I do not own any characters from Sons of Anarchy. I own Sara and any other original characters.

Content Warning: Language, drinking, references to sex

December 2008

"Sorry we're late. It looks great in here!" Sara fussed, hugging Ally once she squeezed through the crowd.

"Damn, Hap. She's definitely out of your league," Ally teased looking Sara over approvingly, and Happy cheerfully flipped her the bird.

"Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!" Kozik shouted, shoving shot glasses into their hands. The sandy-haired man stumbled a bit, but they all accepted his dripping gifts and threw them back. Sara's face contorted into a disgusted grimace as the burn of the whiskey heated her stomach.

"Woo! That's how you get a party started," Kozik stated, shaking off the aftertaste, "You guys need drinks? Let's get drinks! Hey, you wanna do another shot?"

"He's been drinking since six," Ally informed with a half-smile and an eye roll. Sara glanced at the clock on the wall; it was ten. A part of her worried about her friend; she hadn't checked in with him much lately as he had been doing so well. Still, he'd proven over his years of drug-sobriety that he'd been able to drink without backsliding into old habits. Maybe she shouldn't fuss over his so much.

"But he's not wrong, let's do another shot," Ally continued, pulling Sara from her thoughts and hooking arms to lead her toward the bar. Sara glanced at Happy helplessly who only shrugged and lit a cigarette before heading off to find some of the guys.

"Cheers to another successful SAMTAC Christmas Party," Ally toasted as they clinked glasses before the two threw back the small drinks. This time, Sara chased it with a rum and coke. Thank god. That was her second shot with Alanna, third in the last hour and she knew they'd all be hitting her like a brick wall soon. The two ladies had secured some high-demand seats on barstools, and Ally had introduced her to everyone that came up to greet the hostess. Sara had been polite enough to hold conversation but had forgotten who most of them were once they walked away as alcohol diffused her focus. Her thoughts were beginning to feel warm and fuzzy as the effect of the libations loosened her up. Maybe she'd been wrong about Tacoma; maybe it could be good for her. A new start. Again, a part of her brain nagged, how many new starts do you need?

The crowd parted just right, and she caught a glimpse of Happy standing with a few of the guys. Her smile dropped as she saw Rachelle and another girl very obviously trying to get his attention. Warm and fuzzy was quickly turning to hot and angry fueled by the alcohol coursing through her veins. Sara watched him like a hawk as he shrugged a feminine hand off his arm without missing a beat in the conversation. Sara exhaled heavily, feeling more secure after seeing he was paying them no mind; she wasn't feeling jealous, especially not after the mind-blowing sex they had before coming to the party, but she was furious that they'd be trying something when he very clearly was with her. Couldn't they push up on the other guys? Literally anyone else. Okay, maybe a small, tiny, insignificant, itty bitty part of her was a little bit jealous. She didn't want to be That Girl: the girl who got jealous any time her boyfriend talked to another woman. But she remembered Rachelle from the last time she'd visited. The other woman hadn't shied away from throwing it in Sara's face that she'd been with Happy in the past, and that she'd been down for whatever he wanted to do. Logically, Sara knew it wasn't fair to be angry about things that happened before they were together, but it hurt a little now to see Rachelle standing so comfortably next to Happy. Rachelle looked the part of a biker woman. Her hair was dyed reddish orange, a color that took confidence to pull off, and she was. Her body clad in tight clothes, her body fit in all the right places.

"Uh-ohhhhh," Ally sang, realizing what Sara was fixated on.

"Its fine." Maybe she should count to ten? People say that helps.

"The fuck it is," Ally scoffed before drawling, "Go put 'em in their place or they won't stop."

"He's not doing anything."

"It's not about him. It's about them. You need to shut that shit down. Those girls will take whatever inch you give them and turn it into a mile… Just get it over with now, and it will save you some headaches down the road," Ally encouraged matter-of-factly. Sara sucked her teeth and nodded, steeling her nerves like she was preparing for battle before feeling silly. She'd never really had to defend Ryan; all the girls around SAMDINO had known who she was, and Ryan had made it clear he wasn't interested. In them anyway, her brain reminded her, let's not forget about Anya: the cautionary tale for when you trust your man too much.

Sara finished her drink and shook it out, hearing a faint 'go get em, tiger' from Ally as she marched away. Most girls who hung around the club were perfectly respectable women. Most of them weren't sleeping around nearly as much as the guys thought they were. Sure, some were down with whatever with whoever, but most of the women were hoping for some kind of life with the outlaws. The men just loved to preen and be fawned over, often over-aggrandizing their own conquests for bragging rights. The girls all knew this and let them continue the charade if it meant they'd get to hang around longer. That being said, knowing Happy's sexual appetite, Sara was pretty confident Rachelle hadn't been lying about the stuff the pair did long before Sara was in the picture.

