SELF PARA / BEGINNING TO END
LOCATION: Rheaâs home in Olympus / Reinaâs home in Las Vegas
TRIGGERS: Domestic violence mention, itâs also so long and for what iâm so sorry
SEPTEMBER 1997, THE BEGINNING.
âReina, youâve got about five fucking seconds to get your shit and get down here or Iâm leaving without you.â
Fucking Christ.
Reina knows this is insane. No one has to tell her sheâs making a rash decision, or that she might be in over her head with this. Itâs when she gets yelled at from the bottom of the stairs by her soon-to-be fiance that things are put well into perspective for her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the question continues to nag at her. Why would you leave the only place you know as home with someone youâve only known for a few weeks?
Sheâs almost eighteen years old with nowhere else to go, thatâs why.
She very much wouldnât be welcome back at the foster home sheâd snuck out of a few months prior, pulling cash from the wallet of her last foster mother, slipping quietly out the front door while the man of the house slept loudly on the beat up recliner in a whiskey induced coma. They owed it to her anyway, itâs not like they spent any of their government funding on the kids they took in â it all went to booze and cigarettes, which Reina obviously ended up repeatedly stealing as well. Besides, she hasnât been a ward of the state since she turned seventeen, and it had always been the plan to hightail it out of there the second she graduated high school.
It was lucky she met Jason when she did, considering she was running out of friends thatâd let her stay with them until their parents started asking questions. Itâs easier in the summer when thereâs no school nights or homework holding them back, but as her friends got ready to head off to college and start a new chapter of their lives that Reina couldnât even dream of experiencing, she realized sheâd need to adapt and figure something else out. All it took was one night out at a bar with her friends and their fake IDs
Reina didnât know the man but she knew of him, Hell everyone in town had to know of the Thane family. She babysat for some kids whose dad was in the MC so sheâd picked up on some things here and she knew he had money, status, and everything sheâs always wanted. It made the man an easy target and by the end of the night Reina somehow managed to get Jason Thane eating out of the palm of her hand.
From then on itâd been a whirlwind of going out to dinner, taking rides on his motorcycle, fucking in his childhood bedroom at his parentâs house â a bedroom sheâd decided she was moving into just a week after they met considering sheâd been practically homeless. Jasonâs an asshole but theyâve been inseparable ever since that night at the bar, and when he started talking about how heâs running part of the club going in Vegas and heâd be going back up there in a few weeks to really get it all started, itâs been a no brainer â Reina had every intention of going to Vegas with him.
But now she wonders if this might all be a mistake.
Itâd be so easy to get out of there and run, to sneak over to his brotherâs room and climb down the trellis on the side of the house. To catch a bus to New Orleans and figure her shit out from there. All she has to her name is a bag with barely anything in it and the clothes on her back, though, and the thought of going to New Orleans without a plan is much more terrifying than going to Las Vegas with one.
âI swear to fucking God, Reinaââ
Her boyfriendâs booming voice is enough to get her moving, down the stairs and out the front door with a smile on her face like she hadnât just been contemplating skipping out the window and running the opposite direction. In her almost eighteen years of life this is the most terrifying choice Reinaâs ever had to make, but itâs one she canât really imagine an alternative to, so she just hopes itâs the right one as she hops on Jasonâs bike and they start the journey up North.
â
MARCH 2020, THE ENDING.
Thereâs been more fighting than usual. Doors slamming, plates shattering, bodies slamming into the wall. He doesnât want to leave, Jason keeps saying. Why would we leave a place that weâve got completely under our thumb?
Because your mother is sick, she always answers. The first few times itâd been relatively calm, but theyâve long since given up the pretense of being able to have a civil conversation. Itâs sick, too, because thereâs a part of Reina that understands why heâd never want to go. They practically control Las Vegas, the MC is both feared and loved and with Jason at the forefront of it, the two of them are as well. Itâs a kingdom and who in Godâs name would ever abandon such absolute power?
Reina never thought she would. She thrives in this environment, in chaos created for the sole purpose of keeping them rolling in piles of money. The way people look at the two of them around here makes her feel like a fucking God, and the complex itâs given her reflects that completely. Who would leave this? The question nags at her every time she argues for it, sometimes itâs Jasonâs voice and sometimes itâs the devil on her shoulder but the sentiment is always in the back of her mind.
