied, herding Bobby towards the front of the room. When they reached the back of the stage, she explained the ending number, which was a KISS tune.

"It's called 'We Are One', and the chorus is pretty easy. Y'all will catch on if you don't know it. Y'all are definitely welcome to join in. The reason y'all are up here is just to do whatever comes natural. Dance, play ring around the rosie, whatever you wanna do during the verses."

The last performer's song, 'Sowing the Seeds of Love' came to an end, and Cat indicated the singer should stay on the stage. She joined the youngster, while the other performers gathered around them.

"Y'all might be thinkin' to yourselves 'OK, Cat, where do we go from here?' We've sent a message tonight. As far as the future, well, if you choose not to shop at Impeccable Smokes or support politicians and businesses that support him, that's your decision. I do not suggest nor will I condone all y'all committin' vandalism or any other non-peaceable act against Zobelle and LOAN. Whatever you do, the most important thing to remember is that not just tonight, but every night, every day, we are united. You might say 'We Are One'.

That was the cue for Pete to start the last song. Bobby surprised her by helping with the verses while the rest of the performers helped out with the chorus.

As they began the final number, she saw the TV camera's light go on. In the back row under the watchful eye of the Sons, Windover made his presentation to the viewers. There was a monitor set up where he and the Sons could see the story. 'Alex doesn't look upset, so the story must be ok with him.'

The camera light went out as she and Bobby Elvis were singing the last verse. She saw Alex walking up the side aisle towards the stage. As the chorus in the round began, Bobby swung Cat into his arms and twirled her in a dance:

We are one
Everywhere I go, everyone I see
And I see my face looking back at me
We are one
Everything I know, what I know is true
Everyone of us is inside of you
We are one
We are one
You are me, I am you
What you see, is all true
(It's all true)
You are me, I am you
What you see, is all true
(It's all true)
You are me, I am you
(We are one)
What you see, is all true
(I am you) (we are one) (it's all true)
You are me, I am you
(We are one)
What you see, is all true
(We are one)
We are one
Everywhere I go, everyone I see
And I see my face looking back at me
We are one
Everything I know, what I know is true
Everyone of us is inside of you
We are one
We are one

Unable to tolerate seeing another man dance with her, Alex leapt onto the stage and cut in on Bobby, so that it was he who was dancing with her to the end of the number. As he held her in a dip similar to one he'd used on her before the ill fated charity run, the audience broke out in laughter and applause. "Show off!" she muttered. 'There ya go, June!

"Don't want anyone questionin' who you belong to!" He let her up from the dip and she walked to the end of the stage. "Thank y'all for comin' and for your support. Be careful goin' home, and good night!"

Weston's two accomplices arrived at the storage lot at the appointed time, pulling the weather-beaten Ford pickup to a stop in front of the facility and walking to the unit from the street.

"So what's the job, AJ?" The larger of the two asked, taking in the repainted truck.

"We're going to take care of that Marshall bitch," Weston replied. "She'll be leaving that church on her own after her rally is over, we're going to use this truck to teach her a lesson. A permanent lesson."

He quickly outlined his idea, and the Aryans' part in it. "This will break down the Sons for certain, not like the attack on Gemma Morrow. There'll be no hiding what happens to her!"

The two Aryans climbed in the large truck while Weston settled in his Bronco. As Weston pulled into the church parking lot, he spied the woman's PT parked near the entrance to the fellowship hall, a Harley motorcycle parked in front of it. 'It's just a matter of time before I win!' He pulled into the cemetary next to the parking lot, turned off his engine and lights, and settled down to wait.

There was the usual confusion of people milling about; talking, gathering jackets, purses, children

and the like. Cat, her employees, and the Sons started to knock down the chairs and clean up the fellowship hall. Rev. Bush walked up to Cat, being careful not to surprise her like last time.

"You were right about the Sons, Cat. I'm sorry," he said. "I was mainly thinking about your well being. But that black-haired biker certainly does a good job of watching over you; he definitely cares about you."

"We all make mistakes, Chris. Don't worry about it," Cat replied as she carried a double handful of chairs to the side of the room.

The children had retrieved their posters with the intention of putting them up in their classrooms. Her employees were emptying trash cans, and picking up discarded cups.

She moved to the table where Pete had worked, intending to take down the karaoke machine, her notebook computer and CD player. Pete had already disconnected all the wires and boxed everything up to take to the PT, including the rented camera for the podcast.

"Pete, you're a gift!" She exclaimed.

"All part of the job, Miss Cat. Is it OK with you if I leave? I'm opening tomorrow."

"You should've left this to me! Go on, I'll take care of this stuff! See you tomorrow." She picked up the box of equipment and headed for the door. Chris followed her, trying to get her to let him carry the box. "Just open the door for me, Chris. That'll be the biggest help."

She stowed the box in the back of the PT and returned to the fellowship hall. She glanced around to make sure things had been cleaned up and put away. There were a few odds and ends left for her to do, so she sent the remainder of her employees home for the night.

With the addition of the shirt sales, the donations for the club defense totaled a little over two grand. She presented the plastic bag of cash to Bobby. "I know it's not a lot," she added apologetically.