As an Old Lady, Sara needed to set the precedent that she wouldn't tolerate underhanded attempts to drive a wedge in her relationship, but she also didn't want to completely disregard the other woman as a human being. Rachelle deserved at least the respect to be given a warning to back off. She'd been around Tacoma longer than Sara, and she knew how fiercely the other women would rally around their own if Sara went about this the wrong way. The life of a club woman was a double-edged sword. There was a delicate equilibrium within the culture of each club charter, and unrest wouldn't be tolerated by either the women or the men. Sara wouldn't be the one to make a scene—certainly not at a Christmas party—out of respect to the club, but she knew that Rachelle might try to bait her into one.

"Hey girls," Sara coolly greeted once she was within earshot. Sara squeezed between them to take her place at Happy's side, "Hey babe, I brought you this," she sweetly offered, holding a new beer out for him. Happy accepted and wrapped his arm around her shoulder's comfortably, but still in conversation with the other guys around. Sara made expectant eye contact with Rachelle, the other girl having scampered off when she'd approached. Rachelle smirked at Sara confidently before snaking a hand up Happy's tattooed arm hanging from Sara's shoulders.

"Hap, come on, let's go in the back," Rachelle purred before continuing, "maybe we can work something out… the three of us." Happy coughed in surprise and glanced at Sara who shook her head, shutting that idea down immediately.

"He's not interested," Sara grit out.

"Well, maybe you should let him answer… I know what he likes," Rachelle purred with a sultry expression. Sara liked to believe she had a high tolerance for club bullshit. She was used to it and took everything with a grain of salt, but the combination of the alcohol and Rachelle's obvious disregard for her was grating on her last nerve. The group around them was silent as the air crackled around the two women, watching on edge to see if they'd really throw down. It was moments like these when Sara was grateful she'd grown up in the club because it took all of her well-practiced restraint to look calm and not make a move; inside she was a live wire, ready to strike if the Rachelle lashed out. A small, alcohol-fueled part of her brain even hoped Rachelle would take a swing at her just to give her an excuse. A catty remark was bubbling up inside of her about to explode when another feminine voice chimed in.

"Come on, Rachelle," Sara turned to see Clara standing with an amused look on her gentle features, "that ship has sailed."

Clara moved closer and intercepted Rachelle, prying her away with a softness Sara couldn't have managed and speaking to her quietly under her breath. Sara couldn't hear Clara's words, but Rachelle scoffed, although her weight shifted nervously as she glanced around, seemingly just now noticing the multiple sets of eyes on her.

"Walk away Rachelle," Happy finally commanded quietly, "It ain't gonna happen."

Rachelle's expression was crestfallen, her freshly auburn hair swishing as she shook her head but backed away obediently. Of course, she did, Sara fumed in annoyance, because he told her to. Fucking patriarchy.

Happy watched Rachelle retreat before turning back to the woman tucked into his side. Before he could open his mouth to say something, her lips pressed to his. Sara grabbed the back of his neck to hold him in place as she deepened the searing kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He tasted like smoke and Jack Daniels and victory. Distantly, she heard wolf-whistles and catcalls but all she registered was the feeling of his hand sliding from her shoulders down her back to lewdly grab a handful of her ass.

Once the kiss broke, Sara smirked and licked her bottom lip before looking back at Hap and stating, "I love you, old man" loud enough, she hoped, for any doubting women to hear.

Happy smirked down at her with a knowing glint in his eyes before rolling them, "Love you, little girl."

"Sorry, I needed to send a message," Sara stated once the few people watching them seemed to go back to their own business, having the grace and humility to pretend to be embarrassed as she wiped her red lipstick from his face.

"Think you got it across?" Happy asked, unsure. This was new territory for him. Rachelle wasn't a bad girl—a bit of a ditz but not a bad person; she just wanted something he wasn't going to give her. Part of that blame rested on him. He'd never promised her anything, but he had let her think whatever she wanted so long as she kept coming back for more. Once he'd linke dup with Sara, he'd done his best to avoid Rachelle in the Clubhouse. He'd dodge her at parties, or just not humor her the way he may have in the past. He'd figured she'd accepted their trysts were over when she'd dyed her hair red; she'd always loudly joked he'd had a thing for blondes. By dying her hair, he assumed it was an unspoken statement that she was no longer reserving herself for him so he'd been surprised when she made moves against Sara and it had left an anxious pit in his stomach. Fuckin' female drama.

"I hope so," Sara sighed, "I cannot believe she offered a threesome… could you imagine?"

"Yea, that'd be… gross," he joked with a faux gag and a wink, making her chuckle and shake her head. Just from the sound of her laugh melted away some of the tension in his face.