Then her conscience shows up, that pesky little thing that rarely ever comes out to play in Reinaâs case. To be completely honest, she was never entirely sure she had one until a few months ago when theyâd first gotten the call. The guilt of not being around for Rhea as sheâs slowly deteriorating is greater than anything Reinaâs ever felt before. Maybe she does have a moral compass, and itâs pointing directly towards heading back to Louisiana to be with the rest of their family while this bullshit happens to them. If thereâs one woman in the world that can break down all of Reinaâs walls and have her completely at her mercy, itâs Rhea Thane.
But Reinaâs almost done trying. Sheâs tired of the back and forth, and quite frankly she doesnât know if what sheâs fighting for is even worth it. Does she really care that much about leaving her house and her lifestyle â about leaving Caine, her only solace in this Hell sheâs somehow made a home â enough to get bruises for it? Olympus is a shithole, a tiny little town filled with nothing of interest to her anyway aside from her family, and itâs far from the first place sheâd ever choose to live. At this point, Reina might just be ready to throw in the towel and let her guilt consume her instead.
But somehow itâs like Jason knows sheâs about to give in. After a long stretch of blissful silence that evening, he finally comes upstairs to bed from a phone call Reina had assumed was just about club business he may or may not fill her in on afterwards. But as soon as she sees his face, she knows that isnât what this is about.
âI talked to Ma.â
He looks exhausted. Reina has no sympathy.
âShe was fine and then she just switched up and thought I was Dad. I donât even sound like him.â His father, whoâs been dead for six years â with a gravelly smokerâs voice and violence just in his tone. Reina can see the resemblance. Slowly, Jason drags a hand over his face, as if heâs contemplating his next words but Reina already knows what heâs going to say â she could tell from the moment he entered the room. âWe gotta go down there.â And just like that, itâs settled. After weeks of trying on Reinaâs part, he finally makes one fucking phone call to his mother and suddenly Jason is the patron saint of the Thane family, at her beck and call as soon as he needs her. Maybe they have more in common than she thinks after all.
Thereâs no use in an I told you so, though. No amount of gloating on Reinaâs part will ever make him think heâs been wrong this whole time, so she just lets out a sigh. âGood.â Thatâs all thatâs said before they settle in for bed, the next few days after being dedicated to what Reinaâs been pushing for all this time â theyâre going home.
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Opening the Dive had been a spontaneous decision following his release from prison. Having been in charge within the prison walls of most of the trafficking of goods in and out, toward the end of his tenure, Seth needed a new outlet. Business classes under his belt, the Dive held new ideals and new promises. He would have a side gig in addition to the Club, somewhere where the Club could go to hang out and enjoy themselvesâ as themselves. No more worrying about the owner kicking them out for just wearing their cuts. No more worries about speaking too loudly after-hours where someone would hear them. The Dive was freedom.
Sitting at the Dive wasnât uncommon for Seth, especially these days. Since the fires, heâs been working a lot for the Club rather than his old bar and the impending taxes that he needs to file on the business had him fighting with himself on what he was going to prioritize. After a few hours of working on the documents and tucking them away neatly in a drawer, itâs long passed work hours as he makes his way to the bar leaning over to grab a bottle of whiskey and a glass, pouring himself one. He makes conversation with one of the other members that resides at the bar but itâs short lived. Seth wants to be alone, ignoring the text messages on his phone and a missed call. None of them were urgent, he had checked, and none of them were about what he needed to focus onâ the Rogues.
