Fair warning this chapter is probably going to go to a weird place – probably even weirder than some of the Tig stuff so far (which I don't think has even been that bad as far as Tig goes) – I mean, this is Happy we're talking about. So here's a little insight into the relationship between the Nomad and our mercenary. I'd like to dedicate it to sillygabby, since Hap is her favorite SOA character, and nicole salvatore for her suggestion that I write a flashback chapter. Let's keep this train chugging along, shall we?

Series Content Warning: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor. This chapter contains a fairly graphic sex scene.

HAPPY

The clubhouse and lot were buzzing with activity later that night, with men from the Washington, Utah and Nevada charters all present, as well as members from a few of their support clubs who had come down to pay their respects to their interstate brethren. The rest of the crowd was made up by the usual hangarounds, sweetbutts and croweaters, all looking for their share of attention from the patched men. Rock music was booming over the speakers, alcohol was flowing just as freely as the pussy, and if the loud, jovial conversations were anything to go by, they were in for a much-needed, stress-free evening.

The members of SAMCRO were seated around one of the outdoor tables discussing the reason behind their new IRA contact. The man they had been dealing with for over a decade, Michael McKeavey, had recently been beaten to death at the port where their guns came in, over a deal gone wrong; and since he was their new associate's cousin, the man was now out for revenge. If they found a way to take out the port commissioner responsible for the death, Hayes had promised them back the 200k they had worked so hard to throw together for him, as well as a month of free guns. With all the shit going on with the Nords and the Mayans, it would be nice to have that bit of breathing space in their business dealings for once.

"Murder for hire? That's a dirty business," Clay was saying now as they discussed the details of the hit. Opie had been first to volunteer, eager to prove his head and his heart were back in the game after his brief 'hiatus', but Jax didn't seem to think he was ready. Honestly, Clay was getting sick of listening to them argue.

Even as the words left his president's mouth, Tig's mind was on their mercenary. She was yet to show despite her assurance that morning that she would be there, and he was trying his best to keep his restless behavior under wraps, tuning in and out of the conversation as he sipped his beer, fingers tapping against his thigh. His mind drifted as they settled on Jax, Opie and Bobby for the hit, and he glanced over at the boxing ring. He suddenly sat forward.

"What the hell? Frankie?"

Mistaking his outburst for a suggestion, Clay waved him off. "We ain't usin' her again," he told his Sergeant. "Consider that pipeline burnt out for now."

"Nah, man, she's in the fucking ring!"

He got to his feet and started heading over. They all turned to look, and sure enough there she was; dressed in grey jeans and a black tank top, wraps covering her hands as she danced back and forth in front of her opponent.

"Who's she fighting?" Juice asked, craning his neck, looking concerned.

Jax stood up and peeked over the crowd, a grin spreading across his face as he turned back.

"Happy."

The president got up and followed after Tig, quickly joined by the others. "Now this I gotta see."

They were circling each other like a couple of wildcats, eyes never leaving the other's face, waiting for someone to make the first move. Frankie struck out first, but Happy blocked her, pushing her fist aside and taking the opportunity to strike a blow of his own. He landed it against her cheek, sending her stumbling back. She was quick to correct her stance, shaking it off and coming in on the attack once more. To their disbelief, the woman was grinning, laughing as Happy continued to block each strike. She gestured to her other cheek and they could have sworn they heard her say, "Hit me. Right here. Come on, right there."

Happy obliged her, striking her harder than before, smiling silently as she spat out blood.

"I don't think I like where this is going," Jax heard Tig say against the din of the surrounding crowd. For someone still sporting the cuts and bruises of their last foray into bareknuckle boxing, she seemed a little too eager to be receiving more of the same. "Frankie!"

