A/N: Hey everybody. I'm still kinda new to the fanfic community so communicating with my readers via author's notes is new to me. Thanks so much for all of the great reviews thus far. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I knew going into it that I wanted to spend a little time in both of their pasts to see how their personalities fit together in the present, so expect more little tidbits about their backgrounds. Also, I'm completely in love with the Kyra character myself, so the fact that you all love her is just awesome. Keep up the great feedback! - SBG

Juice

"Jesus Christ, kid, you are whipped," Chibs quipped as Juice pulled up to the liquor store. They were already running a few minutes late for Gemma's dinner, but he'd insisted on stopping around the corner from the house to pick up a bottle of Merlot for Kyra. He had no idea what Gemma had subjected her to for the hour prior to dinner, but he figured she'd be in dire need of wine by the time he showed up.

"Dude. Wine makes her happy. Happy women feed and fuck you. I like food and fucking. Therefore, I buy wine."

Chibs chuckled and revved up his bike. "Aye. Guess you're not as dumb as ya look."

Juice settled into the seat of his Dyna. "Blow me."

To his surprise, Kyra answered the door when he and Chibs arrived at Gemma's. He could tell she'd had her on game face by the way her eyes sparkled to life when she saw him. She had an unusual amount of control over her emotions, especially for a woman, but Juice had learned that her eyes always gave away her initial reactions. Even if they only lasted for a split second.

Chibs walked in first. "Hey darlin. You ladies musta been workin' hard. Smells like heaven in here."

Kyra offered a polite smile, making room for the older man to walk by. "Hi Chibs." When Juice tried to follow suit, she stopped him in his tracks, placing a hand on her hip and turning her smile into a playful grin. Juice's eyes moved down to the black leggings that hugged her curves and remembered Koz's earlier teasing. She is kinda shaped like Beyonce. Her frame brought back memories of watching girls with Baby Phat cats stitched on their asses strut down Queens Boulevard when he was a teenager.

"You owe me," she whispered. "Big time."

I can think of more than a few ways to pay you back, he thought as he bit back a devilish smirk. He couldn't be within one hundred feet of her without wanting to take her clothes off. Had they been anywhere other than Gemma and Clay's house, he would have considered sneaking her away for a quickie. He held up the bottle of Merlot. "This a good start?"

Kyra stepped in and planted a feather light kiss on his lips. "Ah babe. Ya know me so well," she said, pulling the bottle from his hands. "Now go sit down for dinner so I can fix your plate like a good little ol' lady."

He didn't miss the sarcasm that dripped from her last statement as she shooed him toward the table where the rest of the club had already started eating. Chibs was right. The entire house smelled delicious. Juice caught whiffs of buttered bread and Gemma's infamous fried pork chops. His nose picked up on another familiar scent and figured it was whatever casserole concoction Kyra cooked at the apartment the previous evening. Shortly after he sat down, she brought him his plate; pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn on a cob and her broccoli casserole, accompanied by a frosty bottle of Budweiser.

As conversations buzzed around the table, Juice thought back to his first SAMCRO dinner five years ago. The Prospect cut that he proudly sported into the house that night had been three years in the making, and though he was at the bottom of the totem pole, he was just happy to have a foot in the door.

Gemma made baked chicken that night and he recalled wiping his hands on his jeans every five minutes to keep his silverware from sliding through his clammy fingers and landing in Bobby's plate across from him. Though he expressed his interest in prospecting to Jax, they assigned Tig to be his sponsor and he knew it was because they doubted his toughness. Based on his work around the garage with the cars and their computer system, they knew he was more machine savvy than anyone in SAMCRO. They just needed to know that he wasn't a pussy. And what better way to find out than to place him under the watchful eye of their psychopathic enforcer. Tig rarely said anything to him that wasn't a command followed by an insult, so the dinner, where there would be actual conversation, was a welcome relief for Juice.

He observed more than he spoke. He'd worked alongside the guys in the garage for three years, and had a feel for their personalities, but seeing the bikers in a domestic, homey setting was new for him. They laughed a lot, mostly at him, which didn't bother him because it came with the territory of prospecting. Gemma buzzed around the house in Queen Bee fashion, making it obvious that she pretended to let Clay run things at TM, but in their house there was no pretense. She was in charge. Jax's wife Wendy lacked that queenly air, despite being married to the club's VP. The Crow tattoo on the inside of her forearm was the only thing that distinguished her from the small handful of Crow Eaters who were helping in the kitchen. Then again, Jax probably couldn't tell the difference either with the way he ran through sweetbutts whenever Wendy turned her back.

