Series Content Warning: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor.

Chapter Soundtrack: Gimme Shelter – The Rolling Stones
Hurt – Nine Inch Nails

THE FALLOUT

When the news finally reached them, the gravity of the mistake became all too clear. Opie had made it home with the kids; Donna had been involved in an accident. Her thoughts only on Tig, Alice followed the men out to the scene, heart thumping in her chest, stomach wrenching at the thought of what her simple suggestion had wrought for the Winston family. She hung back on her bike as she watched Opie race to his wife's side; Donna's body lying limp and bloody on the street. Emergency services were already in attending, with paramedics looking on as the grieving husband drew his dead wife up into his arms and sobbed. There were cops all around; the only witness a man out walking his dog. A black SUV had rolled up behind the truck and taken the shot from behind. Tig couldn't have known. Donna was a casualty in a war she had never been a part of.

Watching Tig now, Alice saw the lost look in his eyes. He didn't kill women. That brutality was set aside for men, and men alone. Donna hadn't deserved this, but that didn't change the fact that her children were now without a mother; that an innocent man was without the love of his life, the one thing that had kept him balanced within the turmoil of his outlaw biker life. She fought the urge to go to him, knowing how much the mistake would be eating him up inside, despite how well he appeared to be holding it together. He couldn't show any sign of guilt. This indiscretion was between him and Clay – if any of the others where to even catch a whiff of the truth, it would tear their club apart.

Alice looked over at the president as he reaped the emotional consequences of his fatal mistake. She got off her bike as she saw Juice heading her way, and he pulled her into a hug. He held her tight, her embrace reassuring him. He pulled back and looked down at her, grateful to have her alive in his arms; his girl was still safe. They turned to look back at the scene before them.

"Has Clay said anything about what happened?" she asked him quietly.

"Retaliation," he replied, voice thick, "It had to be. They must have recognized the truck, thought it was Opie."

Yeah, just a simple case of mistaken identity. She glanced over at Clay again, but he was busy playing the part of undeniable innocence. He was a great actor, she'd give him that. As Jax pulled Opie away, Alice watched him throw his step-father a look of pure contempt. Whether it was because he knew the truth, or he was simply tired of his president's poor judgement, she couldn't tell; but, as if a crack had opened up in the ground between the two men, she saw the beginnings of civil conflict, and could only hope it didn't escalate. Tig was a major party to all of this; she knew she couldn't stand by and watch him cop the blame. He was simply loyal to a man who cared more about an end than he did about the means in which it was brought about; no matter whose life he destroyed in the process.

A black sedan rolled up to the scene, lights flashing as it drew to a halt. Agent Stahl stepped out and took in the scene around her. This was on her and from the look on her face, she knew it. By pegging Opie as the rat, she had started a bloody chain reaction that had culminated in the murder of an innocent mother. Alice fought the urge to confront her, knowing it was driven by her own guilt. Stahl had made it all so convincing that even she had fallen for it, and in doing so had planted the seed of doubt in the minds of all the men in SAMCRO. A little part of her took the blame for this, too.

They moved out a little while later, leaving the EMTs and officers to do their jobs.

"Where you going?" Alice asked Juice, as he made for his bike looking just as lost as the others.

"Probably gonna head back to the clubhouse. Hang around in case anyone needs anything."

She nodded. She knew she should go with him, make sure he was alright, but she felt the weight of Tig's sudden departure all the more. He had been one of the first to leave – not able to face his part in another brother's anguish any longer. She didn't want to leave him alone, not knowing what he might do; what guilty actions his demons might drive him to.

"I'll, uh, I'll try to come by after," she told him, knowing already that it was a lie.

"Where are you going?" he frowned, the expression gentler than usual in light of his grief; but he already knew. Had he given it much more thought, he could have pieced it together himself – he had, after all, been the one to show them the wire transfers; that damning piece of evidence that had set this all off – but his mind wouldn't allow him to consider the possibility of his own brothers having a hand in this.

"I've got something I need to take care of," she replied, and he just nodded, appearing in a slight daze. He watched as she got on her bike, eyes trailing after her as she took off into the night.

