"Why don't you have a cellphone? Getting a hold of you is a freaking pain," complained Kip.

"I'm not very good with technology," replied Maxine. Kip could detect the embarrassment in her face. He didn't know much about what she did or where she was from – boxing wasn't generally conducive to deep talks – but he could read her body like a book after training together almost every morning.

"Everyone has a phone. I'll ask Juice to give you one."

"It's okay, really. I'm fine. I don't need one," she insisted. If he wasn't mistaken, Maxine looked almost... panicked. Weird, wondered Kip. What'd I say?

"Sorry." He shrugged. "Didn't mean to offend you. I just think you're kind of behind on the times." Even though it was the first time he'd said something to her, it wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Sometimes it seemed like Maxine had dropped out of nowhere. She didn't know anything about music, or television, or movies. Chicks always seemed to be so into that celebrity shit, but she'd looked at him blankly when he said he thought a certain actress was hot.

"Fine, you're right. I should get a cellphone, and if Juice could help, I'd appreciate it." She dragged her fingers through her hair, stopping to pick at the ends before looking back up at him. "Let's just... practice. I'll figure out the phone thing later."

"Okay," was all Kip could manage to say. He was surprised she'd agreed.

She was so strange sometimes. Kip could probably count on one hand the things he knew about Maxine, favourite colour being teal aside. There were days when she'd chatter as they took a water break and tell him something completely unprovoked, but then she'd spend the next 4 practice sessions barely saying more than ten words. Last week, she'd mentioned her shoulder tattoo. It was beautiful ink – even Happy had commented on the artistry to Kip – but Maxine had always kept her mouth shut about her tattoos. Their conversation had inadvertently solved part of Kip's silent questions about her heritage.

"It's traditional Haida artwork; the bear catching a salmon. They're both inside of a circle, unified and connected. See?" Kip had watched, fascinated, as her finger traced along her skin. She pointed out the paw of the bear, reaching for the salmon's tail.

"So you're an Indian then?" Kip asked her. Maxine grimaced slightly at the term, but nodded her head. "I was seventeen and wanted a big piece to show off. A guy on rez did it for me. Good thing I still like it, at least." Kip wondered what rez was, but Maxine had disappeared inside her head again and gestured at him to pick up a skipping rope.

Juice smirked when Kip asked him to help Maxine with her cellphone issue. The prospect warned him that she wasn't too great with technology, but Juice hadn't imagined her to be this bad. However, he stayed patient. She was funny. Her face scrunched up when she got frustrated, and she was so obvious about trying to keep her aggravation hidden.

"Okay, you hold and press the red End Call button to turn on the phone." He held out the burner to her and led her finger to press the button with his hand. It was like training a child. Texting seemed too confusing, so he spent half-an-hour explaining how to charge the phone, make and receive a call, and check voicemail.

"So this is mine?" Maxine looked almost reverent.

"Uh, yeah. It's nothing fancy; all the burners are shit phones."

"This is amazing. Thank you, Juice." She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and hugged him tightly. He liked it when she said his name – Maxine had a slight accent that he couldn't quite place. Being an outsider himself had made him acutely aware of anyone else who didn't possess the confident California lilt.

"Are you staying for Bobby's party tonight?" Juice asked.

"Oh... it's his birthday, right? Kip mentioned something earlier, but I already made plans."

Juice was surprised at the twinge of disappointment he felt. Maxine left soon after, and he tinkered with his bike for a while until the usual crowd started piling in and the drinks began flowing. It didn't take long for Happy and Tig to hop in the ring, and for a drunken Chibs to yell at Kip for serving his customary Jameson in the wrong glass. ("Et's the one with the pair o' dice on 'et, ya dumb shet!")

"Fifty-six is a beautiful thing, brother," slurred Bobby. Juice grinned at him. "I think it's gonna be my best birthday yet." Bobby had both arms slung around two croweaters and nuzzled his face into the chest of a third. Seeing the girls stirred Juice to head off and find his own.

Soon, a brunette named Layla giggled as he led her to his room.

"Wow, it's so... clean," she commented. Juice didn't reply since everyone said that about his room. Instead, he reached around and slid his hands under her short black skirt. She moaned as he touched her and sucked at her neck. Most Sons didn't bother with pleasing croweaters. But fake moaning really turned him off, so he took the time to learn their names and warm them up – it kept them feeling special and him feeling less like he used them. Plus, he was good at it.

Want me, he asked silently.

He shuffled in his nightstand table, shoving aside a glass weed pipe, and pulled out an accordion of condoms. Groaning, he watched Layla pull down his pants and roll the condom onto him with her mouth. He grew impatient with the speed of things and pushed her to the bed, settling between her legs. Being inside someone felt like home.

