You didn't really think it would be that easy for those two, did you? Of course not.

Also, I'm introducing a new female OC. Because Aisha and V can be jagged little pills, both of them, so I wanted to try throwing someone a little nicer into the mix.

-0-

There wasn't any uncertainty; they'd just fallen right into it again. Their old apartment was gone, but they rode to one of the spots outside of town where they'd sometimes end up when it seemed like he just wanted to look at her somewhere different. As soon as he pulled off the highway and onto the dirt road she could remember doing this five or six times before, years ago, and it felt like she'd never left.

He pulled the bike off to the side of the road when it started turning into more of a path and getting to difficult to navigate, and she obediently followed him as he paced a few yards away, then quickly turned and looked at her.

"You look... real good," he said.

She hadn't expected that, wasn't sure he'd ever said it in all the time she'd known him, and she couldn't keep herself from blurting out "Seriously? I didn't have anything else, but I kind of expected you to hate it."

He didn't answer, just kept looking at her, with the same calm, meditative stare. They'd wandered into a slightly more wooded area, and she backed against a cypress tree and leaned against it. Even being near him was making it hard for her to stand up. The sight of him there had hit her like a gunshot, and had the same certainty and finality.

When she was younger, he'd been the entire world. There hadn't been any other man in existence but him, and his eyes and hands and voice and leather were the only things she could connect with maleness... the way he made her feel when she looked at him was his and his alone. She missed it. Because then he'd brought her to the club, and she'd met all of them, and, thinking back over some thoughts she'd had about Happy when Tig had made his pronouncement, or when he'd come down to visit her... thinking about the way Juice had looked her over as she was getting in the car... well, yeah, now the world was a lot bigger and full of men with hard hands and voices and black leather and eyes that didn't compromise. And it didn't fucking matter.

Because right now she knew, beyond any doubt, that none of them, and nobody else, was ever going to measure up to him. Ever.

Part of her had hoped it might be different. That she'd get there, and see him, and realize that he was just another man and something she could live without.

No. The only difference now was that now she knew.

He was still staring at her. Jesus, this was hard. Pull yourself together, she told herself. Be what he'd want you to be. Stand up straight. He didn't let you stay because you were weak. If you want to be with him now, that kid bullshit isn't going to work. She fumbled into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a cigarette, but before she could light it, he had it out from between her fingers. "What the fuck?" he snapped. "No."

And right then, she saw everything change in his face.

-0-

Was it really going to be this easy? Could it be?

As Tig watched her standing there, leaning back, staring up at him, he suddenly thought Well yeah. Maybe. Why the hell not? It would be so easy to just let it all go, and let himself enjoy that feeling of ownership that always welled up when he looked at her.

It was as if the two years away had perfected her, stripped her down to just what he wanted. She'd grown up just enough—it had never been about her youth, and he approved of all the changes he saw in that direction—but all the things he'd needed were still there, responses locked into place the way he'd set them years ago. When she'd made that tiny pause, needing his permission before she could approach him, it pushed him over the edge... precisely because there's been a time he could expect to see that two or three times a week, for years. And then, just as suddenly, it had been gone.

He could have it back now, if he wanted. Just put it all out of his mind, the grudge he'd been nursing for two years, and let her serve him again, which he knew was all she wanted to do. She'd be right there with him. She'd wait on him devotedly, and demand nothing in return. He remembered the night he'd thrown her out into the hallway, knew that he could do it every night from here on in, if he wanted, if he decided to let her back into his bed. She looked, in this moment, so goddamn good that all he wanted to do was throw her down onto the ground right here, show her who she belonged to, and then bring her back to the clubhouse and put her to work. He wanted to see the scar on her back, the one he'd never had a chance to see healed, and feel it under his lips and hear her moan and feel her moving back against him...