Tig was already home by the time she arrived at his house, but she had the feeling he wouldn't be in the mood for company. She had witnessed him in violent situations before, but never something like this. She had no idea what might greet her on the other side of that door. She raised an unsteady hand to the doorbell and paused. Reaching into her bag, she drew out her lock pick set instead, and quietly let herself in. The house was dark, save for a faint glow from down the hallway, off towards the master bedroom. The second she heard the shattering of glass, she picked up her pace.

Tig stood in front of the bathroom mirror, blood trickling down the side of his face from the cut on his forehead, the glass before him splintered into dozens of tiny cobwebbed cracks where he had struck it. He barely seemed to register the creak of the bedroom door as she stepped inside. She was by his side in seconds, turning him away from the broken mess.

"Oh, Alex, what have you done to yourself?"

His blank, blue eyes remained unfocused for a moment, then finally met her worried gaze.

"You shouldn't be here, baby."

Her eyes searched his, expression growing stern as she took his hands. She led him out to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed, disappearing for a moment to collect a cloth to clean him up. While she ran it under warm water, she bowed her head. He was blaming himself for this – a freak accident that had come about from an unfortunate chain of events. He had executed the hit, but none of this was on him.

She knelt down in front of him and silently got to work wiping away the blood and blotting at his cuts. As tears began to roll down his face, she set aside the cloth and took his face in her hands, kissing away the wet streaks on his cheeks.

"This is me," he was muttering to her, "This is all on me. I, I couldn't look him in the eye when I did it, baby."

"It's okay," she soothed.

"No. I, I killed an innocent woman tonight. Oh, those poor kids…"

His face fell into his hands as his body began to shake with sobs. She pulled him close and held him for a moment, fighting to keep her body language calm and comforting as rage boiled inside her; rage at Clay's impatience, that he had put this on Tig.

"You should go," she heard him say after a while, as he wiped at his eyes. She pulled back to look at him, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. When he finally did, she could see the pain forcing his words. He didn't deserve the comfort of a good woman – not now, not when one of his brothers was going home to a cold, empty bed because of him. He didn't deserve a goddamn thing. "You should go," he repeated, looking more convinced, pulling away from her touch, pushing her back as his eyes flicked around, trying to settle on anything but her. "Go on. Get out of here."

There was a touch of anger to his voice as he ordered her out, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. He needed some space; he needed to wallow in this despair on his own. She got to her feet, knowing this simple decision could make or break the potential for any future they might have together.

He heard the click of the door as it closed behind her and dropped his face back into his hands as the surrounding silence began to engulf him once more. He was a fucking coward. If he'd had the guts to look his brother in the eye when he pulled that trigger, he could have avoided this whole damn mess. Alice didn't deserve to take on any of that. He wouldn't let her. He sighed deeply; two good women he had forced out of his life, neither of them deserving of any of it. He sat up, expecting to be greeted with a cold, empty room, but there she was; leaning back against the door as she gazed over at him. Relief flooded through him. That click of the door had been like a punch to the gut. He had really thought he had lost her.

Gazing at her now, seeing a glint of tears in her eyes - that shared anguish - he felt overwhelming gratitude, and tears began to spill once more. She moved back by his side, this time taking a seat next to him on the bed, and with a determined glint in her eyes, she threw an arm around his shoulders and said, "I'm not going anywhere."

She sat back against the headboard of his bed now, gently running her fingers through his hair as he slept resting his head on her lap. Her expression was blank as she stared off into the darkness. It had taken a little convincing, but she had managed to talk him into taking a couple of the Valium that she kept in her handbag, knowing there was no way he would get any sleep otherwise. He needed it right now, that blissful nothingness that sleep granted; she only hoped he wouldn't dream. She had considered taking some herself, something she often did after a particularly bad job, when the insomnia was at its worst, but had ultimately decided that someone ought to remain alert; especially in the wake of all that had happened. Careful not to disturb him, she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her cell, dialing Juice's number.

"Hey," he answered, voice still thick with emotion. She felt immediate guilt for not going back to the clubhouse with him, knowing he needed her, too. She looked down at Tig, fingers still gently stroking his cheek, and felt some of that guilt replaced by a reassuring affection.

