I just want to say thank you to everyone who reviews! I love feedback and I always smile when I get that alert. Keep 'em comin'! Oh, and hopefully this will be the last of the "setting up" chapters! Cross your fingers!

I never thought I'd use the word "boombox" in a story (or ever, really…) but I sure did in this one. Oooooold schooooool.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

And So It Begins

In the driveway of a quaint, one story house sat two people. One of them was a man of average height and build, with wavy, brown hair that brushed his shoulders, a thick beard, and bright blue eyes. His arms and back were decorated with numerous tattoos, accompanied with the occasional scar here or there. At the moment he was working on his Harley and smoking a cigar while Johnny Cash blasted from the boombox nearby. The other person was a child, the man's soon to be five-year-old daughter. There were freckles dotting her nose, she had wavy, copper-colored hair down to her elbows, and eyes almost identical to her father's. The girl was wearing the slightly-tattered denim kutte that belonged to her father, which swamped her little body. Emblazoned on the back was a large vulture surrounded by fire, with the words "DEVILS VULTURES" and "SOCAL" above and below the motorcycle club's logo.

The man finally shifted his eyes away from his motorcycle to peer at his daughter, who had been staring at him with arms crossed over her chest and a bratty pout on her cute face for at least a half hour now. For a moment it looked like there might have been a smirk of amusement on his face, but his thick beard made it hard to tell. Regardless, his stare was soon a stern one, and he set his tools down unhurriedly before taking the cigar out of his mouth.

"The answer is still no," Curtis Bradshaw said in a calm voice.

All it took was those five words to send the girl into another fit. Within moments she had uncrossed her arms and thrown them up in frustration, her pout immediately shifting into a frown. "But daaaaddyyy," she began to whine.

"That's enough of that," he interrupted firmly, the disciplinarian within emerging and immediately making the child fall silent. She pressed her lips together tightly and crossed her arms again, but the fire in her eyes made it obvious she was still not happy with her father. "I've told you a hundred times – you're not gettin' on this bike 'til you're older."

"But Brannon got to when he was five!"

"Yeah, but he's a boy," Curtis responded.

"So?" the girl argued right back, the stubborn-streak that she'd inherited from her father brazenly rearing its head.

Curtis heaved and shook his head. "It's just different."

"But how is it – "

"Stella Dana Bradshaw," the man finally snapped in a harsh tone, having reached the end of his patience. "That is enough. When I say no, I mean no. And you do not talk back to me, do you understand?"

Dana, who knew she was in serious trouble if her father was calling her by her full name, fell silent again. For a long moment she met her angry father's stare with wide, doe-like eyes, until she finally turned her eyes downward. When she sniffled and raised a hand up to wipe away a tear that had trickled down her cheek, Curtis sucked in a steadying breath before turning his eyes up to the sky in exasperation. But when he looked down at his daughter again, there was an obvious expression of guilt that had replaced the anger on his features. He finally set his cigar down and stepped around his Harley, scooping up the young girl with ease before depositing her on the hood of the family's pick-up truck.

"Stella," he said with a sigh, placing a knuckle underneath her small chin and tilting her face upward. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and glossy with tears when she met his gaze, and even a man as tough as Curtis Bradshaw couldn't find it in himself to remain unmoved by such a sight. "Please don't cry," he half pleaded, wrapping the small girl up in his arms and hugging her to his chest.

"I j-just want t-to ride," Dana whimpered into her father's shirt. "Its all I w-want for my b-birthday…"

Curtis sighed again, propping his chin up on top of her red hair. It was clear he was contemplating giving in to his youngest child and allowing her a ride around the neighborhood on the back of his bike. It had been a treat for his son on his fifth birthday, and it was what his daughter now wanted for hers. He finally pulled back far enough so he could look her in the eye again, an unreadable expression on his face as he regarded her. With another sigh, he wiped away some of the tears streaking her cheeks.

"Please, daddy?," she continued, obviously sensing his internal battle and looking at him with those doe-like eyes again. "I won't tell momma, promise! I wont tell Bran neither! And I won't ask for nothin' else!"

Curtis turned his gaze away for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. "Fine," he said, clearly unable to believe she'd managed to sway his decision. Dana immediately squealed in excitement. "But it's our secret," he added sharply, pointing a stern finger at her. She nodded her head and placed her tiny index finger over her lips, silently assuring him she wouldn't tell anyone anything. When she then extended a small pinky-finger in his direction, Curtis smirked and locked his own pinky around hers, sealing the deal. "You're gonna be a real ball-buster someday, kid…"

It was the loud beep of her phone that woke Dana.