Then something happened that he couldn't explain. Her eyes broke his gaze, and rather than the yielding, the focus, he'd expected to find there, he saw her pull herself together. Set her jaw a bit, pushing down her fear. She pulled a cigarette out of her pocket and started to light it, but by that time he was already back to the same cold rage of the past two years, like there'd never been a break in it. Who the fuck was she to pull herself together? To turn off the way she felt about him, to stay in control in front of him? He remembered the yielding he'd always felt in her—hell, he'd felt it at the clubhouse an hour ago. If she could get over that at will, (and she must be able to if she could fucking drug him, he reminded himself), then how much could he really let it mean to him? Was it was something she doled out to him like a gift, just like she gave him two years of her life that he'd never asked for, and now people acted like he owed her? If there was one thing he was not going to let stand for even a second, it was some idea that he owed Aisha jack shit.

He pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and tossed it away. "No," he said, then let himself just move into that place where he didn't feel anything. It was something he had to be able to do, to do the job he did, and it was, he decided, the best way to deal with her.

"So this is how it's going to be," he said, in a voice that made her immediately snap to attention. "You're here. You're going to stay here, so don't get any ideas about going off and starting a life. You're gonna stay right where we can keep an eye on you, and you're gonna do what you're told."

She nodded, once.

He gave her a contemptuous stare. "You're not my problem," he said. "If I want you, if there's nothing else around, then that's one thing. Other than that, you are nothing to do with me. You don't get to speak to me, you don't get to look at me, and you damn sure better not think you can touch me. Are we clear?"

She nodded again. He noticed that she looked sick, even faint, but that she was standing up straight and listening to him carefully.

"One more thing," he said. "I handed you over to someone else, and that person was not Clay. Am I clear on that too? You do whatever work Clay tells you to do, that's fine, but if there's anything you're not sure about, anything you need permission on, you do not take it to Clay, and you sure as fuck don't take it to me, do you understand? As for the rest of it... whatever Hap decides is the way it's going to be. He tells you to keep out of sight at the clubhouse, or he tells you he wants you working every single fucking party, you don't ask him any questions and you don't bring any appeals to me. Do you understand?"

This time, he saw, there was a moment's hesitation, even horror. Then she nodded.

"If you're a good girl," he said in a voice full of venom, "a really fucking good girl, I might let you near me, a bit. Let you take care of some of my shit, maybe even fuck you when I can't find anything else. But remember—no looking, no touching, and no speaking to me, you understand? You think you can keep all of that in your head?"

She nodded a final time, eyes closed.

He reached out and grabbed the collar of her jacket, nearly jerking her off of her feet, and for a moment he thought he might want pull her to him again, but this time it was a lot easier to withstand the urge. Besides, he didn't want to fuck up a good thing. The look on her face, the look he was sure was in the eyes she didn't dare raise to him... well, you just didn't get something like that out of a girl every day.

-0-

-0-

-0-

New OC, new perspective, several hours later that night.

Audrey had noticed the two women as soon as they came into the bar. She'd chosen the place because it wasn't a place Sons hung out, and she didn't want to run into anyone tonight who might remind her of what had happened, so she'd pressed her best friend Lily to indulge her and let them do their drinking somewhere more out-of-the-way, and since Gwen, a friend of hers from high school, was cocktail waitressing here and could help Audrey get drunk on the cheap, it had seemed just the ticket.

And now, possibly the most frightening woman (short of Gemma) who was connected to the MC had just walked in, looking like she owned the place. Although Audrey couldn't place the smaller woman with all the hair, she looked pretty damn Sons-affiliated, and they'd chosen a spot near the wall that commanded a view of the entire room, and made it next to impossible for them to be taken by surprise. That was a Sam Crow thing, too. And the taller one... Audrey looked twice to make sure... Yeah. It was definitely, absolutely V.

She didn't know if V. had the first idea who she was, but among the circles in which Audrey traveled, knowledge of who V. was was passed around practically your first night there, along with "don't piss off Gemma" and "be out by 9am." Any old lady merited some respect, but V. was different. Not only was she Jax Teller's old lady, but she was apparently associated with MC business in ways that Audrey had thought women were explicitly forbidden from being. As if that weren't scary enough, she apparently had been a participant in a local fighting ring, and had shown more than once that she was not to be fucked with where Jax was concerned.