Back then it was another Club, threatening Olympusâ way of life. It was on Cronus to rid the town of the other intruder, a ruthless man who would kill anyone and everyone in the name of revenge. Maybe he was a better leader than Seth, maybe one that would inevitably save the town in ways that Seth could not. As Sergeant at Arms for Cronus, heâd seen some fucked up shit, done even worse shit, memories reminded him of those things. Sitting to the left of Cronus at the table, Sethâs mouth practically foaming at the thought of being in his seat one dayâ the younger man never couldâve known what it was actually like, not when he was simply a soldier.Â
Whiskey slid down his throat, contemplating the attacks and where the Primordials would go next. A patch over. Which he knows will probably cost him his patch but that was better than costing him his Clubâ wasnât it? They were losing control of the situation and while he hears rumblings from all around him about what he should be doing and how he should be doing better, Seth is sure the stress of the Presidency might kill him before the Rogues did. Seth felt responsible for every single person in the Club, even the ones that he thought were fucking idiots just the same as the ones he thought of as friends.Â
Being elected beside two of the Thane brothers was something that Seth had worked his ass off for. In the wake of Cronusâ death, Seth stepped up. He wanted what was best for the Club and he helped hold down the fort while the funeral was planned and a new President would be elected. With Andy as Vice President and Jeremiah as Sergeant at Arms, Seth knew that this was the election that would bring this Club to new heights. Andy had the grit that Seth needed in a VP and Jeremiah had the tactical mind of the Sergeant at Arms that he needed. Sethâ well, Seth had the willpower and the dedication and love for the Club, in ways that others had their families. Sethâs family was the Club and its members.Â
That didnât even count those that were the family of the Club. Theyâd been hurt and that would rest on his shoulders too. Rowan and Iris⊠Injured because the man couldnât find the fucking Rogues. The town he grew up in, up in flames, Seth unable to protect it all. It was a juggling act and one that heâd dropped all the balls on. The protection for the family hadnât worked, the search for the Rogues and what the fuck they were doing here was futile, and now, he sits alone at his bar, contemplating the end. The end of the town? The end of the Club? The end of his Presidency? The end of the line? It was anyoneâs guess at this point.Â
Sitting at the end of the table, staring at his Club, brought a smile to the manâs face. Not a smirk. A smile. Heâd made it. He was in the chair heâd eyed and he was in the seat that held such esteem that itâd made him want to be better. He had to be better. Seth couldnât fail. He was living his fucking dream and no one was going to stop him. Heâd be in a grave before he gave up this feelingâ this pride. Gavel in one hand, he knocks it against the table, calling his first session of church into order, marking the best day of his life.Â
Knowing that your dream was slipping through your fingers brought a fire in his soul and a heaviness on his blackened heart. There was little that Seth loved more than the Club, if anything. He hadnât chosen his mother over the Club, the woman who begged him to be good. He hadnât chosen Emme over the Club, the woman that heâd loved for twenty years, only to watch her walk away. And Seth hadnât chosen himself over the Club, even when heâd lost an eye or gained the scars on his body. He chose the Club. Seth was supposed to have done everything right. He dedicated his whole life and probably whatever the afterlife looked like to that one fucking goal. Seth sighs at the glass in his hand, finishing the whiskey and slamming the glass down, calling this his last drink. Maybe this marked a long line of the worst days of his life.Â
Seth was watching the beginning of an era. All he could do now, is bask in the dream heâd made reality.Â
Seth was watching the end fast-approach. All he could do now was brace for impact.Â
TW: mentions of drinking, drugs, violence and theft
TLDR: Georgia remembers meeting Mal again and marrying him after 5 weeks, leaving her old life behind to make something new with him
Georgia drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she drove home from a meeting in New Orleans. Sheâd dropped Mal at the airport a few days ago, so hopefully heâd be back soon. It was a long ride, and a little bit of her wished she could have gone with him, but she couldnât be in that house again with him. Still, maybe in a few months, they could take a trip like theyâd used to. It would be nice to go and get lost with him again. Georgia had always liked herself better when she was with him, and recreating herself for the past seven years into a woman who could survive being alone hadnât been easy, not when she knew the truth.
The song on the radio switches to something older and familiar that makes her think of crowded bars and Malâs smile. God, they had been so young. Twenty years ago, sheâd just flirted with a guy she liked... thrown herself at him a bit, really. Now here she was, waiting for him to come home to her, his initials tattooed into her skin, and his ring on her finger. A part of wonders, as she sometimes did, if she had known everything that was going to happen if she might have made different choices. A small smile pulls at her mouth. No. The answer was always no. If she was going to hell, sheâd go with the comfort of knowing Mal would be right beside her.
Dallas, TX - August 4th, 2000Â
Georgia checked her reflection in the motel bathroomâs mirror, fluffing her hair and turning slightly to see how she looked. Her hair was getting long again, nearly reaching the middle of her back even when it was all wavy from the Texas heat. Sheâd turned an oversized red bandana into a top, which was something she was pretty sure sheâd stolen from a music video but she couldnât remember which one. Paired with daisy dukes and red lipstick, she thought she looked pretty good, good enough that the bouncers wouldnât give her fake id too thorough of an inspection anyway. Reaching into her backpack, she moves aside her dirty laundry to get at the stacks of cash beneath. Fifteen thousand in cash. God, her last âboyfriendâ had been a special kind of idiot, always talkinâ about conspiracy theories and how heâd been prepped for Y2K even though nothing had actually happened. It had taken practically nothing to starting convincing him that banks couldnât be trusted. Sheâd hoped to wait around for twenty thousand, but sheâd lost her patience with him. This would last her for a good long while. Peeling a few twenties away, she tucks them into her pockets and then stuffs the whole backpack into a hole sheâd made in the boxspring.
