A/N: Yup. I'm back already with the next installment of the Kyra/Juice story. I totally fell in love with the characters and had to start writing them again. I have a general idea for where I want this to go, but am just going to write it and see where it goes. Of course, I have no rights to any of Kurt Sutter's characters, just Kyra James.

Kyra

Saturday mornings in Kyra's apartment meant cleaning. It was a habit that carried over from her childhood in Oakland. Every Saturday, her mother would wake up at the crack of dawn and fill their two bedroom apartment with the sounds of Anita Baker, Luther Vandross, Prince, Michael Jackson and Sade; and the smell of Clorox Bleach and Pine-Sol. Getting at the work early was important, as Saturday was the busiest day of the week for hair stylists and she couldn't leave the house until it was spotless. When Kyra was a little girl, Rhonda would let her sleep in or watch cartoons, giving the small task of cleaning her room. As Kyra got older, she took on more of the cleaning responsibilities. By the time she was a teenager, they'd moved into a two-story townhouse and it was Kyra's job to have it spotless from top to bottom by the time Rhonda got home from the salon. Kyra learned quickly that the earlier she started, the sooner she could enjoy her weekend. Now at 26, the practice was so ingrained in her routine that she thought nothing of the alarm that went off every Saturday at 9:30am. She'd simply roll out of bed, slip into stretch pants and a T-shirt, turn on some 90s R&B, and get to work.

Juice usually slept through the first part of her cleaning ritual. He'd been at her place for a month and a half, initially healing from a bullet wound in his lower back. In the last two weeks, he was more mobile. He wasn't back on his Harley or work at Teller-Morrow, but he could walk and drive pretty well. They hadn't officially discussed their living arrangements, but they'd slipped quietly into cohabitation. With one overnight bag at a time, Juice had gone from having a drawer in her bedroom to occupying 50% of her closet and bathroom counter spaces.

Falling into a comfortable routine had been challenging. Sharing space had revealed things about Juice that she hadn't seen in the first three months that they'd casually dated; namely how downright goofy he could be. Once he regained some mobility, Kyra would come home to a new catastrophe at least twice a week. There was the day that he'd mistakenly put Dawn dish liquid in the dishwasher as opposed to using the dish powder and had the entire kitchen floor covered in suds when she walked in the door. Then, there was the time toward the end of his recovery when cabin fever had set in and he'd decided to take apart various electronics throughout the apartment because he wanted to see how they worked. Her blender, hair dryer, and the Nintendo Wii had all fallen prey to his curiosity that day and though he'd put everything back together perfectly, coming home to mangled appliances had still rattled her nerves. He'd also rewired her satellite service in a way that somehow allowed her to have all of the premium channels and free wireless Internet. "Babe. You're already a convicted felon," she'd said once she calmed down. "Let's not draw unnecessary attention by stealing cable."

Kyra sang along to TLC as her yellow rubber glove-covered hands pushed a soapy sponge inside of her stove. As she worked, she heard a knock on her door. Tara had called to say that she'd be at the apartment to check on Juice in about twenty minutes and when Kyra glanced up at the clock, and forty minutes had gone by since then. "Mommy troubles?" Kyra asked when she opened the door to a frazzled-looking Tara. Since the night of Juice's shooting, Tara made weekly visits to monitor his progress, which allowed them to develop a friendly relationship. "I'm glad you decided to stick around," Tara said on her first visit. Kyra knew exactly what she'd meant. It would be good to have a female presence in SAMCRO who wasn't a Crow Eater, porn star, or overbearing matriarch.

"Yeah," the doctor gave a small sigh as she smiled. "Ever had breakfast with a ten month old and a two year old?"

Kyra imagined splotches of baby food soaring across her kitchen and loud wails vibrating against the walls. She shivered. "Say no more." She motioned toward the kitchen table. "Wanna have a seat? Have some coffee? Juice is still in the shower so you've got a minute to chill."

Tara collapsed into the chair and Kyra placed a cup and the coffee pot in front of her. She watched the tired woman pour coffee and wondered how Tara managed it all. Two kids. Her job as a surgeon. Taking care of Jax. Acting as the club's unofficial medic. And then Kyra wondered for the millionth time, how she'd fit into this picture once Juice was back to the swing of things in SAMCRO. Tara sipped her coffee,"So where's he at this week, as far as his mobility?"

Kyra flashed back to the previous evening. He'd been healthy enough to have sex for the last three weeks, but last night had been the first time since the shooting that he'd been aggressive in his movements. In the weeks following his injury, Juice was limited in what he could do below his waist, but he more than made up for it with his hands and tongue. He treated her body like one of the appliances in the apartment that fascinated him so; carefully testing and studying every inch and making mental notes about the reactions he received. He learned which spots liked pressure and which spots needed a softer touch. He knew which reflexes meant "go faster," "slow down," and "Oh my God, please don't move." It was like she was one of his video games for which he'd learned the cheat code, because he could press here, lick there and send her to heaven and back on command. Nonetheless, it'd felt good to have him back in top form in the bedroom. "He's good," she finally answered, a sly grin sliding across her lips.

"Well," Tara replied with a smirk, "if he isn't too sore this morning after putting that kind of...um...strain...on his back muscles, then he should be good to go."

Thank God, Kyra thought. Having him out of the house during the day meant a smaller likelihood of him wrecking the joint. "And how are you doing?" Tara asked. "With him and everything?"

