#samcrow

Chibs Telford, perched on a stool like a wiry, watchful gargoyle, barely looked up from the bike magazine he was pretending to read. "Aye, well, they're not exactly Royal Doulton, are they, Maeve?" He grunted, his Glaswegian accent a low rumble. "Been through more scraps than half the prospects."

Maeve chuckled, a sound like gravel rolling downhill. She tossed the offending mug into a bin overflowing with similar casualties of clubhouse life. "True enough. This place… it eats crockery like it eats souls."

She reached for the kettle, her movements economical and practiced. The clubhouse kitchen, usually a chaotic hub of activity, was strangely quiet. Most of the Sons were out on a run, leaving Maeve, the indomitable matriarch of the Teller-Morrow garage, and Chibs, always the silent sentinel, in a rare moment of semi-peace.

Maeve poured boiling water into two mugs – both, of course, chipped. Hers had a crescent moon missing from the base, a battle scar from an unknown kitchen skirmish. Chibs’s, his preferred vessel, had a small, almost affectionate divot near the handle, smoothed by years of his thumb resting there.

"Tea?" she offered, pushing one across the worn counter.

Chibs nodded, still feigning disinterest in his magazine, but his hand reached out instinctively. He took a slow, deliberate sip. "Aye. Strong. Just how I like it."

Maeve leaned against the counter, nursing her own mug. The silence stretched, comfortable and familiar. They’d known each other for decades, since before Jax was a twinkle in JT’s eye. Maeve had been a fixture in Gemma’s life, a blunt, no-nonsense confidante, and by extension, a steady, if sometimes exasperated, presence for the club. Chibs, for his part, had always respected Maeve, a woman who saw the truth of things and wasn't afraid to speak it, even to the most hardened biker.

"Heard about that Mayans business," Maeve said, breaking the quiet. Her eyes, shrewd and knowing, flickered to Chibs. "Sounds messy."

Chibs grunted again. "It's always messy, Maeve. That's the life." He took another sip, his gaze drifting towards the grimy window that looked out onto the garage. "Sometimes I think these mugs, they're like us, eh? Full of cracks, a bit battered, but still holdin' on."

Maeve looked at her chipped mug, then at Chibs's. A small smile played on her lips. "Aye, Chibs. Still holdin' on. And still good for a cuppa."

She pushed herself off the counter, picking up a sponge. "Right, well, these ain't gonna wash themselves. And I'm not waiting for Happy to lick 'em clean."

Juice has been arrested, you haven’t seen him in months. The only sanity you would get is the one phone call a day you’d get from him. You knew if you didn’t get a call he was in trouble. It didn’t take much to provoke the Puerto rican into a fight. You knew he still stood beside the club even in jail. 

The home you both created together felt loner by the day. You weren’t used to being alone like this. Every since the day you’ve met you both where obsessed with each other. And that again was toxic in to own ways. 

But you’d like to say you both grew up, for the most part. But right now you felt like you where being drained as you missed him more and more each day. 

That is until one day Jax came to your door. The club would check on you here and there for Juice. He was family, and you where his old lady so you where family. 

“How you been darlin?” Jax asked knowing exactly how hard this is for you and especially how hard this was for Juice. 

“I’m hanging in you know.” You sighed. It’s been over a week since Juice was able to call you last. 

“Do you know if he’s okay? I haven’t heard from him in a little?” You asked really hoping to get some news.

“I can’t say much, but the club is working with a certain agent. The charges are going to get dropped on Juice if we give them a bigger fish to fry if you know what i mean.” Jax told you not trying to give out too many details. He didn’t want to get you involved in anything dangerous. 

“When?” You asked with so much hope. 

“I don’t know yet, But you’ll be the first person to know.” He said. 

“Did you want to go visit him?” Jax asked letting the bigger news slip. Juice was on a strict no visitors list. Not even the club. 

“I thought-” You started but Jax cut you off. 

“I told you we’re getting him out.” Jax said with one last smile. 

Before you knew it later that week you where on your way to the state prison with Jax. You felt so nervous, you haven’t seen him in 7 months. You haven’t talked to him either, he had no idea what was going on. 

You walked through the old prison with Jax and an agent as well as two cops. You felt so nervous, almost as nervous as when you both went on your first date together. 

The agent went with Jax some where while the 2 prison officers escorted you to the yard. You where so confused but didn’t question it. You assumed they where on Samcrow payroll now. That when your heart stopped when you saw Juice. 

He stood in the yard shirtless. You almost didn’t recognize him standing there. He looked different. The guards brought you past getting attention from a few prison mates. I guess that’s why Jax made you dress in a pencil skirt and blouse. I’m suppose to pretend to be a agent. You watched in the corner of your eyes as the other guard left to the court yard straight to Juice, telling him to come with. 

“I didn’t do shit.” Juice grumbled trying to shrug off the guard. 

“You have a hearing with Agent Smith.” the guard said making Juice even more pissed. The longer he’s in here the more on edge he is. 

