Disclaimer – The characters of this fanfiction, as well as the 'Sons of Anarchy' world belong to Kurt Sutter, with the exception of Nadia and Brad Cohen, who are original characters created by me. I make no profit from this work.

Reviews are welcomed! Write me what you think, what/if you expect to read about these characters further, etc. Thank you!

In my previous story, Tig was leaving the club after an altercation with Jax sparked by Nadia's presence. Now Tig is all about revenge and loss, a very dangerous development, both sick and sexy. Read on, hope you like it!

The Colour of Darkness

Follow up in Bad Seeds

part 1

by Dianne Winter

Nadia lays on the floor naked and stoned, Juice asleep next to her. The computer plays some old music. Nadia stares into the ceiling counting the times she thought the lamp moved: 132. She laughs touching herself. Despite her best efforts she couldn't get an orgasm, but she mimicked a convincing one just to keep Juice happy. Somehow she has no energy left for masturbation. She feels dead and empty. But there's a heart somewhere there, burning with desire and hatred, burning with life and asking for death. If she could get one spark, one tiny spark of that life, she could revive her own soul. Brad is at home. He drinks himself to near death ever since she told him: "You don't like our new partners? Well, honey, you be my bitch this time around! Remember when I begged you to stop Hale and you said nooooo, it's all business, baby. It's all business, baby." Nadia giggles and giggles lighting up another cig. She told Chibs to bring Juice more often. Juice was a lot of fun, a very cute boy too, gosh she felt almost old around him, although they were about the same age. Strange feeling. One year later and she was still not up for it. Damn, when will she let go Takezo? She should try to make it work with this fresh meat. It might be the right medicine. Or not.

"Fixed your bike," he said.

"Thank you, Juice," she responded trying to hide the disappointment of seeing him there alone. She knew Tig worked on that bike too. Besides, Juice got so fucking romantic.

"You're welcome. Hey, we're having a party at the club. Wanna come?"

"Sure," well what else, she couldn't just refuse him. She wanted this fun and yeah, promising affair. He liked her; he craved her, like a kid, ice cream. In turn, having a piece of her would have made him look like such a hunk.

"Hop on!"

That's how she got hooking up with Juice. But there was a catch: what you do when you want someone else badly, yet he might be coming to kill you?

Nadia puffs amused at her immature thoughts, turning the sound lower. She thinks she heard a noise outside. Hastily she puts on her clothes: a very simple short black dress and low heel shoes, a very casual style, but it still suits her brilliantly. Dizzy, she dashes down the stairs like a teen ready to sneak out with a secret lover. She steps out hesitantly.

Tig planned on shooting her without a word. But hearing her calling him changes his mind. The outcast feels like a coward. She deserves better. Without his insignia he is stripped, vulnerable and humiliated. He's been living rough for a while now, drinking heavily, obsessed with revenge and terrified by his loss. He's fuming and by contrast she's actually glad to see him.

"Bitch!" he growls removing his helmet with a swift gesture, while pointing the gun with the other arm. But all he can see in that dim light is a younger Gemma. She is so pretty, her dark hair flowing over her back, that little dress hung on her shoulders by minute straps. Such a shame.

"Sorry," he whispers. She just waits there motionless. He expected her to fight him. Nadia closes her eyes and takes a big gulp of air, the gun at her forehead, so close, so very close. Her features change into that tensed, yet uplifting expression of the orgasm, the one she denied herself with Juice. She sighs shaking with pleasure. This one is no acting, is the real thing and she doesn't even have to touch herself. It's all in the mind and so strong she needs to sit as soon as she finishes.

"You fucking whore," he murmurs slowly.

She's all quiet and keeps staring at him expressionless except for the tears staining her cheeks.

"I can't do this," he finally admits, dropping his arm. He shrugs disheartened: "Shit!"

Nadia watches Tig disappearing into the darkness. She'll go back inside and have some more grass. Perhaps some booze too, yet once up, she only manages to cuddle in Juice's arms and cry for a while.

"What is it, babe?" he says waking up barely.

"Just hold me."

There were these insecurities, these pitiful moments that bonded Juice to Nadia. In his mind she was giving him all the right signals she needed and liked him. This was the same woman who told him those awful things when he asked her:

"So is it true that you sold weapons to the Palestinians?"

"Yeah, they all had built in tracking devices. And then we have an air strike. Ka-boom!"

He was mesmerized with her past, with her strength and yet each time she gave him an insight into her softer, susceptible nature, he fell more for her.

