A/N: don't own don't sue
The lyrics at the beginning are from 'One More Night' by Maroon 5
Set after Season One, before Abel is kidnapped and Gemma is raped and Jax turns into a jerk and the whole club hates each other. Generally back when the show had fun and all the coolest characters were still alive. Because I can, it's called artistic license.
One More Night
Chapter One
You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war
You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door
You and I get so damn dysfunctional, we start keeping score
You and I get sick, and I know that we can't do this no more
But baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head let it all go
Got you stuck on my body, on my body like a tattoo
And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid crawling back to you
So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night
Try to tell you no, but my body keeps on telling you yes
Try to tell you stop, but your lipstick got me so out of breath
I'll be waking up in the morning, probably hating myself
And I'll be waking up feeling satisfied, but guilty as hell
But baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you
Yeah I stopped using my head, using my head let it all go
Got you stuck on my body, on my body like a tattoo
And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid crawling back to you
So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night
Yeah baby give me one more night
"What crawled up your ass?" Jax asked, lifting his eyebrows in amusement as Juice stomped around the garage irritably.
"Nothing." He muttered.
"Boy needs to get himself some." Piney diagnosed wheezily and Juice glared.
He hadn't told anyone about the girl from The Bad Penny, a pretty amazing feat in itself. He rubbed his hands over his head. It had been a week since that steamy, slightly hazy, night. Things hadn't improved much with the club and he hadn't seen that girl again at all. Not that he was trying to see her. It was just a one time thing. One hell of a one time thing. He could feel heat creeping under his collar just thinking about it.
"Hey!" He snapped back to the present at the sound of Tig's exasperated shout. "You're gonna get your ass welded to this Camry if you don't move the fuck outta the way."
Juice sidestepped quickly, not entirely putting it past Tig to do exactly as he threatened. He seriously needed to sort himself out, he couldn't concentrate worth a damn and he was jumpy as fuck.
"Who is that?"
Jax squinted against the sun, following Half-Sack's awestruck gaze. It only took him a moment to see what had caught the Prospect's attention. A girl, naturally. A girl in a powder blue Mustang with curves almost as impressive as hers. She was all long slender legs and pale willowy limbs rather than the bronzed top-heavy bimbos usually fluttering around the clubhouse. Her glossy red hair was pulled back in a long plait, catching the bright sunlight as she propped her head on her elbow on the side of her car. Her mirrored aviators hid her eyes but they emphasised the high freckled cheekbones and the long straight nose. Her rosy lips curved into a smile as Half-Sack talked to her. Juice stared, snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack when Jax looked at him strangely. No. Fucking. Way.
She'd pulled her car up into the lot of Teller-Morrow, queuing behind a beat up old station wagon. Her heart was pounding so hard her ribs were tingling. She glanced around nervously. The lot was teeming with guys working on cars and bikes, smoking and laughing and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. This was a bad idea. She was going to get herself killed. The guy in the station wagon was deep in conversation with a tall bearded guy and didn't look like he was going to be moving any time soon. To give her hands something to do, she lowered the flap above the window. Her face was pale, dark rings like bruises under her lashes and her dark blue eyes were glittering feverishly. She looked like shit. She tried to rub some colour into her cheeks but her hands were trembling too much so she slipped on her shades instead.
"Can I help you, miss?"
She jumped about a foot out of her seat, blushing furiously at the tousled blond head sticking through her window. He smiled patiently at her.
"Yes!" She squeaked, pausing and clearing her throat embarrassedly. "I mean er… the engine keeps making this godawful noise and it keeps cutting out on me."
He grinned reassuringly at her and she smiled weakly back.
"Just park up over there and I'll take a look."
She nodded, manoeuvring around the station wagon and over to one side of the lot. Excellent first impression, Frankie. She popped the hood for the blond, listening to the shouts echoing around the lot, the laughter and the cursing. After a few moments he re-emerged, leaning against the hood and sticking his head back through the window.
"Something came loose. I think we have a new one around here. Shouldn't take too long to fix."