The bar was just a few blocks down from the motel and Georgia didnât mind the walk after days spent driving all the way from Kentucky. There were a few shouts, a few catcalls, but she ignored them. She was definitely not looking for a new mark tonight. Tonight, she was happy just to drink and listen to music and not have some man hanging all over her. Some people would probably think she was awfully cynical of men for being just 19 years old, after all sheâd only been dealing with them for five years. Still, those were years sheâd spent dating morons who she only entertained because of their money. That didnât even cover all the other jobs sheâd begun taking up on the side. If she became good enough at being a thief, maybe she could even drop the whole âboyfriendsâ thing. She was very good at it though. Most men were very stupid, hell they didnât even ask her how old she was half the time. For a brief moment, Georgiaâs mind flickers to a moment a few years back, where a boyfriend had mentioned her âtwentiethâ birthday was coming up soon and one of his, for lack of a better term, âfriendsâ had snorted quietly to himself, clearly laughing at the number.
âSomethinâ funny?â sheâd asked, pulling herself up from where sheâd been draped all over Tim, her latest, unwitting victim. The man just looked over at her and shook his head once.
âNot a thing, darlinâ.â heâd said, at least thatâs what heâd said out loud. His eyes had said âbullshit you are turning twentyâ. That man had made her uneasy. Handsome, but he saw too much. Dark eyes, sweet smile. Trouble.Â
She liked trouble.
As sheâd suspected, the bouncers didnât have a problem letting âGeorgia Lyonettâ into the bar tonight, or whatever the hell ID sheâd grabbed. The only stipulation she had with her fake identities was to always use the same first name. If she started creating fake personas every time she went somewhere sheâd never remember who was supposed to call her what. Hopping onto a barstool she flashed a smile at the bartender, glancing briefly behind him at the array of liquor bottles. âHey there.â she said brightly. âJack and coke, please.â. The drink was delivered promptly, and she immediately turned away from the bartender, not interested in small talk. Across the room, on a small raised platform, a band was finishing setting up and the place was really beginning to fill. After downing the first drink pretty quickly, she ordered another and hopped off the barstool to wander around.Â
The band was good, local guys covering the classics so nothing fancy, but fun all the same. A few guys asked her to dance, but she slipped away before they annoyed her and asked twice. Georgia preferred to just stay on the edges of the action tonight, in her own little world as she bobbed and nodded along with the music. Maybe she was thirsty or just getting tipsy, but the drinks were going down smooth. Navigating her way through the crowd, she made her way to the bar, squeezing herself between a couple and some guy in a bikerâs cut so she could order her drink. ââNother jack and coke please. Tall, double.â she added, figuring she might as well save herself a trip. The man beside her laughed quietly and she froze, recognition flaring to life in her mind.
âOf all the gin joints in all the world, huh Peach?â Mal asked. Of course it was him. She didnât even need to turn her head. He was the only person whoâd called her that, as if âGeorgiaâ was too many syllables or something. The smile that appears on her face isnât a conscious choice. She feels... nervous wasnât the right word... excited maybe? Adrenaline was definitely happening. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she rested an elbow on the bar and finally looked at him.Â
âMal Winters.â she said, fighting to control her smirk. âThe fuck are you doing in Dallas?â
âVisiting. Whereâs Tim?â
âHavenât seen him in years.â Georgia admitted casually as her drink was handed to her and she took a sip. Mal adjusted himself to face her a bit more and Georgia felt her heart rate quicken. It wasnât fair for a guy who looks this good to look at her like that. Normally, if she were looking to find a new job sheâd be a bit more sober and a bit less, well, herself. Luckily, she had enough money right now, that she didnât have to pretend to be anyone but her which was good, because she had a feeling Mal could see through her bullshit a little too easily for her liking.
âReally?â Mal said, and his eyes raked over her in a way that made her flustered and proud at the same time. Reaching out, she poked at the cut he was wearing, something she definitely hadnât seen on him two years ago when theyâd met.
