One quick note: I try to respond to every review that's sent to me, but there was one posted that I couldn't respond to because the person didn't "sign" it (at least not electronically). Papa, thank you for taking the time to read and review this--I greatly appreciate everyone who does. Obviously, the story continues (with this post). There's much more that Sorcha has told me. As for the accent, I concede that hers would be less substantial than Chibs's--I've always heard her voice as slightly more "Americanized" than his--but if both her mother and her father had accents, it's likely that regardless of where she grew up, she would also have a bit of one. We first learn to speak by mimicking others--namely, our parents--and particularly if she learned to speak another language before or concurrently with English (which you'll see a bit of later), she would have an accent. I had a few friends while growing up who were born in America, went to American schools their entire lives, but still ended up with Indian accents because they learned Hindi first, and their parents spoke with thick accents. Again, thank you for reading, and I hope you continue!
To everyone: I apologize that this has taken me so long. I've had to do a few re-vamps to the original story I had because of the curve ball Kurt threw me with the past couple of episodes. In fact, it's looking like being canon may no longer be an option. I will continue to write the characters as closely as I am able, and include as many of Kurt's new details as I can. But as much as I didn't want it to, this story is taking a different fork in the road from the series. Hopefully it won't deter any of you from continuing to read it.
Ride Free, Love Always, Aoife
---------
Stiff and sore from the past few nights' activities, Sorcha wearily wiped the sleep from her eyes. Though blocked by the curtains, the sun poured warmth into the room from the window. As she looked around bleary-eyed, she gradually recognized the space known as "Jax's room," called thus because of how long he'd spent living in it. It was fairly plain now; he obviously hadn't been using it nearly as much as when he'd first divorced Wendy. She'd heard that Tara was back in town and was happy for Jax. She was also glad that Wendy was gone. Sorcha and Wendy had never quite gotten along. Nonetheless, Jax's room would have still been used during large parties. And the sheets smelled like they hadn't been changed since the last one. Her nose wrinkled, and she pushed herself up off the pillows. With great difficulty, she willed her muscles to move enough to get her to her feet. Equally as difficult was managing to get herself down the hallway and back out to the main room. The fact that she was still wearing blue jeans made moving that much harder. Two men sat on stools in front of the bar while a third stood behind it. "Mornin', Spitfire. You still alive?" asked the standing, brown-skinned, mohawked one.
She blinked a few times and painfully managed only, "Coffee?"
"Have a seat," Juice laughed, moving to get her a cup of what was left in the coffee pot. Like a zombie in an old movie, she shuffled her way to a stool and pulled herself up onto it. Kip jumped up to help before returning to the seat next to her. Once seated, she laid the uninjured left side of her face on her folded arms on the bar.
"You the prospect?"
"Yeah," he responded.
"You got a name, Probie?"
"Kip," he answered. "But most people call me Half-Sack . . . or just Sack now, cuz I got an implant."
Her brow wrinkled briefly in confusion, but she let it go. "Nice ta meet ya, Kip," she smiled weakly. He smiled back and nodded. Juice set a mug of coffee--tinted beige by cream and sugar--in front of her. She sat upright a little too fast and sucked in a breath as her vision reeled. Juice sped to the other side of the bar and laid his hands on her shoulders to make sure she wasn't going to fall. She sighed, "Thanks, Juice."
"Anything for you, Babe." He pressed his lips to the side of her temple, and then headed back to the computer to continue his work for Clay.
"You better get back to work, Sack," Piney coaxed from the prospect's other side. "Clay's gonna start wondering where you got off to."
"Oh, shit!" Kip exclaimed, jumping up and looking at the clock. He powered down the rest of his coffee and ran out the door. Sorcha watched after him in confusion, and Piney started laughing.
Finally, he turned to her and explained, "I just like messing with him 'cause I can." Sorcha chuckled back and lifted her coffee to her mouth.
"You're horrible, Old Man."
"Comes with the territory," he shrugged. "You feelin' okay, Kiddo?"
"Better," she gave him. "Glad ta be home."
"I bet."
"'Ey, shouldn't you out werkin' too?"
"It's my lunch break," he replied smugly.
"I'm surprised no one's sponsored 'im yet," she opened, nodding toward the door that Kip had just exited.