Either she didn't hear him over the crowd and the music, or she simply chose to ignore him. Frankie came at the Nomad again, feigning a left hook as she quickly came at him with her right. She struck him in the ribs a couple of times before he socked her hard in the jaw, sending her down onto the mat. There was a resounding 'Oh!' from the onlookers, some looking uncomfortable about the mixed pairing, others eager to see the outcome, and Tig looked like he was fighting to climb in there himself. It was then that she looked over at him, as if sensing his growing concern, and gave him a reassuring, red-toothed grin. His expression faltered and he backed off a little. She looked back up at her opponent, waiting for him to get close and then swung out her legs, knocking his feet out from underneath him, sending him down next to her. This was met by further whoops and hollers from the audience as they egged her on. Jax winced but appeared to be enjoying the show, his expression much the same as the one Chibs was now sporting as they called out encouragement to the two fighters.

"This is so wrong," Juice muttered. From the looks on the fighters' faces, it seemed almost like they were engaging in some kind of violent, twisted foreplay, and Juice couldn't help but wonder if this was what their sex had been like. The image of Happy choking her flashed into his mind and he cringed, quickly shaking the thought away as he downed more of his beer.

Tig watched Alice get back on her feet, taking the opportunity to regain her composure as her opponent pushed himself back up. She came at him again, keeping so close it didn't allow him much room to swing, and began to pummel into his sides, drawing him back against the ropes. Their bodies were so close by now, they might as well have been moving against each other; the action a stark reminder to all the men watching of their physical history together. Frankie got in one last hit to Happy's jaw, then all of a sudden they were laughing and hugging it out. It seemed whatever their intention had been for the match, it was over and done with now.

Spotting their familiar audience, the fighters climbed out of the ring over by their side and hopped down, each accepting beers from a couple of interested croweaters. Alice eyed her drink-bearer with enough interest for Tig to momentarily forget what had him so worked up, and he proceeded to get worked up in a completely different way.

"Good fight!" Chibs told them both, throwing an arm around Happy's shoulders as he clinked his bottle against each of theirs.

Catching Juice's wide-eyed concern, Alice pulled him into a lopsided hug and ruffled the top of his head, but he shrugged away, not looking at all amused.

"Aw, what's wrong, Juicy?" she asked, but he just shook his head. Before he could say anything, Tig stepped in and voiced his thoughts for him.

"Are you insane?" he asked, voice low and steady as his body pulsed with barely-contained anger.

She glanced around at the others, all of whom had been witness to some of her work, then looked back.

"I mean, at least a little."

He turned to Happy. "What the hell, man? Really?"

"Just giving the woman what she wanted," he replied with a smile, gruff voice tinged with amusement over the Sergeant's protective behavior. He had heard about her night with Tig after the last party, but hadn't expected them to keep anything going. The idea of another enforcer – Tig of all people – settling down with someone he had fucked was just too funny to him. His twisted grin only seemed to aggravate the man more.

"Oh yeah? How about you and I get back in there? Settle a few things ourselves?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Christ. Put your dick away, Tig. If you really wanna know who's bigger, you can just ask."

The men's eyes went to Tig as Happy smirked, and he looked about ready to wash his hands of the entire situation. Sensing this, Alice placed a hand on his arm until he finally tore his burning blue eyes away from the Nomad to look at her. His expression softened against his will.

"Come on, big guy. I gotta get some ice on this shit." She fist bumped Happy on the way past, thanking him for the fight, and exchanged a grin with Jax, clapping him on the shoulder. Clay watched all of this with a curious expression, realizing just how relaxed she was getting around the other members. His skeptical gaze followed her, but he was soon drawn back into a conversation about the details of the hit.

It wasn't long before they were back around the table, Alice reluctantly allowing Tig to pull her onto his lap if only to settle him down a little, a bag of ice pressed to her bruises as she felt her cheek beginning to swell.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you enjoyed getting hit," he said to her, taking in the damage with a frown. She just shrugged as she drank some of her beer, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She glanced over at Happy and they sniggered. "What?" Tig asked, looking between them.

"Nothing," she assured him, but he didn't like the way they were looking at each other; some unspoken secret bouncing between them as they grinned.

