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THE KILLER & THE CARETAKER

Happy Lowman x F!Reader | Jax Teller & Platonic!F!Reader // Word Count: 21.2k

Summary: In the midst of grief and hardship, you meet The Tacoma Killer who opens your eyes to more than just the weight of your burdens. A story from start to finish of how meeting and falling in love with Happy Lowman changed both of your lives while still keeping both of you exactly the same.

Warnings/Tags: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Grief. Canon character death. Sick reader relative. Reader relative character death. Canon-level violence. Smut. Hurt/Comfort. Arguing. Drugs. Drinking. Crying. Mourning. Mentions of cancer, dementia, injuries, and blood. A/N: You can thank @drabbles-mc for jump starting whatever Happy Lowman bug she gave me after writing this fic (please read this and ALL her Happy fics and while you're at it just all her stuff). All 21.2k words of this are because of her so class be sure to say thank you Miss Drabbles MC!!!!

The sigh that left your mouth was full of a lot more than just exhaustion. It was more than just a long day of work, more than just a long night of work. It was years of them. Years of a weight you were burdened with, then guilt from describing your ill father as a burden.

There was a debate going on in your head as you sat in your truck in the parking lot of your job. Should you go home or should you go to the club party?

The text message in your phone was trying to convince you of the latter.

Jax (7:14): You never told me if you were gonna swing by tonight

Jax (11:27): Don’t be a loser come by it’s free drinks and bud can’t beat it

Jax wasn’t much of a convincing argument, but he also knew begging wasn’t your speed. Looking at the other messages in your phone, you squeezed your eyes shut trying to cope with the day you had.

Kayla At-Home Nurse (2:45): Your dad’s medication got mixed up, running him to urgent care just to be sure.

That message earned you a 30 minute phone call, during your 30 minute lunch break. So that meant shoveling bites of food here and there when you could and copious amounts of coffee through the day.

Then there were the other 5 messages.

Kayla At-Home Nurse (5:18): I just got the call he’s gonna need to get his stomach pumped.

You didn’t read that one right away, you were in the middle of a shift, no phones.

Kayla At-Home Nurse (5:35): Can you please answer me I don’t know what to do.

Another unanswered message.

Kayla At-Home Nurse (5:48): We’re going to go through with it, doctors say he’ll be back home in the morning and the only thing he'll need is to be on a special diet.

Kayla At-Home Nurse (5:59): They just brought him back, they said they’ll call me when he’s out.

6 o’clock was when you got off. 6 o’clock was when you called Kayla the at-home nurse 15 times before she picked up. 6 o’clock was when Kayla told you she thought she was texting someone else this entire time and that your father was fine, home from urgent care, eating applesauce to settle the medicine mix up and sitting on the back porch. His favorite place.

Then you went to your second job, you were so frazzled that you spilled coffee on someone, someone who not only didn’t leave you a tip but also shorted out on the bill, which came out from your paycheck.

“Fuck it,” you shook your head from the day, grabbing your duffel from the back and pulling out a pair of jeans and black tank top to quickly change into before heading to the clubhouse.

As you pulled into the club, you saw the barrels of fire, the large group of people, there was more than just SAMCRO here, there had to be a couple different charters here.

You weren’t sure how you felt about that, part of you was kind of hoping to just see the guys you knew. Have a few beers, smoke a little hash, relax, take the edge off. But with more people here, it’d be more of a socializing thing.

It was too late though, you were already spotted. As you pulled into the spot, you heard your name being called out. As you grabbed your black zip up from the back seat, you followed the cat-calls which were clearly coming from people you knew. Tig gave you a purr as you walked by him and Clay. But then you heard a voice you had heard call out to you since you were a kid. Jax had waved you over to the boxing ring that was set up under the awning just outside the clubhouse.

“Training for UFC?” You joked as Jax pulled you in for a hug. It wasn’t your first time at Teller-Morrow or the clubhouse, you’d spend evenings after school here years ago, watch Jax work on cars, learn something yourself so you could save some money on oil changes and other maintenance things for your Pops’ truck. Not that anyone was driving it at that time, but you knew one day you would be. Now, you’d come to club parties when you weren’t working overnights, sometimes you’d show up even after your night shift on the days the party tended to last well into morning. You’d also find yourself behind the desk at Teller-Morrow from time to time, picking up shifts working at the mechanic office, organizing invoices, taking calls, paperwork shit. A favor for Gemma, offered to you by Jax. He knew you needed the money and hated that you were working nights at shitty dive bars and diners just to make enough.

Growing up in the house a few blocks down from Gemma’s, your life was on full display. There was no hiding your father getting sick, you had nurses in and out of the house, garbage full of empty orange bottles, you’d put on a yard sale every month just to earn whatever cash you could to pay for whatever insurance wouldn’t. When you were out of high school, you’d work whatever jobs you could just to make ends meet. Gemma brought you leftovers a lot, or she’d send Jax over to deliver them to you. JT was one of your father’s closest friends, they were war buddies as they liked to call it. Two tours in Vietnam together. Both of them didn’t exactly come home in the best conditions, JT’s was more mental, your dad’s was well, it was cancer.

It brought you and Jax close, losing a parent, whether it figuratively or literally tended to bond people.

“Something like that,” Jax smiled, the boyish grin fully on display as he turned to look at the punches being thrown.

Your gaze followed his, you recognized one of them in the ring as one of the guys from the Devil’s Tribe, but the other man wasn’t someone you knew. He was covered in tattoos, shaved head, and tall.

“How you holdin’ up?” Jax tossed his arm around you.

Jax always asked you this, it was his way of asking a few things at once. How are you, how’s your dad, is there anything he can do?

“Tired from work, new nurse is a fucking idiot, so I gotta figure out how to get someone new,” you inhaled sharp. The list never ended, it felt like it kept piling up. But it was worth it, your dad was having way better days than shitty ones, in fact, before this new nurse started, he was walking again, cracking jokes, spending mornings on the porch with you drinking coffee and watching birds.

“What happened to Suzanne?” Jax frowned down at you as you kept your eyes on the two bikers in the ring, the one that was a mystery to you specifically, not really in the mood to figure out your problems right now, it’s all you tended to think about, sometimes you just wanted a break.

“She was a fucking relic Jax,” you shook your head. “She retired.”

Jax laughed, Suzanne was a fucking dinosaur. “I can see if Tara knows any nurses who are looking for work.”

“Tara, huh?” You raised your brows, getting ready to pry and tease based on his reaction, but just like you didn’t want to be pressed, he didn’t either.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” there was still a smile on his face, but he didn’t have an answer for the question you had, if it could even be considered a true question. But he knew that what you said was laced with a lot more than just a teasing remark and with you, he needed to have real answers, logical ones, and this thing with Jax and Tara was the furthest thing from logical. Jax turned his attention back to the ring as everyone yelled as the two bikers got more enthralled in the fight.

“Whose the tats?” You kept your voice down as you asked Jax a question he actually could answer, changing the topic to something that would pull both your minds from what was constantly being overworked in them.

“Nomad, used to be in at Tacoma,” Jax didn’t give you much information, no name, no history, no personal opinion, just a typical MC descriptor.

“Jackie boy!” A voice interrupted your conversation.

Then there was another yell, “Alright, break these guys up!”

Chaos was starting to ensue and you were gonna take it as a sign to head inside and grab a drink.

You leaned your elbows against the bar as the prospect grabbed a cold beer from the cooler, popping the cap off for you.

“Hey,” a raspy voice sent chills down your spine and you turned to see who was calling your attention. It was the guy who had just been in the ring. Tacoma. The Nomad. But he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the prospect, eyes burning into him like he owed him something. He wasn’t getting your attention, he was getting the prospect’s.

“That was the last one, Hap,” the shaky voice came from the kid earning his stripes for SOA. “I got Half-Sack grabbing another case from the liquor store.”

The tatted man didn’t say anything, just stared at him, no expression on his face, which in all honestly was probably scarier than an intimidating one for the prospect.

“Here,” you pushed over your beer towards the 6 foot biker, offering a solution that would allow the kid to take a minute to change his pants because he was clearly shitting himself at the moment. “Get me vodka on the rocks,” you smiled at the prospect that Jax was currently sponsoring.

“Yes ma’am,” he gave a polite smile.

You quickly spoke out your name as a demand. “No ma’am, Juice. Just my name.”

Now, the tall man’s eyes were on you. Boring into you much like he had just done to Juice.

“Shit won’t work on me,” you waited for your drink, not bothering to look at him.

He said nothing.

It was like that for a few more seconds. Quiet, if you could call it that, there was so much noise around you it’s not like it was an awkward silence.

Juice came back with the glass of clear iced liquid and spoke your name as he placed it down. Just as you went to grab it, the tatted man pulled it away.

Your brows knitted together faster than him grabbing your drink.

“You take the beer,” the words were raspy and firm coming from his mouth.

Glancing over to him, your eyes squinting slightly like if you strained hard enough you’d be able to read him clear as day. No dice.

Now it was your turn to stay silent and bore a glare into him.

“I’m not taking your beer,” he spoke through your silence.

“Half sack’s back with the beer!” Juice exclaimed so cheerfully as he stepped away from your staring competition. Normally it’d make you laugh, he was so different from the other guys, always joking, usually going on about some tech thing that no one knew what the fuck he was talking about, but it’d always make you smile, except now. You kept your eyes on the man, the Nomad, taking in his shaved down head, the stubble was greying, a sign of a weathered biker. The stubble around his face, though, was different. It had not quite caught up to his head yet, not that he ever let it grow out for anyone to really tell. The tattoos that were on full display as he stood there sweaty, bloody, and shirtless, were detailed. They told a story, they told his story. Or at least part of it.

‘Filthy few.’ If you didn’t know what that meant, the ‘I live, I die, I kill, for my family’ tattoo would have given it all the explanation it needed. You were no stranger to the shit the club did. Outlaw life. If your dad didn’t get sick, he would have joined, there was no question about it. With how the club took care of you, even when you weren’t really “a part” of it, you got it. That pull for a family, a group of misfits that would do anything for one another. It made sense. Even despite the criminal shit.

Honestly? With how the system fucked you, the medical debt, the bills, the back taxes, making just enough to kick you off government-assisted programs but not enough to buy fucking milk the week between paychecks, how couldn’t someone resort to other measures?

It was silent between you two before Juice came back with another beer.

“Give me an empty glass, Juice,” you gave the order to him and he obliged and stepped away from whatever was going on between you and the Nomad.

Juice slid the glass toward you before retreating to one of the many other people crowding the other side of the bar. You poured half of your vodka into the glass, and then pushed it so it clinked next to the fresh beer. An act of evening the score between you.

“Now we’re both happy,” you smiled, sarcastically.

“No, I’m Happy.” He nodded, somehow without his expression changing at all, you felt him soften just the slightest bit.

“Well… I’m glad.” Your voice had a bit of confusion tied to it as you brought the vodka up to your lips, you needed something strong, maybe it would make sense of whatever was happening here.

“No, my name.” He rasped. “Happy.”

He was introducing himself. If you could even call it that.

“Your personality really embodies your name,” you nodded and then after a beat of him not responding you clinked your glass to his. “Nice to meet you, Happy.”

An olive branch? Was that you offering some sort of truce to peace over whatever was happening between you?

“You from Charming?” It was the first question he had asked you, everything else before was just a sentence, or more like a demand.

“You gonna ask me if I come here often?” You were pulling back that olive branch just as fast as you were offering it. “If I’m free for a ride or to drive around? If you could take me home?” You had heard it all before, as jokes from most of the guys and occasionally a serious offer if they were drunk enough or someone from out of town rolled in.

“No, just asking if you’re from Charming.” He held no disdain from your reaction.

“If you try anything, I’ll cut your dick off,” you spoke the words with gusto, almost like you had to convince yourself that you were capable of the violent act.

He tilted his head and studied your face and then nodded. “I completely believe you.”

At first, you thought he was being sarcastic, his voice was so monotone that it was hard to pull context from it. Maybe you didn’t need to pull context from it, maybe he just was saying what he was thinking. You weren’t exactly used to guys doing that, not that you had time for guys. But from your little experience it was always games.