"Hey, Juicy. How you holding up?"

"I'm okay," he replied, his voice suggesting otherwise. "Where are you?"

"I'm with Tig," she replied, not bothering to hide what she knew he already knew. The brief pause on the other end of the line confirmed her own troubled thoughts; she had chosen Tig over him. She didn't wait to let that thought settle too long. "You at the clubhouse? You with someone?"

"Yeah, just having a drink with Chibs," he confirmed. Hearing the the additional pain in his voice over his realization of her decision, she closed her eyes and ran her hand back through her hair. At the loss of her touch, she felt Tig stir. Her hand went back to him and his grip around her legs tightened in his sleep.

"Listen, my contact called about that witness," she told him, "When you see Clay tomorrow, tell him I need to have a talk with you all. Make sure it goes down the way it needs to." They couldn't afford another mistake like tonight's.

"Sure. Yeah, sure, I'll let him know."Another pause. She could still feel the hesitation in his voice.

"Juicy?"

"Yeah?"

"You need anything, you call, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Hanging up, she set the phone back down on the stand and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Looking down at the man she had abandoned her best friend for, she found him half-awake. He took her hand away from his head in a gesture that reminded her of his rejection earlier that night, but rather than pull away from her, this time he drew her down closer to him, only settling once her head was resting against his chest. She felt him sigh in a contented sort of way as he let sleep take him once more, and she ran began running her fingers gently along his side, reaching up to where some tears still spilled down his cheeks. She would make this right, she thought. She would find the real witness and take them out, thus destroying whatever hopes Stahl had of bringing down the club. She wouldn't allow that bitch to win. With those thoughts in mind, she closed her eyes and allowed an uneasy sleep to slip over her.

Tig seemed uncomfortable the following morning as he flitted about getting ready to head back out to the clubhouse. He glanced over at the woman who had witnessed a rare, raw side of him, and felt almost embarrassed to have exposed her to that. Still, even after all of it, she had stayed. He had gotten the feeling that if he had tried to force her out – threatened violence, even, in his moment of grief – she would have fought to stay, and he loved her a little for that. Even as he sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots, and she appeared in the doorway brandishing two coffees, he felt undeserving of her devotion. He dragged the heel of his palm around his eye and down his face before resting his head in his hands. Feeling her hand on his shoulder, he looked up. Her small, reassuring smile warmed the cold lump that had settled in the pit of his stomach since waking that morning. She held out one of the mugs.

"How's your head feeling?" she asked, knowing from experience the occasionally nasty side-effects of diazepam. He didn't reply, instead taking the other mug from her and placing them both down on the dresser beside them. He pulled her into a kiss, this one by far the gentlest she had ever experienced from him, the simple action conveying more gratitude than he could ever put into words. When he broke away, pain flashed across his features once more and he turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, as if only just remembering again what he had done the night before.

"Hey. Hey," she said to him, a firmness to her voice as she went to him. She placed one hand against his face and forced him back around to look at her, finding a deeply haunted look occupying his eyes. "Hey!" He finally looked at her. "You gotta buck-up today," she told him, "Keep it together, at least while you're with them. They can't know what happened…" She trailed off, the thought of him reaping the consequences of Clay's decision like cold steel in her belly. He gave a nod, his hands going to his hips as he made an effort to pull himself together. He squeezed his eyes shut as he bowed his head, and when he raised it once more, he took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he had that usual look of hardened determination. "I'll meet you down there," she told him, picking up her mug, taking a sip as he threw her a questioning look. "Info on the witness came through," she explained.

"Ah, shit," he said, his resolve quickly fading again under the news, reminded again of his mistake. "When?"

"Last night," she told him solemnly, "Right before…just before it happened."

"Ah, Christ."

"You gotta stop blaming yourself for this, Alex."

"I pulled that goddamn trigger. Like hell if this isn't on me."

"No, you were the goddamn trigger. And Clay was the one holding the gun. He made the judgement call. You were just following orders."

