A/N: Updated and edited as of 10/23/2019.

Disclaimer: Sutter/FX own SOA

I woke to the bright sunshine cascading in through my window. I still hadn't gotten used to the brightness of the sun out here in the desert. It was mornings like this that I missed the Nola. Even when the weather was sticky and hot, the sun was still never as blindingly bright as it was out here. I turned over, onto my back and stretched out my legs. As I stretched my arms above my head, I realized I was still gripping my gun. At first, I was confused and stared at it blankly, then the entire night's events rushed back into the forefront of my mind. I groaned as I set the gun down next to me.

Sitting up I rolled my neck out, working through all the kinks. Taking a few centering breaths, I prepared myself for having to go check on my house guest. Hopping off the bed, I reached back for the gun and bent to tuck it back in the holster under my bed. I grabbed the linens and fanned them out, lining them straight and folding them down from my pillows. Making my way to the bathroom I set out in my daily morning routine. After finishing up, I opened my closet to grab the first zip-up hoodie I could find.

I made the short trip to the guest room, knocking lightly on the door. I waited to hear for a response of some sort but none came. Trying again, I knocked a second time, a bit louder. I was met with silence. Assuming he was still asleep, I turned the knob and peeked through the door. With a quick scan of the bed, I could see he was still fast asleep.

Padding through the threshold, I made my way over to the bed. I noticed that he'd shifted in his sleep. He was lying on his side, facing the door. I took a moment to examine him from the edge, noting that his face was scrunched up as if he was uncomfortable. I reached forward and pushed the hair up off his forehead to further inspect his face. I worried that my touch might wake him but he didn't stir. I could feel the heat radiating off him through my hand which made me think he was running a low-grade fever.

In an effort to try and cool him off without any medication, I circled around the bed and began untying his boots. I tugged them off and placed them gently at the foot of the bed. Lifting his arm I pulled back on his leather vest and dared to push him lightly over onto his other side, keeping the leather from getting stuck under him. Luckily he was compliant, making small noises of discomfort but never actually waking up. I folded the kutte, placing it on the side table, in plain view. I unzipped his hoodie but decided against moving him around too much and left it as is.

I noticed his hands adorned in a few statement rings and out of fear he'd lose circulation, I moved to pull them off. Heat made the body swell and if he did have a fever, the rings could cut off his blood circulation to those fingers. If this man was to be in my care, I couldn't have his fingers falling off. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his right hand into my lap. I gently swivelled his reaper ring around until it fell into my palm and then repeated the process with his Harley one. I placed them both on the side table, next to his kutte, in an orderly fashion. I reached over him, grabbing his left hand to pull his other ring off. When his hand was closer to my view, I noticed that this particular ring was his wedding band. I fought internally as to whether or not I should take it off. I swirled the ring around his finger, deciding that there was still some wiggle room with this particular ring and left it alone. I didn't want him to panic further when waking up thinking his wedding ring was missing.

Before getting up to leave I took a moment to inspect the cuts on his face. I was shocked to see the kind of statement the open wounds made. It wasn't a particularly common injury to incur in this part of the world. If I was remembering correctly, it was specifically a Scottish tradition. The Glasgow Smile. Whoever did this to him, wanted to make him an example. Give him something to never forget, nor allow anyone to see him without questioning what happened. I could see that the wounds were starting to scab over, but there was a lot of pus building up. They needed to be cleaned or they would get severely infected.

Getting up, I walked over to the adjoining bathroom door and rummaged through the cabinet under the sink. Finding my first aid kit and some disinfectant, I climbed up onto the bed, kneeling next to him and began the process of cleaning his wounds. I added an extra layer of anti-septic cream, hoping to speed up the healing process. As I cleaned, the newly formed scabs began to crack and bleed. Taking an extra folding of gauze, I pat across them, seeping up the excess liquids. Finally, I laid out a few bandages across his cheeks and tapped them down with the medical tape. It was too early to use regular band-aids but as soon as the scabs were defined, I would make the switch. I cleared up all the cotton swabs and Q-tips, making sure that I didn't leave any garbage behind. I left the kit on the dresser with everything else and quietly left the man to get some much-needed rest.

~(SOA)~

Hours later, I was standing in the kitchen, sweating over the stove. I had tied a bandana in my hair to keep my bangs and stray hairs from falling into my eyes. I spent the afternoon in comfortable silence, listening for any commotion from my guest. As supper time neared, I started working on a nice chicken stew, with parsley dumplings. I wasn't sure if my guest would be up for eating, but I figured if I offered something easy to eat, with minimal facial movements, he'd be grateful.