"Oh, baby, you're so fucking big, I'm gonna come, oh," said Layla in a breathy, false voice. It was moments like these that ruined the illusion and made Juice remember he was just screwing somebody that the whole club had been with. The thought was irritating. He wasn't interested in her pleasure anymore. His thrusting grew rough and Layla's moans stopped. Juice finished; pulled out of her without a word. As he rolled onto his side, he could hear her getting dressed, and he tried to make sense of the thoughts that spun around his head.

Things have been tense lately – it feels like shit's about to go down. He chalked his treatment of the croweater up to stress, but knew that in truth, he took it out on her for not giving him what he wanted. It wasn't fair to expect a quick fuck to give him something real – croweaters were a convenience, nothing more. Until Jax had offered him shelter with the Sons, Juice had never known what it felt like to be truly loved by other people. He wouldn't trade Christmas dinners at Gem and Clay's for the world, though he wished that he could find the sense of completeness he felt with his adopted family in other aspects of life. Get it together, Ortiz. Just get your dick wet and stop thinking so much, he chided himself. It was hard to stop his brain though, it was always working overtime. His mind drifted to Maxine. He unconsciously smiled at the memory of her technological ineptitude. They couldn't be more opposite in that aspect, but it didn't bother him. There was a calm intensity and seriousness in everything she did, and watching her train with Kip was always fun. She was interesting, and not bad to look at either. As he buckled his pants and headed for the door, he decided he'd invite her to have lunch with him tomorrow.

Maybe he'd even teach her how to send a text.

Kip and Maxine had cemented a consistent routine. She showed up four mornings a week and they practiced from five 'til seven am. They still never talked much, but after three weeks in Charming, she seemed to be staying. Maxine mentioned she'd been looking at apartments, and was planning on signing a lease soon. However, it wasn't really apparent how she was paying for anything. Any mention of work was brushed off with "odd jobs" as an answer. Maybe she comes from big oil money and she's run away from home. The thought was ridiculous, but given the info he had, it was as good as any other guess. After knowing her this long, Kip realized that Maxine wouldn't tell you anything until she wanted to and was damn well ready.

Kip had never been friends with a girl, but it was nice. She didn't act like most girls he knew, and didn't seem to have much for other friends, anyway. But he took it as a sign of their growing comfort around each other when she told him he could call her "Max" or "Maxie," for short. Nicknames were inevitability around TM, though Kip was still waiting on his.

He wouldn't have to wait much longer.

The night began as usual: Kip serving out drinks from behind the bar, before eventually being replaced by another prospect. Just as he settled into the couch, beer in hand and croweater at his side, Tig's bellowing could be heard from the door.

"Half-Sack! Your little girlfriend's here!"

Kip groaned, hoping the nickname wouldn't stick. Again. Kip, or Half-Sack as he was formerly known, had told Tig and a few of the other guys earlier that day about his tour of duty in Iraq, and its abrupt, rather comedic ending that inspired a nickname for him among his troop.

"Half-Sack?" Maxine had suddenly materialized in front of him. She was laughing. Kip liked her best when she laughed - her face softened and lost the sombre quality it so often had. He let out a chuckle. He was glad she'd shown up to a SAMCRO party, finally taking him up on one of many invitations.

"It's a bit of a story... Hey, you look hot," he noted. She did, honestly. Makeup made her eyes greener, if possible, and her lips were a pleasing rosy colour. A grey top hugged her chest, and tight black jeans cinched with leather and silver buckled belt showed off that body he trained so hard with. She looked downright feminine.

"Thanks," she replied, sheepishly. As she spoke, a pair of hands snaked around her waist from behind, and a husky male voice spoke beside her ear.

"What's your name darlin'?"

Maxine rolled her eyes. "Hi Jax."

"Aw fuck, hey Maxie. Didn't recognize you without the sweaty gym gear." Juice appeared at Jax's side, laughing at his mistake.

"So, darlin', want something to drink?" Juice asked, his tone mocking the Vice President's slick moves.

Kip watched Maxine disappear towards the bar with Juice, feeling perhaps a little jealous. Next to him, Juice was the one Maxine got along best with. While she was quiet and private, he was chatty and goofy, quick to smile and laugh. Maxine seemed content to sit and listen to Juice talk about everything and nothing, seldom adding to the conversation and occasionally letting one of her rare smiles show. Kip had noticed they'd began to spend almost as many lunches together as he did mornings with Maxine - Juice was more than happy to show her how to fix things on cars and bikes, gesturing wildly with sandwich in hand.
Under Juice's supervision, she'd been tinkering with her dad's old Indian, which still, after three weeks, sat in the TM lot with the same "FOR SALE" sign. It seemed no offer nor potential buyer was acceptable. Kip was just waiting for her to realize she couldn't sell the bike, despite her insistence.