“Who tf is Agent Smith.” Juice grumbled as he let the guard pull him into a investigation room. Juice could feel something was off, the guard didn't even bother cuffing him. He sat at the table waiting, he notice the camera wasn't on either. The door slowly opened and you stepped in the room.

“Y/N?” Juice asked standing right up. He couldn’t believe it was you. The second you heard him say your name you felt tears in your eyes. 

“Juice.” You let out before running into his arms. He held on to you even tighter. 

“Baby what are you doing here?” He said pressing kisses anywhere he could. He hasn’t had you in his arms for way to long.

“Jax told me to give this to you. You need to get this information to the Niners inside. Their going to get you out.” You said pulling away holding his face in your hands. Your thumb running over the stubble on his cheeks. He looked so different. His signature mohawk was gone, he had a full head of hair that you’ve never sen before. He had dark circles under his eyes, new wrinkles making him look older almost. He lost a lot of weight too. He wasn’t the beefy biker outlaw. 

“Baby how are you?” you asked him your eyes searching his. He looked so broken and it killed you because there was nothing you can do to fix this. 

“Don’t worry please.” He said as he held on to your wrist. He knew he looked like shit. He didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror some days. 

“This isn’t my Juice.” You whispered as your hands made their way down his bare chest. How can he tell you not to worry about him. He was your whole life. 

“I miss you so much.” He said pulling you closer into his arms. He didn't wait any longer before crashing his lips down on yours. He wasn't sure how much time he had with you so he had to take advantage of what he did have. 

“I love you.” You mumbled into the kiss now feeling too eager. You didn’t care about anything else but holding on to him. His hands roamed your body still remember every single inch of you.

It didn’t take much longer before Juice had you bent over the table. It wasn't the most romantic moment but this all he had to work with. And this long without you brought out the worst in him. 

“Juice!” You yelled your legs quivering as you did your best to hold on to the table as Juice rammed inside of you. The pencil skirt was hiked up giving him easy access to any of you.  His large hands grasped tightly on your bum as if he was holding on for dear life. 

“Shit baby.” He groaned with one last thrust before you both reached your high. Juice didn’t even care how unsafe you just where. He didn't give a second though to pull out. He lend over you placing kisses over your exposed shoulder as he admired the mess you where. 

“ I love you.” He whispered as he helped you up. Your eyes still had a lustful gaze in them as you watched him. He pulled your skirt back down and fixed your blouse. 

“You better come home to me soon Juan Carlos.” You stated as you heard a knock on the door. You pulled out a folded envelope from your purse giving it to Juice. 

“ I’ll be home before you know it.” He said leaning down to kiss you one last time. It was a slowly longing kiss. 

The guard walked in the room and nodded his head. 

He grunted, feigning complete absorption in the greasy machinery. "Naw, I'm just… busy, lass."

A slender hand, surprisingly strong, rested on his shoulder. "Busy for the last three days? Your phone's been on silent, you've been disappearing for 'supply runs' that take hours, and you haven't so much as grunted a hello when I've walked past." Her voice was low, a dangerous purr that hinted at the steel beneath the velvet.

Chibs finally straightened, wiping his hands on a rag, though he avoided her gaze. He stared instead at a smudge on the concrete floor. "Just been a lot goin' on, that's all."

"Oh, I'm sure there has been," Maeve said, her tone dripping with mock understanding. She stepped around him, forcing him to meet her eyes. Those dark, intelligent eyes, usually sparkling with a mischievous glint, were narrowed now, a hint of hurt lurking beneath the irritation. "Like avoiding the conversation we need to have about… well, you know."

He did know. He knew exactly. It was about the night a week ago, after a particularly tense club meeting, when the whisky had flowed a little too freely and the lines between friendship and something else entirely had blurred. He’d woken up with a pounding headache and a knot of regret in his gut, convinced he’d messed things up irrevocably. He wasn't exactly sure what "things" were, but he knew they were important.

"Look, Maeve, I… I didn't mean to—" he started, fumbling for words.

She cut him off, a small, exasperated sigh escaping her lips. "You didn't mean to what, Chibs? Didn't mean to kiss me? Or didn't mean to make me think it meant something?"

His gaze finally snapped to hers, a flicker of genuine alarm in his blue eyes. "It did mean somethin', lass! That's the bloody problem!" He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I just… I didn't want to mess things up with us. We got a good thing, you and me. And I'm no' good at… this." He gestured vaguely between them, his cheeks colouring faintly.

A small smile played on Maeve's lips, softening the hard lines of her face. "No, you're not," she agreed, her voice losing its edge. "But neither am I, Chibs. And for the record, avoiding me is definitely messing things up. Worse than anything else you could have done."

She stepped closer, closing the small gap between them. "So, are you going to keep running, or are you going to tell me what that kiss meant to you?" Her eyes held his, steady and unwavering, challenging him.

Chibs looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw not just the sharp, capable woman who ran the books and held her own among the Sons, but the vulnerability beneath, mirroring his own. He took a deep breath, the scent of vanilla and grease filling his lungs. "It meant… a lot, Maeve. More than I expected. And that scares the hell out of me."