"Never gonna happen," she reiterated smoothly.

"Like ever, or just with her?" he inquired with a chuckle as she glared.

"I need a drink."

"So you're saying there's a chance…" Happy teased and started to carve a path through the crowd, but Sara stopped quickly to thank Clara for backing her up, and ask her what she said to Rachelle; she responded, "I just told her it would ruin her chances with anyone else if she made a scene. She likes him, but not enough to potentially ruin her chances at being an Old Lady completely."

"Well, you acted better than I did," Sara admitted with a bashful blush, embarrassed that she'd been to tense over something that should've been easy to handle. She'd grown up in this life. She'd seen this a million times. But, when she saw a woman pushing up on her man, she immediately was taken back to the sting of finding Ryan's texts with Anya and unraveling the painful affair. What if it happened again? What if Rachelle was the new Anya?

"I wasn't the one catching her pushing up on my man," Clara shrugged from her perch on Bowie's lap. The man snorted at her comment.

"That girl's brain is a bag of cats," he interjected sourly, "Don't gotta worry about that."

"She's not that bad," Clara scolded with a tsk, "you just don't understand feminine politics."

"And you do?" he asked with a playful grin before leaning up for a kiss. Clara scoffed and pushed his face away with an amused eye roll.

"Careful, Bowie. I might take Clara under my wing… She seems like she's a quick study," Sara teased and Happy snickered from beside her. Clara finally gave in to Bowie's attempts to kiss her, and Happy led Sara back to the bar.

"Well, that went well," Ally spoke with endorsement.

"It was a little anti-climactic," Sara stated with a relieved sigh. Lee stood beside her, rubbing his mustache as he eyed Sara, deep in thought. Sara didn't wither under his gaze, as maybe she would have at any other time. She felt confident, and proud, and a bit drunk. He couldn't intimidate her now. Happy turned to hand her a glass with dark liquid in it and kept a glass with more than a few fingers of whiskey for himself.

It wasn't a full carte-blanche with Tacoma, but it was a damn good start.

Happy only realized he was shit-faced as he leaned against the car window and needed to close one eye to see clearly. Sara scurried around to the passenger side of her car and opened the door, grabbing Hap's arm to help him out of the vehicle. Thank god she'd noticing him throwing back liquor and she had the wherewithal to switch to water. Sure, they could have bunked at the clubhouse, but she wanted to come home to their own bed.

"Come on, hot-shot," she mumbled, closing the car door before wrapping his arm around her neck to guide him. She stumbled once or twice in her heels when he rested his weight against her or veered heavily but she somehow managed to get him to the apartment door. Once it was unlocked, she deposited him into the entryway. During the brief moment she turned to lock the door behind them, he slid to the floor chuckling to himself. His collapse forced her to step over him to flip on the light in the living room.

"I'm so fucking drunk," he slurred, shaking his head as if it would clear him, "that was a great party."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Sara giggled, slipping her heels off and leaving them by the door, reveling in the feeling of the bones in her feet shifting back where they belonged. She couldn't remember ever seeing him this hammered; normally it was her getting wrecked at parties. Happy grabbed her ankle.

"Comm'ere," he slurred, clumsily pawing at her. She knelt beside him, amusement coloring her features. "You're just so beautiful."

"Thank you. I'm gonna get you some water—"

"No. I'm hungry," he interrupted, pausing before adding in a sing-song voice, "for some pussaaaaay."

"Jesus Christ," Sara snorted, disentangling herself from him and grabbing him a bottle of water from the kitchen, "Drink this."

"I dunnwanna. I'm a man. You don't speak for me," he grumbled with a dramatic facial expression. She wasn't sure why she even bothered to bite back her laugh; it wasn't like he'd be able to do anything about it.

"Okay, tough guy. I won't speak for you," she coddled and held out the bottle. He took it and downed half of it in a few seconds.

"I need to piss," he declared, rolling onto his knees, and trying to stand but mostly just sliding along the length of the wall.

"Come on," she sighed, guiding him to the bathroom. Hopefully he could figure out how to pee without falling over because she wasn't going to help; he could wash the piss off the floor himself tomorrow if he missed. She unzipped her dress and was in the middle of stripping out of it when he stumbled into the bedroom and to the edge of the bed. Finding her half-clothed, he whistled loudly. She shushed him.

"It's 3 in the morning!" she reprimanded.

"I don't give a fuck!" he shouted and laughed when she shushed him again, "Comm'on. Come show me how much you love me," he slurred, blinking his eyes a few times to try to sharpen his blurry vision. She briefly wondered if it would count as the threesome he wanted if he was seeing two of her.