She blinked in confusion for a moment, feeling a bit disoriented, then reached towards her nightstand to blindly search for the offensive device. Once it was in her grasp she flipped the phone open. When she saw that it was yet another message from Joel, and that it was barely seven-thirty in the morning, Dana huffed and clicked the phone shut without reading the text, before dropping it back onto the nightstand.

Unlike her first night's sleep in Charming, which had been nothing short of peaceful and revitalizing, the past night had not been a very pleasant one. Knowing that she was now living next door to one of the men she was investigating had left Dana feeling both highly uneasy and extremely vulnerable. She had confronted Joel about it of course, sending him a string of nasty text messages for not telling her about Teller - her anger over the situation had only worsened when she'd checked her file on the Sons VP and discovered that his home address had deliberately been removed from the file. Joel had tried to apologize, had told her it wasn't his idea, but she hadn't wanted to hear it. She'd ignored him and gone to bed to sleep off her irritation, planning to make a call to her boss the very next morning, but her anxiety over this new development coupled with the fact that she had been so irritated with her team for keeping her in the dark about Jackson Teller made getting any decent rest an impossible feat altogether. Dana had tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into a restless sleep. Even then, she had awoken several times throughout the night whenever an unexpected noise sounded outside or somewhere in the house.

Dana sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Now that she was a bit more awake and thinking more clearly, it wasn't very long before Dana's thoughts shifted back to the dream she'd just had.

The memory was one of the better ones that she had of Curtis Bradshaw - in fact, it was probably the only good memory she had of him. That moment between them had happened about a week before her fifth birthday, during a point in the Bradshaw Family History where her parents had actually been somewhat getting along and when their family hadn't been entirely dysfunctional yet. Back then, when she was young and innocent and naïve to the shortcomings of her outlaw father, Curtis Bradshaw had still been her hero. He was strict, yes, a disciplinarian through and through, but he'd had a soft spot for her that she'd often taken advantage of during those days. Even now, as the memory replayed in her head again, she could remember how elated she'd felt at the prospect of finally riding on a Harley, could remember how much it had excited her knowing that she and her father would have that little secret between themselves, and how she'd practically floated on a cloud for the rest of that week as she waited for the Big Day to approach.

But then Dana remembered what had actually happened on her fifth birthday and shook her head. Curtis Bradshaw had not kept his promise to her, and the motorcycle ride had never happened. Because the day before her birthday he'd ended up going on a day-long drinking binge with his friends at the club, and that night, once they were all beyond intoxicated and not thinking very rationally, they'd decided it'd be a good idea to go and 'have a talk' with a rival club that had been stirring up trouble for them. One massive, drunken, bloody brawl later, Curtis and his buddies were locked away in a county jail. He'd spent Dana's fifth birthday behind bars, and Dana herself had spent most of that day crying in her room.

Now that certainly hadn't been the only time her father had gone back on his word – making empty promises to her and her brother had become a specialty of his during her childhood – but when comparing it to some of the other times he'd disappointed her, that was one of the more painful incidents. Up until then she had still loved and worshipped her father, had thought him incapable of hurting her. That was the first time she'd realized he could indeed hurt her, and that was when she first began to understand that maybe her father was not the person she'd thought he was. And it was all only made worse by the fact that her family had all but gone to complete and utter shit after that. In fact, now that she was really taking a moment to consider it, Dana wasn't so convinced that memory of her father could be labeled as 'good' anymore. Good memories were supposed to make you feel happy and nostalgic, which was not at all the way she was feeling now. Thinking about that day and the horrible turn that things had taken in the aftermath of Curtis' indiscretion was only making her feel bitter and angry - the only positive emotion she felt was relief over the fact that she no longer had to deal with that bullshit anymore.

When the small, silver cell-phone on her nightstand began to ring, filling the room with its shrill ringtone, Dana turned an impatient look on it. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Joel and that he was probably calling, yet again, in an attempt to smooth things over. For a moment she seriously debated ignoring him some more, just so that he'd sweat over it a little while longer. But since she knew he'd only keep pestering her if she didn't answer, she finally snatched the phone up and flipped it open.

"What?" she answered briskly, not bothering to hide her irritation.