He wasn’t giving you a reason to not believe him, although there was a little voice in your head that was probably Gemma’s saying, if it’s got a dick, that’s reason enough not to trust it. But fuck it, this felt different.

“Well, good.” You didn’t know how else to respond and he was just there, standing there, not phased at all, still fucking staring at you. “I am,” you lowered the claws, “from Charming.” You answered his question from earlier. “Hear you’re kind of a nomad.”

“Ain’t kind of. Am.” He shook his head at the first sentence, then nodded once at the last, he pulled a toothpick into his mouth letting it bounce around with his tongue.

“So what, you just… float around?” Now it was your turn for a question.

“Drive around,” he said with a slight smirk calling back to your earlier remark.

It was the first joke he made, and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“And somehow we’re back to my point. You bikers are all the same.” You were teasing, you appreciated his quick wit there. You looked down at your glass, the vodka was getting watered down now.

“I ain’t like anyone.” He wasn’t arguing with you, wasn’t being defensive, he was just telling the truth and you found it refreshing.

“You know what, Happy?” You nodded, taking down the rest of the vodka before pushing the glass forward and grabbing the neck of the beer bottle. “I completely believe you.”

He smiled. You could see why Juice was terrified of him. His smile wasn’t warm or welcoming. And yet? And yet. It was all the invitation you needed to decide to break that internal rule you gave yourself.

No fun. That was the rule. You didn’t have time for it, not with multiple jobs, not with your father being sick. All the fun you allowed yourself was coming to these parties, you could bottle it into one night, no aftermath, no fallout.

That’s what this could be. One night. No aftermath. No fallout.

“So Happy?” You took a breath in. “You come here often?”

He grinned, wide. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

“Oh God, Jesus Christ, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jax stumbled out of the dorm room where you were laying pretty much bare across the full mattress. Why he was walking into it to begin with was a mystery to you, but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t expecting to walk in on one of his oldest friends, indecent and clearly disheveled from an entertaining night.

All you could do was laugh. You were alone in the room, but it was obvious you had company from someone last night and Jax wasn’t expecting to find you in such a delicate state.

Rolling over, you saw the cup of coffee on the nightstand. It had the smell of spice to it, something earthy besides the coffee. You took a sip and closed your eyes. “That fucker put cinnamon in the fucking coffee.” After last night, you shouldn’t have been shocked that Happy had more surprises up his sleeve. In fact, you figured there were a lot of surprises Happy had up his sleeve.

You pulled your clothes back on and peeked out of the dorm, checking if anyone else was going to see your walk of shame. When the coast was clear, you made your way to the main part of the clubhouse, mug in hand. Your eyes scanned across the clubhouse, it was just a mess of bottles, garbage, a couple of the guys and random women passed out. No Happy. You ducked into the kitchen where Jax was grabbing a beer and chugging it down.

“Oh, relax.” You rolled your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his face scrunched up and almost immediately his brows rose again as his nostrils flared. “Who are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” you matched his expression, mug pulling up to your face.

“I thought you had a rule?” He simmered his temper down just slightly.

“Wasn’t broken,” you lifted your eyebrows and shook your head.

“You’re unbelievable,” he wasn’t going to let this go, which honestly was fair, you were like a sister to Jax, a sister he just accidentally walked in on naked. But, his face had twisted from disgust to humorous. Eyebrows raised almost like he was impressed, maybe even a little proud of you.

“You’ll be alright,” you patted him on the back.

—

It was two weeks after you slept with Happy. The idiot nurse was still an idiot, but it made sense why. She was balancing her own shit, like everyone was. Her brother was on hospice, she was spending most of her time on the road between your house and her brother’s in Lodi. It made those mixed up text messages and spaciness track, she was in a million different places at once. You could relate. With that, you figured you’d make the decision for her, offer her a decent severance, which honestly was just what you could pull together, and pay your respects. She needed to lighten the load, this money would give her that and the opportunity to be closer to home.

You wanted to be further from home. It felt like you spent all your time at home, it didn’t even feel like work offered you enough of an escape. But then, when you were gone, you felt guilty. Things had been bad, it made you feel like that last spurt of good before the new nurse started was just a favor from the universe, your time to create the last good memories with your father before things took a harsh turn. Dementia had fully crept its way into your father’s mind, as if the in and out remission cancer wasn’t enough. The medications already made his mind fuzzy, but this was different and you knew it. Sometimes, you just needed to be away from it all. Act like none of this was happening.

It’s why you stayed at this 24 hour diner a little longer than you should’ve. It was 1:30AM, you had two dirty plates next to you, one from a meal, a burger and fries, and a smaller one from a piece of pie. You were nursing a cup of coffee, it was stale, and not because you had been taking your time to drink it, but because it was probably sitting in the pot for hours before you had walked in, there weren’t many people passing through at this hour.

But it was better than being home.

God, the guilt that ate you away with that thought.

“You come here often?”

The rasp of a familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your attention shifted to the tall man standing right at the edge of your booth. Two coffee cups in his tattooed hands.

A smirk twitched at the corner of your mouth and your brows furrowed.

“No, can’t say I do,” you looked down at his hands, his rings were large, silver, covered most of his skin, and what wasn’t hidden, was covered with ink. He had on a sweatshirt, a dark gray hoodie that had no markings but if it did they’d be hidden by his kutte, the worn leather had some droplets on it, your ears then noticed the sound of rain hitting the window to your right, it’s probably why he was here, pulling in to wait out the rain.

Happy looked at the booth, his way of asking for permission and you nodded, tilting your head as an invitation to slide in.

He slid the coffee to you and you shook your head. “Coffee’s stale, been sitti—”

“Fresh pot,” he cut you off and pushed the cup with two fingers towards you.

When you had asked the waitress to make you a fresh pot and she declined, pretty rudely too. So, you wondered what Happy said or did to get her to come around. Your mind started to go wild at that, you didn’t hear any commotion, but also you couldn’t imagine him asking nicely for anything let alone a cup of coffee. Mystery. Happy was a mystery.

You met his eyes and then looked down at the mug. Black, lightened just slightly with something. Something sweet? No, you breathed in a faint inhale, something spicy.

You took a sip. “Cinnamon.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but you were kind of asking him for confirmation.

“And nutmeg.” He nodded.

“Christmas in a mug,” you smiled and took another sip.

“Why’re you here?” He asked, his face searching yours for answers. 1:30AM at a diner that was mainly truckers and homeless people, yeah you stood out, but it did make you smile at how abrupt he was in his questioning.

“You don’t know subtlety do you, Happy?” A smile grew on your face, followed by a harsh exhale that held the weight of why. “I’m on my way home from giving my dad’s at-home nurse a severance package, got caught up helping her out with her sick brother, so I hit the road kind of late,” you tapped your fingers against the mug, the warmth of it not giving you nearly enough comfort.

“I thought she was an idiot.” Happy’s brow frowned slightly.

“She was—is,” you shook your head. “She’s going through something, something I understand.” You shook your head trying to get the thoughts straight.

Happy’s brow twitched just slightly. He looked thrown. Like the idea that someone would be that kind, to offer help to someone who not only was an idiot but fucked up things in their life was a little beyond him. He was intrigued, though.

“I’m sorry, how do you know she was an idiot?” You asked him, confused how that information was public knowledge to him.

“Jax.” That was all the answer he gave you, he was still wrapping his brain around what you told him, trying to figure you out. He thought he had a decent picture, you two spent a night together and before things escalated to the bedroom, you had some conversations. He learned you liked Led Zeppelin. He knew you liked vodka, preferably on the rocks. He found out your favorite book was One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, and that you’d reread it every year. Those were his favorite things, things that made him think: this girl’s a woman after his heart. But there were other things, too. Things he normally didn’t care about, that he found himself intrigued by. Sudoku puzzles, baking, volunteering, all the different jobs you held.

You were a fucking saint. He kept asking himself what the fuck you were doing there that night. But he never asked. Just listened.

You lifted your hand up at him and twirled it around, your way of asking for more explanation without verbally doing so.

“He asked me if I knew any good nurses.” He shrugged, coming back to the conversation, thinking back to Jax’s question before he hit the road again a week ago.

That sentence did nothing more to explain anything for you.

“You know, I wish your communication skills were as good as you were in bed,” you brought the mug up to your lips and hummed. “Or your ability to make a damn good cup of coffee.”

“I got a lot of practice in two of those things,” he grinned hard, like the joke wrote itself.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his clear confidence in himself and continued your conversation. “Why would Jax ask you about nurses?”

“I’ve got an in-home nurse for my mom,” he sipped his cup of coffee, his rings clinking against the ceramic of the mug as he did.

In that moment, you looked up at Happy, surprise on your face, and nodded. “How’d you find the right nurse?”

“Anyone is the right person if you press enough fear in them.” He spoke the answer like it was simple.

“You’re serious?” You weren’t shocked, but with how straight faced he told his jokes, you had to be sure. “As a heart attack,” he nodded.

“I can see why people are terrified of you,” you appreciated how honest and straightforward these conversations tended to be with Happy.

“Are you?” He asked, curiously, as if you could pull that emotion from the straightforward way he spoke it. “Terrifed of me?” He clarified his question, as if you didn’t get it from the original two worded question.

“No,” your answer came quickly, you didn’t need to think twice to deliver an honest answer.

“Why?” He squinted his eyes. Maybe he was trying to warn you off. Intimidate you. Or maybe he was trying to read you, any tell you offered up, a twitch of your eye, a fidget of your fingers. But you gave him nothing.

You pulled a page out of his book, no emotion, no tell, just a straightforward sentence. “Because you put cinnamon in my coffee.”

He smirked, slightly, just the corner of his mouth twisting up. “And because I’m good in bed,” he leaned back now, satisfied with your answer, with the truth.

“No,” you laughed, leaning back too. “That should terrify me.”

“If that’s the case, I’m terrified of you,” he lifted his head as a way to point to you.

“Because I’m good in bed?” Your eyebrows raised, nostrils flared as you held back the humor despite it being laced in your tone.

“Extremely,” he nodded a few times, dramatically.

You let out a laugh. One so genuine it felt like a release of things you had bottled up for ages.

Happy stared at you, well, more like beamed at you. When you settled down from laughing he dropped his mug on the table, it was empty now. There wasn’t anything else he had to say, he got the answers he wanted, his coffee was done, but instead of getting up and leaving, he said something that knew was going to put him in a little deeper with you than he planned.

“And you give grace to people. That’s extremely terrifying.” His hand was mindlessly playing with the mug.

“Nothing scary about being a human going through human things,” you shrugged. Those words stirred something up in you. You blinked back the tears, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I think a lot of people would disagree,” Happy either didn’t notice you were fighting tears or he was doing the honorable thing and ignoring it.

“I’m sure they would,” you inhaled sharp. “Doesn’t stop it from being true.”

Silence. The truth tended to do that. Honesty had a tendency to make everyone look inward.

“What’s the deal with you and Jax?” Happy broke the silence.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t hide your shock at those words.

“I saw him that morning, talking to you, he was pissed we slept together,” Happy explained.

“He doesn’t know we slept together,” you shook your head understanding what he was getting at now. The SAMCRO members used to tease you about Jax, a lot of people assumed things, it was nothing new. Although, it had died down, most of the guys had known you for a long time, known your friendship with Jax.

“Hiding it because you and him got something going on?” Happy wasn’t going to drop it. Why? That’s what you wondered. These guys didn’t care about shit like that. If you were someone’s old lady, none of what happened that night would have gone down, there wouldn’t have been the chance. Someone would have stepped in and set shit straight. That meant, if Happy believed there was something between you and Jax, it meant you were just having fun, and guys like Happy, outlaws, club guys, they didn’t give a shit about passing women around. Unless they were resenting something.

“You jealous?” The question came out fast, you didn’t even mean for it to, but you were so used to not holding back with Happy at this point, it just flew out before your brain could tell you no.