"Haven't decided who." His eyes darted over to Juice and back to her. "Some are easier than others."
"Whoa there," she warned.
He put up his hands defensively and lowered his voice. "I'm not sayin' he didn't deserve it, just that there was a clear sponsor for him--like with Opie and Jax." She nodded her understanding and went back to her coffee. Small sips of the liquid traveled down her throat, warming her insides and awakening her brain.
"How long was I out?"
"You got back around 10 Saturday night . . . It's somewhere around 1 on Monday." He smiled as she winced. "Musta needed the rest, though, Sweetheart." Lumbering up from his stool he laid a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. "It's good to have you back, Spitfire."
"Thanks, Pine."
Juice sat next to the man who'd sponsored him, given him his patch. It also happened to be the father of the young woman he cared deeply about. Chibs sipped straight from the Whisky bottle. It had been a long night for all of them, but probably even more so for Chibs. Though it was Opie who was truly hurting, the Scotsman had been hurled into a scene he knew all too well. As he'd approached the crime scene he could see Opie on the ground leaning over something. He didn't have to look at her to know it was Donna. Chibs wrapped his arms around Opie, a rock for his brother in the storm of what was happening in his mind. But he couldn't look at the bloody woman on the pavement.
Juice hadn't blamed him. He didn't know if he could survive something like what the two of them had been through. It had been hard enough when Sorcha had decided to go to Washington for school, and that was just leaving the state. It was his own fault though; he hadn't made enough of an effort to keep her. She left on her own; she hadn't been taken like the wives of these two men. God only knew what that felt like.
Chibs entered the garage area to see a familiar pair of sneakers sticking out from under one of the cars. "Feck off!" a female voice said. "I got shet fer space en here as et es."
"Sorry," came the male response. "I just thought you needed a little more muscle for it." Chibs heard her smack him before he elicited an, "Ah, damn, Girl." A smile touched his lips. That's m' girl.
"'Ey, what the fuck d'ya think yer doin'?" He bent down, grabbed her right shoe and pulled. Sorcha sighed, rolled her eyes, dropped her hands to her chest and went limp. Though she wasn't all the way out yet, it would be more dangerous to her head if she tried to do it herself. So she surrendered to her father. Chibs grabbed her belt buckle, made sure her pants were secure, and gave another swift tug. She slid easily out from under the car to stare the man in the face. He moved his sunglasses up onto his head to look her in the eyes for effect.
"I'm fexin' brake lines."
"Who told ya you could do that?"
"I's bored," the redhead complained.
"Ya need ta take et easy fer a few days," he countered.
"Et's no' like I'm runnin' a marathon er anythin'."
"Well, I don' wanna hafta pay ta fex more damages when you rep through yer stetches er get yer cuts full 'a brake fluid!" While they were talking, Dog had found his way over to them.
"I'm sorry, Chibs," he said, stopping the squabble. "She asked if she could come back here, and you know how much of a soft spot we all have for her."
"Yeah, yeah," Chibs spat back. "Til she gets those steches out, she jest watches; got et?"
"Understood."
Chibs turned his attention back on the young woman still laying on the floor and gave her a confused look. She looked frustrated. "I can't get up," she whispered. There it was: the look that melted his heart. He placed a hand on either side of her waist and allowed her to pull herself up on his neck. He cradled her as gently as he had the day she was born, holding her closely as she winced in pain.
"Et's okay, Baby Doll." She buried her face in his neck as she struggled to her feet. Leaning against him, she took a few deep breaths. "My li'l grease monkey." He gently rubbed her back a couple of times and then lead her over to the clubhouse.
She took a deep breath and walked in the automatic door. The receptionist slid back the glass window. "Do you have an emergency?"
"No, Ma'am. I'm looking for m' father. I got a call from a friend said he's here."
"Well, I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back in the morning. We don't allow visitors after 8pm."
"Ma'am, please, I go ta school in Washington. I had ta take a bus; thes 'as the fastest I could get here."
"I'm very sorry to hear that, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait."
"But I can't stay; I can't mess anymore of m' classes, 'n the only bus I could find back up leaves in six hours." Tears started to well up at the corners of her eyes. "They told me he got blown up."
That last sentence finally plucked at a string in the woman's heart. "You mean Mr. Telford?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"He's in the ICU up on the second floor."