There was a pause on the other end. "Am I disturbing you, Agent Bradshaw?" a voice finally said, instantly making her eyes go wide. That voice did not belong to Joel Matheson. That voice belonged to her boss, Carl Peters.

Dana straightened up immediately, mentally cursing at herself. "No, sir," she answered, shutting her eyes and gently whacking herself in the head a few times. Note to self, check and see who the hell is calling next time. "Sorry, sir. You caught me right as I woke up."

Peters hesitated again, making her hold her breath for a second. "I see," he said in a tone that didn't ease her anxiety much. "So I just spoke with Agent Matheson," he informed her next, getting straight to the point. "He informed me that you know about Teller and that you are, quote, 'madder than a wet hornet'."

"Well, sir, he wasn't lying," she admitted honestly, recovering from her previous trepidation. "I am upset, and for a pretty good reason if you ask me. I would have thought that if you were planning to move me in next door to someone I'm investigating, the very same someone who also might be responsible for the disappearance of two FBI agents, that you would have at least given me a word of warning. But you didn't. And to be frank, I don't appreciate being kept in the dark…sir," Dana told him, forcing her tone to remain as cordial as possible. Even if she was still pissed over the situation, she was still talking to her superior.

Peters heaved on his end. "I was wrong not to tell you, Bradshaw, and I'll admit that," he said. "But you and I both know there was no chance in hell you were gonna agree to this if you knew I was planning to move you in next to Teller." Dana wanted to say, Yeah, no shit, but refrained from doing so. "Listen, the bottom line is that you still have no idea how you're getting into that clubhouse. My only goal in moving you in next door to him was to present you with as many ways as possible to get you in with SAMCRO. Nothing more and nothing less."

Dana considered his words for a moment, and though she was positive that he wasn't lying to her, she still shook her head. "I understand, sir, I do. But what you need to understand is that I'm the one risking my neck out here. Micro-managing and keeping things from me are not gonna help me," she explained, using a tone that was firm but trying her hardest not to be insulting. "If I'm gonna do this, I need the freedom to do it my way. You gave me this case for a reason, sir. Now give me the chance to prove that you didn't make a mistake in doing so."

She waited with bated breath for Peters' response. There was another long pause on his end before he finally said, "Alright." Dana breathed a sigh of relief after hearing his agreement. "I'll give you some leeway…for now," Peters emphasized pointedly. "But if I feel like you're not making enough progress in a timely manner, I'm stepping back in."

"I can agree to that," Dana told him readily. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it," he responded. A muffled, female voice sounded in the background on Peters' end a moment later. She listened in patient silence as her superior exchanged a few quick words with who she could only assume was his secretary. "Sorry to cut this short, Bradshaw, but I've got a meeting to get to," Peters told her once he'd refocused on their conversation. "I don't suppose you're willing to wear the mic and earpiece while you're at Dupree's today?"

"I'd rather not," Dana said bluntly. "It's a little hard to concentrate when I have Matheson blabbing in my ear all day."

"Alright, then," Peters conceded, though he didn't sound particularly thrilled about it. "But I want an update as soon as your interview with Trager's cousin is done," he went on to command. "And if you get the job…just know that you've got my support," he added reassuringly.

Dana was extremely relieved to hear him say that. If he supported her decision to try to work at the bar, then maybe that meant he'd stop trying to push her in the direction of Cara Cara. "Thank you, sir," Dana told him, glad that they seemed to have reached an understanding. "I'll let you know what happens as soon my meeting with Dupree is finished."

"Anything else you need?"

Dana didn't have to think twice about her next request. With thoughts of her father pushed firmly to the back of her mind, where they belonged, she was ready to concentrate on the mission at hand. "When going through my SAMCRO files last night, I couldn't help but notice that Teller's was a little...altered," she said pointedly, referring to the fact that Teller's address had been left out. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Peters knew exactly what she was talking about, but he didn't admit to anything. "If there's any information on him that's been left out or that I haven't received, I'd like to have it. If I'm gonna live next door to him, I wanna know exactly what I'm dealing with."

"Done," Peters readily agreed. "I'll get Matheson and Jenkins on it." There was a pause, then he said, "Good luck today…Ms. Prejean." Then he hung up.