Happy didn’t answer. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, the only tell that answered your question. Any one else, you would have rung them out, gave them a whole ‘mind your business’ speech, all that jazz. But when Happy’s jaw ticked, you couldn’t help but soften up just a bit.

“No, Jax is my neighbor, we were kids together,” you shook your head. “He’s like a brother to me. Very much like how he’s a brother to you. Nothing going on with us, never has been, never will be. He wasn’t pissed, he was grossed out,” you let out a chuckle. “I don’t usually make a habit out of sleeping with people from the club.”

“So that’s why you were at the club,” Happy’s words were like he finally put something he’d been questioning all this time together.

“You were questioning why I was there?” You made a face.

“A girl who does fuckin’ sudoku puzzles, volunteers at charities,” he lifted his hand, “drive out to give the lady who twisted her life up a paycheck and help. Doesn’t exactly scream crow-eater.”

“I told you, I don’t usually make a habit out of sleeping with people from the club,” you answered.

“Rule breaker,” Happy seemed to relax a bit now.

“If we want to be technical, not exactly yet,” you smirked, biting your lip inward, looking down at the table. “Haven’t made a habit out of it yet.”

Happy’s expression didn’t change but you saw his eyes get curious, curiously excited. But then he looked at you, saw the exhaustion in your eyes.

“It’s tough, being a caretaker,” Happy lowered his head, attempting to make eye contact with you.

It worked, your gaze shot up to his. “How long has your mom been sick?”

“7 years, M.S.” he answered. You could tell his brain was reliving every moment with her over the time period she was going through it. Dealing with a person who's been sick for a long time comes with a lot of baggage, usually in the form of memories that splashed across your mind in the worst of times. “Your pops?” He asked, turning the question to you.

“9, first five were different,” you closed your eyes, exploring your own film of memories in your brain. “He moved around the house a lot more. He laughed, saw friends, even entertained the idea of joining the club, said he’d do it after the chemo,” you pulled that memory to the front of your mind. Him sitting in those stupid chairs, needle deep in his vein, blanket over his body, talking to you about the bike he’d get. Then the image of him getting off the chemo jumped ahead. Pale, thin, shakey. “I don’t know what was worse, him sick for the year and a half he was on it, or him sick from it after. He couldn’t stay on it for the full 2-year treatment. It was preventing him from walking near the end. Guess it did the job though, he was in remission for a few years before it came back.” You sighed. “Thought he’d made it through the thick of it, we would spend our days on the porch together, watching fucking birds, I really thought that maybe old age would be the thing that did him in,” you scratched your head, a motion to try and pull your brain from the thoughts. “Now he’s got cancer and dementia,” you laughed because it was the only thing holding you back from crying.

“You do anything for yourself?” Happy might’ve been the first person to truly ask about you. Jax asked how you were holding up, but this question from Happy, it wasn’t just checking in, it was making sure you were taking care of yourself.

“You’re looking at it,” you extended your arms out, giving a curt smile.

“This wasn’t for you, this was for your idiot nurse,” he shook his head.

“I go to the club parties when I can,” you were pulling anything out to give the impression that you had things controlled.

“Something tells me that’s more for Jax than for you. Show face so he doesn’t ask questions.” It was one of the longer statements that came from him, but true. 100% true.

“That’s still very much for me,” you laughed, keeping Jax’s questions at bay made life easier for you for sure.

Happy let out a breathy laugh, like he was pleased to have gotten that right.

“I guess, I slept with you, that was very much for me,” you drank the last of the coffee from your mug, it was cold now, but still damn good.

“Hate to break it to you but that pleasure was all mine,” he tapped his hand on the table and shook his head.

“Well then, Hap. I guess I don’t do shit for myself,” you gave up at trying to come up with excuses.

“Well then,” he mimicked you, “why don’t we change that.” His eyes connected to yours again, less staring and more beaming, like he was in awe of you. “Name it, one thing you want.”

You looked out the window, the rain had stopped, the window was fogged slightly, probably from the outside humidity and the inside air conditioning. Your eyes fell on the bike, it was next to your truck. Despite being around the club since you could remember, you never got on the back of a Harley, never learned how to ride, never felt the thrill of it.

“Can we go for a ride?”

“No,” Happy’s response made you snap your head to him, brows knitting at his refusal.

He gave you a look, like he knew that wasn’t what you genuinely wanted and he was going to make you say exactly what it was.

A slight nod came from your head and you closed your eyes for a brief moment to let the words come out.

“Can you teach me how to ride?”

There it was. What you really wanted. Something for you.

Happy grinned, a nod leaving his head.

“Yes ma’am.”

—

“Pull on the clutch, ease on the break,” Happy’s breath hit your neck as he sat behind you, his hands guiding yours on the handles of his Harley as he gave the direction.

“Atta’girl,” his voice rasped as you successfully brought the bike to a stop. “You ready for a real ride?”

“I don’t know,” you hesitated, you felt the drop of sweat fall down your forehead, maybe it was the humidity, maybe it was the stress.

“You got this,” Happy pushed.

With a glance over your shoulder, you gave Happy a look, one that said everything while saying nothing.

He laughed. You couldn’t believe you were making this intimidating biker laugh so much.

“You think I’d let you go through with this if I didn’t think you could on my bike?” He framed it now so you would have the confidence in yourself.

You rode for two hours. Happy’s hands on yours the entire time, helping you clutch and break. His feet were the ones controlling the rear break and the gears, but it was everything you needed, everything you wanted. The wind, the thrill. You forgot about everything, your focus was on when to let the clutch up and when to slowly pull the break, and when your thoughts did come back to you, it was because Happy tapped your thigh to offer you another ‘Atta’girl’, or maybe let out a laugh when you turned a corner nervously and pulled the break just a tad to fast. Which has resulted in him grabbing your hand to slow you down. Completely and totally in the moment.

He brought you to a park, completely abandoned and drove you on a long gravel path that led to a field a few miles deep into it.

“You planning on murdering me?” You yelled over the idling engine.

As he shut the bike off he shook his head as he stepped off the bike. “Thought you weren’t terrified of me?”

“I’m not, I could take you,” you brought your leg over the bike, standing inches from him, removing the helmet and then moving to jokingly tap your fist to hit his abdomen.

Not only did he catch your hand but he twisted you around like you were dancing, pulling you close as you hit the 360 mark.

Inches away were now centimeters. You felt his breath against your face now.

“Thought you could take me?” He whispered.

“Still could,” you mumbled back, your eyes dropping to his lips and back to his eyes.

He said nothing, just stared back at you. As your heart pounded you figured you’d keep up this streak of doing things for yourself.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

Happy’s mouth crashed against yours, his hand moving from his grip on yours to your neck, wrapping around the back of it to bring you closer as if it was possible.

You melted into him, stepping on your tiptoes to reach him, your hands moving to grab his kutte and pull his chest against yours.

His tongue slipped into your mouth and then his lips moved from yours to your jaw, then your neck.

You let out an audible moan and Happy let out his own. Less of a moan and more of an eager grunt.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he gruffed in your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth.

“You gonna fuck me in the middle of the woods, Hap?” You were teasing him and Happy had no room for play right now.

“I’m gonna fuck you on my bike,” he pulled you onto his bike, moving your arms around his shoulders so you could hang on him as he lifted you up and pulled your pants down. As he placed you back down on the seat of his Harley, he undid his zipper and pulled himself free. He rubbed against your entrance a bit, feeling the slick heat between your legs.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he let out as he watched himself.

You let out a breathy laugh and dropped your head back.

“Hap?” You questioned, your head in another fucking world right now.

“Hm?” He hummed, still taken by you.

“You gotta hold me, if you keep this up I’m gonna lose my senses and fall,” you managed to get out through breaths.

Happy let out a humorous chuckle and gripped your hips, all while bringing you down on him.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said as he pumped in and out of you.

This was better than the first time. You weren’t drunk, you were actually better than sober. You were alive from the ride. And now living for the thrill of this.

At some point you moved onto the grass, if you started there you might’ve thought to put down a bedroll but that wasn’t even a thought in your head at this moment.

“Don’t stop,” you moaned as Happy kept his pace up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he rasped.

“You feel so fucking good, Hap,” you gripped him deeper every time he pushed in, letting out a moan as he hit deep inside.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.” He moved his thumb on your clit and that was it for you.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathily said.

“Don’t whisper, scream it out,” he demanded.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yelled, feeling the intensity start to build, moments away from breaking.

“Yeah, baby. Scream.” He demanded again.

You listened. Your orgasm came from deep down, no holding back, no restrain, just you riding out the wave as Happy guided you through it and reached his orgasm right after.

Side by side, both of your chests rose and fell from the activity. Your back was soaked from the grass, and now his was too. He looked over at you.

“C’mere,” he gripped your hand and signaled for you to come closer to him.

“What’s the real reason you brought me out here?” Your hand landed on his chest.

“That wasn’t a good enough reason?” His eyebrows rose up.

“You could have brought me anywhere to do that,” you traced his rings with your finger.

“I brought you here to shoot shit,” he said with no emotion.

You shouldn’t have been shocked, but you couldn’t hold in your laughter, your head falling on his chest as you did.

He laughed with you. His hand moved to cradle your head and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

It made both of you stop, your eyes connecting and saying so much without saying a single thing.

“I’m not really—” you started to say and cut yourself off. “I’m fucked up, Happy.”

“Yeah, I ain’t really put together either.” He joked.

“I’m serious, Hap,” you said.

“Love it when you call me that,” he rasped.

“Everyone calls you that,” you brought your hand to his face, feeling the stubble on his chin.

“Only love it when you do it,” he moved to wrap his teeth around your hand and then kissed it.

“Alright, Hap,” you started. “Let’s shoot some shit.”

—

You shot at trash for an hour, Happy told you about how he got into riding, about the chop shop he used to work at that changed his life. You had a feeling there was probably more than just the Harleys that left an imprint on his life but you weren’t going to pry. The rain picked up soon after that, he pulled out a zip-up sweatshirt from the bike compartment and wrapped it around you, bringing the hood over your head.

“I can drive us back to the diner,” he looked down at you, not phased by the rain at all.

“Shouldn’t we wait out the rain? Slick roads and all that?” You looked behind you towards the road, it was pretty foggy, hard to see, it couldn’t be good riding conditions to drive back for an hour and a half.

“Could be a while,” Happy looked up at the sky now.

“How far are we from Charming?” You asked.

“10 minutes,” he shrugged.

“You want to hang at my place for a bit?” The question shocked you, you didn’t bring anyone into your life. Let alone some guy you barely knew, some guy you decided to sleep with in the middle of the fucking park.

“Sure,” Happy didn’t hesitate.

And before you knew it, you were taking the exit for Charming and you were tapping Happy’s abdomen signaling him to turn into your driveway.

It was dawn, not that you could tell with the rain. It had to be close to 5:30 in the morning, give or take a few minutes. As you took the helmet off and descended off the bike, you saw the rocking chair on the porch moving.

Shit. No nurse, what the fuck were you thinking. This is why you didn’t do shit like this. You needed to be responsible, you needed to be present.

“He seems fine,” the rasp brought you back from the blame, Happy clearly reading everything going on in your brain. “Come on, we’ll have coffee. Sit on the porch, watch the birds.” Happy was walking past you now, dropping his keys into his kutte and then removing his riding gloves.

“Sir,” he greeted your father from the grass in front of your home.

You quickly jogged to catch up to him.

“Pops, this is my friend, Happy.” You placed your hands on Happy’s arm to politely squeeze past him. As you made your way to the rocking chair, you placed a quick greeting kiss on his cheek and bent down to be balancing on the arm of the chair to get a look at him. “You alright?” You whispered the question, tears just beyond your eyes. He looked fine. Slight stubble on his face, but he looked healthy, not too tired.

“Saw a towhee,” he pointed at the tree where he spotted it. Towhee birds loved rain.

“You’ve been waiting for that one,” you followed his gaze, seeing if you could catch a glance yourself.

“You like birds, Happy?” Your father asked the man who was standing a few feet behind you.