She nodded meekly. She knew exactly what was wrong with the engine, she'd done it herself. If they did a halfway decent job of it she'd have an hour or two to kill. The blond summarised as much, opening the door for her and indicating the office across the lot. She grabbed her bag and clambered out of the car. The burning sun hammered down on her head and she frowned, squinting painfully behind her sunglasses. Apparently she had managed to make her first visit to California right in the middle of the worst heatwave in years. Even so, the denim shorts and AC/DC crop top she'd opted for might not have been the best idea in the world. She could feel eyes combing over her, from her dusty old Converse to her messy auburn plait.
Feeling awkward and out of place, she sat down at one of the picnic benches. This was such a dumb idea. There's no way she could turn up on this woman's doorstep and drop this bombshell in her lap. She'd be lucky not to get her ass shot off if even half of the rumours about these guys were true. She fiddled with the strap of her bag nervously. She could just drop the letter on the office table and make a run for it.
"We don't bite, you know."
She jumped again. Her nerves were going to be up the wall by the time this was all over. The guy standing besides her was tall and cute, stupid haircut notwithstanding, but he had a nice smile. He swiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, tugging a rag between his greasy hands.
"You look nervous." He explained as she squinted up at him.
"Oh. No. Just the heat." She smiled.
"Yeah, this heatwave's a bitch." He bit his lip and blinked at her worriedly, afraid he'd offended her but she only smiled.
He cocked his head and looked at her until she flushed, recognition flooding through her brain until she wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. She glanced around the lot, everyone was staring at them. They must all know.
"Juice." He stuck out his hand and she took it, smearing grease and oil all over her palm.
"Frankie." She withdrew her hand, wiping her palm on her shorts.
He was acting like he'd never met her before and she didn't know whether to be relieved or offended. Maybe he really didn't remember her. It was possible. She hadn't even known he was a Son when she'd met him, well… until she'd stripped him down and revealed his tattoos anyway. She flushed even hotter and averted her gaze.
"Hey! Get back to work." A tall guy with a mop of black curls ordered gruffly, shouldering past them.
Juice flashed her another grin and scurried back over to the car he was supposed to be working on. She frowned when her nerves came flooding back. How was she even going to open up the topic with her? You can't just walk up to a complete stranger and ask if they gave up a baby for adoption when they were fifteen.
"You need something?"
Frankie stared at her. She didn't look like any fifty-year-old woman she'd ever seen. She was standing there in leather trousers and a slashed black shirt, eyeing her challengingly from behind her shades.
"I… uh… just… my car…" She gave up, hardly able to hear a sound over the thumping of her heart in her ears.
This was her blood. Her past standing right in front of her and she had no idea who she was. Gemma followed her pointing finger to the pale blue Mustang being worked on by the Prospect.
"He said it would only take an hour." She finally managed to stutter.
Gemma eyed her contemplatively again and then turned away as someone hollered at her from the office. Frankie watched her retreating back, a riot of emotions surging through her chest. That probably hadn't gone well, but she hadn't slapped her so it could definitely have gone worse. She dug the letter out of her bag. It made her throat close up slightly, the sight of her mum's familiar handwriting. The name was both strange and yet familiar. Gemma. She had heard it so many times lately, but she didn't actually know anything about her. She put the envelope back in her bag and stared at the scuffed scratched surface of the table miserably. She couldn't even begin to understand how it would feel to not know your own blood parents. It was probably almost as strange as meeting your blood grandmother and her looking right past you.
She waited anxiously on the bench, half watching Juice who was apparently being ribbed something awful by the entire garage about something. She was trying not to stare at Gemma, who was leaning in the office doorway talking to a gorgeous guy with long blond hair. Jax probably. She shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. She had no idea why she was dragging this out, all she had to do was drop that letter somewhere around here and hit the road. It wasn't her problem if Gemma didn't believe any of it.
"I think it should be alright now."