Audrey saw Gwen make her way over to the two women and start to take their drink orders, then catch the boss's eye. Looking like it was the last thing she wanted to do, she leaned over and said something to the smaller woman, who nodded and pulled a card out of her wallet and handed it over. Gwen scrutinized the card for a moment, and then looked across the bar, her eyes meeting Audrey's in an oh, shit expression. Handing it back, she looked like she couldn't take the drink order fast enough, and she slammed the ticket down in front of the bartender and headed to Audrey's table.

As soon as she got to Audrey's table, Gwen lowered her voice. "You might want to leave," she said. "I mean it. Like right now."

Audrey looked up at her, terrified but uncomprehending. "What?" she said. "Seriously? I don't have beef with V. None I know about, anyway."

Gwen shook her head so hard her earrings rattled. "Not V. That other chick? One I just carded? Looks like that's Mrs. Trager."

Audrey couldn't keep herself from staring over there. That was his wife? That girl was married to the guy who, last night, had... she forced herself to think about something else, but couldn't stop staring. Holy shit, she's just gotten out of prison, thought Audrey, wondering for a moment if someone had been keeping and eye out, if Tig's wife hadn't decided to make this personal, and had brought V with her. Wasn't there a prison clause? Did it count, the day someone got out?

-0-

"So, tell me," V said, after they'd downed the first round of shots. "How did it go."

Aisha thought about telling V. that she didn't want to talk about it, but oddly, she kind of did. "It was hard. It was bad," she said. "He's really not happy with me, and he's not giving me a chance to make any of it up to him."

V looked astonished, and gestured towards the skittish waitress for another round. "Make it up to him?" she asked. "Make what up to him? Seems to me like you're the one who needs some making up to."

Aisha looked startled, then instinctively made a sound of protest.

"No," V said. "You do. Shut up. What, two years of prison were just like summer camp?"

Aisha looked like she was thinking about it. "I never went to summer camp," she said. She was silent for a minute, then shrugged. "It sucked. You know, like it does. But it wasn't hell on earth. I missed him, most of all. As for the rest of it... Clay made sure it would be OK."

Of course he did, thought V. Only Clay would have to find a way to make it seem like somehow Aisha was the one who owed the club, instead of the other way around. And she'd fallen for it, too. She wouldn't question, wouldn't dare challenge the club on anything, because she'd be afraid that anything she did could put her further outside of Tig's good graces.

"So you guys... I mean, sorry for asking, but are you still together?"

Aisha almost smiled, but it looked sad. "I... no. But I keep telling myself, I mean, were we ever? I mean, "together" in that way that, like, you and Jax are? And, he won't let me divorce him, so..." she looked up at V., and the hope in her eyes was so naked that V. wanted to look away.

In fact, all she could think to do was call for another round. There wasn't a single bit of advice she could give Aisha—nothing she knew about how to handle these situations was going to help, and she didn't know if she wanted to mentally put herself in Aisha's place to try to think of how she'd react. She stayed quiet for a bit, but then something occurred to her. After the third shot, and hating herself a bit for it, V. found herself asking casually, "he's not pushin' you any more on this Happy thing, is he?"

Aisha, who V reflected probably hadn't done much drinking, choked a bit, in a way that V would have found funny under different circumstances. She downed the rest of the shot quickly.

She looked, V noted, equal parts sad, frightened, and—it took her awhile to recognize it, partly because she couldn't remember having seen it on Aisha's face before—angry? "It's not fucking fair," she muttered. She wasn't standing up as well as V. was to the tequila, and V. noticed she was slurring her words. V. waited another minute for Aisha to say some more, but instead the girl just put her head on the table, looking like she couldn't wait for the world to end. "I'm sorry," she said to V. "I just... thinking about all this, it kinda... shit, V., could you take me back home?"

She calls the clubhouse "home" too, thought V., as she loaded Aisha into the front seat of the car. She herself could barely feel the shots, but they seemed to have hit Aisha pretty hard. I wonder how long that's gonna last.