As I warned you, here's another weird veer into Anne's point of view. I write things like this for my original fiction to feel out "off-camera" scenes or view-points, then set them aside and stick with a consistent form for the story. (If I had done this with Connor, maybe he wouldn't be so two-dimensional.) However, since fanfic is more of a fun writing exercise than a serious project for me, I'm throwing some of them in as bonus (read: filler) material.

It's probably worth mentioning that how Happy sees Anne isn't necessarily entirely accurate. Sometimes when we recognize a rare but desired quality in another person, we project a whole lot of other things we want to see as well. Yeah, Happy's kind of doing that to a certain degree, assuming Anne is a bit more sociopathic than she actually is. However, if this story had gone a different way, maybe Connor and June's influence would have twisted Anne far enough to be Happy's girl, instead of Tig's. So there is a connection between the two of them that they're both feeling, but it's just enough to completely unnerve Anne rather than draw her to him. When she looks at him, she sees the thing she's terrified of becoming.

I figured the songs for this chapter would be pretty dark, but I'm going with the song Into the Fire by Thirteen Senses. It has a great intensity and growing heat to it… it feels like the same kind of liberation Anne's going through as she embraces the strength it takes to face down Happy—something so scary and strangely natural that the courage to stop and ask Tig for a second chance is suddenly an option, instead of just running the rest of the way behind her walls.

"Come on, come on
Put your hands into the fire
Explain, explain
As I turn I meet the power
This time, this time
Turning white and senses dire
Pull up, pull up
From one extreme to another"

Wondering how to write dialogue for Happy? Step 1: Write what you want him to communicate. Step 2: Edit it back to 1/3 the number of words. Step 3: Realize it's still out of character and cut that back. Step 4: Say fuck it, it's just fanfic. Let's assume he's a little mouthier with chicks when he's one-on-one. So here's the throw-down between Anne and Happy that neither of them are ever going to explain to Tig. Ever.

(Also, I do not get the Tara-hate, except people being jealous she "gets" Jax. She doesn't do any more dumb things than any other character in the show.)

-B.

A sense of cold calm came over me as I walked away from the motel. I welcomed it. Happy jerked his head towards the car at the top of the driveway, and then ignored me, turning to talk to Clay. I don't need to be told twice. Or rather, three times. I heard Tig tell Happy to take me away. The words ripped me apart, but it's no worse than what I did to him by leaving. I deserve this. By the time I'd realized that I was trying to run away from myself, not Tig, it was too late.

After ripping my life away from Martin, I swore I'd never let anyone own me for any price. I compromised to keep my head above water with Connor, but every obedient act scraped a little more of my righteousness away. And now? Tig's got a hold on me that's getting harder to deny. Where's the line between want and need? That fence is getting too narrow to hold me up.

Freedom. It's worth more than anything else, right? It always has been before.

Tig's voice is in my head. What life?... He said it so incredulously, like it was impossible to believe I had anything worthwhile outside of California, as if his world could just overwrite everything I had him. It's my life, not his. I'm more than something to rescue and cuddle until he gets bored. My fingernails bite deep into the flesh of my palms, a steadying pain. Anger is easier than fear, but it's just another distraction from the truth. Oh god, Tig… rescue me from myself.

I reach out to the cold that lives behind the anger, behind the fear. I invite it into my head and welcome it with open arms. If no one was watching, I'd have limped up that goddamn hill, but pride kept my steps even as I walked to the car. I stood by it, too stubborn to even lean on it, waiting for Happy. The hell kind of name is Happy, anyway? Sheer irony. When he turns back towards me, his dark eyes are the same ones he locked on mine in the Lodi warehouse. He moves like a cat, which makes me even more conscious of how much pain I'm in. I can stand, but I can't run.

It dawns on me that I am very, very unsafe right now.

I know better than to show fear. Spend enough nights in youth shelters and you learn pretty quick that emotion—any emotion—calls attention to you. If you don't give a shit, you're as close to invisible as it gets. It took me a long time to break down those walls and learn how to stop ruthlessly censoring my reactions. But it was the older lessons that kept me breathing last year. The Nords resurrected the girl I used to be, and I don't know how to put that bitch back in the grave. I meet Happy's stare to show that I'm not submissive, but look away as if I'm not interested or threatened.

He doesn't buy it. He circles me like he's checking out a car, or livestock. My nerves scream at me to spin and keep him in my sight, but what would that help? Might just get him more into rattling my cage. Goddamn it, Tig. He wouldn't have sent me with Happy if he thought I'd get hurt. I know that. Hell, Kip would have intervened. But maybe they don't know him as well as they think they do. Wouldn't be the first time I've met a guy who's a lovable rogue with his friends but an unholy terror to any women unfortunate enough to end up alone with him.