I dipped a spoon into my pot, bringing it back up and tasted the stock. I nodded to myself, good with the flavour. If it was just for me, I would've added more spice for that down-home kick, but I was playing hostess. Not everyone was accustomed to spicy food. Losing myself in the familiar routine of cooking, I turned and grabbed the bowl of the dumpling mixture. I spooned out large dollops, dropping them in a place around the edge of the pot. Once I had filled the pot completely, I covered it and set a timer. I chose to make this particular dish because it was one of my favourites and my Maw-Maw's secret recipe. Nothing like a good homemade meal to help someone feel comfortable.

As I put the timer back down on the counter, I heard someone knocking on my door. I swiped the towel hanging from the stove, wiping my hands as I went to answer the door. Taking a quick glance I noticed a Son standing on my stoop. One that I didn't recognize but it was obvious he was here to check on their newest brother.

"What can I do for you, hun?" I asked as I opened the door.

The younger man at the door stared at me for a moment, "I, uh, Jax sent me over." He finally answered.

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms across my chest, "Alright. Did Jax happen to say why he was sending you?"

The kid shook his head, "No ma'am."

I widened my eyes at the name and held up a hand, stopping him, "Slow down there kid, I'm no ma'am. Name's Evangeline, but your boys call me Lee."

He smiled, "Juice."

I tilted my head to the side in question, "You're name is Juice?"

He shrugged, "That's my club name, but my given name is Juan Carlos."

"You got a last name?" I asked, stifling a chuckle. No wonder the boys had given him a nickname. Juan Carlos didn't exactly shout badass biker.

He nodded, "Ortiz."

I let out a huff of a laugh, "Alright, well if you don't mind, I'm gonna call you Ortiz."

Having already figured out why they sent the kid, I inclined my head, gesturing for him to come inside. He waited until I closed the door and then followed me as I retreated to the kitchen. I pointed to the four-seater table in front of the window, where he could sit, while I took a moment to check on my dinner. I popped open the lid a few centimetres, breathing in the glorious smell. I double-checked the timer, noting that I still had a few minutes before it was time to take it off the heat. Putting the lid back in place, I turned and walked around the island to the other side of the kitchen. All the while I could feel Ortiz's eyes on me.

"Hungry?" I called as I reached into the cupboard, pulling out enough place settings for three. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw as he nodded.

"Yes ma'am," He exclaimed.

I shook my head, "Lee. Yes, Lee."

I emphasized my name, imploring him to use it. I was too young to be a ma'am.

He grinned and corrected himself, "Yes Lee!"

I smiled, "Good - dinner is ready."

I went about organizing three bowls of stew and dumplings. Placing the filled bowls next to the stove, I bent down, opening another cupboard and pulling out a tray. I loaded it up cutlery, napkins, and glass of water. I left the bowls to cool and went about getting a drink. Circling around to the fridge, I pulled out a beer for the younger biker, taking a chance that he was at least of age. I popped the cap off and handed it to him. He accepted with a slight nod of his head. I went back to the fridge to pour myself a cup of sweet tea and took a long sip.

"Jax say how long you needed to hang around?" I inquired.

Ortiz shrugged, "I'm just a prospect. I don't ask questions."

I pouted in thought, "You happen to know anything about the man sleeping in my guest room?"

"Only that he's a transfer. Came in from Belfast." Juice answered.

I took a moment, letting the information sink in. An Irishmen transferred to California. A little bit more than just far from home. Judging by the wounds on his face coupled with the distance he'd travelled, something clearly went south. Before I let myself get caught up in my thoughts, I placed my glass down on the table across from Ortiz and grabbed the bowls of dinner. They should have cooled down enough to merit eating now.

"I hope you like chicken stew," I said as I handed the bowl to him.

He gratefully took it from me, hissing as he realized the bottom was still hot.

"Careful," I chuckled, "It's still hot.

He scrunched up his nose in annoyance but I could see the smile growing. I placed the second bowl on the tray leaving the third for myself. I'd come back for it in a minute. Picking up the tray, I left Ortiz as he tried to inhale his food. Only being slowed down by the fact that it was still piping hot. I made my way down the hall, tapping gently on the spare rooms door. No answer came, but I could hear movement behind it.

"I figured you might be hungry," I announced as I opened the door and entered the bedroom.

I managed a smile and looked up to find the Irishman sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. There were bandages strew across his lap and he was staring lifelessly at the wall before him. It looked as though he had been picking at the cuts on his face. They were bright red and had scratch marks around the edges. I swore internally and dropped the tray down on the vanity before hustling over to him and kneeling to eye level.