Turning your head, you looked up at Happy. He looked different and exactly the same all at once. His kutte was still on, proud of what he was, who he was, not nervous to hide this part of him, but his eyes looked soft, not like an outlaw biker, but like someone who knew this life. Knew this struggle.

“I do,” he nodded with an answer.

“Well, pull up a seat.” Your father waved at one of the rocking chairs on the porch.

“Sit, I’ll make coffee,” you nodded at Happy, pushing up off the armrest and moving to the front door. “Cinnamon,” you paused for a minute at the door looking at Happy who took no time to comfortably sit sprawled in the chair, using his legs to rock it back and forth.

“And nutmeg.” One nod, and then a hint of a smile as he tucked a toothpick from his kutte in his mouth.

With the front door open, you let the screen door keep the threshold between the porch and inside. As you approached it with three mugs balancing between your hands, you paused as you heard the conversation happening on the porch.

“I can put up a hummingbird feeder, on this side of the coast you could see Anna’s hummingbirds, fat little fuckers,” Happy chuckled.

“Pink,” your father nodded.

“Very,” Happy agreed.

“I don’t have a lot of days like this,” your father started to say, slowing his rocking.

Happy kept his rocking pace up, not thrown by your father’s words.

“Lucid ones,” he kept explaining. “Days where all I want to do is just sit on the porch and watch birds. Maybe get a game in of whatever’s on, eat dinner with my kid.”

“Sounds like a damn good day,” Happy agreed.

“Is she okay?” Your father’s voice cracked a bit and it took everything in you not to let out a sob at the sound of it. He was now looking directly at Happy.

Happy stopped rocking, his head turned to look your father directly in his eyes.

Silence. He stayed silent.

Lie. That word repeated in your head. Just lie. Say yes. He needed to believe you were okay. It would make him better, or at least not worse.

“I want her to be okay,” his voice was pleading, like he was begging for it.

“She’s okay,” Happy nodded. There it was. The lie. You understood the sentiment of ‘be careful what you wish for’ because you hated it. The minute he said it, you hated it.

It was a lie. It was the first time you saw Happy lie, but he was damn believable at it. Two words and the way he said them, so honestly.

Now your dad stayed silent. He believed him too.

“You love her?” your dad looked back out at the birds in the trees as the rain picked up from a drizzle.

You weren’t going to make Happy lie again, he was already doing too much by even being here.

“Coffee’s up,” you opened the screen door. Both of their heads turned to you, hands extending out to grab their mugs. “Did you take your meds, Pops?” You had the pill organizer in your pocket in case he didn’t.

“Not yet, wanted an hour without being numb,” he didn’t mean for the words to break you but they did.

With a nod, you kept the organizer in your pocket and plopped down next to Happy.

The only thing the three of you talked about for the next hour was birds. Ones you saw, ones your Dad missed seeing, his favorite ones. Happy had a couple favorites, too. When the rain began to slow, and the sun crept its way through the dark clouds, your father stood up off the rocking chair, made his way over to you and stuck his hand out.

You put the organizer in his hand and as he went to grab it, he leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love you, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes, hearing those words in your head repeat over and over. You did this every time, knowing time was limited. Although, you thought time was limited nearly 10 years ago, and yet here you were. The worry became a part of you.

“I love you, too.” You whispered back.

He moved over to Happy, extending his hand out to his.

“Thank you,” your father said to him. Happy gave no verbal response, just a nod.

And then it was just you and Happy on the porch, the sun’s rays were more pronounced as they casted the shadows on the deck.

“You wanna go pick up your truck?” Happy asked after 10 minutes of sitting there.

“Yeah,” you pushed along the arm rests and stood up.

Happy followed suit. As you stood at his bike, waiting for him to pass you a helmet, you looked up at the porch.

“You lied.”

“What?” Happy’s hand extended out with the helmet.

“You lied,” your eyes snapped to him.

He looked confused and for Happy that meant angry. He was burning a hole into you as he stared.

“I don’t lie.” His voice was tense.

“I’m not okay,” the words felt like shit to admit.

“Now you’re lying,” he moved his hand for you to take the helmet like he was over this, like that was the end of the conversation.

Grabbing the helmet, you shoved it under your arm. He was lucky you didn’t throw it. “I’m not fucking lying. You don’t know me, Hap.” You scrunched your face up. “I’m not okay,” you brought the helmet to your chest as you pointed to yourself. “I’m a daughter who feels the pain of her father so deeply in every fucking bone of my body, he struggles and I’m the one who notices it, the one who carries it. I do whatever I can to hide it, but it’s so fucking big and present that even my dying dementia ridden father can pick up on it. I can’t run from it, I can’t live in it, I can’t escape the weight of it. I have done so much to escape the weight of it, I have given up my dreams, my happiness, my peace, and all that does is give me more space for more weight, so no I’m not okay.”

Happy stared at you, his eyes were frozen.

“You are okay,” he spoke it slow, and then before you could argue he pointed at you. “Are you breathing?”

“That’s not what I me—”

“Are. You. Breathing?” He said it firmer.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Did you have a nice morning?”

“Yes.”

“Have a good time last night?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me something you’re looking forward to.”

“Smoking a fat joint when I get back here.”

Happy smirked. “You take it day by day. You do something—one thing—everyday for yourself. I don’t give a fuck if it’s a bubble bath, a joint, a fucking movie. One thing.” He held his finger up. “That’s how you stay okay.”

“Is that what you do?”

“It’s what we all do.”

With that, you nodded and placed the helmet on top of your head.

—

You did do something—one thing—everyday for yourself. You slept with Happy.

You did other things, too. You visited him up north, at his place, sometimes at his moms. He kept teaching you how to ride. He gave you a tattoo, three of them actually. He brought you to pawn shops, bought you knives, a gun, even throwing stars, although, those were definitely more for him.

He found you not one but 3 rotating at-home nurses who were great at what they did.

He sat with your father, watched birds on the porch, made both of you coffee.

Things were okay. You were okay.

No one knew you and Happy were, well whatever you were. It’s not like you put a label on it. You didn’t flaunt it around, especially when you were at the club. In fact, there weren't too many times you and Happy crossed paths at the club. With him being Nomad, he was on the road more often than at SAMCRO.

But there was one day. The day. The day everyone found out.

Jax had called you, told you that there was going to be a lockdown at the club, how he wanted you and your Pops to come in. You put up an argument, there was too much logistics around bringing your father in. Meds, beds, IVs. I mean half your home looked like a hospital wing.

But then Happy called.

“You should take him in,” he rasped over the speaker.

“How am I supposed to bring all his stuff? How am I supposed to even convince him to get out of the house?” You were looking through the window on the porch at him eating at the dining room table.

“I can bring it,” Happy always had a solution for everything.

“Is it really that bad?” You asked, hand to your forehead.

“Yes,” Happy answered.

You let out a sigh, frustration littered in the tone of it.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” his voice was soft.

“I know, Hap.” You dropped your hand down.

“Want me to pick up his things on my way down?” There was rustling on the other end.

“No, I got it. What time are you planning on being there?” You tried to push past whatever anxiety was building in your brain.

“Couple hours,” you heard the rev of his bike.

“Drive safe,” you pleaded with him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

—

Closing the door to the guest dorm you let your head lightly hit the door as it fell back. Getting your father settled here was more work than you expected. You wanted to get the machines plugged in, the IV ready if needed, all of his meds organized, unpack his things, whatever you could to make it feel like home. You made the bed with the same sheets from home, even brought some pictures, too.

As you made your way over to the bar, you didn’t even realize you had sat down next to Gemma.

“Can you get her some coffee?” Gemma spoke to one of the crow eaters.

“Thanks,” you looked over at her.

“He all settled?” Gemma asked as she sipped her own mug.

“As settled as he can get,” you inhaled sharply. “I don’t know how long he’s gonna last. He gets worse when he’s not somewhere familiar.”

“He spent plenty of time in this clubhouse,” Gemma smirked.

“On his more lucid days, I think he regrets never getting to wear a kutte,” you smirked back.

“Him and JT used to talk for hours about it, the cancer hit him so fast,” she shook her head.

“Life has a tendency to do that,” you smiled at the woman who dropped your coffee in front of you. “Can you get me some Cinnamon, doll?” You asked her politely, Gemma’s eyes looking at the girl to make sure she followed through before looking back at you.

“The guys are heading out soon, take care of what they need to,” she looked over at you, but your eyes searched for Happy’s.

He was in the corner talking to one of the guys from the Tacoma charter but his eyes were on you. Your eyes softened, the nerves and anxiety taking over at the idea of whatever it was they were going to take care of.

Quickly you moved back to look at Gemma. “You holding up okay?”

“I’ll be better when this is all over,” she nodded. “How long you been sleeping with Happy?”

You almost spit your coffee out.

“Doesn’t take a genius to put it together, sweetheart. He’s been staring at you since you stepped out of the dorm.”

“Happy stares at everyone,” you weren’t sure why you were trying to hide it, maybe because you didn’t want Gemma to be the first to know, you weren’t sure how Jax was going to respond, not that it mattered, but you were trying to contain it so you could control it.

“You’re putting Cinnamon in your coffee,” she brought her mug to her lips again. “Happy’s an early bird, he usually makes the coffee when he stays over here.”

Your brain was trying to rack itself around what to say or do.

“Relax,” she smirked. “I won’t tell big brother,” she laughed, outloud. “The killer and the caretaker,” she shook her head. “Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s been a few months,” you answered her question.

“I’m sure that’s been fun,” her grin was wide.

You smiled, it had been fun. But it was also more than that. “He’s good company,” you agreed. “Pops enjoys when he comes over too.”

That got Gemma to look at you, shock written all over her face.

“Well shit,” she looked at your face. “You’re in fucking love.”

“Gemma,” you used her name as a scoff.

“Thank God I never had daughters,” she shook her head looking over at Happy now who was focused on his conversation with Kozik.

Jax walked in then, a whistle came from Tig to get the guys attention and they all gathered, making their way out the clubhouse.

Just when you thought Happy was going to follow them out, he walked straight over to you.

“Hap,” Gemma smiled and squeezed his arm as she dismissed herself.

“Gemma,” he nodded back to her, giving her a small smile.

“Where you guys headed?” Your gaze moved from Gemma to Happy.

He just gave you a look. He wasn’t touching you, but he was towering over you.

“I hate this shit,” you sighed.

“Be back later,” he said like he was running to the grocery store.

“Be careful,” you brought your hands up to his kutte, not in a romantic way, just a quick tap.

“Always am,” he nodded.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head in disapproval. “None of that, what I said wasn’t a statement or sentence or casual conversation.” You dropped your hands. “It was an order.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His lip twitched slightly as he said it.

“Go get ‘em, killer,” it took everything in you not to kiss him.

“No.” He shook his head unemotionally, his way of showing disapproval. “Don’t like when you call me that.”

You quickly wrapped your arms around him, giving him a hug. The only people left inside were family and crow eaters and it’d do you more good than harm for them to see you pressing up on Happy. As you squeezed your arms around him you whispered.

“Come home to me in one piece, Hap.”

—

You fell asleep on the couch. Phone in hand and next to your face in case you got a call. When you woke up to someone shaking you slightly awake, you went to grab them when you heard his voice.

“It’s me,” two words was all it took.

You took him in, a few cuts on his face, not too deep, just a little scuffed up. Your fingers

ran over them and he didn’t even flinch. This was what it really was, what it would be. Him going out and doing things like this, you worried at home. Worried. That was all you did lately. It felt like it was who you were. Someone who worried and took care of everyone.

“You don’t need to take care of me.”

Happy always knew how to read your mind. And that was true though, wasn’t it? You didn’t need to take care of him.

“I think you’re the first person I haven’t had to take care of but want to take care of.”

It was true, obviously you wanted to take care of your father, but there was also an element of having to. This was different. You didn’t need to do anything. This was all purely want. A desire. Something to look forward to. One thing for yourself. Happiness. Happy.

“Happy?”

He hummed.

“I love you.”