"No, I wasn't. I believed it. I believed Opie was the rat. I…That bitch Stahl had me so convinced."

"Then put this on her. Don't let it fall back on you. You made a mistake."

"Yeah. And Donna's dead because of that mistake." His hand moved back to rub at his eyes again as the weight of that accident settled on his shoulders once more. He knew today was going to be a struggle, but she was right; he couldn't let that guilt show through. If any of the others picked up on even the slightest hint that he had anything to do with Donna's death, he would be a dead man. Though at that moment, he wasn't even sure if he cared.

"You do what you gotta do today," she told him, giving up on the pep talk as he settled back into a comfortable state of self-loathing, hoping for his sake that it would pass. "I'll take care of this witness and you guys will be out of the ATF's crosshairs. Stahl will get hers, too. I guarantee it."

She waited out on one of the barstools as the Sons commenced their meeting inside the Chapel, knowing they would have more pressing matters to discuss before they could call her in. After about fifteen minutes of tapping her foot anxiously against the chair's leg, she heard one of the heavy, wooden doors creak open. Juice stepped out and with a jerk of his head gestured for her to join them. As she approached, she could tell he hadn't slept; dark circles around his eyes, tears glistening after the heavy first topic of discussion. Her hand went to the side of his face, dropping down to his shoulder and giving it a squeeze as she offered him a reassuring look. She only hoped his sleepless night was because of Donna.

Inside, the Chapel was still and silent. The men's eyes followed her as she stepped in and closed the door behind her. She took up her usual spot and, as if out of increasing habit in this space, folded her arms over her chest. She looked to Clay, who stared back, waiting for her to speak. She considered giving her condolences, but couldn't bring herself to do so; not knowing what had really happened – not with Tig in the room. He didn't need another reminder

"I, uh, I got a call last night. About the eyewitness," she began.

All eyes turned to her then, and she sighed. She had gone over the details back at her house, stopping in after Tig's for a change of clothes and to gather her thoughts. She had memorized the address, as well as the suspect's name and face before deleting the files. This wasn't her first hit on a protected witness, and she knew exactly what she would be dealing with. It would be an easy job as far as getting in went; for everything that came after, she had Frankie.

"Who is it?" Clay asked.

"The details aren't important," she assured them, "I've got a lock on the wit pro house. It's not my first. I know the drill. Bobby and Opie will be free of this shit this time tomorrow."

"God knows he needs something good right now," Chibs said quietly, and the others nodded. "Wit pro, though? That place'll be locked down hard."

"Not gonna be a problem. Like I said, I know the drill. I get in, I get out. No witnesses."

"You're gonna kill them?" Juice asked from the other side of the table, not looking very enthusiastic about the idea of another murder, especially not one committed by her.

"Guy's a rat," Tig reminded him, a tad defensively, "Rats deserve to die. End of story." The younger biker gave a reluctant nod, glancing quickly at his friend; but her expression remained devoid of any emotion.

"The sheriff's and agents they have on babysitting duty will live to see another day," she assured him, "I have my ways of getting around them."

"You sure you can do this?" Clay asked her. The way she looked at him then had them all shifting uncomfortably in their seats. She breathed back the tide of rage that threatened to consume her, and felt her lip twitch as she fought back a sneer.

"You got somebody else you want to try, by all means."

"All I meant was," he replied, not appreciating her tone, "Chibs is right. Wit pro. They're gonna have the place crawling with protection. You gonna do this on your own?"

"Easier that way," she replied, in a way that reminded him eerily of Happy, "I'll let you know when it's done."

She watched Tig shut his eyes, knowing he hated the fact that he hadn't been the one to take the person out; that yet another person had to die before they were in the clear. It should have been a clean job – one person, one hit; done and dusted. Knowing what she did now, Alice wasn't sure the truth would have made things any easier for them.

"Alright. Once that's done, you meet back here. We'll have some of your money for you. No doubt that debt will increase after this."

