A/N: GUYS I POSTED THE WRONG CHAPTER! *forehead smack* thanks to everyone who pointed it out! My bad, guys.

October 2008

It was nearing 2am when Happy wearily unlocked Sara's apartment and walked in, dropping his bag quietly by the door and toeing off his boots. He had ridden for hours just to get to back without stopping for the night, even forgoing his usual first-stop at the Clubhouse; he was exhausted, and his body was aching more than he wanted to admit. He rotated one of his shoulders gingerly, feeling the muscles pull and stretch. Fuck, he was starting to feel old; if it wasn't so late, he'd have asked Sara to work on the muscles. Her tiny hands were surprisingly strong and she could really work out the knots in his shoulders. He hung up his hoodie, holster, and kutte before making his way to her bedroom.

A small smile came to his face when he saw her asleep in a tank top curled up with the pillow that was usually his. His fingertips skimmed her bare shoulder and he climbed onto the bed, wanting just to hold her for a moment before taking a shower. She moved slightly as the bed shifted with his weight and a small grumble escaped her lips. As his arms moved to encircle her, she pushed him off tiredly with enough attitude to make his brow furrow. He moved to wrap around her again and she pushed him away again, moving away from him.

"Don't touch me; I'm trying to sleep" She mumbled grumpily. He couldn't remember any time she had pushed him away; usually she was the one wrapping herself around him as they slept.

"Sara, it's me." He whispered, thinking maybe she was just half-dreaming.

"I know it's you; who the fuck else would be crawling into my bed in the middle of the night?" She snapped making him recoil. Had she looked over her shoulder at him, she would have seen confusion etched all over his face.

"…What?"

She sighed loudly in annoyance at his question. "Where were you?" She asked finally rejecting any hope of falling back asleep in peace and pulling herself up into a seated position.

"On a run. You know that." He answered gruffly.

"Where?" She repeated eyeing him in the faint light. He shifted a little under her critical gaze. She had never pressed him for information on runs before. Not like this anyway. Sometimes she turned it into a game where she would guess or make up silly little storylines for his runs.

"Canada." He answered finally, knowing she already knew that.

"That it?" She probed perceptively, and his stomach clenched. Fuck.

"Wanna know where I was?" She continued before he could open his mouth to answer. "I spent the afternoon in the police station being questioned by the FBI. Apparently, someone found my dad and killed him, and since he was in WitSec, it's a federal crime. Coincidently, this happened while you were out on a long run. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" She spat venomously.

"Did they ask about the club?" He pushed with his coarse, demanding voice. She glared again; naturally he would think of the club first.

"Of course, they asked about the club. Who the fuck else would be hunting him down?" She shot back argumentatively. "I'm fine, by the way, thanks for asking. Fuck this." She angrily threw back the blankets and climbed out of the bed. He followed her as she stomped towards the kitchen in her boyshorts and white tank.

"What'd tell you them?" He asked quietly. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"The truth. That I didn't know where my dad was and that I hadn't heard from him since he left."

She threw open the small cabinet above the microwave that she used as a liquor cabinet. She stood up on her tiptoes, her fingertips grappling for the bottle of whiskey that was just out of her reach. He moved behind her to grab it for her and was surprised when she shoved him away roughly, making him stumble back and his temper flared hot under his skin. Fuck, he was just trying to help.

"The fuck?" He snapped but she ignored him as she finally grabbed the bottle and a glass. She shot him a glare but didn't respond as she poured herself a glass. He noted that the bottle was already much emptier than it had been when he'd left and, since she wasn't a whiskey drinker, it accounted for much of her bad attitude. Whiskey made most people mean; clearly, she didn't deviate from that norm.

"Sara!" He practically shouted as his jaw ticked, his muscles wound tight. She didn't startle the way he expected her to; instead she whirled around to face him with eyes blazing.

"Happy!" She shouted back loudly, mocking his tone. "What're you pissed about your precious whiskey?"

"I don't give a fuck about the whiskey." He stated with an indignant scoff.

"Well that's a surprise." She mocked. "I usually come last on your list of priorities."

"What's your fucking problem?" He barked, stunned by her reaction. Of all the scenarios he'd ran in his head of her reaction to her dad's death, coming home to her drunk and furious was not one of them.

"You! You're my problem, you fucking liar! You said you went to Canada! God, you lie about everything!"

"I did go to Canada!" He shouted back in exasperation.

"Did you kill my father?" She questioned loudly. He shushed her, suddenly aware of the fact that the neighbors might be able to hear them. She slammed the cabinet closed as loud as she could in response.

"Listen you little bitch—" He pointed his in her face and she slapped his hand away violently.

