Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters do not belong to me, nor does Sons of Anarchy.

"Aw, shit. Really Chuckie?" Tig grimaced, shaking his head and stepping back quickly.

The other man shrugged, eyes wide. "Well what else was I supposed to do?"

Tig cast him an incredulous glance. "How about anything but that? This is pushing it, even for me; and that's sayin' something."

"I couldn't just leave it where it could be found."

"But in the damn chili?" Tig asked, curling his lip at the steaming pot on the stove.

"The cops didn't seem to mind."

Tig shut his eyes slowly after blinking once, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You didn't. Fucking A, Chuckie. Please, for the love of Buddha, God, fucking Mother Nature that you didn't."

Chuckie wrung his artificial fingers in his apron. "They would've found it if I acted differently, and they wanted a bowl of chili."

"So you just decided to give them a bowl. With the simmering decapitated head in it." Tig's voice was flat, and Chuckie jerked his shoulders and glanced around nervously.

"Well yeah. Pretty much."

Tig shook his head slowly, blue eyes fixed on Chuckie consideringly. "Honestly," he finally said, voice matter-of-fact. "I don't know whether to be disturbed or give you a fucking medal for thinking on your feet."

Chuckie shrugged modestly. "I get that a lot," he admitted, lifting the lid and stirring the chili.

Tig stared into the chili warily, watching the head poke up as it was churned. He stepped back quickly, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. "This may be one of the weirdest situations I've ever been in. And for Christ's sake, don't tell Gemma." Any amusement fell from his face as Chuckie looked away quickly. "Oh shit. Really?"

"She came in and looked at it, I tried to warn her," the shorter man defended. "She didn't say anything too bad considering the other officers were sitting at the bar still and eating, but I have a feeling I'm in for it later," he said morosely.

Tig rubbed the bridge of his nose once again sighing. "Just—try to get rid of the head, okay? Can you do that without making people unwittingly pull a Hannibal Lector?"

Chuckie glanced between the pot and Tig, shrugging again. "I can try. But I'm not making any promises."

Happy came in just as Tig swore, waltzing into the kitchen and sniffing loudly. He tilted his head and looked at the pot. "Smells good, Chuck. Mind if I take a bowl or two out for me and Ope?"

Tig shook his head firmly behind Happy's back, giving Chuckie a look that clearly promised torture if Chuckie even thought about it.

"Uh," the apologetic look he gave Tig made the dark haired man widen his eyes and gesture forbiddingly towards a butcher knife and back at Chuckie in a clearly violent gesticulation. The other man swallowed thickly, but gave Happy a wide grin. "Sure. Let me just—ah, you said two?"

Happy nodded, and watched as Chuckie pulled down two bowls. He looked momentarily panicked, unable to spoon any out without Happy noticing the still-obvious head, and Tig held his head in his hands.

Just as Tig was contemplating killing the both of them, Happy's cell pinged and during the time it took the man to check his text, Chuckie had spooned two full bowls and held them out to the surprised man. He nodded at Chuckie, already spooning out a bit. "Thanks, Chuck." He said, putting the spoon in his mouth, oblivious to the fascinated and disgusted expressions on the other men's faces.

His footsteps faded away as they heard Opie greet him. Tig swallowed, his face twisting and looking at the door Happy had just exited. "We don't talk about this."

Chuckie nodded wordlessly, looking at the taller man warily. Tig opened his mouth to say something else, but clearly thought better of it and closed it with a sigh and a shake of his head. He shoved his sunglasses on, and with one last bothered look at the pot on the stove, he followed Happy out of the club.

Chuckie turned back towards the stove, tilting his head as he gazed at the one in the pot. Curiously, he poked at the head to see how hard it was. He looked consideringly at the large sink, then back at the head, wondering how well SAMCRO's garbage disposal worked.

This one scene with Chuckie—this entire damn situation—was perhaps one of the most grotesquely amusing scene in that entire series. And that is saying something. Or maybe that's just me.

I love Chuckie. He's not just a borderline psychotic, chronic masturbator with generally socially-unacceptable tendencies. Poor guy's just misunderstood. Maybe.

Thank you CarelessWhisper89, xLila Rose, and lederra for the reviews.

Reviews, reviews, reviews? I have no problem putting myself out there like some cheap junkie whore. If reviews were crack, I'd need my fix. Desperately.