A/N: This fic begins with Season 1 (2008), Episode2, "Seeds." Starting there simply because it is my favorite episode ever. Who couldn't love Chibs in this episode? Some small changes, but nothing major. This story will be told completely from the O/C's point of view. If she isn't there or told about it, it won't be mentioned. We won't be in anyone else's head. Sorry, that's just my style - first person, present tense. I don't use a beta or a pre-reader, so if I screw up too badly, let me know. Nicely, please. I love reviews, love them, but I won't beg for them. I may remind you a time or two, though. Rated M because, well, you'll see. So, I hope you enjoy!
"Shit. Where the hell? Fucking maps. Shit!" Heavy sigh. I hate California. If I had any sense in my head I would have invested in GPS technology. Fucking Garmin, Tom Tom, something. If I had any sense I would not be driving aimlessly over these damn central-Cali hills in the dark. If I had any blessed sense at all, I would still be sitting on the sand in Virginia trying to catch the eye of a cocky Navy pilot or maybe a bat-shit crazy Marine instead of rolling in the general direction of a new beginning, fresh start, whatever the hell I thought I was running toward when I left home. But no, not me. No fucking sense, no GPS, no sandy Southern beach, just an apparently doomed need to reach the next dot on the map, the next place that isn't where I came from, the next mile farther away from everything I left behind. Son of a bitch. I'm lost. In more ways than I can count.
I finally stop banging on the steering wheel, and try to calm the fuck down. If I get this riled up every time I get lost in this state, both the wheel and my hands will be broken before I find the highway again. Pitching the crumpled and confusing maps off my lap without actually doing any further damage to them, I eye the gas station I'm parked in front of. I hate asking for help. Especially in nearly empty gas stations in the middle of Bum Fuck, Nowhere. But, no choice. I have no idea where I am.
The glaring fluorescent lights shoot through my pupils like ice picks as I walk through the glass doors of the convenience store. A quick scan of the small space reveals only a clerk reading the paper and some juice head who must belong to the red muscle car outside, the only other car in the lot. He gives me the once over, too, before he rounds the corner on his way to the fountain drinks. Dream on, Crew Cut.
"Hey, how ya doin'?" I ask the clerk. He eyes me suspiciously from behind his plexiglas cage. What, are people not nice in California? "I'm a little lost. Actually, I am totally lost. Can you help me get back to the interstate? I'm trying to get to-"
"You buy something, yes? Then I tell you the way."
"Are you serious?" Prick!
The only answer I get is a smug stare, so I guess I'm buying something. Again, no choice. I need directions. Of course, I could ask Crew Cut, but no. Don't think so. A little Mountain Dew never killed anyone, not quickly at least, so I'll just get a bottle of that. Before I get to the soda case, the bell above the door dings.
Holy shit.
The black leather cuts catch my attention first. Funny, I didn't hear any bikes. No complaints, though. Lord have mercy, I do love a man in leather. Especially one that looks like that. If Blondie would move the hell out of the way, I could get a better look. There's just something about a tall guy, you know? Dressed all in black, sunglasses on his forehead at eleven at night, scanning the room like he's casing the joint and doesn't care who knows it. His eyes land on me, and I somehow manage not to look away. He gives me a grin as he leans on a display case. I'm so caught up in his scarred face that I almost miss Blondie making his purposeful way past me. Almost. The Sons of Anarchy reaper on the back of his cut kind of grabs my attention.
"Oh, holy shit," I say, maybe a little louder than I wanted to because I seem to have been heard by Hot Scarred Guy. He gives a little jerk of his head toward the door. I don't need to be told twice.
I can already hear Blondie beating down Crew Cut, saying something about being cut off. Forgetting that I don't know where the hell I am or where the fuck I'm going, I think it's a pretty damn good idea to get back in my Jeep. I try to hurry to the front of the Food Mart and end up trailing behind Hot Scarred Guy. Is it wrong that I find the time to check out his ass? Nice, by the way. He stops to stare down the clerk who quickly skirts around him. Bending down behind the counter to grab what looks to be the security tape, he raises his head a bit and throws me a wink. Badass and flirty. Too bad we have to cross paths just as I feel the need to run far away.
"What are you doing? What are you doing?" the clerk shouts, hot on Blondie's tail as he whips back around the corner, Crew Cut nowhere to be seen.
I'm close to the doors now and the badass winker grabs my arm to pull me the rest of the way. Commanding grasp but not painful. Why do I notice that? What I should be noticing is Crew Cut, bloody and pissed, coming up behind the clerk.
"Why don't you come at me now, asshole," he yells at Blondie just as he raises and fires a gun. Figures. This is pretty much how my day has gone.
Blondie and the clerk manage to duck while all I seem to be able to do is stare down that barrel. All of a sudden I find myself on the floor, locked in the arms of Hot Scarred Guy. Who also now has a gun. And hard muscles. And smells great. What is wrong with me?
Blondie jumps up and tackles Crew Cut while the badass beneath me screams, "Jacks! Jacks!" All while raising and aiming his gun, maneuvering us both into a better position on the floor. All of his effort becomes a moot point when the clerk buries a fire axe into the back of Crew Cuts head. Yeah, that stops shit pretty effectively.