"Are you kiddin'?" he replied. "That's two grand more than we had before tonight. Don't apologize, Cat! Thanks!"

"Hey, Cat!" Juice called across the room, where he'd been talking with Windover, who was getting notes and interviews for a follow up story. "The podcast had over 25 thousand hits! There's a hit from LA, another six in Florida, several from Indiana, Texas and Mississippi and another from Stockton! I'll bet that was Otto!"

She rolled her eyes. 'Dammit! When will I ever learn?"

"What podcast?" Tig asked sharply. 'Dammit!"

"The rally went out live on the internet," she replied resignedly. "I wanted to reach as many people as possible, and the podcast was the best way to do it. I figured that Charming isn't the only town with a white hate problem. Plus, as you heard, the family wanted to see what was goin' on."

Rev. Bush nodded in agreement. "By sharing the event on a podcast, decent people can see for themselves what is or might be happening in their own backyards. We've put a link on our church website."

Windover joined the conversation. "Since you know about the podcast, you might as well know that the station has already put a link on our homepage to the church's and the Charming Pawse websites, where the podcasts can be rerun on demand."

The exposure worried Tig and his habitual stress gesture showed it. "If this group wasn't so well funded and organized, the web exposure wouldn't be so bad. Zobelle has funding. He doesn't like being crossed. You've put yourself right in the middle of his cross hairs, baby."

"How can you be sure?" The minister asked.

"They weren't here, and the chances of them seeing the podcast or the news story are slim. Besides, it was his own words that we heard, so what's he got to be mad about?"

"It's a power play for men like Zobelle," Cat replied. "He likes to appear as a decent, law abidin', and prosperous businessman. Inside, he's rotten to the core. I don't know for sure, but I believe he uses the League as a front for something more sinister. Tig's right in one respect; I made Zobelle look bad and he's goin' to want revenge. Little men like that always do."

Bush carefully thought over what she said. "You went through with this knowing that you were putting yourself at risk? Are you nuts?"

"Normally, I'd take offense at anyone daring to question my old lady's sanity," Tig growled. "But we're both in agreement on this one, Rev."

Bush extended his hand to the rider. "Chris Bush. I knew Cat when we were teens. She's not changed much: still contrary, stubborn, and headstrong."

"Tig Trager," he replied, shaking hands with the minister. Cat was pleased that he didn't 'go territorial' like he had with Frosty. "So you knew my old lady when she was a kid," Trager added. "Did she jump into things with both eyes wide open back then?"

"Sure did. I definitely don't envy you, Tig. She's never been one to go with the herd. More like the black sheep who keeps going astray. You wind up having to leave the rest of the flock to find her."

"Yeah, that's my girl all right," Tig replied with a wry smile.

"Baaaaahhh!" Cat bleated sacrastically, glaring daggers at both men.

"Suppose we 'shepherd' you out the door, Cat? The hall looks great, and we're the last ones here," Chris replied with a laugh. He turned out the lights and locked the door.

"Despite your terrible pun, Chris, thanks for letting us use the facilities. Hope it doesn't cause you any trouble with the Pastor-Parish Committee."

"It already did. Zobelle's been hangin' around our more affluent members. The committee didn't want to be involved tonight, but I insisted on helpin' out. A number of them were here tonight. I suspect they've had a change of heart about him."

"Good. Couldn't happen to a more deservin' person," she replied, sliding her arms into the sleeves of her duster that Alex held for her.

The pair embraced briefly before Bush walked to his car, a mid-sized Ford. She smiled at his allegiance to that brand. He was as devout in his love of Ford as she was to Mopar. He waved at them and she waved back with a flourish of her fedora.

Alex slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. It was hard for him to believe only a day and a half had passed since she'd rescued him from the reservation. "You look exhausted, babe. Wanna ride home behind me? We can get the car tomorrow morning."

She sighed, relaxing against him for a moment. "I'd like to, Alex love, but I'd better get the car home. There's all that equipment in the hatch that needs to be secured."

"A'right, then. Let's go home. I'm followin', and no argument!" His Harley was sitting in front of the Cruiser. He'd deliberately parked that way to insure he could keep an eye on her until they were both safely home.

He stood by the driver's door, glaring at the seat belt that was hooked into the latch and pushed behind the headrest. "You know I'd prefer you wear that, instead of fooling the sensor," he growled.

"I know. And you know why I don't like to wear it."

"Well, tonight you have two choices. Either you wear the belt willingly, or I'll put it around you."

"You wouldn't dare!" she laughed, settling herself in the driver's seat. She reached out to close the door only to grab a piece of his pant leg. He was half in – half out of the driver's compartment before she completed the sentence.

He released the belt from the latch with one hand while nudging her forward with the other. The seat belt returned to its' resting place and he nudged her back against the seat, drawing the belt over her chest and shoulder and latching it into place.

"Do not remove that belt until we get home. No sliding the shoulder part behind your back while in transit, either!" He spoke warningly, his voice that low growl he'd used the first time she'd defied him on the roadside. "I'll be right behind you, keeping watch."