It was the first time you said it. First time you ever said it to a man who wasn’t considered family. Although, Happy was considered family. Your father loved him, you hadn’t seen him enjoy talking with someone so much since JT. But that was one of the many reasons why you loved Happy. That, and his presence. His ability to make you smile when there was nothing to smile about. His fierce loyalty, to the club, to you, to his mother. The list could go on forever.

His hand came up and cradled your face. His palm was so big it covered your entire face. “I love you, too.”

And at that moment, you should have gone back to one of the dorms, hell, even your truck. You should have made love for the rest of the night, laughing in his arms and feeling him inside you, loving every part of him as he worshiped every inch of you.

But then there was a scream.

Followed by a slam.

Your father walked out of the room, he looked frantic. He looked scared. His voice shook as he called out a name. You expected it to be yours but it wasn’t.

“John?” His head swivelled. Looking for a man he’d never find.

You gripped Happy tighter as you moved to stand up and while he gladly lifted you up off the couch with ease, he stepped in front of you to handle this himself.

“I got it,” he said back to you and was walking over to your father.

You couldn’t hear them, but you saw the minute your father recognized Happy. How his tension eased away the minute Happy’s hand landed on his shoulder.

The commotion got everyone up, patches stood in the hallway with their guns drawn, the main clubhouse was filled now with club members.

“S’alright!” Happy yelled out over his shoulder. “You want some fresh air, Lieutanant?” He always called your dad that, a sign of respect.

He nodded. Everyone’s eyes were on them, watching as Happy led your father outside.

“Are you going to be staying over again tonight, Happy?” Your father’s voice echoed in the silent clubhouse.

You immediately closed your eyes. Suddenly, everyone’s eyes weren’t on them, but on you instead.

There was one set you felt burn into you. It was where you looked first when you opened your eyes again. Jax must’ve been in the hallway, but had moved closer into the main part of the clubhouse when he realized it was your dad who was causing the commotion. Similarly to Happy he had cuts and bruises on his face.

He waited a few minutes, likely for everyone to go back to their business and you could have a sort-of private conversation.

“It serious?” He sat down next to you.

You thought back to seconds ago when you told Happy you loved him.

“Yeah, it’s serious,” you smiled, nodding.

“How long?” He leaned back.

“Been about 6 months,” you thought back. He looked shocked, his head snapping to you. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know what it was, we were just hanging out.”

“I wouldn’t have given a shit no matter what it was,” Jax said. It got silent, both of you just sitting there. “You and Hap, huh?” Jax was clearly trying to wrap his head around it.

Before you could answer, Happy was walking back through the door and you were standing up and making your way over to him.

“He’s fine,” he looked down at you. “Wants to sit outside for a bit.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have brought him here,” you inhaled.

“He’s fine,” he repeated again, this time softer, but more convincing.

You felt the tears in your eyes well up, crossing your arms you inhaled harshly again and Happy matched it with a sigh.

“S’alright, c’mere, none of that.” He brought one hand around your shoulders and brought you against his chest.

“Thank you,” you managed to say through sobs.

Happy’s eyes connected with Jax’s, he was smiling on the couch, a nod escaped him and Happy nodded back. It was how these guys communicated, and Happy was fluent in nods and grunts.

He pulled your face from his chest and moved his head to point to the door. “Come on, we’re gonna wait for the birds.”

—

That was the last time you brought your dad to the clubhouse. If anything, that night was the beginning of the true end. You had 6 more months with him until one day, he just wasn’t awake anymore.

Everything felt like a tunnel. Like you were stuck in one. Like you were looking through one. Like you were hearing through one.

And yet, you only had one thought in your head. Buttercups.

You had replayed this day in your head for 10 years. The day your father got his cancer diagnosis you thought through what you’d wear. What shoes—something comfy, but something nice. People would probably talk, they always did. You thought through how you’d plan for it, who you’d have to invite, where you’d hold the repass, what you’d say, you’d probably have to say something, he was your father after all. Your mind would jump to the food, what kind of food did you serve at these things? Would you get a priest? Your family wasn’t exactly religious, but surely you needed someone to spit out some silver lining hope to keep everyone together. To give everyone that one nice thing to say when they left and went back to their normal lives. As they got in their cars and drove back home and stripped from their black clothing, bellies full of chicken parm and garden salad. That’s what you figured would make sense, italian. Fan favorite, something for everyone.

You wouldn’t have that moment though, you wouldn’t be able to strip yourself from this. You’d go home and feel the emptiness of the house, the silence of it, you’d probably have an empty stomach, for days. Because no matter how long you had to prepare for this moment, it still managed to shock you, push you in a direction you never expected to be.

Like now, you were in the front row of the funeral parlor, staring at the casket, thinking about buttercups. The small yellow weed that disguised itself as a flower. Your father used to sit with you in the yard when you were a kid, beer in one hand, cigarette in another, jeans littered with the green stains of a freshly mowed lawn.

“Can we put these in a vase?” You asked him with a hand picked bouquet of buttercups.

“We can.” He chugged down his beer and handed it to you, you placed the short weeds into the neck of the bottle and they sat there perfectly.

“You know these are butter flowers.” He picked one out from the bottle and twirled the stem in his finger.

“Butter flowers?” You looked at him like he was crazy. “What, they make butter out of it?”

“No,” he chuckled. “They say if you hold it under your chin and it reflects yellow, it means you like butter.” His hand pushed out and held the weed under your chin, you lifted your head up slightly to accommodate, and your father smiled. “Yep, you like butter.”

You laughed, taking the flower from his hand. “Everyone likes butter.”

“Not everyone,” he shook his head and pointed his finger to his chin as he jetted it out and forward.

Without a second thought you pushed the flower under his chin and there was no reflection, your brain couldn’t comprehend that it was because of the thickness of his beard preventing a reflection.

“Not even on your popcorn?” You looked baffled at your father.

“Not even on my popcorn.” He shook his head and placed the bottle between you two.

“How can they tell?” You looked at the flowers, like they’d tell you themselves.

“They know you,” your father answered without a trace of question in his voice. “Like I know you.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t like butter on your popcorn,” there was a hint of heartbreak in your tone.

“Now you do,” he brushed it off like it meant nothing. Like you weren’t completely destroyed by the idea of not knowing your father. Maybe that’s where the weight of this all started. At 7 years old in your backyard. You don’t think you ever got to know him, maybe he didn’t even get to know himself. He went to war young, came back fucked up, got left with a kid, got sick, he had so many things happen that prevented him from being his trueself, from experiencing life the way he planned.

You felt a hand grab yours. You weren’t sitting down anymore, you were standing in line next to your dad’s brother, no clue how you even got here, but nonetheless you were in the receiving line, shaking hands of everyone offering their condolences.

After sitting through the tunnel vision of the receiving line, you felt a warm body behind you, then a squeeze of your side. A soft kiss pressed to your temple and you fell back into it.

“Let’s go sit down,” He rasped into your ear.

That tunnel vision widened for a minute and you realized you were on the prayer kneeler, frozen over the casket, your hand wrapped in your fathers.

“How long have I been here for?” You were mortified, wishing you were back in that tunnel.

“Doesn’t matter,” he rasped again, his hands strong on yours pulling you to a standing position.

Turning around you saw the packed funeral home, all the seats were filled, the standing room was also pretty full, there was a sea of kuttes, a lot of veterans, people you never met before.

“I can’t do this, Hap.”

“You can,” it was delivered like a demand but it was truly him offering you confidence.

And you did. You threw a handful of buttercups on the casket as they lowered it to the ground, buried your head into Happy’s chest as you sobbed through the prayers and speeches. You weren’t able to get up and talk, when the cries stopped your face was so puffy, your body had no energy to get up let alone say something profound.

Which is why Happy did.

The loss of his body heat next to yours was replaced by Jax as he sat down next to you, tossing an arm around the chair so you could lean into him as Happy went up to the small podium. It was comical, the 6 foot 3 man towered over it, the bright beige pristine podium, only detail being a small layered moulding at the top, but other than that, completely blank. The complete opposite of the biker standing behind it, in a long black sleeve button up, even with the jeans and long sleeve you could see the tattoos on his hands, on his chest, on his head.

Happy was the opposite of all of this, the mourning, the sadness, the properness of it all. And yet, there he was.

“I, uh, got to spend the last year with The Lieutenant," Happy began, gripping the podium and looking down despite not having a piece of paper to read off of. “It started out as Sundays, we’d sit on the porch, watch birds, eat food, play cards if he was up to it. But, uh, Sundays turned into Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and Fridays, and then Mondays, and soon enough everyday.” He smirked a little. “I’d like to say it was just because The Lieutenant was great company, which he was, but it had a lot more to do with me being enamoured by his daughter.” Happy paused, looked at you and offered the softest twitch of his lips. Not a smile, nowhere near one actually, just a soft acknowledgement. “Her ability to put everyone else before herself, her humor, her mind, any moment I could spend getting to know her more was one I’d jump at.” He laughed a little to himself, it wasn’t like him to talk this much, open up about his feelings. “But along with that, came getting to know him, and I can say, I see where his daughter gets it from, her selflessness, her ability to inspire,” he paused and shook his head. “This last year I saw a man lose himself, but never lose who he was. A father, a friend, a brother.” He cleared his throat. “I’m lucky to have met him—a better man to have met him.” He inhaled and looked up at you and nodded. “Gave him a promise that first day I met him, that I’d take care of his daughter, and it’s why I’m standing up here right now, I’ll do whatever is in my power to keep that promise.” His eyes were on yours and you wiped the stray tears away. “Rest easy, Lieutenant."

—

After the funeral, you stayed a total of 1 day at your father’s place before crashing at the clubhouse and once Happy found out you weren’t staying at home, you think Jax called him that night, he brought you to his moms house.

It probably wasn’t the best move, you fell back into caretaker mode without missing a beat. Spending time with Happy’s mom and aunt was different though, it was a lot of laughing, talking about random things, you’d cook, read, relax. It was the feminine touch you didn’t experience when taking care of your dad. He’d eat anything, usually take out, you’d watch sports games and play cards, nothing like this.

But Happy saw it for what it was. You went from one caretaking role to another, not mourning your father just putting a bandaid on the grief.

You were standing by the sink, hand deep into a dutch oven cleaning the bottom of it when the door opened. Looking over your shoulder, you smiled.

“Hey, killer.” You nodded at him.

He made his way over to you in seconds.

“What I say?” He cupped your face in his hands.

“Hey, Hap,” you enunciated.

“Hey,” he placed a kiss on your lips.

“Who cooked?” He frowned looking at the stove where there was a mess of pans and bowls of batter.

“Miles,” you followed his gaze. “Woke up too late and missed breakfast,” you looked back at the dutch oven that used to have a bowl full of pot roast in it. “And lunch,” you laughed. “There’s left overs in the fridge if you want, I’ll join you after I finish cleaning all of this up.”

At that, Happy pulled away from you so fast you barely could register that he was opening the back sliding door.

“Hey!” His voice boomed. “Dickhead!” As he stepped outside, the door slid shut but you could still hear him. “You the one who made pancakes?”

Miles must’ve answered because Happy’s voice echoed even louder. “You gonna clean your shit up?” You couldn’t help but smile, placing the dutch oven on the drying rack you went to dry your hands off. You knew better than to start cleaning what was on the stove, so you left it.

“My old lady ain’t your fuckin’ maid.” Was the last thing out of his mouth when he came back inside.

“Get your things,” he walked right past you and into his mother’s room where you heard his voice a lot more low and calm.

Grabbing your bag, you placed it cross-body and waited for him at the front door.

When he reappeared, he was shaking his head. “No, all of your things, your clothes, your toothbrush, all your bags.”

“We goin’ somewhere?” You asked the question as you walked past him and into the guest room where you had been staying and keeping most of your things, not that it was a lot.

“Yea,” Happy answered, giving no more context.

He grabbed the bag from your hand and opened the front door.

“Keys,” he dropped the bag in the bed of your truck and held his hand up for you to toss him the truck fob.

The ride was silent for a few minutes, but Happy’s knuckles white on the steering wheel showed you there was more going on in his head than he was letting up.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him. “Something happen with the cartel?”