"Not the first time she's asked me to hit her," Happy said finally, ignoring the look she threw him as his eyes bored into her.

"Except last time you were literally inside of me," she replied, bursting into a fit of laughter as Juice choked on his drink behind her. There were mixed reactions upon hearing that weird, unnecessary little detail of that part of their history; Clay grimacing, Jax just shaking his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, while Bobby chuckled. She noticed the way Tig's grip tightened around his beer and against her hip, where his fingers had been tracing lazy circles under her tank top. She looked over at him, a hint of disapproval to her gaze at his continued, unnecessary jealousy. He wouldn't meet her gaze. Honestly, she found his behavior kind of endearing, not expecting the big, tough biker to care enough to warrant that kind of reaction; but she must have underestimated his level of commitment to her. The thought of it made her feel a little guilty – she just wasn't quite there yet herself.

"I want to know how you two even ran into each other to begin with," Bobby said now, cocking the lip of his beer towards her.

"Aye," Chibs seconded, leaning in with a conspiratorial air, "now tha'd be an interesting story."

Alice and Happy exchanged looks, smiles growing into full-blown grins as he nodded.

"Yeah," Tig admitted, his grip on her tightening once more, "You know, I am kind of interested to hear that."

"You tell it," Happy rasped to her, like they were a couple telling their 'how we first met' story. She chuckled, looked down at the dregs of her beer then downed it before saying, as she placed the empty bottle on the table behind her, "Okay, but I still think it would have been funnier hearing your version."

The sun beat down on the vast, barren land; the road almost hot enough to melt the rubber off a tire. The highway shimmered off in the distance. Frankie leaned back against her bike as she gazed up at the birds circling overhead, not quite able to make out if they were eagles or vultures, hoping for the former; the latter just seemed too damn cliché. A chorus of crows called out somewhere in the distance as if protesting the intense heat, and Frankie was grateful to have remembered to put sunscreen on that morning. Her skin had developed a nice brown coloring from her years over in Afghanistan and then Cuba, but with her half-Irish, half-English heritage she still had the tendency to burn.

Death Valley. It seemed a fitting place to meet her target.

Her contact had notified her that the ex-bounty hunter had planned a route right down State Highway 190 on his way through to Vegas, where he supposedly had protection lined up. The man had moved from gun-for-hire to the slightly-more-legitimate business of capturing fugitives and handing them over to the law for payment. The feds had taken notice of his new direction, and with a little nudge – not to mention a lot of blackmail – had managed to turn him rat. Ironically, he had a number of convictions up in the air due to his violent past, and had a few bounties of his own hanging over his head. The man had been a professional, someone his clients had thought they could rely on, and he had turned his back on them like a fucking coward. The thought made Frankie's blood boil. Shit like that was bad for business.

She had been hired by a worried ex-client of his, not sure if the man was just stupid or simply had a lot riding on the ex-bounty hunter's testimony; either way, she took him up on the offer almost instantly. She hadn't exactly needed a monetary excuse to take this guy out. Tugging at her leather gloves, she checked her clip again, more out of habit than necessity, and huffed out a bored breath. Just as she was on the verge of going to hunt out some armadillos – not to kill, just to look at; she found the hard-shelled little critters interesting – she heard the distant rumble of an engine. The marked vehicle had been described as a plain, black Mercury – nothing special, simple enough to pick out from a distance. The vehicle coming towards her now from the east was not it.

The black van stuck out like a sore thumb against the blazing azure sky – unmarked and possible trouble. Frankie wasn't fazed. She probably didn't look particularly innocent herself, parked by the side of the road, arms folded as she sat back against her bike. It could only really go two ways: if they were simply passing through, taking the scenic route, they might stop to see if she needed help, or the heat might force them onwards; but if they were there for the same reason she was, she had enough weapons and ammunition in her pack to keep herself covered. There wasn't a lot of cover out in the desert, but if it came down to it, she could always just buy herself another bike.