Tig drove away that night. It was only when he passed the sign which announced exiting Charming that he called Clay and demanded his help. It was the beginning of a new life for him, a life he didn't have money to pay for, but he desperately needed. "Show me the money, white man," said the tall Indian smiling avidly. And Clay showed him. After all, Tig would have done the same if he were in that sort of trouble, the problem was, the mechanic was broke. They put him in a small wooden house surrounded by trees. It would have been romantic in other circumstances, but Tig was so destroyed, he needed time and tons of tripping mushrooms to make peace with himself. He spent the first days in a kind of drunken, stoned agony, reason why he got the temporary nickname: Stinky. It wasn't in his nature to stay put and pity himself, but it wasn't anything else to do at that point either. He just lay there crying, remembering things and then crying some more.

"A shit life, son," told him the Chief one morning when Tig happened to be a little sober. "When you've had enough, come looking for me. I need to catch a bobcat and you can help me."

Days turned into weeks and slowly the need for mushrooms and the booze dimmed down. All that was left was helping around, uneasily fitting into the community.

"Why don't you kill the damned bobcat?" he asked the Chief while fixing the old trap.

"I'll have a word with her to leave my chicken," responded the Indian. "The bobcat is good; she keeps the coyote in check. The bobcat is the coyote's shadow."

When Gemma walked in she saw a peaceful, thin Tig who hardly spoke. He didn't even move when she touched his cheek. It looked as if all passion had drained from him and a sort of frozen calm replaced it.

"That bitch is with Juice now," she said. "I don't like her, but Jax says there's nothing wrong with her. Jax is complicated. Things are getting better for the club. I haven't seen Clay in days… Tara is impossible. I'm worried for Jax." She pauses to recollect herself. "Tiggy, how did we ended up so…"

"It's all right, Gemma," he answered her. "I see things clearly now. You shouldn't worry too much."

"I care about you, baby. I'm so sad to know you away."

"I'm fine," he replies indifferently. "You should go now."

Nadia can't wait any longer. Ever since she eves dropped and learnt about the reservation she felt her heart caught fire. She jumped on her bike and followed Gemma. Noticing how little time the woman spent there she figured Tig was not much of a talker these days. She instantly feared he might have achieved that balance, that lucidity which would vanquish someone like her into insignificance and oblivion. Still, there was no turning back, she needed to know.

The sun sparkled through the bush, it was one of those warm days when is best to just laze in the shade. She spotted him on the porch, her breath accelerated; she didn't suffer such emotion unless she happened to be on the battle field in a very tight situation. His pale eyes pinned her speechless in front of his wooden dwelling.

"You've come to enjoy the damage?" he speaks eventually.

"I needed to see you," she responds shyly.

"Come in."

She feels sick, he doesn't seem the same man, he's changed somehow.

"I didn't mean this for you," she says. "I never wanted you to get hurt because of my actions."

"It wasn't you, it was Jax," he refuses her even the guilt. "Sit. You want coffee?"

His familiarity scares and shames her. She wanted confrontation, not politeness.

"So I've heard you are Juice's ol' lady now," he mentions all of the sudden. She smiles. "Good, I'm happy for ya. He's a good kid."

"Yes, he is," she approves. Nadia wants to cry but somehow tears don't come when you need them. They always fall afterwards when you come to think about it and feel sorry for fucking it up.

"You're not pleased?" he asks.

"Huh?" she retorts taken by surprise.

"With Juice. You're not pleased?" he repeats the question.

"I don't know," she whispers.

"What do you want from me?" he questions her a little angry.

"Black cottonwood," she answers standing up and heading to the window.

"What?" he retorts slightly baffled.

"The tree by the house is a black cottonwood," she reprises. It's a good technique when stressed; it's also a great way of keeping things hidden during an interrogatory. "A native tree. Did you know that palms are not natives to California? They were introduced together with a bunch of other species. This area in particular is very rich in native plant life."

"You're weird."

Nadia turns around quietly. The kettle blows steam. He swiftly grabs her arm and pushes her against the table. She doesn't fight when he lifts up her dress and tears off her undies. She didn't expect to be sodomized the first time around, but now that it was happening she didn't see fit to make it stop. Sobbing is the most she wants to do. There is still anger left in him. And contempt. He finishes quickly and steps out embarrassed with his own action.

"Fuck it!" he whispers touching his mouth nervously.

Tig gets back in the house and pours the water over the coffee in the plunger. As if nothing happened. She's seated, still weeping, but slightly better than he expected.

"The sick things your father did to you…" he says putting the cup in front of her.