"No hurry," she assured them, knowing they would be funneling all their free cash at that moment into Donna's funeral. He gave a grateful nod for her understanding, effectively bringing her part in the meeting to a close. She threw Jax and apologetic look before she turned to leave, and he frowned, unsure what it had been for; she had come through on her end. That niggling suspicion that had been sitting in the back of his mind since the previous night quickly latched onto it, though, feeding off the suggestive glance. He turned back to his president as the door creaked closed behind their guest, and as his thoughts began to wander, that doubt began to grow.

It was close to five by the time she arrived in the rundown neighborhood, around the time Bell had told her the witness details were due to be released. She knew she didn't have long after that to get the job done; the ATF were presenting their case almost immediately after, and once they were done, Opie and Bobby would be placed in a line up to be picked out by the witness. Tonight was the night.

Parking a few streets down from the target's current residence, she took a moment to survey the surrounding area, tying her half-skull kerchief over the bottom half of her face before slipping on her dark aviators; in doing so, slipping back into her old alter-ego – she was going to need her for this one. She had borrowed an old, beat-up, brown sedan for the night, swapping the number plates out for one of the spare sets she kept in her warehouse – usually ones she took from some of the wrecks at the junkyard. Glancing over at the property, she spotted a cop car out the front – two of the sheriff's tasked with guard duty leaning back against the vehicle, arms folded as they chatted happily away.

Going to the trunk of the car, she opened it to reveal the small collection of weapons she had armed herself with for the hit. She picked up the scoped rifle and checked that it was loaded before sitting the barrel on top of the open trunk. She lined up the sight on one of the officers, pausing before taking the shot. He clapped a hand to his neck as if he had just been bitten by a mosquito, then quickly collapsed to the ground, opening up a shot on his partner before the man could even recognize the dart sticking out of his unconscious buddy. Once they were both down, she patiently waited. Sure enough, a third man came running from the front door upon seeing his brothers fall, gun raised in no particular direction, looking around for the invisible enemy. Before he could call in the incident, she took her third shot, hitting him just below the jaw. His hand went to his throat, coming away as if he expected to see blood from a gunshot wound, but he almost looked surprised as he fell unconscious to the pavement. Frankie placed the rifle back in her trunk and picked up a silenced pistol, duct tape and a needle.

On her way to the front door, she paused to remove the darts with leather-gloved fingers, and to bind their hands and feet. She knew they would still be out for a couple of hours but wasn't willing to take any chances. Sitting them back against the side of the vehicle, away from the view of the surrounding street, she moved with purpose towards the front door, and took out her needle, uncapping it. She knocked three times on the door and flattened herself back against the wall out of view. A middle-aged female agent opened it, spotting the three men over by the car.

"Oh my god." Before she could pick up her radio, Frankie was on her, needle pushed into her neck before the woman could so much as blink. Once she had collapsed back in her arms, Frankie gave a relieved sigh – so far so good – and dragged her back into the house, nudging the door closed behind her. She gave the agent the same treatment as the men out the front and left her on the living room couch before moving to seek out her target. They were staying in a room of the main living area, with nothing but a curtain to hide behind. With the switch flipped entirely, Frankie took out her silenced pistol and stared the witness down, ignoring their sobs as they clutched their pillow and cowered on the bed.

"Sorry about this, sweetheart."

"No!"

The gunshot cut them off, blood and brain matter splattering the white walls behind them. Frankie remained still for a moment, gun still raised, then slowly lowered it. She felt sick. She never felt sick on a job. Fighting back a growing flood of terror at what she had done, she moved swiftly back through the house, towards her beat-up sedan, and fled the scene of her latest murder.

Juice was seated at the bar, staring at his laptop, mind distracted with thoughts of Alice. In a lot of ways he regretted bringing her into this part of his life, even if it was what she did for a living. It was because of them that she had been both witness and party to what he considered horrible acts of violence over the past few weeks, and he would hate to think she would ever allow herself to get to the point where it didn't at least affect her in some way anymore. Trying to focus on the words on the screen in front of him, he found himself reading over the same paragraph for the third time and gave up, turning his attention to the men around him as he took a mouthful of beer. They all appeared just as anxious as he was, awaiting news of a successful job from their female accomplice, no doubt in any of their minds that she could get it done. Still, if anything did go wrong and she did get taken down…He didn't even want to think about it. He glanced over at Tig, who sat nearby on one of the old, worn couches, one arm draped over the side as he stared into space and took the occasional sip from his bottle.