Just as she got back to her feet, readying herself for a confrontation, she heard another sound in the distance coming from the opposite direction; the low, familiar rumble of an approaching Harley. Well, shit. The squeal of tires caught her attention and she realized the bike was in the middle of a high speed pursuit, chasing down the very vehicle she had spent the better part of an hour waiting for out in the blistering heat.

"God fucking dammit," she cursed, tying her half-skull kerchief around the bottom of her face, dark aviators like empty sockets as they shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight. She climbed onto her Ducati and took off, ignoring the van that had picked up speed behind her.

By the time she reached the battling vehicles, the rider on the Harley was already firing into the windows of the Mercury, sending glass flying over the driver. The car skidded, moving on an awkward angle, and Frankie could already see what was going to happen. She slid to a stop just as the car began to flip; once, twice and one final third arc before coming to a stop against a boulder. She was glad this job didn't necessitate her pulling the trigger – she couldn't see the motherfucker surviving that.

The guy on the Harley rolled to a halt and turned to look at her. She caught a glimpse of the back of his kutte. A reaper. Guy was part of a goddamn motorcycle club. She tugged down her kerchief. Her target must have really pissed off a lot of people. The Harley rider dismounted and started making his way towards her, gun still in hand but resting by his side. As he drew closer, she began to make out his features; dark olive skin, a shaved head, high cheekbones and sunken sockets. Guy was a goddamn walking embodiment of his club's emblem. His eyes went to her hand and saw the gun, but before he could raise his weapon, their attention was drawn to the screech of tires behind her.

The van skidded to a sideways halt and the doors were thrown open. Three men leapt out carrying guns: one average-looking, blue-collar type who had been driving, and who was probably leading the band of wannabees; a skinny guy in a white wife-beater and torn jeans, sporting a horrible mullet and looking like he had just come off a weeklong meth-binge; and the guy who stepped out from the back, a massive brute of a man dressed much the same as the meth-meddler, only with more tattoos running up the sides of his arms and across his chest. She wondered if he thought it made him look tough. She made a note to kill him first.

"The fuck is going on here?" Mr. Working-Class-Hero asked, glancing from Frankie, to the biker, then off to the wreck behind them. For a second she almost thought these guys were simply passing through, then she spotted the disappointed looks cross their faces. Bounty hunters. Fucking bounty hunters. She hated bounty hunters almost as much as she hated clowns. Then again, in her eyes there wasn't a lot of difference.

"Accident, I guess," she told them, feigning innocence.

"Cute," the man replied, "What the hell is some random bitch doing out in the middle of the desert, and armed, too, I might add? Why don't you tell me that?" He raised his gun as if expecting to intimidate her and the others followed suit like a couple of underdressed puppets. Frankie folded her arms and cocked her head at them. She glanced up as the biker reached her side and he looked equally as unwelcoming at the sight of the three collectors. "And who the fuck is this?"

The biker grinned and raised his gun, joining the stand-off with a little more enthusiasm than Frankie liked. She furrowed her brow at him in curiosity, then her eyes dipped down to read the flash stitched to the front of his leather. SONS OF ANARCHY. TACOMA. UNHOLY ONES.

'Unholy Ones'? Who the hell was this guy?

"The guy who just took out your target, I reckon," she replied, "And since you guys no longer have a living body to bring back with you, why don't you stick those sorry looking tails between your legs and run back home to your master like good boys?"

"The fuck did you say?" the big guy said, stepping forward. How it was that a woman sitting calmly on her bike, weapon not even aimed, could manage to intimidate a bulging bundle of muscles, she didn't know.

"Easy there, Lou Ferrigno, wouldn't want to pull, well, everything."

His gigantic neck tensed as he fought to keep himself from beating her, not wanting to tarnish his reputation by laying into some little biker bitch.

"For all we know, the guy might still be alive," their leader stated. She threw him a look.

"You could go check," she said, then she finally raised her weapon and stepped off her bike. "But I'm pretty sure you'd have to make it past at least one of us first." She gestured between herself and the silent Son.

