Amanda

When Amanda woke up hours later, the first thing she noticed was not the pain singing away in her shoulder, or the crude wetness in her side. It was not the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, or the dim light from the Darth Vader lamp on the bed-stand. It was the warm comfort of Gear's bed swaddling her like a baby, and it sent her into a terrified, anxiety ridden panic.

Her eyes shot open at the same time her body catapulted itself out of the warm halo she was resting in. Her feet were caught in the blanket and she fell to the floor with a loud thud as a result. A screech of pain escaped from Amanda's lips, but she was too freaked out to care. Images of cruel, smiling faces with sickening gleeful eyes staring down at her with glee flooded her mind. She could feel their slimy hands trying to grab her, pull her to them, throw her on the bed and trap her. Their laughter was all she could hear as she screamed "Get off me!" over and over again. She crawled away from the bed and leaned against the wall, unbuckling the sling in the same breath and throwing it across the room as she looked for a quick exit.

There was crash outside of the room and thundering steps in the hallway. Amanda's eyes widened as she used the wall for support in her effort to stand, her good hand reaching out towards the nearest window. She felt the cold glass just as the door burst open with a shattering kick. She turned to break the window with her elbow, the glass giving easily and falling to the wooden paneling outside. Firm hands grabbed her at the waist just as her head made it out of the window. They pulled her back in easily, and she turned to fight her attacker with a now bloody fist to his face.

Her captor dodged easily, using her momentum against her as he pulled her down to the ground and mounted her in the same breath. Panicked increased, breathing now painful, she ignored her pain and tried to fight him off, cursing herself for letting him get the better of her. He was yelling at her, but she didn't care what he was saying. He caught her hands and pinned them on either side of her head, his legs trapping hers together. She was caught, she knew it, but she wouldn't give up. She didn't give up then and she won't give up now. No one is going to hurt her, not like they did to those girls, not like they tried to do to her all those years ago. She fought them off then, she can do it now.

Suddenly her hands were released and her face was captured in warm, calloused hands, forcing her to look at him.

"Manny!"

Gear's face shattered her will to fight. Her entire body immediately relaxed, sinking into the floor like a melting popsicle stick. His grey eyes were huge with worry and confusion. Her breathing automatically slowed, her heart no longer acting the Looney Tune and beating out of her chest. Panic slowly seeping away as recognition flooded her mind.

"Peter?" her voice was meek, timid, scared.

"Yes," his thumb started caressing her cheek, one of his hands tangling themselves in her hair. "What happened? Are you okay?"

She didn't respond. The full realization of the last minute or so rushed through her mind, and shame welled up in her chest as she closed her eyes, attempting to shut him away. It was no use. The feel of him on top of her, protecting her, could not be easily ignored no matter how hard she tried.

"I'm fine," she lied, hoping he didn't see through it. Even if he did, she wouldn't tell him the truth, no matter how hard hiding it might be.

"What happened?" He asked again, "Was someone in here?"

"No," she stopped him before he got ahead of himself, "just a bad dream."

He didn't respond immediately, and she opened her eyes to see his worry, a flash of teeth as he slightly bit his top lip. He did that when he was trying not to say something, nervous tick kind of thing. In the past that would annoy the shit out of her, unless they were playing poker or something. Now, she was anxious, wondering what he was thinking.

"Do these dreams happen a lot?" He eventually spoke, and she tried to not look so relieved.

"You can say that," she muttered, closing her eyes again. "How long have I been out?"

His hand moved to look at his watch, "little over 10 hours."

"Seriously? That's a record."

"Considering you were running on sugar and caffeine, and just finished a very hectic shift where you were shot and dislocated your shoulder, I'd say it was well earned." He paused, looking at the shoulder in question, "Where's your sling?"

"It was in the way, so I ripped it off and threw it somewhere." She grunted. Now that the adrenaline from her panic had faded, the pain was suddenly at the forefront of her mind, but something else concerned Gear more as his gaze moved from her face to her arm. She looked to see blood drying around the cut in her elbow, and the shirt she never changed from yesterday was once again wet with fresh, sticky blood. It was a good thing the floor was made of wood paneling because there's no way Gear would be able to get the stain out otherwise.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." He pulled her up to her feet, carefully placing his hands on the few areas that were not injured, and led her to the bathroom to wash up.