"Thank you," Sorcha breathed as she hurried down the hall. She could see all the machines but was afraid to enter the room. Seeing him laying there hooked up to tubes and wires scared her more than anything she'd ever been through. Setting her jaw, she pushed the door open. Her knees weakened as she neared the bed, but she wouldn't allow herself to fall. She managed to pull a chair over and lower herself to it with dignity. But as she slid her hand into the older man's, the tears she'd almost showed the receptionist finally fell. Her grip tightened as though letting go would cause her to fall off the earth itself. "I'm here, Da." But there was no answer except the steady beep of the machine monitoring his pulse. He didn't have a trachea tube in, but there was a line of oxygen running to his nostrils. "Ya can't leave me, Old Man," she continued. She leaned forward on her elbows, pulling his hand up to her mouth. "Ya can't leave me b'cause I won't let you." There was an urgency in her voice now. "Ya hear me, Filip Telford? I'm no' lettin' ya go!" Still nothing but the BEEP BEEP of the machine in response. She pulled his hand up underneath her chin and ever so gently, laid her head on his stomach. Closing her eyes she focused on the sound of his breathing . . . because it was his breathing, and that was a good sign. Five hours later, her eyes opened to the same scene. she'd hoped he would wake up while she was there, but life wasn't a movie; it wasn't always happy endings. She looked at the watch on her right wrist, stood up and stretched. Leaning down one more time, she kissed the bandage wrapped across his forehead. "Bheith go maith, Athair." The she turned and headed back the way she'd come. She had a bus to catch.
"So are you an' Juice pickin' up where ya left off?" Chibs dared once they were in the empty clubhouse.
"Where'd ya get that idea?" she asked, taking a seat on one of the stools at the bar.
"That was hem ya were werkin' weth, wadn' et?"
"So what?"
"He hasn't really been the same sence ya stopped visitin' each other."
"Well, he star'ed et."
"Don't gev m' that; you stopped comin' home altogether." He pointed a finger at her, accusing.
Her gun metal blue gaze held him for a minute before she answered. "I got tired a' watchin' the Mamas throw themselves at 'im, and hem not doin' shet about et."
"They dedn't matter ta hem," Chibs countered. "Ya could do a lot worse, ya know."
"Da, will ya feckin' drop et already?!" She stood up to yell at him properly. "I may no' remember much, but I's jest raped a few days ago! Er ded that escape yer mind?!"
"Hey now," he took a step toward her, reminding her who was in charge. "I's jest curious; ya don't need ta jump doon m' throat." It was the wrong thing for him to do. She stood with her teeth clenched, heart beating fast. He knew that look; it was her "fight or flight" look. She felt like he was backing her into a corner. He raised his hands in a kind of surrender. "Tak a breath, Baby Doll; et's alright," he soothed.
After filling her lungs a couple of ragged times, she announced, "I'm gonna go lay down." She turned on her heel and started toward the hallway.
"'Ey!" She turned to face him again, knowing that if she didn't, there would be hell to pay later. "I love you." She bit her bottom lip, and her brow wrinkled with the frustration of not being able to stay mad at him. He was still her dad.
"I love you too, Da." Before he made her cry, she spun back around and headed down to his room.
There were seven of them done over a period of a few months. Each of the men closest to her took a turn. All of them deserved it. When all was said and done, the bodies had bled out from slices on their faces--slowly and painfully--and then had their genitals removed before being photographed with an old polaroid camera and disposed of. The pictures were sent to Alvarez as a warning against further violence toward this particular young woman of the club. And Alvarez had understood, even sent a peace offering to Sorcha to show he had learned his lesson. But the damage was done, and Sorcha was never the same.
The phone on the dresser started singing. Sorcha had a new text message. She flipped it open and accepted it. It was from Kara, and she knew her roommate must be wondering what was going on by now. "Wtf r u? Ur bikers wouldn't tell me n/e thing-i almost died!" She chuckled a bit at Kara's over-reaction. While she had no doubt the boys at the Tacoma clubhouse would have given Kara lecherous comments rather than information, there was no danger of the 5'5" blond being killed.
She hit "reply" and typed out, "I'm okay. I'm home. Be back in a few days for my stuff." A few seconds later, the phone sang again.
"U mean ur not gonna finish school?"