The men scoffed. She felt like she was in a goddamn movie dealing with shitty henchmen. She glanced back over at the biker, but his dark eyes were on the three men, darting between them as if trying to decide which one to kill first.

"You two nancies working together?" Muscles asked.

The biker glanced at her then and at the same moment they raised their secondary weapons on each other.

"Nope," Frankie replied.

"Well then," Blue Collar smiled, "Looks like we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Three to two, sweetheart-"

She shot the big one, blood and brains splattering back into the open van as he collapsed heavily to the boiling asphalt. She could already smell his flesh sizzling against it.

"I count two," she said.

She caught movement from the corner of her eyes and realized the biker was now smirking. He met her gaze and shrugged.

"Still three," he told her, reminding her he was there for himself. She aimed at the junkie and took out one of his knees, finishing the job just as he cursed and raised his weapon. She looked back at the man beside her and he cocked his head without expression; touché. The remaining bounty hunter was visibly shaken by this point, but she had to give him props for standing his ground. Slowly, he reached down and picked up the pistol of one of his fallen comrades, aiming a gun each at his two antagonizers. Now they were caught in a real, genuine Mexican stand-off.

"So how are we gonna do this?" he asked them, as if he had any more chance than the two on the ground.

"Well, I'm gonna take a guess that we're the only two here doing this for money," Frankie began, "This guy's patched. Probably personal. Am I right?" She looked over at the biker, who gave a brief nod, curious where she was going with this; he was starting to get bored. "So let's make this easy, then." She turned her full attention to the Son, guns still trained on him and the bounty hunter. "I get out o' here alive, you get half of what my client's paying me."

The Nomad eyed her steadily, considering the offer much to the bounty hunter's dismay. Since his own payment relied on the target arriving intact and without any visible marks, he didn't have anything of his own to bargain with. "I should get all of it. I killed the asshole," the biker rasped. There was a strange quality to his voice, like someone who had smoked some pretty heavy stuff most of their life, or someone who had received their fair share of chokings. She put it down to likely a bit of both.

"Well, technically we don't know that," she reminded him.

"That's right," the bounty hunter said, like he still had a chance in this. They both threw him looks that quickly shut him up.

"Sixty-forty," the biker said.

"Fifty-five, forty-five."

He stared at her, drawing her in with his dark, glinting eyes.

"Seventy-thirty."

She scoffed. Now they were just going backwards.

"Fifty-six, forty-four," she said, and he chuckled.

He looked her up and down in a way that made her feel practically naked and she soon found herself doing the same to him, admiring the way the tattoos on his forearms stood out against his warm complexion, the way his muscles looked as his t-shirt sat against them. He was an interesting looking man, not unattractive, and looked like the kind of guy who could fuck a woman just as easily as kill her. Frankie smiled and caught his smirk.

"Fifty-five, forty-five, my way," he said, "And I fuck you."

She cocked an eyebrow and made a thoughtful face as she considered it. Didn't take long.

"Done."

They lowered the weapons they had trained on each other and turned in unison, emptying their clips into the last remaining bounty hunter. As Frankie stepped over to give Muscles a kick just to make sure the hulking beast was dead, the biker added, "Plus I get the guy's head."

"Maybe we should flip for it," she joked, "Heads or tails? Actually, never mind. That one answers itself."

"So, do you actually need that for your club, or is this just a personal hobby of yours?" she asked as she stood over by the wrecked Mercury, watching him saw away at the dead man's neck. Inexplicably, he just happened to be carrying a saw on him, and she couldn't help but wonder just what she had gotten herself into in agreeing to that deal. They had pulled the target out of the wrecked car, surprised to find him still alive – barely. He was in pretty bad shape, but the biker hadn't seemed to take any notice, taking out his saw and straddling the man to begin his work. It had taken a disapproving 'Dude!' from Frankie to get him to stop and choke the guy to death first.