Jackson very quietly opened the door to Abel's bedroom and poked his head inside, listening out for any signs that the infant might have woken from his afternoon nap. When he heard nothing, he slowly shut the door again, doing his best not to make too much noise as he did so. He then made a quick stop in his bedroom to snatch up the baby-monitor on the nightstand, slipping it into the back pocket of his baggy jeans, before making his way back through the house and stepping out into his garage. Jackson hit the button to open the garage door, wincing a bit when the late-afternoon sunlight washed over him, then started fishing around in his pockets for his cigarettes.

Even though it was nearly four in the afternoon, this was the first time he'd stepped outside of his house that day. After going to Oakland the day before and spending almost the entire day away from Abel, all he'd wanted to do today was spend time with his son and take a little break from the club's increasingly-long list of issues. After all the shit that had gone down in the past week or so, Jackson felt the break to be well-earned. So he'd put away his phone, making sure it wasn't within sight or even hearing range, and proceeded to spend the day either playing around with his infant son and lazing around the house. It had been nice. It had been relaxing.

But, eventually, Abel had grown tired and Jackson had had to put him down for his afternoon nap. Then, like clockwork, as soon as Abel was asleep and Jackson was left to his own devices, the harrowing darkness had started to creep in on him again. It hadn't been long before the house had started to feel suffocating, like it was closing in on him. He'd needed air, needed to get out of there and escape the ever-present, haunting memories of Tara Knowles that seemed to be etched into everything he looked at. Jackson lit up a cigarette, letting the tobacco fill his lungs and relaxing as it helped settle the thoughts racing through his mind. Jackson then went over to the outside refrigerator to grab a beer before picking up a bag of tools and heading for a beat-up bike he'd been repairing over the last month or so. If there was anything that was going to get his mind off of her right then, busying himself with his project would be it.

Something caught his attention once he was in his driveway, however, something that he hadn't really noticed in his exhausted state when he'd returned home the night before. There was a white Chevy Malibu parked in the driveway of the once vacant home next door. It seemed that Old Betty's house had finally been sold, and that Jackson now had a new neighbor.

Jackson peered at the house in mild interest for a moment or two, briefly wondering who might be living next door now, before turning his back on the house and yanking the protective tarp off of the half-built motorcycle parked next to his Dyna-Glide. He tossed the tarp away carelessly, cracked his beer open, and took a long swig from it. After smacking his lips in approval, he then settled down on the ground next to the bike, laying out his tools and placing the baby monitor to where it would be easily heard. Then, having already forgotten all about his new neighbor, he got to work.

Almost an hour passed by without him even realizing it. Whenever he was working on the bike, he'd become so lost in the world of motorcycle parts, so focused and so intent on what he was doing, that the real world and everyone in it would just fade right into the background. It was why Jackson had taken to working on his project so often these days. He could forget that he'd been tossed away like yesterday's garbage by the woman he loved. He didn't have to think about all of the shit that the club was dealing with right then. All he had to worry about were the parts in his hands and motorcycle in front of him. It was his escape whenever Abel couldn't distract him from his inner demons, it was his salvation…

It was the slam of a door some time later, followed by the clack clack clack of high-heels moving over pavement, that finally drew his attention away from the bike. Jackson, now sweaty from the afternoon heat and dirtied up with grease, glanced around to determine where the sound was coming from. He straightened up when he realized it was coming from next door, turning a curious look in the direction of his new neighbor, whom he could only assume was a woman, to get a good look at her.

The first thing he noticed about her was how professionally she was dressed. She was wearing a black, button-up blouse tucked into grey business slacks, with a pair of tall, black heels on her feet. The next thing he noticed was her ass. Her very nice ass. His brows raised some and, since the woman hadn't noticed him yet, Jackson took advantage and tilted his head as he let his eyes roam freely over her form. Now that he had gotten a closer look, he found that she had a pretty nice everything. She wasn't the skinniest woman he'd ever seen, but she wasn't chubby either - she seemed to have curves in all the right places, which he could certainly appreciate. Jackson finally forced his gaze up past her chest so that he could get a look at her face. Her copper-colored hair was pulled back in a tight, slicked-back ponytail, which made it easy to see that she had a very pretty face with only a minimal amount of make-up on it.

Though the redhead was undeniably attractive, there was something about the way she carried herself that gave the impression that she would not be very fun company. It was clear by the all-business expression on her face that she took herself very seriously, and everything about her, from her perfectly slicked-back ponytail to her fashionable shoes, screamed I'M A PROFESSIONAL WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR. She looked like the type of woman that had probably never stepped even a toe out of line, who wouldn't know 'fun' even if showed up naked on her doorstep. Probably a control freak, Jackson concluded in his head.