âWhatâs this?â she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her dime store hoops dangling from her ears. So he was a biker now... or something like it. A little smile pulled the edge of his mouth up and her eyes got stuck there for a moment.
âItâs nothinâ.â he said easily. Georgia rolled her eyes and moved slightly to get a better look, running her hand over the patch.
âDoesnât look like nothinâ. Looks to me like you like trouble.â she said, biting her lower lip as she smiled at him. Mal shook his head and lifted his beer a bit.
âYeah, well, Iâm drinkinâ with you, arenât I?â he asked. Georgia laughed and shook her head a bit, taking a sip of her own drink. She liked that he thought of her as trouble. Sheâd have been insulted if he thought less.
âIf you want to see real trouble, you should ask me to dance.â she offered, leaning a bit closer. It was nice to flirt for real. It had been a really long time since she had, hell, it might have even been the last time sheâd seen him. Though that flirting had been accidental. Plus, there was the bonus that they already knew the other wasnât exactly an âupstanding citizenâ. The lack of bullshit was refreshing. She didnât need to bat her eyes or pretend that she was a waitress or a student or something innocent and innocuous.Â
âDonât tempt me with a good time, Peach.â Mal said.
âDonât tell me what to do, Mal.â she countered, flagging down the bartender who made a motion to say heâd be right there.
âYeah? You not into beinâ bossed around?â he asked, sounding amused.
âNot when Iâm standing.â she said with a playful smirk before turning and ordering two shots of whiskey, handing over some money as she did. It was getting to that time in the night where she had to lean forward and practically shout to be heard, but she didnât mind.Â
âSo when you say you wanna dance, dâya mean the horizontal fuckinâ tango?â Mal asked, and Georgia couldnât help the laugh that burst out of her, glancing over her shoulder to look at him.
"Maybe I mean both. Jesus, there's no fuckinâ subtlety to you, is there?" she asked, tipping her head and studying his face. He tipped his in return and narrowed his eyes a bit.
âWould yaâ like me more if there was?â
âWho says I like you now?â
Mal shrugged his shoulders. âGuess Iâm just being optimistic. I mean, if you wanna prove me right, go ahead.â he offered.
Georgia rolled her eyes and grabbed the shots as they were delivered. "Drink with me. Dance with me. Then I'll decide if I like you or not." she said, handing one of the shot glasses to him, her heart rate only increasing when her fingers grazed his. Mal nodded his head.
âYes maâam.â he said. They both knocked the whiskey back easily before Georgia took his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. She was pretty sure he knew it was just an excuse to have his arms around her for a bit while they drank and pretended like they both didnât know how this would go. There was no doubt in her mind that she was gonna try to take him back to where she was staying tonight. Crushes werenât things she had often, and couldnât remember the last one sheâd had, but she had a feeling thats what she was feeling. As his hands settled on her waist and she wrapped hers around his neck, pressing her body closer, she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks and her breath hitched a bit as she remembered to breath. âYou good, Peach?â Mal asked, smiling down at her.
âDo I not look good?â Georgia asked, wondering if there was going to be a point tonight where she stopped answering his questions with questions, but it probably wasnât going to be anytime soon. She was having too much fun.
âI donât recall sayinâ otherwise, sweetheart.â he said, tightening his grip on her as they swayed to the song. It was one of those old, country classics that she usually didnât care for but everything sounded good when it was mixed with Malâs laugh and the way he spoke to her. They danced, they drank and eventually she took him back to her motel. It was just going to be one night, maybe two, and then she could savor the memory of it the next time she was lying beneath some idiot, letting him pretend he was rocking her world while she planned how she was going to rob them blind.Â
Somewhere in Arizona - September 4th, 2000
Georgia paced a bit out front of a gas station, stretching her arms above her head and rolling out the knots in her back from the hours on the back of Malâs bike. Sheâd abandoned her piece of shit car back in Dallas, technically. It hadnât exactly been on purpose, since sheâd made the choice after a night of drinking and blowing lines with Mal. Georgia had only meant to get him tangled in her sheets for a night, but then that had turned into breakfast, and another roll around at his place, then more drinking, then some drugs. She kept waiting for him to leave, or for herself to get bored... but it hadnât happened yet. It had been four, shit almost five weeks since sheâd run into him and now she was somewhere in Arizona waiting while he went to get cigarettes. They were nearly inseparable. Her backpack with all her things and all her money were latched securely to his bike. They spent the days driving around and the nights at whatever motel they wound up in, drinking and laughing and kissing. It felt like freedom.