"Two beers, Prospect." Juice commanded the bespectacled guy behind the bar.

"Wanna smoke?" he asked Maxine, beers in hand.

"I told you I'm trying to quit."

"Not what I asked," he replied. Maxine sighed dramatically. She grabbed a water bottle from behind the bar and followed him outside.

Juice handed her a cigarette from his pack, and smirked as Maxine begrudgingly accepted it with a thanks. He liked smoking. For more than the calm of the nicotine rush too. Juice liked smoking because it was immediate intimacy - there was an unspoken thoughtfulness behind lighting someone's cigarette, your hands curling together to shield the flame, or bumming a smoke off somebody, quietly understanding your shared dependency. He simply liked people. And smoking was just another way to be around them.

In specific though, he liked Maxine. When she told him a few days ago she wanted to quit, he worried that she'd suddenly find him gross, that maybe she wouldn't want to come around and spend lunch breaks with him anymore. But she didn't, and she still did. He considered her as fast becoming a very good friend. Maybe even his best friend. She was more accepting than Chibs, less distracted than Jax, and certainly nicer than Tig. He just wished she'd talk more, tell him stories, things about herself.

Maybe tonight she would, with a little liquor in her system. But as Juice held the beer out to her, she waved it off.

"What? Are you sober or something?"

"Uh, just not in the mood to drink." Her fingers combed through her hair, and it suddenly clicked that this was her nervous tic. Juice filed the information away for later and watched her hands.

"So what's the deal with the numbers?" he asked, gesturing towards the tattoo imprinted on her wrist. Since it was dark out, Juice didn't notice that Maxine's face had slightly blanched.

"What?" She took a long drag from her cigarette.

"The tattoo? I told you the stories behind all of mine, figured I should at least ask about one of yours."

"It's, ah, my number."

"What, like how many people you've slept with? Because you're really putting Jax to shame," he joked.

She didn't match his light mood. "My... inmate number."

Juice didn't even try to stop his mouth from dropping open.

"Holy fuck. You went to prison? For how long?"

Maxine evidently hadn't been expecting to answer all these questions, at least not tonight. She stared down at her boots, grinding her cigarette butt into the dirt, unable to look Juice in the eye. She answered quietly.

"Five years."

"You're only twenty-three though... You've been in prison since you were eighteen? How long ago did you get out?"

"I was seventeen when I got caught, spent five months in juvenile detention until my eighteenth birthday, then I was transferred to an adult facility. I was released just over five weeks ago."

"Wow." Juice ran a hand over the short hair of his mohawk, suddenly feeling like he knew nothing about Maxine.

"I got the tattoo two years into my sentence. I wanted to make sure I'd never forget how badly I fucked up."

"Can I ask what you did?"

"You can ask, but... I really think that's a story best left for another time." Her voice drifted off, and she looked at her feet again, obviously embarassed at her admission.

Maxine was suddenly swept up in a hug. Juice's arms wrapped around her, holding her close. It was closer than they'd ever been. In the three weeks he'd known her, Juice had never hugged Maxine, nor had she him. He rested on top of her head, taking in her scent: clean. It was strange since he was so used to associating women with heavy perfumes. Maxine didn't really smell like anything, except for the faint linger of soap and a cigarette.

"I'm proud of you for telling me that. I won't tell anyone. You can trust me." he murmured softly into her hair, letting the weight of his words tumble down. And at the word trust, he felt Maxine hug him back. Her arms circled his waist, and her head nestled against his chest.

They stood there. Silently holding each other. And Juice realized that in the past ten minutes, he'd met his best friend.

Writer's Note: I really hope that Maxine's revelation managed to be somewhat surprising. It was time to explain why she was so out of the loop, culturally and technologically. Since this story so far is following from season 1, it's currently 2008. I certainly didn't have a cellphone circa 2003, and I don't know that many seventeen year olds would have either. The fallout from losing formative years of her life will be explored starting in chapter 5.

I don't picture Maxine's guardedness as an innate quality, but rather a product of her experiences. Opening up to Juice is setting her up for her first friendship in a long time, and I see her as foreshadowing of the change Juice goes through post-season three.

As always, I'd love your feedback. I've so far been posting a chapter or two nightly, and any constructive words help in encouraging me to continue doing so.