"Right now? It's fine," Kyra said. And it was. With Juice in recovery, he hadn't been active with SAMCRO, which meant that Kyra didn't have to deal with the club too much. She still saw Gemma when she went to TM on business for Elliott, and the matriarch had stopped scowling at her, which was progress. She hadn't had much contact with the guys. They called the apartment occasionally and she noticed that they'd gone from tentatively asking to speak to Juice to greeting her with a friendlier "Hey Kyra. Your old man around?" The greeting always brought Kyra back to reality: that while she was perfectly comfortable as his girlfriend, she still had to get into the business of being his old lady. "We'll see how the rest goes once he's back into the swing of things."

Juice

"Well look who finally got his walking papers," Bobby greeted Juice as he bounced into the clubhouse. It wasn't his first time back since the shooting, but it was his first day back on his bike and back to work full-time in the garage. He'd never been a morning person, but he'd beat Kyra's 7:30am alarm by an hour that morning. He wanted to make sure she had time to fulfill his special pre-work request. One hour. Three rounds. Each with her pinned to the mattress while he stroked her. Fast. Slow. Gentle. Rough. By the time they finished, he'd brought her to the edge a record five times. Left her sweaty and breathless with the hair that she'd taken great pains to straighten the night before, a frizzy mess all over her head. When his woman, who was usually anal to the point of bitchiness about her hair, whipped the mess into a bun with a giddy smile on her face, Juice knew that he'd done his job.

The ride to work had been equally satisfying. The wind at his face, the engine roaring in his ears, the road disappearing beneath him. All of it felt like fresh oxygen, breathing a life into his body that he'd missed for the last month and a half. These very simple things: properly fucking his girlfriend and riding his bike, reminded him that he was a man and not the helpless child he'd been in Kyra's apartment during his recovery. It reminded him too much of Stockton, being so restricted, and he found that if he didn't keep his mind busy, he'd spend hours reliving those nightmarish fourteen months. His efforts to distract himself had earned him some serious death glares from Kyra and though she never said it, he knew what she was thinking: "What are you? Retarded?" It was a look he knew well from seeing it in the eyes of his brothers. The look hadn't been there this morning though, and that was all that mattered.

"Hey guys," Juice said cheerfully, accepting hugs and handshakes from Bobby, Koz, Chibs, and Tig.

Koz landed a playful slap on the back of his head. "Took ya long enough to get back, shithead. What happened? Beyonce wouldn't let you out of the house?"

"I don't blame ya, kid," Chibs chimed in. "I'd take my time too if I had a li'l lovely like that nursing me back to health."

Tig snorted. "Yeah, I bet she gave you some serious physical therapy. Sure you can handle all that?"

Juice chuckled, his mind going back to his morning at Kyra's. "Hey, hey, hey! I know she's incredibly hot, but that's my old lady you're talkin' about. Save all your dirty thoughts for the sweetbutts." He paused. "And yes. I handle that very well."

"Hey!" Clay's voice boomed over their laughter as he entered the clubhouse. "If you girls are done gossiping, I've got cars in the bays that need to be fixed." He stopped to hug Juice. "Welcome back, kid. Clock in and get to work, but come see me later. I've got some shit I need you to take care of."

Juice worked in the bays, taking new joy in changing oil, rotating tires, and switching out spark plugs in engines. He tore through all of his work, only stopping to occasionally to shoot the shit with hang arounds who stopped to welcome him back to work. He was still in a deep zone when Gemma walked up to him in the garage. "Welcome back," she said, pulling him in for a hug.

Here it was. The grilling that he tried to avoid when he first pursued Kyra. He knew that she'd questioned Kyra at the clubhouse about their relationship the night he was shot. Being away for a month and a half had prolonged the interrogation. Now, he was cornered. "Hey Gem," he said with an easy smile. He wanted to keep the exchange as quick and light as possible.

"Talk to you for a minute?"

He laughed. As if he actually had a choice. "Sure, wassup?"

She folded her arms and leaned against the '99 Ford Taurus that Juice was working on. "So you and Neeta's niece... you guys the real deal?"

He looked down, kicking a stray lug nut with the front of his boot. She's not gonna take you seriously if you act like a pussy. He forced his eyes to meet hers as he nodded his head. "Yup. Looks that way."

Gemma shook her head. "I don't see it. The suit. The nine to five. She seems a little uptight for the shit that goes on around here, don't you think?"

Juice sighed. "She's not some stuck up yuppie, Gem. She grew up in a tough neighborhood. Knows her way around a gun. She can handle a lot more than you think." He wanted to say more, but hesitated with his thoughts. Fuck it. "I know you're just doing what you've gotta do as Clay's old lady, but she's what I want. And I'm not changing my mind about that."

He could read the surprise on Gemma's face. "Okay," she finally said. "Well, we're doing a club dinner tomorrow night at eight. Bring her. She cook?"

That was easy. "Yeah."

She nodded. "Good. Tell her to be at the house at seven with a dish. She wants to be an old lady? She's gotta help in the kitchen."

"I'll let her know," Juice said before Gemma walked away. As he returned to the Ford, he realized that dinner with the club was the tip of the iceberg for Kyra. Part of him was thankful that she had time to get adjusted during a relatively quiet time for SAMCRO. The other part wondered how long it'd be before she'd get an emergency crash course.