It was safe to say they were obsessed with each other. Georgia smiled to herself as she tried to detangle her hair a bit with her fingers while she waited for him. The tangles were as much from the wind as from Malâs hands and the bed theyâd crawled out of this morning. Distracted with her own thoughts her eyes lingered on his bike and the smile just widened. She didnât notice someone approaching her until they were in front of her.
âYou like motorcycles?â the guy asked, looking her up and down. Georgiaâs smile tightened and lost some itâs sparkle as she looked at the guy.
âI do. Yeah.â she told him. The guy rested his hands on the handlebars and grinned at her.
âI could give you the ride of your life.â he offered, his eyes more focused on her body than the bored look on her face.
âYou want me on that bike of yours? With you?â Georgia asked, playing dumb and tipping her head to the side. The guy laughed a little.
âBaby, I-â the guy said, but he stopped suddenly, his eyes moving off of Georgia to someone else. The strong arm that slipped around her shoulder and pulled her in closer had her struggling not to burst into laughter.Â
âHe botherinâ you, Peach?â Mal asked, his voice far too casual for her to believe it. Georgia knew if she said âyesâ Mal would probably lay the guy out and God that excited her. It was like having her own personal gladiator by her side at all times and she was getting far too used to it.Â
âBaby, I think we stole his bike.â Georgia said, blinking up at Mal with wide eyes and feigned innocence. Behind his dark sunglasses, Malâs eyebrows raised and his mouth twitched into a small âhuhâ of surprise.
âThis - this is your bike?â Mal said, his voice coated with a mocking disbelief as he took off his sunglasses and then pointed to Georgia. âSo this - this must be your old lady too?â he asked the guy, who was holding up his hands and stuttering out some kind of excuse. âOld lady?â Georgia thought. She was hardly his old anything seeing as theyâd been doing this just about a month. Georgia leaned up and said softly but still loud enough for the interloper to hear,Â
âWasnât his name I was screaminâ last night, baby.â
She then took the sunglasses and smokes out of Malâs hands, knowing he was probably just gonna drop them in a minute anyway. He was already stepping forward.Â
âIt wasnât? Ah. So that means this is my bike, and this jackass is hitting on my girl?â Mal said. The guy had gone from apologizing to talking shit, like an idiot, and Georgia just shook her head and smiled as Mal slammed his fist into the guyâs face. The rings on his fingers glinted in the Arizona sunlight with each movement. A thought popped into her mind just then and she shoved the sunglasses onto her face as she ran into the nearly empty shop.
âHelp! They started fighting! Someone is gonna get hurt! You have to stop them.â she shouted pleadingly. The guy behind the counter and some guy that looked like a trucker rushed outside to help. Georgia moved to let them pass and then walked around the counter and popped open the register. Jesus, the lack of security in these places was astonishing. People thought they were only going to be robbed by dudes in ski-masks with a gun in their face. Clearly a shotgun behind the counter was not a fail-proof method against having your shit stolen.
A few moment later she was walking over to Mal who was finally done with his fight. There was some blood on him, but she doubted much of it was his, and he wore it well so it didnât matter much anyway. Georgia waved a finger to signal they needed to get the fuck out. Now. He listened but quirked an eyebrow at her.
âThey call the cops?â he asked quietly as he threw a leg over the bike.
âNo but theyâre gonna.â she said, climbing on behind him.
âI just loosened some teeth, maybe broke his nose, nothing that bad.â Mal grumbled. Georgia leaned up so she could whisper directly in his ear.
âI just robbed the till.â she admitted. Mal burst into laughter as he started up the bike and peeled away, and didnât stop laughing until they were miles away from the place.
Later that night, outside a motel theyâd rented with the stolen cash, they sat on the curb and split a cigarette and a six pack, watching the traffic and the stars. Georgiaâs hair was once again a mess of tangles and her face was a bit flushed from what theyâd just done.Â
âYou know earlier today, you called me your âold ladyâ.â Georgia noted, glancing at him only briefly as she took a drag and passed the cigarette back to him.