"Get your hand out of my fucking face, asshole." She warned. "It's a simple yes or no! You don't get to march in here like you own the fucking place and treat me like I'm just your personal cumrag. What? Did you go blow his fucking head off and come back here to celebrate by fucking his daughter? You're so fucking sick, you know that?" He scoffed loudly at her rant and rolled his eyes.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You're being overdramatic, you stupid bitch." He retorted, his anger truly starting to bubble up. She struck him sharply, putting all of her force behind it. He felt the sting in more than his cheek; he felt it in his soul, and it pissed him off. He grabbed her wrist tightly and glared at her, his jaw ticking as he fought to restrain himself.

"Don't you dare tell me how to feel." She hissed trying in vain to pull her arm from his tight grip.

"Why the fuck you even care if that pissant coward is dead?" He argued, genuinely confused and disturbed she was lashing out. She was acting like a goddamn feral animal and his tolerance for that kind of bullshit was dwindling. With her free hand she tried to hit him again, but he narrowly dodged it.

"Don't fucking hit me, cunt. Maybe that traitorous father and dumbass brother of yours was onto something when they knocked you around. You need to learn some goddamn respect." Happy spat, shaking her. She could feel the beginnings of bruises forming around his grip as she tried again to wrench her arm free. She scoffed in disgust and got up in his face.

"How dare you bring my brother into this, jackass! He's in a goddamn coma, you heartless piece of shit!" She shouted, and he shook her again raising his hand up in warning.

"Oh, you gonna be a big man now? Go ahead and fucking hit me, you fucking pussy." She challenged, spitting in his face. She heard the sound and saw spots before she felt the slap. Well fuck; she hadn't expected him to actually do it. Her hand immediately went to her cheek as she winced, turning her head back to look at him as he fumed before her. Her eyes watered from the sting in her face, but it only incensed her further.

"That all you got?" She goaded recklessly. There was a loud crash as his fingers closed around her throat and she was slammed into the counter sharply, knocking over some knickknacks. His fingers flexed tightly around her neck and she cried out as the counter dug into her lower back. Her chest heaved angrily against his as she clung to his wrists, desperately trying to pull him off, vindictively digging her nails into his wrists. She could still breathe, although her fight-or-flight instincts were overloading.

"You better watch your fucking mouth." He threatened lowly. Her eyes narrowed and she finally yanked his hand from her neck.

"Or what? You'll kill me too?" She mocked with more viciousness than he'd ever heard come from her. He took a step back, dazed by her response. It was like she'd been possessed. She glared at him darkly and turned around to finish pouring a drink, seemingly unfazed by the escalation of their fight. She raised the glass to her lips, downed it quickly, and poured another.

"You drunk?" He asked as she sipped the amber liquid.

"None of your fucking business." She responded sharply, the edges of her words slurring some. "Well?" She asked after a moment, refusing to look at him. "Did you do it?" She heard him sigh loudly in frustration.

"No. I didn't do it." He stated firmly, his voice dripping with hostility. She rolled her eyes and turned to face him, lifting her glass to her lips again as she eyed him closely looking for signs of deceit. Not that she'd ever noticed him lying before. He simply crossed his arms and refused to give her more. The two faced each other in silence, glaring fiercely at each other both refusing to give.

"But you knew about it." She finally whispered in conclusion. He hesitantly gave her a single nod of confirmation. "You were there?" She asked weakly. He nodded again. He wasn't expecting her to look away, eyes welled up and teeth biting her lip. His posture softened in response, but he refused to approach her, the fresh scratches burning on his wrists keeping him wary. He knew she'd lash out again if he got too close; she'd made that apparent.

"How'd you even find him?"

"Turns out Juice is actually pretty good at that hacking shit. That, and throwing money at the right people." He answered honestly, figuring it was better to just get it all out.

"Where was he?" She asked, suddenly curious.

"Oregon. Portland." He answered slowly and watched the gears turn in her mind. She turned to face him looking stricken.

"My birthday…?" She asked slowly and he closed his eyes to exhale. She'd always been smarter that anyone gave her credit for. "It was your idea to go to Portland… Hap, where did you go when you left me at the cabin?" She pressed, already knowing the answer.

"I had to do recon." He answered simply, and his heart broke as she seemed to shatter before him; her rage dissolved into despair.

"How… how dare you?" She asked as the tears started to fall. "Was I just the cover excuse for you to go there?"

"No—"

"Were you just fucking me to get information?" She accused.

"Jesus, no—"

"What a joke I must be to you… This whole fucking time you've been playing me."

"I haven't—"

"What, you figured kill to two birds with one stone? Placate the naive girlfriend and hunt down her father down?" She pleaded through her tears. "God, I'm so fucking stupid." She whispered to herself, running her hand through her hair.

"Sara, no—" He started.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She interrupted, sniffing back her tears and wiping her cheeks.

"Because you didn't need to know."

"Fuck you." She spat. "Try again."

"Because I didn't want you to have to deal with the weight of it. I didn't want… this." He stated, gesturing to her current state. Her eyes narrowed. What, he didn't tell her because he didn't want to deal with her while she was upset?

"Did it ever occur to you that I wouldn't be like this if you had given me a heads up?"