"Not my father actually," she replies.

"Ran out of sugar," he notices. "You're gonna have to drink it bitter."

"I'll bring you next time," she answers somehow menacing.

"All right, all right," he murmurs sinking his face in his large palms.

Tig wonders if she's going to be fine. Of course she will, but he's still concerned. He knows she'll have to come back, like an addict as for him, he wanted her again. Not like that, he wanted to love her although that sounded crazy given what just happened between them.

"I'd better go," she says finishing the drink. "Thank you… for the coffee."

xxx

There've been two days since he last saw her. Two long, hot days. He had to find other things to do around the reservation; otherwise he would have gone mad. He needed all the concentration and hard work he could get just to keep him from thinking about her. The damned rain started to pour rattling against the tin roof. She won't come, he concluded. She'll never come back. I blew it. Ah, well…

Tig stretched on the bed exhausted. His back was sore from lifting crates full of bullets. The outcast lost all remains of hope and fell into a soft sleep.

A reluctant knock brought him back to his senses. It could have been one of the Indians, or maybe even Clay. He cracked the door touching his knife: old habits die hard. She was all wet, reason why he suspected she'd been lingering there for a while, before gathering the courage to announce her presence. There's no need to say anything, he undresses her quietly, kissing her burning lips, her neck, her shoulders. Tig hasn't felt like this with a woman in a long time. Nadia was a very dirty whore indeed, he could have done to her things most men would be ashamed to think and yet she would have liked it. Different, yet not that different from the loose women he normally had, however unlike them in one significant aspect: she loved it because she loved him. She couldn't remember having so many orgasms in one row and the nasty things he whispered in her ear had only improved her appetite. He was relentless and slutty, pounding her madly and then licking her streaming juices and sweat. Her moans must have awakened the reservation, but he didn't seem to care about these impromptu accomplices. The rain kept falling all night soaking the ground. She vaguely remembered she left the car on the grass. It didn't matter anymore, because she had everything she needed. And she felt alive for the first time since Takezo died. She also felt like she wanted to go on living.

The morning light seeped shyly through the old plastic blinds. Nadia needed a shower, but the wooden shack had no such facilities. For such purposes she had to go outdoors where hidden from unscrupulous eyes by concrete walls, were a bucket and a garden hose.

"You're kidding me," she smiles remembering life back in the army.

"Get in… I'll wash you," replies Tig winking.

"How much you said you paid for this accommodation?" she laughs complying.

"I'm not the one paying. Clay does."

"How very kind of him."

Damned, the whole thing started to feel cozy, he pondered. Nadia even cooked breakfast with fresh eggs, one of the advantages of living eco-friendly. They're sitting there with empty plates before them, seeping coffee and trying not to destroy the beauty of it all. Yet there is a sick boyish pleasure in crushing even the most delicate of flowers.

"You're going back?" he says meaning to ask how soon she intended to return.

"Yeah, Juice must be concerned," she utters dreamy.

"Ah right," he smiles, adding: "He loves ya."

"What is love?" she retorts bluntly. "You're not jealous?"

"On Juice?" he replies, trying to buy some time.

"Yeah, on another man you know, fucking me."

"No," he answers firmly.

"Right," she says melancholic. "Does it turn you on?"

"Does it turn you?"

Nadia sits back breathing out the annoyance engulfing her:

"I suppose I'll stop with Juice. Not fair, really."

"What if I asked you to continue?"

"You're asking me to sleep with another man," she rephrases visibly disturbed.

"Yeah."

"How so?"

"It turns me on."

"What if I slept with that guy?" she points towards a young Indian in the courtyard then adds grinning: "in front of you. Would that turn you on?"

"I have no problem with that, I just don't want to touch other dicks, I'm not even curious. I'd watch, yeah," he elaborates. "What? Do you like him?"

"Maybe. Are you asking me to go for him?" she responds fuming.

"Maybe."

"Ask me!" Nadia provokes him.

Tig knows already where this is going, but he wants to see it gone through, just for fun:

"All right, I want you to fuck that guy."

"I won't."

"Why not?"

"It gives you too much pleasure!" she answers bitterly. "Controlling me."

"I know: you don't belong to anyone. You're a lone wolf."

"That's right."

Tig has her where he wanted. There's no point going around the finger anymore, so he speaks things as they are:

"But you love me."

"I've almost forgotten. Brought you some sugar," she adds removing the pack of sugar from the pocket of her jacket, before storming outside.

"No, you never forget," he mumbles in absence.

Follow up in Bad Seeds