A few hours later, with a change of clothes that smelled far too much like Gear and some food in her belly that wasn't sugar based, she was once again on the back of his bike, and more than a little pissed off. After cleaning up he informed her that she would not be going back to her place, but to Teller-Morrow where Gemma can keep an eye on her and Chibs can stitch up her new wound. It was Clay's orders, which meant he had to follow them, no matter how much of a struggle Amanda put up. Besides, with the way she acted this morning, and how he easily forgave the broken window and wiped the blood off her skin and gave her a new shirt to wear, she really didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to being a bitch to him today.

So when it came time to leave, she went on his bike as willingly as she could allow herself, meaning she kept her mouth shut and wore the stupid helmet without complaint. With her arm once again back in its sling, her free hand held onto the back of his cut as he weaved through the streets of Charming. A few times she saw people she recognized, and they recognized her in return. Their eyes went wide with recognition, then fear when they realized who she was with. It made her sigh with amusement. They looked at Gear and saw a Son who would kill you for looking at him twice, but in reality he was the Star Wars loving nerd with a Darth Vader lamp on his bedside table.

They arrived at Teller-Morrow in record time, and Amanda was glad that most of the Sons were either gone or too busy to take notice of their arrival. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Gemma, who was waiting with a stern look and hands on her hips. She started strutting towards them as he backed into his space. Once the engine was off and the kickstand was out, she was practically pulling Amanda off the bike.

"You two were supposed to be here an hour ago," she growled as Amanda took off the helmet.

"Sorry Gemma, kind of had a rude awakening," Amanda apologized, setting the helmet on Gear's handlebars as he walked around them.

"What do you mean-" she was saying when Amanda showed off her brand new war wound by using her hand to block the burning sun from her eyes. "What happened this time?"

"She fell off the bed when she woke up this morning, landed on one of my beer bottles," Gear answered before Amanda had the chance. She caught herself looking at him, quickly looking away when she realized how obvious she suddenly was.

"I got it cleaned up as much as I could, but I'm going to see if Chibs is around so he can stitch her up."

"He's in the garage," Gemma gestured to the garage with a nod, moving slightly when Gear started walking her way.

He glanced at Amanda as he walked off, and that one look gave her feels that she didn't want or understand. Gemma stood next to her, studying her face.

"How was last night?"

"Fine, considering I had no choice in the matter."

"You two do anything?"

Amanda turned to look at Gemma skeptically, "No."

"You sure? You two seem to be less distant than yesterday."

"I literally collapsed on his dining room table from exhaustion, so unless he pulled some weird voodoo magic to make me less distant while I was passed out than yeah, I'm pretty sure we didn't do anything last night."

Gemma held up her hands in defeat, "Fine, I was just curious."

"Well you know what they say about curiosity."

Gemma let out a chuckle, "C'mon, let's wait in the clubhouse," her hand landed on Amanda's good shoulder. She not-so-gently pulled Amanda along down the parking lot, nodding to a few people who were milling about as they went passed. Soon enough they were at the big black door leading into the clubhouse, and the strong smell of smoke, cologne, motor oil, and whiskey filled Amanda's senses, stunning her as Gemma pulled her through the door.

The first thing Amanda noticed after the blast to her senses was the wall of mug shots, hanging solidly on the far wall with dust clinging to the frames. Her father's picture hung among them, his grey eyes full of mischief as he smiled sarcastically for the camera. It was taken right before he got one of his canines shoved down his throat in a drunken brawl that occurred a few weeks later. His blonde curls were starting to grow out again, the same curls he gave to Amanda. She had his eyes too, his athletic ability, mechanical prowess (she even taught him a thing or two before he was tragically killed), and though she'd never admit it, the same mischievous spirit. Aside from the hair and the eyes, she looked just like her mom though, who disappeared soon after he died. She calls every once in awhile, normally when she's on something that made her feel nostalgic; otherwise she's nothing but an old memory for Amanda. Their names were Lachlan and Avery Burke, and for the brief time Amanda had them, they were the best parents she could ask for.