A beep from his computer drew his attention back to the screen and he checked the time. Five o'clock. The witness info had just been released. His fingers hovered over the keyboard; did he really want to look into the face of the person his friend was about to murder in cold blood? He sighed; curiosity won over. He clicked the file. Dread washed over him like a bucket of cold water.

"What's the matter?" Jax asked him, noticing his expression as he stepped out of the Chapel with Clay. The others looked over, expecting some sort of news about the hit. Juice just shook his head, paling as he considered what he was about to tell them.

"The info on that witness just came out," he said, glancing around at each of them, "She's a seventeen year-old girl."

"Jesus Christ," Chibs muttered from over by the pool table, leaning back against it as he clutched his cue. He shook his head solemnly. Tig ran a hand back through his hair. He didn't want to think about it.

Jax stared at the newsbearer and bowed his head. "See if you can get her on the phone," he said when he looked up again. "When did she leave?"

"She's probably already there, man," Juice replied, a hopeless undertone to his voice.

Making a face as if his hands were tied on the matter, Jax took off his kutte and pulled out his sidearm, checking that it was loaded. Shoving it into the back of his pants, covering it with his SOA hoodie, he made a beeline for the door. None of the others considered stopping him, the information still sinking in; none of them except for Clay.

"Where are you going?" he called to him, but his stepson ignored him. "Jax!"

But just as Jax reached the front door, it opened. Alice stepped in and looked around at them. The moment they saw the cold, empty look in her eyes, they knew it was too late.

"It's done," she told them, voice steady.

Tig stared at her a moment, eyes blank, then looked away. Chibs shut his eyes, muttering curses under his breath, throwing in a prayer for the young girl's soul. Clay stared at her, unsure what to say. He couldn't say he was disappointed. The club had needed this and she had come through. He disappeared for a moment back into the Chapel to collect her promised payment. She glanced at Jax, and he just stared at her. There was nothing to say. They had put this on her and somehow she had managed to come through. He tensed his jaw at the thought of the death of yet another innocent, and her eyes left him to move to Juice. He wouldn't meet her gaze. Clay reappeared carrying a thick envelope, but she waved him off. He paused, looking confused. They watched her staring at Juice, and as the boy continued with his refusal to look at her, she just nodded her head. With a dejected look, she turned back towards the door, and stalked out into the night.

A/N: You know, the reason I liked the idea of pairing up Alice with Juice on a platonic level, was because of the contrast between the two. I wanted to play with the idea of this innocent biker kid forced commit violent acts for his club, versus someone who actually chooses to do them, maybe even enjoys them on some level. Now that Juice has seen what Alice is capable of (or at least what Frankie is) I think we'll start to see more of a strain on their relationship. I wouldn't say it was easy for Alice to kill the girl, but she wasn't falling apart with guilt like Juice would have been, had he even been able to pull the trigger to begin with. I think, in a way, Alice sees herself beyond the point of no return, and like she said to Tig, she never wanted to bring Juice into her world because she was worried he couldn't handle that. I guess we'll find that out in the next chapter.

I've decided to try something new with the 'chapter soundtrack' bit. I've noticed a few other writers on here do it, and since I tend to listen to certain music to get into the right headspace for some scenes, especially emotional ones, I figured I'd put a few in here. I'm sure I'll still be mentioning Frankie's tunes in the story, but I guess I could always put them at the top too. Gimme Shelter, I think, is a good song for the fallout of Donna's accident. And Hurt reflects on Juice and Alice's relationship, as well as Alice's often self-destructive relationship with herself. I particularly like the line 'What have I become, my sweetest friend?' I think it touches on one of the biggest issues between the two of them.

Hope you guys enjoyed. I knocked this out today fairly quickly after wondering what the hell I was going to do for it – (most of my writing is winged, with main plot points as the pit stops) – so I hope I came through on this one. As usual, thank-you to all those who review (though I wouldn't mind a few more, haha) and thanks for reading!