He didn't know if she had felt his staring or if the woman had known he was there all along, but in the next moment she suddenly turned her head to look straight in his direction. For a moment they stared at one another, neither making a move to acknowledge the other any further, until she finally nodded her head at him to silently say hello. He nodded his head back in greeting, then watched as she got into her car, backed out of the driveway, and sped off down the street before disappearing entirely. Weird, Jackson thought to himself, wondering why a woman like that would choose to move to a place like Charming.

He eventually turned his attention back to the bike, his thoughts still centered around the woman that had moved in next door to him. That was when one of his other neighbors decided to make an unexpected appearance. Bonnie-Jean came rushing out of her house, hurrying down to the end of her driveway and looking in the direction the redheaded stranger had gone with a disappointed look on her face. It only took her another second or two to notice that Jackson was outside as well.

"Hey, Jax?," she called to him, making her way across the street. "Did you just see your neighbor leave by any chance?" Jackson stood to his full height as she approached, nodding his head in confirmation. "Damn!," the older woman said, snapping her fingers with a frown. "I was hopin' to catch her before she left…"

"Who is she?" Jackson asked curiously. "She from around here?" Even as he asked, he was pretty confident he already knew the answer.

"Her name's Dana, Dana Prejean. She just moved here from L.A., got in on Saturday," Bonnie-Jean answered him. "I spent a bit of time with her yesterday, just to get to know her a little bit better." Bonnie-Jean frowned at him, an empathetic expression taking over her features. "Poor thing just went through a divorce. I think she's just tryin' to get back on her feet, you know…find a fresh start."

Join the club, lady, he thought bitterly to himself, thinking about his own ex and the slump he'd been in since their split. Jackson grabbed a towel to wipe his hands clean, his eyebrows furrowing together. "I see…so what'cha think about her?"

Bonnie-Jean pursed her lips then slowly nodded her head, shrugging a shoulder at him at the same time. "She's fine, though a bit on the shy side. Seems harmless enough," she told him approvingly. "I'm sure workin' at the bar and gettin' to know the town a little better will help her come outta her shell, though."

Jackson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The bar?," he asked with skepticism. "Your bar?"

"Yeah," Bonnie-Jean confirmed. "That's where Dana's headed now. Has a job interview with Harry at five o'clock. She's tryin' to get the open bartender position."

Jackson thought back to his first impression of the woman named Dana Prejean and snorted in disbelief, shaking his head in amusement at Bonnie-Jean. "I dunno, Bonnie…she seemed a little uptight to me. You sure she's cut out for the Goat?" It wasn't a bad place, but he knew the kind of people that went in there and how Dupree like his employees to look and act. He didn't see this Dana woman fitting in at all.

Bonnie-Jean almost immediately frowned at him in disapproval. "She's not uptight. She's just…reserved," she corrected in the woman's defense. The two descriptions pretty much meant the exact same thing to Jackson, but he didn't bother arguing with Bonnie-Jean about it. "I think she'll do just fine," Bonnie-Jean continued with a firm nod of her head. "And I wouldn't be so quick to judge, Jackson Teller, because something tells me there's more to that girl than meets the eye," she added disapprovingly.

"Guess we'll just have to see about that," he said in an unconvinced tone. The sound of a crying baby suddenly began to sound from the baby monitor on the ground behind him, drawing the attention of the two adults. "Duty calls," Jackson said with a sigh, before turning to head back into the house. "I'll catch ya later, Bonnie," he called over his shoulder.

"Jax?" He paused and turned around to face her again with an expectant look, waiting to hear what she had to say. "I was thinking…maybe you and Dana should get to know each other, try talking to one another," the blonde suggested out of the blue, giving an innocent shrug. Jackson quirked an eyebrow at her, unsure if he was hearing her correctly. "You know, because you're both kinda goin' through the same thing," Bonnie-Jean clarified. "I just think it might not be a bad idea to make friends with her."

"Make friends?," he asked, almost amused with the idea. There were very few women in the world outside of the club and his family that Jackson would actually consider to be his friend. He didn't exactly have a habit of befriending random females, not unless he wanted to get them into bed.

"Well, I mean…don't get too friendly," Bonnie-Jean countered, pinning him with a pointed look. "She's a nice girl and seems promising. I don't want you corrupting her."