Looking at her father's mug shot caused a sharp pain to roll through her chest, like a rolling pin flattening dough, and suddenly it was very hard to breathe. Gemma didn't notice, or ignored Amanda's hesitation as she pulled her towards the tables where some of the Sons were. She didn't bother to look at them, her eyes glued to her Father's face as if they were a lifeline. She hasn't been inside the clubhouse since he died, she should be looking around to see all the things that have changed and stayed the same, but she couldn't. Through all these years she never gave a thought to her Father, trying to find ways and avenues so as to not think about him, and how much she missed him. Now, through prolonged ignorance, she was consumed with a multitude of emotions that burned through her like acid. The only thing that stopped her from fainting or breaking down on the spot was Bobby's voice yelling "As I live and breathe" before he walked over to pull her into a hug.

This was not the reception she was expecting, and normally she would be against it (she hated being touched, the only person who got away with it was Gear, and her Dad when he was alive) but considering it was this intrusion that pulled her away from the edge of a breakdown, she welcomed it. He smelled of his cigars, and his crazy, graying hair was bigger than ever. His calloused hand rubbed the back of her neck as he pulled away to look at her with happy, yet intense eyes.

"Where have you been, kid?"

"Working" Amanda responded bluntly, shrugging nonchalantly and wincing as a result.

"What happened, you get into a fight on your to Gear's?" The joy disappeared from his eyes as a serious gloom shadowed his face as he eyed her new wound.

"No, just some broken glass on top of a really shitty 24 hours." She revealed her new war wound to him, and continued when his eyes grew angrier, "Gear went to find Chibs."

"Good," he grumbled, waving his hand towards the nearest table, "go on and take a seat, ladies. I'll see you around."

"Where you headed?" Amanda asked, now noticing the duffel sitting on the bar next to him, and ignoring the sharp look Gemma gave her.

"Gig in Tahoe," he put his fingers to mouth and whistled sharply, "C'mon prospect, I ain't got all day!"

The Prospect in question was a wiry dude around Amanda's age only a few years older. He had that eager, excited look in his eye that projected how happy he was to be doing something, to be considered useful. Amanda felt a surprising surge of pity for him before Gemma pulled her along towards the table.

"Take care, Amanda" Bobby departed with a gentle squeeze to her neck as he left without his duffel, which the prospect grabbed in his rush.

"Poor kid," Amanda mumbled as she sat down.

Gemma looked confused, "Who, the prospect?"

"You see any other idiots chasing after a duffel bag like it's filled with treasure?"

"He's just excited. He's been doing nothing but sweeping and cleaning shit for weeks. To be doing something productive, even something as meaningless as driving to Tahoe with Bobby, it's a huge step. It shows the club sees him as an asset."

"By asset you mean errand boy?"

"For now. He keeps proving himself; they'll see him as more." She pulled out a cigarette, "want one?"

"Pass" Amanda looked away from Gemma, and regretted it when her gaze once again landed on her Father's mug shot on the wall. Her chest tightened again, pain welling up as her fists tightened. Try as she did, she just couldn't look away, even as Gemma blew smoke in her face. It must have been a sold minute, maybe two, before Gemma's patience cracked.

"What's going on with you?" Her eyes studied her when Amanda didn't answer, eventually following her line of sight and seeing what Amanda was focused on. Her response was a sigh, and slight lowering of her shoulders as she turned to speak again. "When's the last time you were in here?"

"I don't know, maybe was when I was dodging that asshole who was cheating on his girlfriend, can't remember how long ago that was though."

"Did you hide out in here," she took a drag from her cigarette.

"No," Amanda growled, "I hid in your office and filed some paperwork to pass the time."

"So the last time you were here?"

"Based on your expression I'm sure you already know the answer." She finally forced herself to look away from his mug shot, even turning in her chair to face away from the wall with a loud screech as the wooden pegs scratched across the floor's surface. Gemma didn't stop her. In fact, there was a look on her face reminded her of Gear whenever he was trying to keep his mouth shut without being too obvious about it. She thought she was seeing it wrong, briefly thinking she must have gotten a concussion on top of all her other injuries because there was no way the most direct and blunt woman in the universe could be holding back her words just for the sake of Amanda's feelings.

Sure enough, Gemma let loose, "so Lachlan, huh? He the reason you've been avoiding this place all these years?"

Amanda didn't respond, adjusting the sling on her shoulder instead to alleviate some of the pain that was starting to grow. It didn't help, but it gave her something to focus on other than Gemma, who wasn't backing down.