Happy was a man of few words but he’d keep you in the loop on club things the moment things got more serious between you two. With your dad gone he knew that worry would manifest somewhere else, and he didn’t want to make this harder than it already was. He’d say enough for you to get the picture, know what was going down and when. It’s why some of the guys were staying at Happy’s mom’s house and keeping a close eye on the truck in the driveway.

“No,” he kept his eyes on the road.

Alright, if it wasn’t that, then you were at a loss.

“Hap, why do I get the impression that you’re mad at me?” You leaned forward trying to get a look at his face.

“Ain’t mad at you,” he softened slightly. You gave him a look that he saw out of the corner of his eye and he fell back against the seat. “You’re gonna move in with me.”

“Oh?” You lifted your brows. “Glad you made that decision for the both of us.”

“You wanna move back to your Pops?” Happy looked over at you now.

That got you angry. “Don’t be a dick,” you crossed your arms.

“Ain’t being a dick, just being real.”

“Take me home then,” you shrugged. It was the last place you wanted to be, but you felt like you had to prove yourself to Happy right now.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded and made a u-turn in the middle of the road, no hesitation.

He pulled into your driveway 30 minutes later. The truck’s familiar creaks and rumbles as it pulled into the gravel lot sent a visceral reaction of memory and pain through you. Happy pulled into the spot that still had impressions of the truck’s tires. The way he put the car in park, you could tell he was mad, and how he pulled the ebrake up made it even more apparent.

The weight of being here, seeing the yard, the house, the porch, it made a pit in your stomach, all that tough guy act and needing to prove yourself was gone and replaced with a wobble in your voice as you caved.

“Give me 10 minutes and I’ll be back with my stuff.” You hopped out the car and slammed the door, it felt like the only thing left you could control, your anger.

You walked through the front door, avoiding the back porch because it would be the thing that broke you. Bracing for the worst, you held your breath for a minute, expecting the house to be a disaster. When you got back from the funeral, you didn’t take care of anything, no cleaning, just the bare minimum to get by. Then, you just didn’t show back up. You didn’t hire anyone, you didn’t pay any bills, so you were expecting things to be rotting, much like you. Just a stagnant piece of grief just rotting in place from the inside out.

To your surprise, the house smelled like sea salt, driftwood and clorox. The light switch worked, the clocks were ticking and accurate. Everything was working, the house was kept.

“Happy,” you mumbled and felt your eyes get heavy.

With a deep sigh, you began to pack things up. Taking a few photos from the staircase, you made your way upstairs to your room. Filling four bags of clothes, mementos, and other things, you dropped them by the steps and trekked them down two by two.

As you struggled to make your way through the opening between the stairs and the kitchen, Happy’s tattooed arm extended out and grabbed them from you with no struggle whatsoever.

He held them with such ease, his eyes were doing more of the strenuous work by boring into you.

“You gotta go through this.”

“And if I can’t?”

“You can,” he nodded.

With that, you sighed. Turning to the kitchen and grabbing a plastic bag for a couple more things to take with you. After you did that, you nodded towards the door, the back door. “C’mon. Take me home, killer.” Despite being eternally grateful for everything he did, you were still upset with how he spoke with you earlier. It was your last jab at him, and he knew it, which is why he let it slide, said nothing, and just opened the door for you to make your way to the back porch. He locked the door and began his dissent to your truck, leaving you alone for a few moments. Standing there, you looked at the empty rocking chair, the tears welling up in your eyes. It was then that your eyes jumped up when they saw something speed past. The Towhee bird landed right on the hummingbird feeder that Happy had put up over a year ago. They weren’t the type of bird that liked porch feeders, they were ground birds, foraged in the leaves, it’s why they loved the rain.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled as it flew right onto the rocking chair. It swayed ever so slightly and you stood completely still, hand over your mouth fighting the tears back.

“Hi dad,” you whispered so softly, you weren’t even sure if you said it outloud.

Standing there you looked out to the trees, the bird there too, just watching in silence. And with no warning at all, the bird flew away.

And you were left alone again. But you weren’t really alone.

You needed whatever push this was. Start the true grieving process, not avoid it.

Moments later, you followed the steps down into the driveway and saw Happy leaning against the truck, toothpick in his mouth, looking up at the sky. It was clear he wasn’t eager to leave or rush you, just patiently waiting. He would’ve waited there all night without question.

As you walked up to him, you pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and he looked down at you.

“What do you think about me moving in with you?”

“Would love it.”

“Alright, let’s move me in,” you nodded.

“Yes ma’am.”

“You paid the bills and kept the place clean.” It was spoken as a statement, your eyes soft with appreciation. He didn’t say anything or make any expression, just looked at you. “You didn’t have to do that.”

His chest rose and fell without any acknowledgement again.

“Thank you,” you let the wall down and the tears fell.

He immediately brought you into him, placing your face against his chest. His hand was over your head, his fingers moving slightly against your skull, soothing you.

“Ain’t gotta thank me,” he whispered.

You squeezed him harder and let the wails just escape you. Happy kept comforting you, bringing his other hand around you to hold you just as tight back.

He didn’t say anything else, just let you go through this, like he said earlier, you needed this. It was probably 30 minutes of this, just sobs. When you ran out of tears, you pulled your head out from his kutte. Happy moved his hands to your face, his thumbs wiping the tear stains. He didn’t show affection this way much, it was saved for your more intimate moments, when it was just you, but then again, that’s exactly what this was. Just you.

“I’ll pay you back,” you sniffed.

“No you won’t,” Happy shook his head, dropping his hands.

That made you want to cry again, but there was nothing left. Just the ache in your heart, in your gut.

“I’m gonna come back this week and clean this place out. I don’t know if I want to rent it out or put it on the market.” Changing the topic felt like the only direction to go now.

“We can move in here if you want,” Happy wasn’t taking his eyes off you.

“No,” you shook your head, a deep exhale matching your expression. “The porch is the only place here that holds any good times. Inside is like a fucking hospital wing, it’d be better to let someone else create their own memories than me try to erase the weight of mine. Plus, you got a porch.”

“I do,” he nodded.

You went on your tip-toes, hands resting on his kutte and placed a kiss to his mouth, not a sexual one, but something softer, something intimate that said everything while saying nothing at all, when you pulled away you placed the toothpick back in his mouth and smiled.

“Thank you.” This time it was said without the waterworks, but you meant it just as much.

Happy took the long way back, the one that was your favorite, through the state park so you could see the trees, hear the birds, and feel a little peace.

As you approached the light that brought you back to the main road, he cut through the silence.

“Didn’t mean to be a dick,” his hand was resting on the wheel, “when I got back to Ma’s, and I saw you just back in that grind of taking care of shit for other people, especially fuckin’ Miles,” he shook his head, “it ain’t right.”

“I don’t mind, your mom—”

Happy cut you off. “You stopped doing shit for you.”

“I—” you didn’t know what to reply to that. He was right. You did.

“I love that you and my mom and aunt get along, I love that you want to take care of her,

but you have to take care of you, too.”

He was right again.

“I shouldn’t have brought you there.” He shook his head.

“It’s not on you, Hap. I’ll find something to take care of no matter where I am.”

Happy said nothing to that right away, it was like his mind was turning something over. 5 minutes passed as he turned into a parking lot. You saw the Charming municipal building and frowned, but before you could say anything Happy was jumping out of the truck and telling you to follow him. “C’mon.”

With caution, you trailed behind him. Not because you were nervous about where he was bringing you but because you were trying to figure it out in your head first.

As he opened the large metal door for you, you walked in and were met with the sound of barking, tons of it.

The room was just a long hallway of fences and gates, it smelled like a petting zoo, and the sounds of yipping and barking overwhelmed you. Turning around you looked at Happy and he was shutting the door.

“Happy?”

“Pick one,” he pointed at the fences.

You gave him a deadpan stare.

“If you’re gonna find something to take care of, might as well be something that needs takin’ care of.”

“What?” You kept the same expression on.

“Pick one,” he repeated.

You turned to look at the dogs and then back at him.

A smile, he had the biggest grin on his face. One that made you smile, too.

You walked down the hallway, each dog running up to the gate except for the last one in the row. A black staffie mix, the smallest white spot on her snout.

“Her,” you lifted your head up and looked at her informational tag. “Black Dog.” That was it. She had no other information.

“Like the Led Zeppelin song,” Happy walked over and squatted in front of the fence, his finger sticking into the holes of it trying to get her to approach. She leaned forward and sniffed his finger and then began licking him. “Looks like you’re coming home with us.”

—

There was very little to celebrate these days with everything going on at the club. The niners, the gang task force, Opie’s death, and the random home invasions, it had been a lot of negative shit. You could feel it when Happy walked through the door. You really felt it when the home invasions were happening more frequently and he had a prospect, or even more terrifying, Chibs or Bobby take watch if he wasn’t home. They carried a lot of the heaviness too, you could see it in their eyes, their demeanor. The club needed a pick me up.

“My old lady wants to have everyone over this weekend, grill and shit.” Happy’s voice cut through the guys as they walked out of chapel.

“S’not a bad idea,” Jax said, placing a cigarette into his mouth. “Have her call my mom, Gemma would probably love to Donna Reed some shit up. She’ll actually probably want to have it at her place.”

“She’s gonna ask if she can bring Zep.” Happy plopped down on the bar stool.

Jax smirked, “Your dog?”

Happy nodded, “They’re bonded.”

“Fuck it, the more the merrier.” Jax twisted off a beer cap.

—

Gemma’s place was packed. People inside, people outside, people in the driveway, hell there were even some people in the street. It was a mix of crow-eaters, old ladies, families, locals who supported the club, and a sea of patches. Some from SAMCRO, some from other nearby charters. You recognized some faces, a few you’ve known since you could remember and some more newly acquainted faces that knew you not as a Teller family friend but as Happy’s old lady.

You had been hard at work well before the crowd showed up, helping Gemma with food prep, cooking, organizing, all of that.

“This was a good idea,” she said to you as she peeled back the husks of the corn and dropped it into the tin dish. You were placing the bowl of melted butter in the corner of it and getting ready to move to skewers.

“Everyone’s been carrying a lot of shit, they needed something to cut through it,” you said, grabbing the bag of wooden sticks next to her.

Gemma gave you a look, a knowing one. One that said she was impressed with how you settled into club life.

“Never thought you’d end up knee deep in club shit,” she said, moving to the oven now.

You let out an audible laugh at that. “When I was 16 you practically had me married off to Jax, ” you shook your head as you pierced the stick through the chunk of meat.

“I just needed something to distract him from heartbreak,” she was smiling, you could hear it in her voice.

“Nothing could have ever distracted Jax from Tara,” you dropped the skewer into a fresh tin dish.

“Happy’s right,” she said now, more seriously.

“He usually is,” you nodded.

“No,” she laughed. “He’s the right one,” she walked back over to you. “Your dad would be glad, baby.” She let her hand wrap around and squeeze your arm before going to help you with the skewers.

Happy was right. Your dad would be glad.

“He would have loved this,” you nodded to the food, with a chuckle.

Gemma laughed with you. “Oh, he would have gotten here two hours earlier than you to help.” That last word had sarcasm behind it.

“And would have tried everything twice,” you smirked.

“Quality testing,” you both said at the same time and laughed.

You felt the weight almost immediately, it was that reminder of missing him. You loved talking about him, any chance you got, but it always came with this moment, the reminder that it was all you had left, the memories.

You fell silent, your focus shifting to the skewers, at least, so it seemed. Your mind was elsewhere. There had been a lot of growth on your part, but on moments like this, where you were focusing on others, helping out, it weighed on you more.

The focus you had was pulled because one minute you were shoving a pepper down the pointed wooden skewer and the next you were cursing and letting it hit the floor.

“Shit!” You called out and grabbed your palm, moving to the sink and turning the faucet on.

“Cut yourself?” Gemma’s concern sounded from over your shoulder.

It was a slice, not deep, but long, it must’ve slipped while you were in your thoughts.