"I thought you knew me better then that, Bonnie," he shot at her with a smirk on his face. "Nice girls aren't my type, remember?" And that was the truth – he'd learned by now that nice girls were way too damn complicated for him. His life was a hell of a lot easier whenever he just stuck to the sweetbutts and the crow-eaters.

"Yeah, we'll see…" Bonnie-Jean said, clearly not convinced that Jackson would remain on his best behavior around the redheaded newcomer. "Just think about it, that's all I'm saying," she finally finished.

"Okay." He told Bonnie-Jean, even though he had absolutely no intentions of having a therapy session with the random woman that had just moved in next door to him. "Gotta go. See ya," he then said, before turning his back on her again and heading back into his house.

Dana was still thinking about Teller when she pulled into an empty parking spot outside of Billy Goat Gruff's about twenty minutes later. But she wasn't thinking about the pages of information that Joel and Jenkins had sent her, or how nervous she had been to exit her house knowing Jackson Teller was only a handful of feet away, nor was she worrying whether she had successfully appeared unaffected by his presence while walking to her car. The only thing Dana seemed to be able to think about right then, even though she knew she shouldn't be, was the image of Jackson Teller, shirtless and sweaty and covered in motorcycle grease, but still somehow managing to look wildly attractive in the process.

Now, when Dana had told Carl Peters that she took her job seriously, she had meant it – work had been her top priority for nearly eight years now and that probably wouldn't be changing anytime soon. Yet even though she was devoted to her work, Dana was still a red-blooded female…a red-blooded female that appreciated a good-looking man when she saw one, to be more specific. Something about the combination of Teller's long hair, thick beard, and the sight of his well-defined torso and back had procured an unwanted reaction within that she was now dutifully trying to fend off.

"You're here to arrest him, Bradshaw," Dana reminded herself out-loud, banging her head back against her headrest. "Not here to lust over him."

She told herself this a few more times before heaving and shaking her head, attempting to physically shake the thoughts of Teller from her mind. Once Dana was certain she had banished any lingering images of a half-naked Teller, she reached for the folder next to her, got out of her Malibu, then headed for the front door of Billy Goat Gruff.

There were only a handful of people loitering around once she'd stepped inside, and it looked like most of those people were employees preparing the bar for the night ahead. The girl cleaning glasses behind the bar was the one to greet her. "You must be Dana," she stated, taking a moment to eye her up and down. The girl looked to be around twenty-five, had long, dark hair, and was dressed in a way that didn't leave very much to the imagination. She either didn't notice or didn't care that one of the few customers sitting at the bar was openly staring at her breasts, which were barely concealed by her low-cut tank-top.

"Yep, that's me," Dana confirmed. "Good guess."

The girl smirked. "Not a guess," she countered with a shake of her head. "Dupree told me to keep an eye out for a redheaded school teacher, and so far…" The brunette paused and glanced around the bar with a bit of exaggeration, "…you're the only one here fitting that description, hon."

"I see," Dana told her, wondering if the time had come for a wardrobe change. If she was going to play the role of Dana Prejean, bartender, then she'd have to stop dressing like Dana Bradshaw, federal agent.

"I'm Rachel, by the way," the girl introduced herself, leaning over the bar and extending a hand.

She moved to shake her hand briefly. "Dana," she officially introduced in response, even though Rachel already knew her name. "And I was actually going for the librarian look today, just so you know," she added wittily, half-smiling at the girl who might soon be her co-worker.

Rachel's smirk widened in amusement, but before she could say anything in response the lone customer at the counter spoke up. "Who cares? If any'a my teachers 'r librarians had looked like you," he started in a bit of a slur, "well sweetheart, I'd'a never left school."

Dana and Rachel shared a humored look. "Thanks," Dana told the man a bit unsurely, not overly surprised when he blatantly checked her out.

Before anything else could be said by anyone, everyone's attention was caught by the entrance of Harry Dupree. The man had just stepped out of what appeared to be his office and had spotted Dana almost instantly. "Ah, Ms. Prejean. Right on time," he said in greeting. "I'm ready if you'd like to come on back," he added, motioning her over.

Dana nodded and then hurried to join Dupree. He showed her inside his office, which was small and had very few personal effects decorating it, before shutting the door behind them. She lingered by the desk for a moment, toying with the folder in her hands and waiting to be invited to sit before occupying the chair on her right. Dupree walked around his desk, eyeing her attire with an unreadable expression, then motioned towards the chair next to her.