âMhmm.â Mal hummed as he finished the cigarette and stubbed the end of out beneath his boot. He took a moment to exhale before turning to look her over, curious. âSomethinâ wrong with that?â
Georgia smirked but rolled her eyes. âIâm not your old lady âtil thereâs a ring on this finger.â she said, wiggling the fingers on the hand that wasnât currently holding her beer bottle. Georgia liked the idea of keeping Mal, but that didnât seem likely. So she just wanted to wring every drop of happiness out of this time while they had it.
âYeah?â Mal asked, his tongue running over his teeth as he looked out at the highway and the empty fields beyond it. âHowâs about I put one there?âÂ
Georgia snorted and shook her head, and then glanced at him, waiting for the punchline but it didnât come. Her eyebrows pulled together and she blinked at him for a moment before finding her voice. âQuit fuckinâ around. You donât want to marry me.â she said, shoving him lightly.
âWhy not?â Mal asked, taking a sip of his beer. Georgia opened her mouth to tell him exactly why, but she couldnât think of any reasons. He knew basically everything already, maybe not all the details, but enough. Mal knew where sheâd come from, and how sheâd survived and how she worked. He knew how she liked her coffee and that she always liked to sleep with one leg out from the covers and that she finished her showers with a blast of cold water. If he already knew all that, and asked anyway...
âI donât know.â Georgia admitted. Taking a moment to have another sip of her beer she shrugged a shoulder. âAre you sayinâ you want to marry me?â she asked, her heart beating a bit harder as she tried to act calm.
âMaybe. You sayinâ yes if I ask?â he asked with an impish grin curling the corner of his mouth as he turned his head to look at her. Georgia turned and smirked back at him.
âI think I might... just to see if you actually have the balls to follow through.â she told him. Mal set down his beer and turned to her, running his fingers through her hair and then trailing them down to hold her chin as he looked her in the eye.Â
âAlright. Georgia - whatever your real last name is. Donât matter. Itâll be Winters soon.- Fuck the formalities. Marry me.â he said. Georgia just blinked at him for a moment, waiting for him to laugh or to say he was joking but he didnât and she smiled.
âYeah. Okay. I will.â she agreed. Mal smiled and kissed her hard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, forgetting about everything that wasnât him
Las Vegas, NV - September 9th, 2000
Five days later, she was standing in front of Mal wearing a white sundress sheâd picked up the day before, slipping a gold band onto his finger and promising sheâd love him forever. It was the first time sheâd told him that she loved him and she meant every word. The life sheâd had before him felt like a bad dream and sheâd woken up to find herself safe in his arms. A life without him in it wasnât something she ever wanted to experience ever again. Georgia Morgan was long gone now, along with all the other identities sheâd taken. She was Georgia Winters and it just felt right, like this is who sheâd always been meant to be. Someone said to âkiss the brideâ and Georgia pulled Malâs head down with a stupid grin on her face. No more cons, no more faking being in love. Whatever came next, she and Mal would do it together.
Oliver has always been one who had the strange desire to be brand new when the new year came around. Heâd stare into the face of his own reflection and claim some newfound acceptance and confidence, swearing by all thatâs bright and colorful in him that he will never harm himself by restricting his personality or interests ever again. But this never seems to stick, which always tends to make every sense of development crumble instantly.
So Oliverâs learned not to give himself New Years Resolutions. In fact, he hasnât given himself any for many years. Though, this year was different. The start of a new decade seems detrimental to Oliver and something he wants to take hold of in a firm grip this time. He has a blunt but sincere list in regards to what heâd like to accomplish this year and for the rest of this decade. He wrote it in a drunken frenzy in small bursts, but heâs taking it to heart regardless of that. It goes a little something like this:
   Youâre bipolar, get over it
   Get married
   Donât fuck it up
   Accept change
   Be a great father
   A great husband
   LOVE YOURSELF.
   YOU ARE BIPOLAR.
   ITâS FINE.
   youâre fine youâre fine
   Fuck everyone else
   Accept that you are loved
   Stop smoking
This decade, Oliver is hoping to not restrict what makes him so perfectly Oliver Stone. He refuses to feel bad about it either. He will be vibrant, lively, and bursting sparks even if everyone around him whines and complains about it. Heâll accept his mental health struggles, especially his diagnosis, and work on it aside from seeing them as a burden. They arenât a burden and neither is he. Heâll raise a beautiful and vibrant child, just like him, and be an even better husband. Heâll accept that there are people that do in fact love him despite his mind convincing him that heâs simply too much to handle. Oh, and heâll try to stop smoking. No promises.