"There's nothing more important than family, Amanda. Your Dad knew that-"

"I know" Amanda interrupted, fighting to keep her voice down, "it's what got him killed."

"Loving you didn't kill him, baby" Gemma said after a pause, and in that pause the door slammed opened with brute force, and Chibs stomped in with Gear in tow, both looking more than a little frustrated and stressed out. Their expressions lightened slightly as they approached Amanda, but she knew better than to fall for their poker faces.

"Little Poppy, it's been a long time" Chibs called her by her childhood nickname as he leaned down to give Gemma a brief hug before pulling out the chair between them, and practically falling into it with a loud thud. He grabbed her good hand and kissed her fingers before lifting it up to assess the damage around her elbow.

"You're still calling me that?" She asked through gritted teeth as his fingers prodded the cuts while Gear took the seat beside her, fighting to hide his smile.

"Of course I am, and I always will. Not my fault you decided to hide in a Poppy bush to avoid going back to school for the day."

"That was the last field trip you were allowed to go on for that year if I remember correctly," Gemma added, smirking as she took another drag from her cigarette.

"I wasn't hiding, I was exploring. Not my fault the teacher was blind as bat and dumber than a sack of rocks." Amanda retorted, "And if I really didn't want to go back, I would have jumped into the back of someone's pickup and hitchhiked somewhere else."

"And that remark is why you were grounded for a month," Gemma chuckled, and Gear joined in. Amanda rolled her eyes in response as her gaze returned to Chibs inspection. He didn't look worried or anything, which helped ease Amanda to a point, but the firm line between his brows kept the butterflies in her stomach fluttering away.

"It's not too deep" he finally said, grabbing a cigarette from the pocket of his cut and lighting it before he continued, "we'll need to clean it out again though to avoid any infection, but after that it needs just a stitch or two for each cut and you're good to go."

"So I can-" Amanda's eyes rose with hope, her full attention on Chibs, when Gemma quickly dashed her hopes.

"No, you can't leave when he's done. You're staying with me for the day."

"I can't stay here all day, I got shit to do that needs to get done."

"Like what?"

"For one I have to talk to Hale and give my official statement about the explosion and the shit that happened with Wendy yesterday."

"I thought you did that already?" Gear cut in, his eyes intense.

"What the paperwork?" He nodded, "no that was for my boss and the hospital. Hale might have talked to me yesterday but that wasn't an official, on-the-record conversation, which means I have to go to the station and get it on record so that his ass doesn't get burned by my boss and my ass is covered, or" she glanced down to her side, "as covered as it can be."

"Speaking of," Chibs stood leaned forward slightly and quickly lifted her shirt to take a glance at her bandages. He lowered her just as quickly that the whole process took a couple seconds, give or take, and left her wondering if it even happened. "Gemma, take her to the apartment, there should be some spare bandages in there. Get those changed up and then I'll get to work on the arm."

As the four left the table, Chibs gave Gemma a certain look before gesturing to Amanda, and Gemma nodded in return. Amanda rolled her eyes as she headed towards the hallway that led towards the bedroom in the clubhouse. They called it the apartment because it's the room that a lot of new members sometimes stay in before the club helps them earn enough money to get a place of their own. There are also the circumstances where a member will take a woman, or "crow-eater" as they so kindly refer to them, to bed for the night. In Jax's case, he's staying here while Wendy lives at his place. Didn't seem fair, it was his house after all, but it wasn't Amanda's decision, or problem. She had plenty of her own to deal with without adding anyone else's to the mix.

When she walked in, the overwhelming scent of man, cologne, and sex stunned her, almost knocking backwards with the powerful punch it gave. She couldn't stop the cough that escaped her, and almost cursed Gemma as the woman pushed her through the threshold. Thankfully, she had a very similar response to the room, and though Amanda's current situation was not amusing at all, she couldn't help but laugh at the stunned, disgusted look on Gemma's normally austere face. Serves you right, she thought as she walked further into the messy room, trying not to think about all the shit the walls could tell her about what they've witnessed in this room.

She unconsciously looked at the bed, and a cold chill rushed down her spine as she remembered her dream from just a few hours ago. The dream that was really a memory she desperately tried to forget, yet continually failed. It was the beds; they always wanted to be comfortable when they fucked the losers, their way of motivating them to win.