He looked over at her now, expecting to see her at least dry-retching, but if anything she just looked bored. She looked off towards the horizon, keeping an eye on both directions for any more approaching danger. The scene around them wasn't exactly the picture of innocence; though she didn't doubt that – man, woman, or child – this guy would happily take out any witnesses that should come their way; he was actually smiling as he worked.

"Might want to hurry it up there, Smiley," she told him as his saw continued its gentle rasp through the guy's spinal cord.

"Happy."

"Hm?" She looked down at him, expecting him to have picked up his pace to please her, but then she realized that wasn't what he was talking about. "Really?" He threw her a dark look that made her rethink her words. Then she smiled.

"Frankie."

"You a bounty hunter?"

She spat.

"Fuck that. Mercenary."

He looked her up and down again, first studying the scar on her face, his gaze then landing on her tattoos. He eyed her USMC ink.

"You serve?"

"Yeah. You?"

He shook his head. "Know a couple of guys who did, though. Marines."

"Recent?"

"Desert Storm."

She nodded. Bit before her time.

He rose to his feet now, grabbing the severed head by its short, brown hair. He held it up.

"What do you need for your guy?"

"Just a photo," she said, taking out her burner. She made as if to take one with it, "Smile." He didn't really look like he was living up to his name. He tossed the head down into the dirt for her and she threw him a look, kicking it a little closer to the body to help with the ID. Once that was done, she looked around. Happy approached with a black garbage bag and scooped the head back up inside it, tying the excess plastic in a knot. He tossed it back over to his bike then looked back at her, arms covered in blood up to the elbows. He came towards her and she realized his intentions, backing off a little. Sure, she wasn't bothered by the occasional beheading, but she wasn't about to strip down next to a bleeding corpse in the middle of the desert; girl still had her standards.

"Uh, how about we find a motel? My shout. Then we'll see where we're at after you've washed that shit off your hands."

He smirked. "You scared of a bit of blood, lady?"

She stared at him, cocking her head. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea."

She was in the middle of sending through the picture of her target to her client when her phone was ripped from her hands and tossed aside.

"Hey!"

Happy ignored her protests as he stood naked in front of her, fresh from the shower, body still glistening with water. She was allowed a brief second to take him in before he flipped her around and bent her over the bed.

"Not one to stand on ceremony, huh?" she grunted, his forearm pressed in the back of her neck. He held her like that for a moment and ran a finger from his free hand down her spine, chuckling when he felt her shiver. Her hips rose up at the sensation and he took the opportunity to tear off her underwear. He released her from his hold and knelt down behind her as he forced her legs apart. She turned her head to watch him but received a hard smack across the ass for doing so. She quickly turned back, groaning at the sharp sting. A finger traced her entrance and she knew the introduction of pain was already making her wet. Realizing this, he struck her again, this time a little harder than before. She yelped but the noise quickly dissolved into a moan.

Grinning, Happy dove into her folds face-first and she bucked back against him, whining in surprise at the sudden sensation. His tongue lapped against her in a way that had her legs shaking and she pressed back against him, his nose practically buried inside her. It wasn't long before she was clawing at the sheets as she rode out her first orgasm. He kept it going as long as he felt necessary, bringing her to the brink again before getting to his feet and thrusting into her without warning, sending her over the edge. He didn't allow her any time to adjust to his size, pummeling into her, pace driven by her subsiding contractions. His fingers sank into the flesh of her ass deep enough to bruise and he smacked her again.

"Fuck!" she cried out. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, gazing down at her, eyes dark with control. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this turned on; she could already feel her third orgasm building. He released his hold on her hair, forcing her head to whip forward before he flipped her over onto her back and took hold of her legs. He pulled her to the edge of the mattress and slipped her legs over his shoulders, thrusting back into her picking up his pace once more. Without warning, he grabbed her by the arms and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself steady, but they didn't go too far; he soon had her up against the wall, black eyes boring into her, completely expressionless.