"Please, sit," he told her while taking his own seat. Once she had done so, he picked up a pen and scribbled her name down on a yellow notepad. "So," he stated, relaxing into his seat as he turned his attention back to her. "How's Charming treating you?"

"Not too bad," Dana answered, feeling nervous about this meeting now that she was actually sitting here in front of Dupree. She had been so distracted with the Teller situation that day that it was only now that she was remembering how crucial this job interview was, and how important it was for her to not screw this up. "It's a bit of a change from the city, but I think I can get used to it."

Dupree nodded before cocking his head to the side in curiosity. "Where did you move here from?"

Dana quickly opened up the folder and pulled out the résumé that Joel had prepared for her, handing it over to Dupree. His eyebrows raised a tick as he reached over to slowly take it, looking a bit caught off guard with how prepared she was. "L.A., lived there for about three-and-a-half years. I was actually born in Califoria but ended up moving to Texas when I was a kid," she told him. "I came back with my ex-husband," she continued while Dupree's eyes flickered over her résumé. "We both worked for the same company in Houston, but he ended up getting transferred to California. Even though we weren't married at the time I decided to go with him." Only the first part of her explanation was true – she had worked with her husband when they'd worked in the same precinct, but they'd split up long before she got accepted into the bureau and moved to Los Angeles. "Guess we all make bonehead decisions every now and again, right?"

"Too right," Dupree agreed with a snort, setting the résumé down on his desk. "So…let's get down to it," he said, tapping his pen as he regarded her. "Do you have any previous bartending experience?"

"I do," Dana confirmed with a nod, having never felt more grateful for her brief stint as a bartender than she did right then. "I worked at a place called Big Ben's for almost four years. It's how I put myself through college," she continued, exaggerating the length of time actually spent as a bartender by a few years.

"Well, that's a good start," he told her with an approving nod. "And exactly how long has it been since you worked behind a bar?"

"A while," Dana admitted. "But I figure it'll be just like riding a bike…and if not, I'm a fast learner."

Dupree nodded and leaned over to peer at her résumé again, marking a few things with his pen as his eyes skimmed over the paper. "Dana M. Prejean, single, twenty-nine years old," he read aloud, speaking more to himself than to her. He clicked his tongue unsurely after he read her age. "You're a little bit older than the girls we normally hire," he stated. This hadn't been said as an insult, but Dana still felt slightly offended – the thought of her impending thirtieth birthday was dreadful enough already without Harry Dupree making her feel like an old maid. "But," Dupree continued, turning his eyes back to her, "you don't look a day over twenty-five, so that's lucky."

Dana only nodded in response, looking on as Dupree lowered his gaze to the document in front of him again and continued reading the made-up résumé. He paused a little ways down, his eyebrows coming together, before shifting his eyes back up to hers in bewilderment. "What exactly is 'Warner Industries'?," he asked inquiringly.

She quickly recalled the notes that Joel had left for her before answering. "It's just a big name supply vendor for construction companies, specializing in industrial construction, rigging, heavy hauling…things like that," Dana told him, relaying Joel's summarization almost word for word. "I worked in sales. It was my job to reel in the clients," she'd added that last tid-bit in hope that it would make her look better.

"Construction, huh? Kind of an odd place for a woman, don't ya think?" Dupree asked with raised eyebrows.

"It was a male-dominated field, yes," Dana conceded with a smile. "But it was the only job offer I got right out of college, so I took it."

Dupree looked at her for a very long, very silent moment before heaving and shaking his head. "Listen, Dana – can I call you Dana?" When she nodded, he continued. "I know that you just moved here and know that you need a job," he stated slowly, making her stomach turn uneasily. The tone of his voice didn't sound very promising. "But I'm a little confused about why you chose this place."

"What do you mean?" Dana asked, keeping her voice steady and skillfully concealing her mounting anxiety.

"Well, first off, you're way overqualified to work here. A bachelor's degree from the University of Houston and multiple years spent working for a big name company?," he shot at her, motioning to her résumé. "You don't belong behind a bar." Dana felt her heart drop into her stomach. This interview was not going the way she'd hoped it would. "Secondly, I can tell that you're a smart woman – why aren't you putting yourself to better use? The idea is usually to climb up the corporate ladder, not down."