On her tenth birthday, Amanda was kidnapped by strange, awful men to a warehouse hours away from Charming, somewhere along the border of Northern California and Oregon. Other kids from the neighboring states were taken there too, ranging from Seattle to Charming. While she was there the men forced their captives to fight. The winners would get food, which was a PB&J sandwich, fruit cup, and a juice box, along with a blanket, a pillow, and a cot to sleep on for the night. The losers would be sent to the mirror room, where beds with chains and handcuffs were held, and cameras constantly recording from nearly every angle of the room.

Amanda won every fight, due to her Dad's paranoia from the growing threats of Samcro's rivals. He taught her the basics on how to defend herself, which helped her in the beginning, but as the weeks went on, and she realized that no one was coming to save her, she had to get resourceful, dirty, and her captors knew it. As time went on, they tried to rig the fights so that could have their way with her, but she thwarted them, constantly at the ready for their schemes. Eventually their patience waned, and they tried to do the worst to her.

She almost lost that night, lost what was most important to her, the only semblance of the girl she used to be when a freak accident occurred. One of the light fixtures fell and killed one of the men, his head caving in upon impact. It distracted her attacker long enough for her to fight him off and grab his keys, locking him in the mirror room before she went to free what was left of her fellow prisoners. She didn't remember much from the days following her escape. To be honest, most of it was a complete blur after the attack until she finally made it home to Charming. Apparently she was driving a stolen car, but she couldn't remember. The only thing she could remember about the night she finally made it home was seeing her father bleeding on the floor, reaching out to her, his eyes full of pain.

She could see it now, whether she wanted to or not, and she certainly did not. She forced herself to turn away from the bed, her complete attention on Gemma as she reached up to grab the medical kit. She set the kit on the only table in the room, pushing aside magazines and food wrappers as she opened the box and rifled through it.

"Here we go" Gemma muttered as she turned towards Amanda, gauze, bandages, and medical tape in hand. "Take off your shirt."

"Can't I just do this in the bathroom, by myself?"

"Why? Get a tattoo during one of your underage drunken escapades you don't want me to know about?"

"Yes, but that's beside the point." Amanda reached her hand out for the bandages, but Gemma pulled her hand away, a stern, unbending look in her eye.

"Take off the shirt or I will do it for you" she threatened and Amanda sighed in frustration.

With her good hand she grabbed the hem of Gear's shirt and pulled upwards. She maneuvered it as carefully as she could where her shoulder was concerned; the hole where her head went was particularly tricky. In a manner of seconds the grey shirt that still smelled too much of him was off, and aside from the black sports bra that was in serious need of a wash, her torso was laid bare for Gemma to see.

Gemma didn't move at first, her eyes taking in the sight before here. Amanda knew what she was seeing, the faded scars from all those years ago that had long since faded but were still dark enough to send people's minds haywire. The one on her front were nothing compared to her back, which had words carved into her skin. At least she assumed they were words, didn't make sense otherwise unless the intent was to draw misshapen spirals and rectangles just to drive her crazy. Hopefully Gemma didn't have to see what was back there; Amanda would never hear the end of it.

It took Gemma a few seconds to move something, anything. Her lips opened to take in a sharp inhale of breath only to exhale it just as sharply. She moved forward, the stern look back in place. "Let's get those changed."

Gemma stayed in front of Amanda the whole time, and for once she was thankful to the woman for keeping some semblance of distance. They worked in silence as Gemma took off the bandages and checked the stitches to see that they were still in place before pouring some peroxide on the wound to prevent infection. Then she wrapped her up in fresh bandages and gauze. Gemma handed her a piece of tape before turning back to gather up the loose, unused supplies.

Amanda attempted to drag on Gear's shirt again, but Gemma stopped her.

"Put that down, you are not wearing anymore hand-me-down shirts, do you understand me?"

"It's the only one I got," Amanda responded in a confused tone, giving the woman a look that questioned her sanity, blaming her scars for the damage.

"No," Gemma smirked, "it's not." She suddenly walked to the door, turning to glance at Amanda, "stay here" and poof! Out the door she went in a flash, leaving Amanda standing there looking like a half finished store manikin.