“I’ll be fine, just gotta wrap it up,” you exhaled as you watched the blood mix with the running water.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Gemma was leaving the kitchen to grab the kit from the linen closet.

As you waited, you heard the back doorknob turn and swing opene into the kitchen.

“Hey, I brought Zep, think she’ll be better company with you in here, I don’t want her eating Gemma’s gardenias.” Happy trailed in with the leash and your black staffy.

She didn’t have a tendency to eat plants, but she did get into Happy’s mom’s gardenias last week, but you later found out it was because she was using compost in her soil and Zep loved red bell peppers, in all forms.

“Yeah, you can let her eat the peppers on the ground.” You nodded at it as you held your hand under the water.

“What happened?” Happy ignored you and stepped to the sink to see the blood.

“Sliced my hand, I’m fine,” you said.

Before Happy could answer, Gemma was back in the kitchen. “Relax Smiley,” Gemma said as she could feel the tension coming off him. “I got our girl.”

She had pulled the gauze out already and pulled your hand to wrap it tight.

“Thanks for bringing Zep,” you looked over Gemma at Happy who was staring at your hand. “I’m fine, Hap. Really.”

“Jax told me to tell you that some of the boys from Nevada are coming up,” Happy changed the topic, his eyes still on your cut before moving to pick the skewer off the ground and feed it to Zep.

“Great,” Gemma mumbled. “We’re gonna need more skewers.” She looked up at you and smirked.

—

With the party in full swing, you took to one of the picnic tables in Gemma’s garden. Zep had been sprawled out on Tig’s lap in the grass, enjoying the attention from anyone who would give it to her. Before you knew it, you felt someone move in behind you, his hand wrapping around your waist.

“How’s the hand?” He moved his hand from your waist and up to your hand, turning it up and around so he could see the wrap.

“I’m fine, Hap,” you leaned back into him.

He had no problem cradling his body around yours. Your head rested against his face.

“What did you do today?” His voice was soft in your ear.

It was a question he asked you pretty frequently, it wasn’t so much asking about your day, but asking to make sure you weren’t forgetting to prioritize yourself.

You sighed, “My focus today has been you guys.”

“Shit around here will always be shit around here,” he ran his thumb up and down your thigh. There was a slight tickle against your cheek, the toothpick Happy had in his mouth moved just slightly against you as he spoke. “You can’t forget you.”

“This is for me,” you closed your eyes and pushed more against him, so your entire back was flush against his front.

You felt him chuckle. “Something else,” he grumbled. “Something fulfilling,” it was the same speech you’d gotten over the last few months, just different words as the reminder.

“I could think of something really fulfilling,” your head fell back to look up at him, your hand moving back to graze across his jeans.

Happy let out a low growl, the toothpick in his mouth moving to the complete opposite side so he could pull it out before your lips landed on his. “I have zero complaints,” he mumbled.

You laughed against his mouth and placed a quick peck against his mouth again.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he nodded, stealing one more kiss from you.

“When did you know?” You asked, the question falling fast from your tongue.

“The moment I fucking saw you,” his answer came even faster.

“That’s a lie,” you shook your head.

“I don’t lie,” he retorted. “I walked up to the bar, oblivious to you and when you pushed

that beer towards me, I fuckin’ fell in love.”

“I’m being serious, Hap.” You tapped his chest with the back of your hand.

“Me too,” he shrugged. “After that night, you wouldn’t leave my mind. Saw you with Jax the morning after, thought I stepped on some shit. Tried to forget it, forget you.”

“And then you saw me at the diner,” you remembered.

“And then I saw you at the diner,” he nodded.

“That day, my dad asked you if you loved me,” you remembered that morning on the porch.

“You didn’t give me the chance to answer him,” he didn’t even need a minute to recollect the memory.

“I didn’t want you to have to lie to him.”

“Wouldn’t have lied. I did love you, he saw that.”

“I know things aren’t great right now,” you looked around at the guys, it had been so long since you saw any of them truly enjoying themselves. “But I need you to promise me you’re gonna be okay.”

“Can’t do that,” despite how he delivered that information, he hated having to say it at all.

“Then promise me you’ll be careful,” you turned your head.

Before he could answer, Jax was approaching you both.

“Sorry to interrupt,” his smirk was smug until it wasn’t. “I gotta run out,” his eyes jumped to Happy’s.

“I’m with you, prez.” Happy nodded, already moving to get up.

The loss of him behind you felt colder due to how you ended or more like how you didn’t end the conversation you were having.

“Sorry for leaving in the middle of your thing,” Jax leaned down and placed a quick kiss to your cheek since he hadn’t even said hello to you yet.

“Two apologies in the span of two minutes, you’re getting soft, prez,” you teased.

He smiled back, he looked like the younger version of him, the one that had fun, that laughed, that teased, that enjoyed life. The one that didn’t have the weight of the club hovering over him.

“Be careful,” you looked at the group of them, your eyes hovering on Happy last.

Happy leaned down now, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “I promise.”

—

You were tired, you had a few beers, ate some food, got to talk with some of the other old ladies, some of the other charter members. Now, you were helping Gemma clean up.

It was late and there were those thoughts gnawing in the back of your head. Were they okay? Did something happen? It had been hours since you heard anything.

“Worrying does nothing but wreak havoc on the heart, darlin’,” Gemma said as she walked beside you.

Your eyes fell to the scar on her chest.

“I should know,” she whispered the joke with a chuckle.

Before you could even smile let alone respond, her phone rang. Your eyes darted to her cell that was on the kitchen table. You knew before you heard anything, you knew something happened.

“Yeah?” Gemma answered and her eyes darted straight to yours. “Alright we’re on our way.”

“What happened?” You heard your heart thumping in your ears.

“Grab your keys, I’ll fill you in on the drive to the club.”

You were chewing the skin inside your mouth at every turn, Gemma was running through stop signs, red lights, going double the speed limit just to get to the clubhouse so it wasn’t like you could do anything else but just wait.

“He’s alright, baby. Jax said it was superficial.”

“I didn’t realize Jax got his medical license,” you were being catty but it was just a product of being worried.

“Easy now,” she warned, but you weren’t worried about Gemma right now.

“Jax said Happy was shot, that it went through his head,” you clarified.

“That it skimmed his head,” Gemma corrected.

“He’s probably fucking basking in the glory of it,” you shook your head thinking about the man you loved.

“Chibs is handling it,” Gemma still had her own worry in her tone.

It was silent for the rest of the ride, which was only a couple minutes anyway.

Barreling into the clubhouse, you didn’t freeze when you saw him or the blood. His shirt was soaked, the right side of his head was covered in it, and he was grinning from ear to ear as Chibs held the skin together on the top of his head with two pieces of gauze.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you called out as you made your way over.

“You’re in for it, lad,” Chibs mumbled to Happy.

“I’m alright,” Happy said, lifting his hand to grab onto your arm.

You gave him a look and then placed your eyes back on Chibs.

“He’s alright,” he nodded at you.

“What can I do?” You needed to be doing something, your adrenaline was racing through your veins.

“Painkillers and alcohol,” Chibs said but Gemma already beat you to it, she was holding up a bottle of booze and a bottle of pills. Chucky had already started putting some sort of cream on the gauze that he was handing to Chibs.

“Hey,” Happy’s rasp pulled your attention and you squatted down to be eyelevel with him.

“You told me you were going to be careful,” you felt your body slow down now, the worry creeping back in but this time more focused on the future, what could’ve happened, what could happen.

“I was,” he nodded. “Shit just got a little crazy.”

“Who was it?” Your voice had venom in it now. You could feel everyone's eyes jump to one another. Chibs to Jax, Juice to Tig, Gemma to Happy to see how he was going to respond.

He didn’t get the chance to though because Nero was walking through the clubhouse and everyone’s eyes fell on him.

There were a few words exchanged as he approached Jax at the bar, they volleyed the exchange back and forth and then Chibs chimed in which gave you all the information you needed.

“One thing I don’t want is this half-bright gang starting a war right outside Charming,” Jax said, firm in tone.

“This was your crew?” You were standing up, moving in front of Nero now.

“Ain’t my crew,” he wasn’t backing down but he wasn’t rude in how he spoke either.

“If you don’t get your fuckin’ boys wrangled, I will.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“Alright, down killer,” Jax stepped up now, moving between you and Nero.

“Hey,” Happy spoke up now, giving his version of a warning shot.

“If you don’t handle it Jax, I fucking will.” You pulled your attention to your friend for decades, daggers in your eyes.

“No one is going to handle anything, we’re gonna figure it out, alright? Just get him patched up,” his voice echoed off the clubhouse walls before Bobby walked up to him.

You gave a long stare to Jax then to Nero before moving where Gemma just stood up from, right in front of Happy. He was in pain, you could see it on his face as Chibs tried to stop the bleeding, but even with that he was looking at Nero and then Jax, that pull to not let someone talk to you in any way other than cheerily keeping him at the edge of his seat.

“Something tells me you loved every second of the shitstorm you were in,” you leaned forward now, grabbing a cloth to wipe some of the blood clean from his face.

He smirked, completely ignoring Jax heading out on whatever he needed to handle.

Better be this fucking piece of shit gang, you thought internally to yourself.

Happy saw you tense and leaned just slightly to grab your hand which was still wrapped up from the cut. “Where’s Zep?”

“At Gem’s with one of the prospects,” you gave in entirely now, letting your body relax knowing Happy was okay.

“I promised you I’d be careful, you gotta do the same for me,” he let his finger brush over the wrap on your palm.

“Absolutely not the same thing,” you held back a laugh.

He gave you a look, one you knew well.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” you squeezed his hand.

You two didn’t say much more, you cleaned his face off while Chibs worked to sew the skin together and patch him up. Happy never let go of your hand, only giving you one free hand to wipe his face down but it was enough. His fingers danced around yours as you sat there, the time well into the night at this point.

“I got your dorm ready,” Gemma walked over and put a hand on Happy’s clean shoulder. “Figure if I let this one behind the wheel she’s going to drive straight into one of those gangster’s houses,” she gave you a playful smirk.

“I’d love to see that,” Happy grinned.

“Don’t tempt her,” she tapped his shoulder before walking off.

“Yeah, don’t,” you shook your head.

“You come here often?” Happy nodded his head at you, his grin shifting from playful to

fully devious.

“That’s my cue,” Chibs said, standing up off the table and removing the gloves from his hands. “You’re all good, Hap.”

“Thanks,” Happy was taking the cloth you had used just previously and dabbed it along his head, picking up any extra residue he could. “C’mon, I think you oughta show me what you were gonna do to those pieces of shit.”

“I don’t think you want to know,” you were standing up now, eyes glued to the patch up job on his head, anger and upset mixing like a cocktail in your veins, in your thoughts, in your muscles.

“Oh yes I do,” he nodded and gripped your waist, leading you back to his dorm.

—

You woke up to the smell of coffee, strong and with a hint of spice. Based on the power of the aroma, it had to be warm still, if you were lucky, maybe even hot. As your eyes opened, you saw the mug on the nightstand, the reaper image half peeled but still holding strongly printed on the side of the mug staring right at you as the steam slowly lifted over its head.

Sitting up, you grabbed the handle and immediately took a sip, your head falling back as the warm liquid trickled through your body, practically giving you chills. “Fuckin’ perfect.” You hummed.

“Hap?” You called out, thinking maybe he was in the bathroom but you were met with no response.

You picked up the flip phone that was tucked under your pillow after the few sips of coffee started to work their caffeine magic on you. There were no messages or calls. You weren’t expecting anything, Happy wasn’t in the habit of leaving notes behind. Gestures, sure. Hence, the coffee, but no notes.

You shot him off a text, you normally wouldn’t care, but with his head you were just being precautious.

To Happy (6:45AM): Hate when you don’t wake up next to me, the coffee is an appreciated second choice though. How you feeling?

After you hit send, you stood up, tossing one of the many SOA shirts that were kept in the dressers here. With that, you stepped out of the dorm and made your way down the hallway. There used to be a time that when you left Happy’s dorm at this hour of the morning, you’d peer out and make sure there was no one there, no prying eyes, no one to tease you or even know you stayed the night. A time where you stayed true to the idea of a walk of shame. Shoes in your hand verse on your feet, makeup smeared under your eyes, last night's clothes on.