"I'll finish down here. I'm not in a hurry to stay in Tacoma anymore."
"That totally sucks!" This time, Sorcha clapped the phone shut without responding. She didn't feel like dealing with Kara's inflated sense of drama right now, and she certainly didn't feel like explaining what had happened. The phone went back onto the dresser, and she pulled one of her father's t-shirts from within its depths. She changed into it and pulled her hair out of the ponytail she'd had it in. Sore muscles compelled her to climb into the bed; though she'd never admit it, she had over-exerted herself today muscling the clip off the brake hose bracket.
The next thing she knew, she was being woken up by her father. "Ya okay, Sweetheart?" She shook the sleep from her brain, vaguely aware of the fact that she'd been having a nightmare. But she must have already been coming out of it, because all she could remember was the smell of cheap beer and the sharp sting of her cuts. Wincing, she sat up and looked at Chibs.
"Was I yellin'?" He nodded with a slightly worried look on his face. "Fuck," she breathed. It was starting again. This wasn't the first time she'd been through bouts of nightmares. It seemed to be her mind's preferred way of dealing with things. She could be fine all day long, pushing the bad memories out of her thoughts, but when she slept, her brain worked out all its fears and anxieties. She leaned forward into the somber, older man's arms, breathing in his scent to calm her jittery nerves.
"Ya wantae get somethin' ta eat?" he offered. She nodded into his shoulder. "There's pizza on a table out there."
"Do I hafta put on pants?"
Chibs couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, I dinnae think any 'a the guys'd complain." That was all she needed to hear. She defied her soreness and climbed out of the bed, heading directly for the main room of the clubhouse. She hadn't eaten all day, and her stomach was now yelling at her for it. As she exited the hallway, she saw three Reaper cuts sitting around a table full of pizza boxes. She made her way over and opened a box to grab a slice of plain cheese pizza.
"Mornin', Sweetheart," Bobby laughed. She shot him an annoyed look as she took a large bite.
"Ah, leave her alone," Clay answered. "She's had a rough couple days; she deserves to sleep 'til 8pm."
"Thank you, Boss-man," she replied sweetly.
"Aw, Honey, you can't be doin' that," Tig spoke up, his eyes moving to the ceiling. Clay and Bobby, both across the table from her, exchanged a confused glance. Without seeing the other men's confusion, Tig explained his outburst. "She's not wearing pants." Clay started laughing while Bobby shrugged.
"So?"
"She's too grown up," Tig continued. Then he turned his attention to her. "Chibs's shirts don't come down as far as they used to; you're gettin' dangerously close to showin' me what color panties you got on." Silently, she picked up another piece of pizza, balancing it on top of the one she already had, and, sneering at him, lifted up the edge of the shirt just enough to show him that she was wearing blue today; then she turned and headed back down the hallway. All of the older men started laughing and cat-calling. Just as she was moving out of earshot she heard Tig say, "God, Chibs, she's perfect."
"Back off," Chibs shot back.
Sorcha climbed up onto Opie's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "What's up, Pixie?" he asked, concerned. She only clung to him when there was something wrong. She was fourteen, but after what she'd been through the year before, he and Jax tended to spoil her a little. Donna completely understood, and simply got up to go get another drink, allowing Sorcha a few minutes alone with Opie.
"I don't like 'er."
"Who?" Sorcha lifted her chin in the direction of her father. He was sitting on the couch with a dark haired, dark skinned woman on his knee.
"What the hell kinda Irish woman looks like that?"
"One whose parents weren't from Ireland." She raised an eyebrow at him in annoyance and set her jaw. He chuckled a bit in surrender. "Why don't you like her, Spitfire?"
"She's too perfect, too sweet."
"What?"
"Like, seckly sweet." The worry behind Sorcha's voice told Opie that it wasn't simply the redhead vying for her father's attention. "'Ets somethin' wrong about 'er." Her flame-colored brow wrinkled in frustration. "I don't know why, but I don't trust 'er."
"Tell ya what; I'll talk to Clay, maybe look into things a little for you, okay?" She breathed a sigh of tentative contentment and nodded. "Now go to bed," he ordered.
"Love you, Ogre." She hugged him tightly, then climbed back to the floor and hurried down the hallway to the room where she was being allowed to stay for the night.