My line of thought ends abruptly as Happy's hand touches the back of my neck. He draws my hair to one side, gently. His hand lingers, fingers just touching the tattoo I had painfully and cathartically etched over Connor's swastika.

"You took what they did to you and went past it, instead of back." His voice is a growl. I bet there are half a dozen crow-eaters who'd kill to have him intimately breathing on their neck, but in that moment, I'd have killed to have Tig beside me.

"Past it." I echo. It's not really a question, but I don't understand how any part of what I am and what I'm doing is past the Lodi warehouse.

"You could have had that removed. Erased Lodi. But you made it yours."

"Sure." I say, non-committal. I shrug off his touch and step back, turning to face him. I look down the hill to see if Tig can see what's happening, but there's no one to save me.

"He's not coming, chica. He sent you with me for a reason."

Yeah, to scare the shit out of me. I'm out of my depth here, so I do the thing I always fall back on. Pretend to not care. I give Happy a blank look. No fear, no anger.

Happy laughs like I've performed some trick. He pushes me back, firmly but not viciously. The car is cold against my back and Happy leans over me. Trapped. No fear, no anger… just ice. His hands move to my waist, and then his lips touch mine like he owns me. The last person I kissed was Tig, before I ran. Tig...

Anger fills me with heat and strength. If Happy wants to get what I gave to Tig, he's going to have to take it. I'm done calculating the balance of pain. I killed Connor. What else can I do?

I put my hands on Happy's arms and shove, hard—the same way I pushed away from Tig minutes ago. Again, my left arm screams pain at me, but that just makes me madder. I had to be passive in Connor's world for so long that I've almost forgotten that it's a choice. Act, or don't act. You just have to be willing to live with the consequences. Unlike when I pushed Tig away, I bring my knee up sharply.

Most guys, that would have worked. Happy was expecting it and deflects it without even flinching. He lightly steps back, looking at me with a kind of joy sparking in his eyes. It's not the sexualized machismo I'd expect from someone who is clearly delighting in intimidation. It's something else. We played out the entire little dance in complete silence.

"If you had a knife right now, you'd try to cut me, wouldn't you, chica."

"Yes." Why lie? I narrow my eyes at him. The familiar icy stillness in my soul grows stronger. We're staring each other down again—but last time we did this, both of us had knives. Now, he's the only one armed.

Happy watches me, still and thoughtful, eyes bright. I can't tell what's worse—looking at his eyes, or looking at his hand inches away from the knife on his belt. A minute ago, I thought I was going to get raped. Now I'm starting to think it's worse than that. He moves a little closer.

"Only thing I don't get is why you didn't kill him back there."

No need to ask who he's talking about. At the word kill, my eyes flick to Happy's knife. Is there any possible way I can get that away from him? I force myself to meet his gaze. "I couldn't."

"Bullshit."

I stand there, staring. What is the truth? I could kill again. Why didn't I? Then I find the only words that don't feel like a lie. "It felt too easy. Like it didn't matter."

And that simple truth terrifies me. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger. It wouldn't have cost me anything to go into that icy place in my head, shoot the asshole, and walk away. Instead I'd stood there, barefoot in the same blood that's still splattered in my hair, and coolly decided that Kip or Tig were the ones who wanted (needed?) to kill him. I'd gotten Connor—it was someone else's turn. Happy sees me eyeing his knife and laughs.

"Oh chica, you and Tig deserve each other. You're like us." Happy finds the look on my face even funnier. He pulls the knife and balances it in his hand, holding the blade rather than the hilt. Moving unexpectedly fast, he steps up again, backing me against car. He holds the hilt out until I take it, slowly and disbelieving.

Mutely, I stand with the blade in my hand and Happy in front me. The desire to cut him vanished along with the last of my certainty. His lips turn up in something that shouldn't be called a smile. "Anyone else tries to take what you don't want to give, cut them."

"Even you?" I'm an idiot, but at this point, I'm so sick of Happy yanking my chain that I don't care.

"Chill. You and me could have had all kinds of fun, but you're Tig's." He doesn't seem all that disappointed. "Even if you can't see it, you're Tig's girl. Get in the car. I'll take you back to Oakland. "

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Are you too scared to get in the car?"

Yes. But the glint of mockery and understanding in his eyes makes me feel reckless. If Tig sent me with Happy expecting me come running back into his manly-man arms, shivering with feminine fragility, he's going to be pissed.

In the car, Happy slips sunglasses over his eyes, turns to me, and grins. "You and Tig are both goddamn idiots."

He's still chuckling as the gravel spins under the car's tires. The teenagers I work with have a lot of really stupid catch-phrases and jargon. For some reason, one comes to mind as I begin a four hour road trip with a sociopath. Fuck my life.