What resonated with Juice that first night was how normal SAMCRO was behind closed doors. He'd never had a big family; growing up as an only child in Queens and then moving to Pasadena with his aunt and uncle who didn't have any children of their own. The warmth that radiated through the Morrow house gave credence to Jax's response upon hearing that Juice wanted to prospect: "Once you're patched, the members are your family. This charter's your home." As he sipped his beer and took it all in, he knew he'd survive prospecting under Tig. The power, respect, and women had led him to SAMCRO, but the promise of loyalty and family was what kept him sane during his year as a prospect.

As he snapped back into the present, the scene was a bit surreal to him. He'd been to a million club dinners since that evening five years ago, but this was the first time he didn't feel like everyone's goofy kid brother. Part of it was from his time in Stockton. Spending fourteen months watching not only your back, but the backs of five other people, twenty four hours a day had a way of hardening a man. But he knew that Kyra played a role as well. She wasn't some patch-chasing, eager-to-please Crow Eater fetching his beers with hopes of getting status in SAMCRO, but a woman who had plenty going on in her own life, preparing his food because she deemed him worthy of the privilege. He gave her thigh an appreciative squeeze under the table and she tossed him a wink over the rim of her wine glass. He'd screwed up a lot of shit in his lifetime, but it looked like he'd picked himself a winner.

"So let me get this straight: Opie's wife died and two months later, he meets Lyla on set at a porn studio and moves her and Piper into his house with his kids? And this is the wedding I've been asked to help plan?"

Juice followed Kyra into the apartment and set his keys down on the counter. They'd just left Gemma's and she was getting caught up on the who's and what's of SAMCRO. "Well it sounds kinda shitty when you put it that way, but yeah."

She shook her head as she plopped down on the couch. "Jesus Christ," she whispered. "You mind if I ask how Opie's wife died?"

Dammit. Dinner had gone well, with the club showing Kyra the respect and courtesy granted to all old ladies. He could tell she was forming a fast friendship with Tara and even Gemma's tone was less harsh by the end of the night. Now after a smooth, drama-free evening, she had to ask a difficult question. Part of their deal at the beginning of the relationship was that she wouldn't ask a whole lot of questions about SAMCRO, but when she did ask, she expected the absolute truth, minus any sugar-coating. He sighed. "Mistaken identity," he finally answered, avoiding her eyes. "She was driving Opie's truck and caught some bullets that were meant for him."

Her eyebrows shot up. "God. No wonder those poor kids look so out of it. That's some traumatizing shit."

Doesn't help that Ope had just come home from a five year bid when Donna died, Juice thought.

"Remind me to never, under any circumstances, drive your car."

He thought about the vintage 1975 Monte Carlo he kept parked on the Teller-Morrow lot. He'd been working on restoring it before getting locked up and hadn't picked up on the project since coming home. It was a piece of shit he used to run low profile club errands. "Hell, I barely drive that thing." Still, he made a mental note to never park the car at the apartment. Better safe than sorry. "So how'd it go with Gemma?" They needed a change of subject.

Kyra rolled her eyes. "That bitch..." she started. "She hazed me, which was nothing I couldn't handle. I'm basically on 'probation.' I stay out of club business, she'll stay out of our business. At least that's what she said. She got in my face for like five seconds though and I promise under different circumstances, I woulda slapped the shit out of her. But dinner was served and nobody was slapped or cussed out, so I guess it went well."

Juice sat next to her on the couch, placing her feet in his lap. "That's my girl," he said, kneading the arch on her right foot with his thumbs.

"Wait, I forgot. Opie told me to ask you something..."

"What's that?"

"Who's Deon?"

The name sent an immediate chill through his body. Deon would forever be a reminder of the most humiliating moment of his life: being used as bait for a gay snitch when he was locked up in county. How the hell did he explain that shit? Well babe, see the club needed protection in jail so I had to pretend I was gonna take one up the ass from a huge black guy but I promise I'm not gay and would have kicked his ass before I let that shit happen. He was going to fucking kill Ope. "Remember what you said about me not having to tell you everything?"

Her dark brown eyes narrowed as she replied. "Yeeeeah..."

"Look, I promise that Deon isn't an ex-girlfriend, or somebody I fucked, or somebody I killed, or someone you'll ever have to worry about. Just do me a favor and never ever bring that up again."


It was his first time back on the road for an out of state run since the shooting and this particular run was a big deal. With all the heat coming down from the new city government and county sheriffs, the club had to be extra careful with their gun runs. Blood drives, alternative routes, and a reduced number of bikes on the roads, paying attention to go through counties with SOA friendly law-enforcement. Clay had tasked Juice with researching routes and setting up relationships through other charters to get it done and it was his first big responsibility since telling Clay that he was ready to step up in the club. Miles and Phil were patched, so he was no longer the club's junior member. He was ready to prove himself.