"As if you could get it up right now," Sara mused, pulling off her bra and lacy panties in exchange for an old reaper crew t-shirt and cotton boyshorts. Happy was watching her, with one eye closed, when she turned around to face him.

"Take your kutte off," she sighed, holding out her hand.

"Nowwwe're talkin'," he mumbled incoherently, pulling off the article and handing it to her.

"Imma fuck you wearin' my kutte someday," he proclaimed.

"Ok, sounds good," she responded with an eyeroll; he'd seemed horrified the one time she'd suggested it months ago. She gently placed the worn and soft leather vest on the small chest of drawers and knelt before him to unlace his boots, surprised he hadn't kicked them off yet. She didn't think she'd ever seen him with his boots on in the bedroom before.

"I like seein' you on your knees for me," he slurred. Her only response was a snicker of amusement as she pulled off his socks and tossed them into the corner with her clothes from the party

Happy flopped back onto the bed and lifted his hips, pushing his pants down. Sara bit her lip to keep from laughing as he wriggled around like a child trying to get his pants down his legs. She finally took pity and pulled them off.

"Sit up," she commanded, and he sighed dramatically, pulling himself upright. She pulled at his hoodie until he lifted his arms like a child, and she slipped it off with his shirt. As she turned to add his clothes to the pile in the corner, she felt his fingers on her bare thighs. He hugged her legs, burying his face in her abdomen and inhaled deeply.

"You smell so good," he mumbled, and she gently ran her nails over the snake on his scalp soothingly. He shifted to look up at her, eyes glazed and unfocused, jaw against her belly, before stating, "Imma marry you sommday."

She stared down at him for a moment before clearing her throat, not sure how to respond. She was too tired to decipher if it was from excitement or terror, but her chest tightened, and time stood still for a moment. She almost wondered if she'd hallucinated his words when he continued.

"You dunbelieve me but I will; imma lock it down eventually, I juss need time," he sighed, squeezing her tight around the waist. He was right; she didn't believe him. He was drunk. Beyond drunk. He was just talking shit, she assured herself; he'd probably promise a ring in exchange for a blowjob right now.

"Finish your water while I use the bathroom," she whispered, gently prying his arms from her waist, suddenly needing to put space between them.

"Then we can fuck?" he asked in a hopeful voice, completely unburdened by his unexpected declaration of love. Her heart deflated a little, but her mind felt relief. She was right, he hadn't meant it. It was just a passing thought swirling in the tornado of alcohol that soaked his brain.

"Sure," she lied with a knowing snicker, "I'll be right back."

As she expected, he was passed out cold when she returned.

Happy groaned, wincing when his eyes opened, and the room spun. His stomach turned, and he barely had time to roll onto his side and grab the trashcan next to the bed before throwing up violently, mostly whiskey and bile which came up easily but burned the whole goddamn way. Distantly he felt the bed shift beside him, and he groaned again.

"Water?" she offered quietly after he'd stopped retching. He spit into the trashcan and nodded, accepting the bottle she handed him.

"There's some aspirin on the side-table," she gestured but wasn't sure if he could even focus his bleary eyes. He reached around blindly until he found the two pills and swallowed them. She glanced at the red numbers glowing from the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. 6:37am.

He collapsed back onto the bed and closed his eyes as if it were the most difficult physical action he'd ever made.

"How the fuck did we get home?" he croaked out, his voice hoarse and raw.

"I drove us," she informed with a whisper and a watchful eye. If he couldn't remember getting home, he probably didn't remember what he'd said. Should she feel relieved? Should she feel disappointed?

She was brought back to the moment by a weak groan beside her. He grimaced and flexed his jaw as he rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his face. Telltale sign of the spins.

"Need anything?" she asked with a small yawn.

"Shotgun blast, execution style?" he implored from under the arm across his face.

At least he still had his sense of humor.

Sara was sitting cross legged on the couch when Happy finally crawled out of bed. He showered and walked into the kitchen, moaning and wincing the whole way. He made his way to the couch, stopping to grab a mug of black coffee and the pack of smokes off the counter along the way. He lit a cigarette and took a sip of the coffee before resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

"Feeling better?" she asked with a knowing smile. His only response was a lackluster thumbs up.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this hungover," Sara mused. He shrugged, not in the mood to talk. Or move. Or think. Or breathe. His head was pounding, he was nauseous, and his whole body ached.

"Want some toast or something?" she asked after a few minutes and his body recoiled as he gagged at the thought, "Not yet I guess."

"You really need to learn to pace yourself," she joked in a deep voice, having been on the receiving end of his lecture multiple times. He peeked at her long enough to give his best glare and she laughed.

"Too soon?" she teased and rubbed his back affectionately as he groaned again.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please take a moment to leave a review and let me know your thoughts!