Without her shirt, and the lingering stench of sex, Amanda felt very uncomfortable. She stood in the same spot for a moment, looking anywhere except the bed. The room really was a mess, clothes thrown about in a careless manner, food wrappers on the table and the edges of the room, and a strange discoloration along the walls. On the wall to the right of her were a dresser and a mural of photos. She gave it more attention because it was the neatest thing in the room, but what kept her attention was one photo in particular.

She found herself walking over as she glanced at the rest of the mural briefly. Most of them were of Jax and his family when he was a kid, along with a few more from various club members when they were younger, including her. The photo in question was when she won her first game of pool against Bobby, who was grinning away in the background with a laughing Tig leaning against him for support. She was sitting on the table grinning broadly, showing off the 8-ball in full force as she stuck her tongue out for the camera. Gemma and Clay were clapping in the background, smiling at her with pride. Jax might have been the one to take the picture, but to honest she couldn't remember. She just remembered Bobby's groan when she sunk the 8-ball and the shouts of victory coming from around the clubhouse, including her Dad's. He rushed towards her and scooped her up in his arms and put her on his shoulders, chanting her name to loud applause.

She smiled at the memory. It was one of the few memories that weren't tainted by her Father's passing, and though she didn't understand why, she was thankful for it. Next to that one was a photo of her and Gear pigging out over takeout, the noodles hanging out of their mouths as they looked into the camera like "huh?" Even though it was only a few years ago, it felt like decades. Then one when she and Gear went camping. They were hugging, dancing near the roaring fire. Her head tilted up laughing at him, and he was smiling down at her in return. The last photo was in the same trip where they were sleeping on a cot. His arms wrapped protectively around her waist, her head tucked beneath his chin as they drunkenly slept the night away. Amanda was surprised because she didn't know someone had taken a picture of the pair dancing. She was even more surprised when she saw the picture of her sleeping on top of him.

She looked safe, protected, and free from harm, the first time she ever looked like the girl she used to be since she was taken.

As she thought about potential culprits the door opened and Gemma came in with a smirk.

"Don't worry, it's not revealing" she mocked as she threw the shirt to her. Amanda caught it with ease, and unfolded it to reveal a sight that unwittingly made her laugh. It was her old Black Sabbath t-shirt that Clay gave her for her 14th birthday, the only gift she was allowed to have that year because it was under Lachlan's orders. "The moment you catch her listening to shit rap or kid pop, educate her. My kid's not going to grow up listening to crap," was written on a birthday card attached to the shirt, along with a Black Sabbath CD and headphones. She didn't get the CD or headphones until a week later because of her indiscretions towards her teachers.

"I haven't seen this shirt in forever," she marveled at it, wondering how it could have survived all these years.

"Not surprising since you left it at the house when you moved out."

"I left a lot of shit there, only place I feel safe having personal, nostalgic stuff."

"Good," Gemma nodded, pointing to the shirt, "put that on and let's get your arm patched up."

She did as ordered, carefully not letting the fabric touch her wound before heading out into the hallway with Gemma following close behind.

"So what did you and the Deputy talk about yesterday?"

"He found out I was the first responder that was attacked on scene, he just wanted to check on me and make sure I was okay. He didn't ask me about you guys, if that's what you're fishing for."

Gemma nodded, "you know what to do if he does?"

"Plead the fifth? Lawyer up? Describe a crazy weekend in Tijuana that now prevents me from recalling explosive events?" Amanda retorted sarcastically.

"No," Gemma responded by stepping in front her and forcing her to look at her, "you call us. When shit hits the fan, don't try to hide it and don't inform someone else first. When something happens to you, we are the first ones to know."

"Why? So you can keep tabs on me? So you can treat me like a piece of property that you store away and never have to worry about?"

"You're family, Amanda. You've always been family. It's the reason we took you in when Lachlan died and your Mom split. Not from guilt or priority, but because you're family, and there was no way we were going to let them take you away from us." Gemma glanced towards the open area where Chibs and Gear were waiting, "someday you're going to realize how wrong you are about us, and for your sake I hope it's soon."

With that lovely parting note, Gemma turned and walked towards the Sons. Amanda hesitated for a second, pondering Gemma's statement. She wasn't sure what to make of it, to believe it or toss it aside. There was one thing she knew to take seriously, and that was Gemma's unveiled warning. Next time Amanda' tried to hide something from her and the Sons; things were going to get ugly. How ugly? She didn't want to know.