You smirked at the memory and ducked into the kitchen for something to eat, opening the fridge door so you were fully behind it as you looked at the contents inside.

“What are you doing here?” The familiar boyish voice made you smile. As you turned your head around to see the blonde biker, you took in his face. It wasn’t boyish at all, not anymore. Not for a long time. It was worn, heavy, his hair slicked back probably from all the times he stressfully ran his hands through it. It had been a rough night for him. A rough night for everyone. Your last interaction with Jax wasn’t great, but you two tended to bounce back from these things pretty quickly.

You closed the fridge door, making it completely obvious all you had on was a long t-shirt.

“Jesus Christ, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jax turned around, almost embarrassed.

“Oh relax,” you shook your head and walked past him, back to the dorm where you grabbed the jeans you were wearing last night. You put them on, hopping your legs through the holes as you made your way back down the hallway. Leaving the zipper and button down, since the t-shirt did a well enough job at covering it. As you walked back into the kitchen, Jax had on a that playful smirk again, he was tossing two pieces of toast in the toaster, the jelly and butter already out on the counter.

“I slept here,” you looked into Jax’s eyes which although were laced with burden, had a hint of humor behind them. “Hap was too drugged up to drive and your mom was convinced I was going to hunt the guys down who shot at you so she set us up in a dorm,” you sipped from your mug.

“Hap’s rubbing off on you,” he laughed, grabbing a beer from the fridge. It wasn’t like his typical morning beer. Not his frat-like beer and bud in the morning before the shenanigans, this was something to take the edge off.

“Oh, definitely,” you nodded, a smirk of your own on your face as you hoped the innuendo would go over his head, your eyes jumped to the toaster as the bread popped up.

“Gross,” he tossed the beer cap at you and twisted his face up.

“I handled it, just so you know,” Jax said before turning around.

“Handled it or figured it out?” You asked curiously, a little jokingly.

“Handled.” He nodded, serious in response.

You nodded back at him, just as seriously, your way of thanking him.

“You and Hap,” he turned to start buttering the toast. “You’re good for each other.”

“Hap just gets me. Always has.” You smiled at Jax, one that came with memories you enjoyed reliving. Something you never expected of your life. He scooped an absurd amount of jelly onto the bread and turned to hand you one with a paper towel under it.

“You know, when your Pops died, I was worried you were gonna get lost in that,” Jax said as he leaned back against the counter, his own breakfast in his hand. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“I’m sorry to see you’re not,” you looked up at Jax, your longest friend, who looked so incredibly different, so incredibly worn. He was the furthest thing from alright.

“I’ll be fine,” he smirked, it wasn’t believable. Your face did no effort in holding that truth back, but you nodded to let him know you wouldn’t push it.

“Maybe you just need to get laid,” you tried to lighten the mood.

“I need a shower and a nap,” he joked, a sigh escaping his mouth. “But only got time to handle shit around here.”

“Shit around here will always be shit around here.” You quoted Happy, although Jax had no idea.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jax’s face dropped to the version of it you barely recognized.

“You’re gonna drive yourself into an early grave, Jax. Something’s gotta give.” You didn’t know the ins and outs, you knew the club got into shit with the cartel and even without details you understood that was a hard thing to get out of, but you saw how the things that happened changed him, how worn he was, how shit the club had gotten.

“If you could get out would you?” Jax was looking at you now, deep into your eyes, trying to see if you had a tell.

“I’m not in,” you took a bite of your toast.

“You know what I mean,” he dropped his head.

“Happy isn’t the kind of guy that leaves the club, Jax.” You put the toast down next to you.

“And you’ve made peace with that?” His question was curious, like he wanted to see how things worked for you both.

At that moment, a prospect walked into the kitchen for coffee. “Sorry,” Ratboy mumbled as he grabbed the pot and moved back to the bar. Just like clockwork a group of the guys came walking in from outside. Juice, Bobby, Tig, but no Happy. You had a few seconds before they approached you guys in the kitchen. Not enough time to actually have this conversation the way it should be had.

“I haven’t made peace with anything,” you shook your head, kicking off the counter. “This is who he is, Jax. I fell in love with him knowing that. The club is a complicated shitshow, but Happy’s my peace, if I got that, then I’m good.”

It was then that Tig walked in, “Hey, doll,” he whispered to you before placing his hand on the doorframe and then tossing his thumb over his shoulder and looking at Jax. “Bobby’s got Nero on the line.”

“Alright, thanks Tiggy.” Jax kicked off the counter too, his eyes moving from Tig to you.

“We gonna finish this conversation later?” You stepped toward him, he was placing a cigarette in his mouth.

“Nope,” he smiled and pinched your elbow as a form of thanks.

“Tell Nero I’m sorry for bringing the claws out,” you grimaced slightly.

“Oh I’d pay to see that again,” Tig’s face was now against the doorframe, smile so satisfied on his face.

“He gets it,” Jax smiled and began walking out towards Bobby.

“Where’s Hap?” You asked Tig, grabbing your toast again from the counter behind you and when you turned back around you bumped into someone’s firm chest as they towered over you.

“Right here,” he looked down at you, seriousness on his face until a smile crept up. His thumb raised up and swiped at the remnants of jelly on your mouth.

“Hi,” you smiled and he leaned down to place a kiss on your lips.

“I love love,” Tig said before leaving you two alone in the kitchen.

“How’s your head?” Your eyes jumped to the bandage on his skull.

“You tell me,” he had a devilish grin on his face.

“Be serious for two seconds,” you lightly slapped his chest.

“I’m all good,” he brushed his hand over his head. “Could use some of the same medicine you gave me last night.”

“You’re shameless,” you laughed against him now but before you could act on anything, Bobby was walking into the kitchen. “We’re going to meet up with Lin, you good to ride?”

“I am,” Happy nodded and went to kiss you goodbye. “Raincheck,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Be. Careful.” You gripped his kutte before he walked away.

He nodded in agreement, all jokes and sarcasm wiped from his face. “Promise.”

—

Two Years Later - The Cemetery

“So yeah, I guess that’s really it,” you sighed as you wrapped up the entire story of you and Happy. “I realized, I never told you any of it because you were so grossed out that first time, then we hid it for so long and then it just…was.” You leaned against the gravestone that held the name of your childhood best friend on it.

Jackson Nathaniel Teller.

"We got another dog, named him Opie,” you smirked. “Club got out of guns, Happy, Chibs, and Tig made sure of it.” You heard branches behind you snap and as you turned your head, you saw Happy there, no kutte on his body. Just a plain white t-shirt, hands in his pocket waiting for you patiently.

“You asked me that time all those years back if I could get out, would I?” You took a deep inhale. “I wish I just said yes. Maybe it would’ve sparked something in you.”

“It would’ve been a lie,” you shook your head. “I gave you the only truth I knew. The one that remains true today. Happy’s my peace, if I got that, then I’m good.” You turned around and saw Happy just staring off, making sure you were okay but giving you your privacy.

—

The Funeral

It wasn’t an open casket. The damage had been too extensive to fix to a point of a proper viewing. Not that any of this was proper, this was pure SAMCRO when it came to the burial. The construction on the original clubhouse was renovated enough to have the service here first before bringing him to the cemetery. It was right, for this to be the place you all memorialized Jax.

You wished you could’ve been in a tunnel for this. Be so out of it that you were almost

numb. But that was the thing about healing, it meant you had to go through everything instead of bury it or ignore it. So you felt it. The loss of your longest friend. His death. His suicide.

Happy came up behind you, his hand moving around your waist as he stepped next to

you. Resting your head on his shoulder, you sighed.

“I should’ve made him promise me he’d be careful,” you whispered.

“He was,” Happy’s bandaged arm moved from your waist to your arm. The arm that was shot as a cover story. The one thing regarding the club Happy gave you every single detail on, leaving nothing out, none of the general overview, you two sat for hours discussing this.

As you arrived at the cemetery, you dropped your sunglasses from the top of your head to over your eyes, your face stoic, but still tear stained.

After everyone dropped flowers on the casket, it was Chibs’ turn to speak but you saw him leaned over, sobs coming from his mouth.

Standing up, you squeezed Happy’s hand and smiled at him. Mouthing 3 words to him you vowed to say everyday when you got married last year. The small ceremony at Happy’s mom’s place, she wasn’t able to leave home and you both knew it was something she wouldn’t want to miss. Gemma hung up string lights, cooked a shit ton of food, it was a glorified barbeque and it couldn’t have been any more perfect. Jax spoke, a short speech, but one that you’d remember forever.

As you walked towards the podium, you let your hand rest on Chibs for a moment before you kept going.

“For those of you who don’t know, I’ve known Jax since we were kids. He beat the shit out of Sean Heston when he saw him breaking into my locker and stealing my weed and lunch money, he made me do his math homework,” you chuckled through a slight lump in your throat. “He took the fall for me when I was caught passing notes to Tara in class, he took me to my prom, just so my father could see me go with a date, he helped me with my sick father, in every way imaginable.”

You swallowed. “Jax was a brother to me in such a similar way that he was a brother to all of you.” You gripped the podium. “When I got married last year, Jax gave a speech, he said the thing he’d always tell Hap once he knew him and I were together, that he’s never known Happy to know peace outside of mayhem until he met me. To which my loving groom would reply: there is peace in mayhem.”

“Jax knows peace. So when I cry, when I miss him, when I miss my brother, I’ll know through all this mayhem, he finally knows peace.”

—

The Cemetery

“I hope you did find your peace, Jax.” You looked over your shoulder again, Happy was in the same spot, hands in his pockets still, patiently waiting.

“He left today,” your eyes were still on Happy as you spoke. “We both think this is what you’d want. What my dad would want.” You shrugged. “I hate how this is how things are now. Guessing what you two feel or want,” you sighed but shook your head.

“But I guess what’s more important is it’s what we want. We gotta do this for us.”

At that you kissed your hand and then the headstone before standing up and walking up to Happy.

“You come here often?” You teased as you approached, tucking your hands between the open spots between his arms and waist and wrapped around him.

He smirked, kissed you and picked up a white cup that was resting next to a tree root.

Coffee, dash of cinnamon, dash of nutmeg. Grabbing the cup you took a sip and closed your eyes. Perfect. Always perfect.

“Got the dogs in the truck, bags in the back, bike in the trailer and hitched it.”

“You gonna miss it?” You were worried he’d regret this, the club was all Happy knew, it was in his blood, embedded in his DNA.

“Probably,” he never lied to you.

His response made you uneasy.

“Hey,” he raised his brows. “Did you have a nice morning?”

“Yes.” You nodded, you got to talk to your best friend.

“Have a good time last night?” He smirked, devilishly.

“Yes.” You smirked back.

“Tell me something you’re looking forward to.”

“Smoking a fat joint when we get to the new house.” You were exhausted, packing and wrapping things up here, it was a lot.

“Ask me what I’m looking forward to.” He lifted his head in a nod.

“What are you looking forward to?”

“Riding out with you,” he rasped. “And peace,” he nodded, a tension in him releasing, you could feel it under your grip on him.

“S’how we stay okay,” you agreed with him.

Happy reminded you every day for years to do something for yourself, that’s how you stayed grounded, how you stayed okay. Now it was about time you two do something for both of you. Something that took you out of the day-by-day. Something that would offer you permanent peace. No more fighting for little daily joys. Life would be the joy.

So as you climbed into the passenger seat of your truck, you looked back at the two dogs whose tongues were hanging out and their tails wagging at the sites of you and smiled.

“You know, Gemma had everyone calling us The Caretaker and The Killer,” you looked back at Happy.

“Wonder what people will call us now,” he pulled the gear shifter down.

“Hopefully nothing,” you lowered your window and let your hand rest out as the wind picked up against your scarred palm. “And if it’s something, hopefully just ‘in love’.”

Happy looked over at you and smirked.

“My old lady, the romantic.”

“Come on, Hap. Take me home.”

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