"What d'ya think you're doing?" I scolded, "You need to keep those wounds covered or they'll get infected."

Without a glance at me, he mumbled, "Then let'em."

I was prepared for him to have an accent, but I wasn't prepared for it to not sound Irish. I was a bit stunned at the thicker sounding brogue. It was almost a burr. I couldn't place where it was from, but it was definitely from somewhere in the UK.

I sighed, "Come now, hun. You can't be like that. Maybe some food will help you feel better."

I went over and grabbed the tray, placing it on the floor next to him. He turned to me this time and stared at me with closed-off dead eyes. I furrowed my brow, actual worry starting to flood through me. Clearly he was in more than just physical pain. My reaction must have been obvious because he turned away and stared at the wall again, avoiding my eyes completely.

"Jus' fuck off" he spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

Shocked, I raised my eyebrows, "Excuse me?"

He lifted his hand and in a show, tucked it under the glass and tipped it over. He stared me down as the water sloshed all over the tray and onto the carpet. He was waiting for my reaction. I took a deep breath in, trying to focus my temper. I needed to remain calm. He was experiencing inner turmoil and taking it out on the closet person. Which happened to be me.

"You'd be best to remember you're in my house," I warned him.

He lifted his hand again, moving to knock over the bowl of stew. In a fast reaction, I caught his wrist with my hand and squeezed hard. The man squinted but I didn't let up.

"There's no need to be rude. If you aren't hungry, just say so." I dropped his hand and stood.

Turning away from him I left the bowl of stew sitting on the tray. I fully expected him to dump it out I refused to turn and see him try it. Using every ounce of patience I owned, I shut the door behind me. I stood rigid outside the door, squeezing my eyes shut. I was beyond pissed. I didn't know what the man had gone through, but it wasn't my fault. He would have to deal with his issues without taking them out on me. Why the fuck Jackson decided to dump him on me was a mystery, but if this attitude kept up, he'd be finding himself a new place to sleep.

Once I opened my eyes, I could see Ortiz's face peering around the doorway of the kitchen. Gritting my teeth, I plastered on a smile and made my way back towards him. The kid hadn't done anything wrong and I didn't want to take any anger out on him. Upon reaching the kitchen, I grabbed my own bowl and sat down directly across from Ortiz. I spooned a few mouthfuls into my mouth, allowing the silence in the kitchen to drag out while I calmed myself down. Spotting that Ortiz had scraped his bowl clean, I felt a genuine smile grow.

"You can have seconds if you're still hungry." I offered.

Ortiz gave me a blinding smile and shot up, scooping more stew into his bowl. I sighed into my meal. I wasn't known for my patience. I wasn't going to be able to keep up with this kind of hostile reception. The Sons were going to need to figure out an alternate solution for their new transfer. Taking another bite, I decided that once I was finished eating, I'd be making a call to Jax and Clay.

~(SOA)~

The remainder of the week was trying to say the least. I wasn't thoroughly pleased with the outcome of my phone call with the Sons, but it was agreed that I'd keep an eye on the transfer. I got the underlying message that they wanted him under constant watch and protection. I was apparently their best option.

The Scot, as I had finally pinpointed the accent, was being as difficult as possible. I was beyond frustrated with him. He was refusing to eat, and whenever I re-bandaged his face, he'd just rip them off afterwards. I tried to be civil. I even attempted bringing him tea in the mornings. It was all for naught because as soon as the door shut behind me, I could hear the smashing of the glass against the door. Trying to save face, I began giving him plastic tableware. It saved me from having to clean up the mess as well as not having to constantly buy new dishes. After a few days, my patience wore thin and I chose to avoid him completely, in fear that I'd lose my temper with him. It wouldn't do me any good to dissolve ties with the club over a belligerent house guest.

Unfortunately having the house guest included the prospect. I never agreed to take on a second border. Not only was I trying to keep up with the miserable Scot, but now I was also playing mom to the youngest member of the club. Or so it appeared. Clay and Jackson asked the kid to hang around and keep an eye on the Scot. I knew that wasn't the only reason they wanted the kid around. They were subtly having him watch me too. Making sure that they put their trust in the right person. Another thing to try my patience. Why would they even bother handing off one of their injured members to me if they didn't fully trust me? Frustrated and tired was the only way to describe how I was feeling. Ortiz was now fully occupying my living room and eating me out of house and home. I was going to have to demand that the club pay my grocery bills, now that I was feeding two of their members. Well, feeding one of them, but he ate enough for the starving Scot and himself put together.