"I had a gag order." He answered, knowing it was a weak response. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. Of course he did. And of course, he was the good little soldier and followed his orders.

"You didn't think that the cops would fucking tell me? Question me? I'm his goddamn daughter. He locked up the man I wanted to spend my life with." The last sentence was dig and she knew it; she saw the flicker of pain in his face before he recoiled.

"You think I don't know that shit? You think I don't get reminded every goddamn time I look at your fucking back and see someone else's name etched into your skin?"

"Oh well excuse me for not immediately getting your name tattooed on my ass after, what? 10 months of dating? After I had to practically twist your arm to commit to me?" She asked incredulously. "You can stop acting like you give a shit now that the truth is out."

"Oh, fuck off with the pity party." He stated gruffly, rolling his eyes. She saw the effect of her words in his black eyes though; he was hurting. Good, she thought.

"What? You got Ryan in on it and learned all the fuckin' ways to mess with my head?"

"What the fuck are you—"

"You visited him. In Chino. Why?" She asked sharply. Accusingly. She watched the blood drain from his face. "So, it's true."

"How'd…?"

"The fucking Feds, dipshit." She gnashed her teeth as she snapped at him. She practically paced before him, suddenly enraged again. "How dare you go see him."

"He wanted to see me." Happy defended. "He asked me to go."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your brother told him about us a while ago. Ryan wanted to meet me. Man to man."

"Why the fuck would he do that?"

"Because he still fucking loves you would be my guess. Wanted to make sure I wasn't gonna treat you like shit."

"Guess you fucked that up." She shot back darkly.

"Stop fucking saying shit like that!" He snapped, punching the countertop so hard things rattled.

"Why the fuck did you even go?"

"Because I was fucking his bitch of a fiancé like a jackass and he deserved an explanation." Happy responded dryly, watching as Sara bristled under the insult. "That was it. Wasn't like we're fucking pen pals or plotting against you or whatever bullshit you've cooked up in that crazy fucking head of yours."

"Fuck you." She snapped. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me about Portland before the feds jumped me with it?"

"Was hopin' I would be back by the time they put it together." He answered with a naïve shrug. She snorted. Who else would have cared enough to put a bullet in her father if not the club?

"That all you got?"

"I dunno what you want me to say; it's the truth. I fucked up." He admitted and she scoffed. Fucked up was putting it lightly, but at least he was taking some responsibility. He watched her silently as she processed all of the information. Her anger was waning, replaced again with sadness.

She was sad because he'd lied to her, over and over—even if it was lying by omission. And she was heartbroken because her birthday trip had seemed so special; something she thought he'd done just for her to show his love; now even that had been tainted by the ulterior motives of the club. Nothing he'd ever done was just for her. She'd been stupid to hope he'd ever be able to separate his love for the club from his love for her. She'd known who he was when she met him. He was a club man, through and through.

"He was my dad, Hap." She murmured her voice finally cracking a little before she finished her drink.

"He left you behind." He argued. "He betrayed you, you've literally said it that way. He had to die."

"He was still my dad." She answered weakly and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. Happy's resolve finally crumbled with that tear and he moved to wrap his arms around her. She withdrew from his movement.

"Fuck, Sara… Jesus, I'm not gonna—" He pleaded, hating that she recoiled from him.

"Don't… Just don't. I can't have this conversation anymore. I'm going to bed… I have to work tomorrow and I'm exhausted. I'm just so fucking…tired… of everything." She her voice trembled as she rubbed her tender throat and pushed past him towards the bedroom. His steps followed hers.

"Don't even think about following me." She shot over her shoulder darkly.

"What? Sara, seriously?" He argued, not understanding how she could possibly be this worked up over the death of a man who had betrayed her whole family. Sure, he'd lied to her a little, but it had all been for her good. Surely, she could see that he was just protecting her. If anything, she should be relieved. He understood that she was whiskey-drunk but still, Jesus Christ.

"You can sleep on the couch or get the fuck out." She stated punctuating her statement with the slam of the bedroom door. She'd never banished him to the couch before, even when they'd argued in the past.

Happy stared at her door blankly as time passed. The buzz of anxiety itched under his skin. He felt it started to build in his head like a thunder cloud rolling in. Looking around, he spotted the mess in the kitchen. He set to cleaning and tidying as he thought over the turn of events. He had never seen her this consumed with rage. She was always the happy, cheerful one. Sure, she was dramatic and sometimes a little crazy, but he'd never seen her like this. He was supposed to be the dark angry one. He scrubbed harder at the invisible spots on the counters, willing himself to stop. He couldn't. If he cleaned it all up, maybe she would forgive him. Would be able to forget what happened. Would see how much he needed her.

With the kitchen straightened, cleaned, and tidy, and his hands sore and raw, his exhaustion got the best of him and he passed out, acutely aware of how uncomfortable the couch was compared to being naked wrapped up with his girl.