Jax, Tig, Opie, Hap and Juice would make the trip. Clay reasoned that Charming sheriffs wouldn't expect the club to make any major moves without the president, but Juice knew that Clay was also saving himself from taking the long ride to Tacoma. Fourteen months in Stockton without access to cortisone shots had done a number on his arthritic hands and while physically, he was still able to ride, lately he delegated more tasks to Jax, especially when they required out of state runs.

Teller-Morrow was busy with usual pre-run activity. Club members, Crow Eaters, sweetbutts, and male hangarounds all littered the parking lot, ready to give the guys a proper send off. Gemma and Lyla were perched on a picnic bench near the clubhouse entrance. He figured that like Kyra, Tara was at work. Kyra had been strange in the days leading up to the run. Fidgety and super nice. Syrupy sweet, even. She was always kind in gesture and action, but quick-witted with her words. It felt odd not hearing her clever comebacks for a few days. The previous evening, she'd cooked him a meal worthy of a king: steak and lobster tails with garlic mashed potates and steamed broccoli, right before she led him to the bedroom and tried fuck the living daylights out of him. On top of that, she woke him up that morning with a blow job that made him think she'd been watching his CaraCara DVD collection and taking notes. Not that he would ever complain about gourmet meals, enthusiastic fucking, or waking up to great head, but something about all of it felt forced.

He was shocked when she whipped her Mustang into the lot at 12:15. She made no mention of stopping by the garage before she left for work. She got out of the car and strutted across the concrete with her usual confident swagger, looking like she meant business in her navy blue pinstriped pantsuit and signature black pumps. There were no lines or obvious signs of worry on her face as she approached him on his Dyna, but her eyes gave it away. Something was wrong. "Hey," Juice said, planting his usual peck on her cheek. "Everything okay? I thought you didn't take lunch until one."

"I know," she said, her eyes dancing between his and the ground in front of her. "I decided to take an early lunch so I could officially see you off."

He knew that eye shift. It meant that there was something she was trying not to say. "Look at me." He grabbed her hands and held them at his sides. "What's wrong?"

"It's just..." She rolled her eyes as if she was irritated at the words coming out of her mouth. "Last time you went on a run..."

Last time I went on a run, I got shot. So that's what it is. The Stepford Wife/porn star routine was because she was afraid that he wouldn't make it back. He sighed. "Look, babe-"

She held up her hand. "Don't," she said. "It's my fault. I know this is part of the deal and I'm being ridiculous. I'm sorry."

His perfect old lady had revealed a flaw. So she does get nervous. Juice didn't know what to say. She hated false promises so he couldn't give her the corny "I promise I'll be back" routine. He took that risk every time he went out on the road.

Kyra exhaled. "Just do your best to get back to me in one piece, okay?" She paused. She was struggling with her words again. She exhaled once more, letting her shoulders rise and fall in a fashion more dramatic than he was used to seeing from her. "You know I love you, right?"

Juice didn't realize until the words came out that neither of them had ever said them before. Of course, she loved him. She didn't strike him as the kind of woman who'd go to the lengths she had: inviting him into her home, cooking his meals, and adjusting to his non-traditional lifestyle, for just anybody. And since he assumed that she loved him, he naturally assumed she knew he loved her. He'd known the morning in the clubhouse after his shooting when he asked her to be his old lady. I guess it doesn't matter how laid back and rational she is, she's still a chick. A verbal declaration of love was still a big deal to her. He smiled, pulled her closer, and rested his forehead on hers. "Well when you put it that way, I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He leaned down and pressed his lips onto hers. She tried to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away. He wouldn't let her kiss him like they'd never see each other again. "I love you, too," he whispered.

The bikes revved up around him. It was time to ride out. He kissed her again, this time slipping in a little tongue. "Two days?" she asked, holding up two fingers.

He nodded. "Yup. Two days."

She gave him a small smile. "Okay. Go do your thing." she said, stepping away from the row of Harleys.

Jax settled down on the bike next to him. "Everything aiight?" he asked.

"She'll be fine," Juice replied. "She's just gotta get used to this part."

"Yeah, so do you."

Juice frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jax fastened his helmet. "That's the thing about having an old lady. It's not just about you and the club anymore. You don't make it back, that's her burden. No matter how cool they are with the Life, they never want to get that phone call. You tell her you're comin' back, you gotta make it back, bro."

When he was a prospect, Tig always advised him against having an old lady. "Bitches throw you off your game, man. Gotta stay focused." But as Juice revved up his Dyna, he realized that for him, it would be the opposite. When it was just him, out on the road, he was only responsible to himself. Whatever happened, would happen. The club would mourn and then heal and move forward. But he wasn't that carefree boy anymore. He was a man with responsibility to both the club and the woman he'd invited into his life. That meant no goofy slip ups. She expected him back in two days. He wouldn't make her wait in vain.