Think Dana, think! After a moment of quick thinking on her part, a response finally came to her. "Honestly? I had a little reality check after my ex left me, Dupree," she lied, hoping what she was about to say would be enough to convince him to hire her. "I realized that I had spent years of my life wasting away at a desk and working a lame ass nine-to-five job. I did the same thing every day, slaved away on holidays for a boss that didn't give two shits about me, and had absolutely nothing to show for all the work I'd put in. The life I led back in L.A. was taking me absolutely nowhere." Dana could tell she'd caught Dupree's interest, but tried not to get too excited about it yet. "This move to Charming is about starting over, about stepping out of my comfort zone and beginning a new chapter. I want to work here, and I promise that if you hire me you will not regret it." Though you might regret it eventually, once I put your cousin and his friends behind bars, she added in her head.

For a long moment Dana and Dupree stared at each other in silence, his eyes calculating and scrutinizing while hers remained fiercely determined. After a good ten seconds Dupree finally heaved and shook his head. "Well, how in the hell am I supposed to say no to that?," he asked in resignation, quirking an eyebrow at her and actually looking a bit impressed. Dana immediately grinned, inwardly celebrating because she knew she had won him over. "You're a tricky one, aren't you, Prejean?," he accused, wagging a finger at her. "Somethin' tells me you're not nearly as dull as you want everyone to think you are."

Dana had to laugh at the backwards compliment, because Dupree had no idea how spot on he was. "It's all about the mystery," she told him with a smirk.

Dupree watched her for one more minute before clapping his hands and getting to his feet. "Well, c'mon then – time for you to show me what you're made of," he said. "Make me a drink or two."

Ten minutes later found Dana, Rachel, and the now slightly-more-intoxicated customer that had spoken to Dana pre-interview watching with rapt attention as Dupree finished his first drink, set the empty glass down, then grabbed his second. The three were looking on with such intensity that one might think they were staring at a bomb they were trying to diffuse rather then a man in the process of judging drinks. Still, they watched in silence, shooting glances at each other periodically as they waited to hear Dupree's verdict. He took a few more sips, placed his drink calmly on the bar, then directed his attention on Dana. She could not help but think that this moment was way more intense than it needed to be, but met his gaze steadily, pressing her lips together nervously. The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes at her, watching her in silence for a long moment, before he finally spoke up.

"Pay will be seven-twenty-five an hour, minimum wage in the great state of California, but most of your money will be earned in tips," he began to explain. Dana smiled in relief, knowing she'd gotten the job now, and glanced over at Rachel, who nodded to her in silent congratulations before wandering off to help a customer that had just walked in. "We're open seven days a week – yes, even Sunday – and business hours are from four in the afternoon to two in the morning. I'll round up the paperwork you need to fill out and have it to you in a few hours. In the mean time I'm sure Rachel would be happy to start showing you the ropes."

Dana's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wait, you want me to start now?"

Dupree quirked an eyebrow at her, looking unimpressed with the fact that it sounded like she didn't want to work straight away. "Got somethin' better to do?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to think of the correct answer, before shaking her head. "Nope, I can stay."

Her new boss looked more pleased with this response and knocked a knuckle twice on the bar-top before rising from his seat. He started to walk away but paused for a moment to turn back towards her. "One more thing..." His eyes did a sweep over her body, making her feel a bit self-conscious. "I know you're workin' the whole 'hot teacher' angle, but try dressing a little less…mom-ish from here on out, capeesh?"

Dana snapped her fingers and pointed at him, signaling to him that the message had been received. "Got it, boss."

"Don't worry, Dupe," Rachel suddenly said, having come back to rejoin the conversation now that their new customer had been helped. "I'll get this one in shape in no time," she reassured, nodding confidently.

"Atta girl," he said in approval. Then he flashed a smirk in Dana's direction. "Welcome to the funhouse, Prejean."

Once he was headed back towards his office, Dana sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking around for a moment and taking in the sight of her new place of employment. Though there was no way of knowing what might happen from this point on, Dana still felt a great sense of accomplishment knowing that, if nothing else, she was at least one step closer to SAMCRO. Now she just had to hope that things continued to work in her favor and that she could get a plan underway sooner rather than later. Then, hopefully, she'd be on the path to recovering the missing agents before it was too late.

A peek into Dana's past, a brief interaction between Jax and Dana, and a new job – pretty eventful! What did you guys think?