Her eyes searched his for a moment, then she whispered, "Hit me."

This seemed to register with him, but he gave a particularly hard thrust of his hips, urging her to repeat herself a little louder, the ghost of a smirk hovering across his lips.

"Oh! Fucking hit me!"

Without a second's hesitation he brought the back of his hand across her cheek, the slap sounding heavily through the motel room. Her cheek marked pink, she grit her teeth and ordered him to do it again. This time he smirked. He hadn't had one like this in a long time.

He brought his hand across her face a second time and she groaned.

"You like that you crazy bitch?"

"Fuck yes! Again."

The third time had a little trickle of blood running from her nose, and her tongue darted out to meet it. Her eyes met his again and this time he saw a wild glint in them. She leaned forward and brought him into a deep kiss, and though normally he had a rule against it, he allowed her the freedom for a brief moment, tasting her blood on his lips. He pulled her away roughly with his hand around her throat and squeezed. This seemed to be all it took to send her over again, and it wasn't long before her tightening walls were drawing out his own climax. He turned them around and tossed her back onto the bed, a couple of final pumps all he needed to finish himself off. The second he was done he pulled out of her and stalked back into the bathroom. Still coming down from her own high, Frankie glanced around in a daze. She heard the water running once again and her eyebrows rose in brief judgment. She sighed. She hadn't taken him for cuddler.

She got to her feet, considered waiting for him to hop out so she could take a shower herself, but then decided to take the more enigmatic approach of simply disappearing into the night. She gathered up her clothes, got dressed and grabbed her gear, heading for the door; but not before leaving a quick little note.

When Happy stepped out from the bathroom, he was grateful to find the mercenary had already taken her leave; he hated when bitches played dumb. He glanced around, making sure she hadn't stolen any of his shit, then spotted his laden garbage bag set atop the desk by the door. He stepped towards it, noticing the card on top, and picked up the bit of paper. On it was a phone number and a short message: Thanks for the head.

He chuckled to himself.

Alice downed the last of her second bottle of beer, courtesy of Half-Sack, and glanced around at her audience, whose rapt attention she still managed to hold. She had brought the story to a conclusion right around the part where she had suggested they find a motel, and had been staring off, smiling as her mind replayed what had come after like an old home video. But somehow her ending just wasn't enough for the band of degenerates.

"And?" Chibs asked.

"And what?" she asked.

"Did you fuck?" Bobby finished for him, as if the question was obvious.

She didn't reply, but instead looked to Happy, exchanging deviant smirks once more. The men turned their attention to the Nomad.

"Yeah we did," he answered, before receiving a number of congratulatory high-fives from his brothers. Alice rolled her eyes and looked over at Juice, but found he had disappeared. She wondered at what point in the story he had left. Glancing back at Tig, she found him deep in thought.

"Hey," she said, as the others attempted to get details of the tryst from Happy. His eyes moved to meet hers but his expression remained blank as he took a sip of his beer. She ran her fingers down his chest then up to stroke the USMC tattoo on his forearm, finally managing to draw a smile from him. Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear, "Why don't you take me into one of those dorms and show me who really does it best?" She felt him stiffen beneath her and she chuckled.

He got to his feet, practically throwing her from his lap, then threw an arm around her shoulders, his hand slipping down to cup her ass before he gave it a squeeze and a slap. "Let's get out of here." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her through the crowd towards the clubhouse with her grinning the entire way. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to break it to him, but compared to Happy…Tig was the tame one.

A/N: Okay, so, first sex scene. Hope I did alright! I realized I've been calling Happy a Nomad since the start of this story, but in canon he may have still been part of the Tacoma charter. He was during the time he met Frankie, anyway, so let's just say he had transferred by this point. Hope you enjoyed that little look into their history together. There will be more a little further down the line – this time involving Happy and one of my personal favorites, Kozik – and that will show a little more how their bond developed. That's going to be fun to write.

Anyway, thanks again for reading. Reviews are always much appreciated!