She dropped her bag with a clatter as Half-Sack materialised besides her. She smiled at him and Half-Sack beamed. She seemed a bit jumpy but she was unbelievably hot. There was something almost familiar about her that was puzzling. When she was sitting there, her chin cupped in her hand and her strange-coloured eyes staring into the distance, she had an expression on her face he was sure he recognised. She stood up and he couldn't resist flicking a glance at her long legs again. He led her towards her car, chattering cheerfully as he explained what he'd done. She nodded but he knew she wasn't really listening, she kept glancing around nervously.
"Thanks." She smiled when she realised he'd finished talking to her.
"No problem."
"Hey 'Sack. Jax wants you."
Half-Sack frowned irritably but obediently trotted off across the lot. Frankie found herself with Juice again. He could see her chewing on her bottom lip worriedly.
"Maybe I'll see you around."
She jolted slightly and stared at him, those strange midnight blue eyes taking him in.
"I hope not." She laughed, indicating the Mustang she was leaning against when he frowned. "I can't afford any more repairs."
Juice blinked and then a goofy grin spread across his face. He was pretty adorable actually.
"So do you always try to pick up stray girls wandering around the garage?"
He slid a sideways glance at her.
"Do you always try to pick up stray mechanics at random garages?" He shot back.
"Only the cute ones." She replied flatly, her mind scrabbling to figure out whether he was hinting at that night or not. "Then I chop them up and sell them on the black market."
Juice laughed, although he did glance over her shoulder. Just in case. The back seat was mostly taken up by a pretty huge basset hound who gave him a long baleful glance and then went back to sleep.
"Oh, that's Elvis." She smiled fondly at the backseat.
"Guard dog?" Juice asked, lifting up his eyebrows.
"You're kidding, right?" She laughed. "Not unless he snores any attackers to death."
She grinned, realising that her nerves had faded somewhat. They lapsed into silence and Juice took the opportunity to eye her covertly. Her pale skin was already bronzed to a smooth caramel from the sun, apart from the tan lines from her various beaded bracelets and the leather thong around her wrist. Her sunglasses emphasised the curve of her high cheekbones. He watched a bead of sweat trail down over her collarbone and disappear into her cleavage.
"You're kinda staring." She pointed out, her cheeks pink.
"Oh, sorry." He flashed her that smile again, the one that made her lips tweak back automatically.
He walked her back to the office, rapping on the door cheerfully and thrusting it open. Gemma was sitting at the desk, apparently arguing with a tall grey haired man who scowled at the intrusion.
"Sorry." Juice looked mortified as the guy stomped past them.
"The Mustang, right?" Gemma eyed Frankie and she nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
Gemma pulled up an invoice on the computer and tapped away filling it in. Frankie pulled out her ID and handed it to her, then her credit card. She could just give her the letter now, but Juice was propping up the doorframe besides her and Gemma was frowning. The timing wasn't right. She bottled it, took her receipt and left.
Chibs, who was entering the office as they were leaving, took a step back to let her pass and stared. They watched her head over to her car. She'd pushed her glasses into her hair and, as she was leaving, her jewel-bright eyes caught Half-Sack's as he held the car door open for her again.
"Gentlemanly around here, aren't you?"
Half-Sack gave her that dopey grin again and she smiled, sliding into her car out of the punishing heat. She glanced at the garage in her rear-view mirror, the combined shock of seeing Juice again and meeting Gemma flooding her body with adrenaline. She'd driven past the lot a few times but it had taken her nearly a month to work up the courage to actually drive through those gates. She'd thought once she'd done it once, been in there and seen what there was to see, she'd be okay. Like ripping off the wax strip the first time. She wasn't. She felt sick, like she'd had a reaction to the wax and ripping off the strip was only the beginning. She pulled over to the side of the road, afraid she was actually going to heave.
"I need a drink." She muttered to Elvis shakily, re-starting the engine.
Her phone buzzed and she glared at it. Freaking Teddy just would not take the hint. It was her own fault, thinking a fling would take some of the painful pressure off her chest. She always did have crap taste in men. She rejected the call. Well she'd blown her chance, now she had to figure out how to get another one.