"Alex, for cryin' out loud! It's only a short –"

He gently covered her mouth with his hand, effectively cutting off her protest. "Humor me this one time, baby. Don't make me play the cave man card on you." His voice softened as his thumb caressed her lips. "Please."

"When you ask like that, how can I refuse? I'll wear the damn blasted thing, for your sake. But you'll owe me!"

He kissed her, hard and long. "Consider that your down payment," he whispered. He shut the door and sauntered the few steps to his bike. He was actually enjoying the glow of one win in the never ending safety gear battle.

The PT's engine started, and he heard the stereo playing 'Twilight Zone' from Golden Earring. The car's stereo had a volume level of 40, and she regularly cranked it to 20; 25 when she could get away with it. 'At least she listens to music I can tolerate and relate to, even if she loves it loud.'

She waved at him as she pulled the car around his bike towards the parking lot exit. The church was located on the opposite side of town from their home, just a short 15 minute journey. He put his bike in gear and followed the PT onto the roadway. They'd be home within minutes and he'd pay the balance due.

Neither the minister nor the rider noticed the presence of a fourth vehicle. It was parked in the cemetary next to the church. It's dark green color blended with the darkness. AJ Weston sat inside the vehicle, watching the parking lot and the last three vehicles in it.

As he waited, Weston thought over the last few days, and how his relationship with Zobelle had been changing.

When the Sons had been jailed, Zobelle had prohibited Weston from going after the Marhsall bitch. It would've been the perfect time to use her as a pawn against the Sons, but Zobelle had sent him on an errand. By the he'd returned, someone had posted the seven figure bail for the club.

Instead of showing appreciation for his initative the day before, Zobelle had chewed him out for trying to scare the coffeehouse owner into cancelling the rally. 'I'm beginning to wonder just how dedicated Zobelle is to The Cause. He keeps letting opportunities slide away from us!'

Unlike the gang rape of Gemma Morrow, what he had in mind would leave a permanent mark on the Sons of Anarchy and also remind Zobelle that he should never underestimate AJ Weston.

He had two faithful followers of the Cause sitting in a large rented truck just inside the city limits, waiting for him to give the signal. The truck had been paid for in cash, and repainted so it couldn't be easily identified when the deed was done.

Weston smiled in grim anticipation. The plan was for the truck to deliberately run the red light and plow into the woman's PT Cruiser at a high rate of speed. The car would be no match for the large, high powered truck, and the driver was instructed to make sure the woman didn't survive the crash.

Weston watched the minister and the bitch embrace, and the minister leave the parking lot. That left Trager and his whore alone. He watched as the rider stuck his upper body into the driver's door for a few moments, then withdraw and straddle his bike.

Weston dialed a number on his cellphone.

"Yeah?"

"They're leaving. Get ready and keep the line open."

"Acknowledged."

Weston watched the Chrysler and the Harley roll to the exit and onto the road. 'Shit! I didn't expect the biker to follow her. I figured he'd go to the clubhouse!' He fumed silently for a moment, then smiled evilly. 'That will just make my plan work out better. Instead of coming to the scene after the fact, Trager will witness the bitch's demise first hand! The Sons all care for the businesswoman, and her death will unravel them because there will be no doubt. Gemma Morrow kept quiet about what happened to her. There'll be no keeping this a secret!'

Weston started his Bronco and rolled slowly to the cemetary exit. He watched the two vehicles ahead of him, counted to 10, and then pulled onto the roadway, keeping the headlights off.

"They're on the road," he reported over the open phone line. "I'm following them now."

"We're ready."

"You know the plan?" Weston continued.

"I know what to do, AJ. Relax."

The intersection was just ahead. The light changed to red, both the PT and the Dyna rolled to a stop. Weston stopped a few yards behind the Harley, the SUV's headlights still out. The shadows hid him from Trager's watchful gaze.

"We see 'em," came the driver's voice. Weston heard the truck's engine roar to life over the open phone line. The driver left the headlights off, Weston could hear the sound of the engine gaining power and the tires squealing on the pavement.

Fortunately, the noise of the car stereo and the Harley's engine prevented the pair from hearing the truck prepare for the light to change.

'Twilight Zone' had ended and was replaced with a selection of Mellencamp's called 'Rural Route'. The music was on a tape she titled 'Dark Music' because the music was darkly themed and set in a minor key.

Trager's Harley idled directly behind her, almost on her bumper. Between the bike engine and her

tape player, she couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary. The streets appeared quiet and theirs were the only vehicles on the road.

She rubbed at the seatbelt that chafed against her neck and was rewarded by a flash of the Harley's headlights. She glared back into the rear view mirror to see him shaking a finger at her in warning.

"Ok, fine!" she grumbled, using the middle finger of her right hand to shove her glasses back up her nose. It was a childish indulgence in 'digital communications'. She draped her right hand over the steering wheel and moved her left arm to the door's armrest, her fingers moving in time with the music.

The light changed and she let her foot off the brake, rolling into the intersection after giving her normal two count, in case anyone ran the red. Everything seemed ok until her car reached the middle of the intersection. Bright lights bathed her from the side and there was a loud roaring sound in her ears. She could smell burned rubber. There was the sound of crashing metal and then she was plunged into darkness.