We've ended up sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the counter at the front of the store. I'm between his legs leaning back against him, and, all things considered, there are worse places I could be. I mean, sure, he's holding a gun and there's a dead guy with an axe in his head on the floor beside me, but I guess I could have been standing in front of those glass doors when the bullet exploded them.
"You okay, Jackie Boy?" Oh, fuck me running, Hot Scarred Guy is actually Hot Scottish Guy. At least, I'm pretty sure that's a burr and not a brogue. Either way, the universe is playing all of my weaknesses against me. I'm a panting bitch for an accent. Damn.
I look back at the shattered doors and see two more hotties in black leather standing there, looking upon the scene in disbelief, confusion, and extreme interest. Pretty sure they'll be wanting to get the full story from their friends. Blondie surveys all the chaos - me, the clerk, the dead guy - and says, "Holy shit."
"Yeah, that's what I said." I'm speaking before I even realize I'm thinking the words. I realize it now, what with three pairs of gangster eyes turned my way. Whatever. It's not like I'm hiding down here.
"Aye, I heard ya, love. Ya should have moved faster out the door," Hot Scottish Guy says from behind me as he helps us both stand. So tall. Six feet? Maybe six-one.
"I think you're right."
"Aw, shit. Don't tell Chibs he's right. We'll never hear the end of it," the Mohawked dude at the door laughs.
"Chibs?" I ask, shifting to look my rescuer in the eye.
"Aye," he smirks after shooting Mohawk a dirty look. Guess I wasn't supposed to know his name.
"Josie," I tell him, stepping a little closer. "Thanks for not letting me get shot, Chibs."
And then I get up on tiptoes and kiss him. On the lips. Just like that. I mean, hell, if you can't kiss a tall, hot, Scottish badass after he saves your life, when can you? And hell if he isn't kissing me back. He did have to bend down for me to reach his mouth. Score. No tongue, but still. I lowered myself back down and caught sight of those eyebrows of his raised high. A few quiet catcalls sounded, and I'm pretty sure one of the guys said something to the effect of Chibs sharing the reward.
"You're very welcome," he says, smiling at me again.
I give him a smile back and turn away, informing them all, "Guess I'll be heading out, boys. Have a good night."
Before I take two steps, I feel another hand on my arm, this one not as gentle as Chibs's had been.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Blondie looks a little pissed.
"Um, I am getting the hell outta here. In case you haven't noticed, there's dead guy with a fuckin' axe in his brain over there. Little creepy, Blondie."
He chuckles a little, shaking his head just enough to ruffle his hair. "Sorry, darlin'. You can't leave. The cops will be here soon. You'll have to give a statement."
"Can't really be of any help, though. I ain't see shit, dude." This earns me raised eyebrows again, this time from the blond. Can't really tell if it's from what I said, or the way I said it. The South tends to emerge in my speech when I'm under extreme duress. You know, like when people shoot at me. "There's no tape, either. Chibs took it."
"How do you know that?" Mohawk again.
"I watched him do it," I answer. Shifting my attention back to Blondie, I ask, "Do you really need me to stay? I tend to avoid police when at all possible." I've finally noticed the VP patch on his cut. He's the one who's going to make the decision here.
"You ain't see shit, huh," he says after carefully considering me for a moment.
"That's right." I stand my ground under his gaze. They're all looking at me, I'm sure, but I dare not look away from their leader. Show no weakness, Josie.
"I think I can convince this guy that you were never here," he grins.
"Thanks. Really." I draw a deep breathe. Apparently I had forgotten about oxygen while I waited for him to make up his mind. The guys at the door move out of my way as I open the broken mess of an entrance. One more look over my shoulder at the Scottish hottie, and I leave that clusterfuck behind me.
Until I reach my Jeep, that is.
"FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! SHIT! Are you KIDDING me?" Gotta tell ya, kinda pissed right now.
They all come running in a thunder of boot beats. Then silence. Then bubbling laughter. Assholes.
"This is not FUNNY!" I seethe. "Not funny."
"Oh, shit, girl. One shot and it takes out your radiator. It is so funny. Admit it," the quiet younger blond, the Prospect according to his cut, says.
"You know, when you finally speak, it's all bullshit, kid," I snap, pointing at him. I was going for menacing. Don't get there, I guess, because they all just laugh louder.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
Chibs pipes up, "Call a friend, your daddy or someone."
"Looks like you'll be talking to the cops after all, though," Blondie offers.
"No friends, no family, no daddy here. I'm from outta town," I huff, pacing in front of my fucked up Jeep Cherokee.
"About what I thought," Chibs responds. "And the cops?"
"I can talk to them. I'd just prefer not to. Too nosy, you know? I keep my shit private."
"We know a thing or two about that," Blondie smirks.
"I don't even really know where the hell I am. What fuckin' town is this?" More laughter, of course.
"You're in Morada. Where were you headed?" asks Mohawk.
I take a second before I decide it couldn't hurt to tell them at this point. "Lodi."
"Why there?' inquires the Scot.
"Because I haven't been there yet," I say, giving my best bitch brow.
"Good a reason as any, Josie," he replies, almost appearing intrigued.
As he finishes speaking, we hear the completely unwelcome sound of sirens. I glance up to Chibs just because I can't seem to help myself only to find him looking at me, too. I give a half-hearted grin and turn to face the incoming inquisition.
**SOA**
It's my turn to talk to the cop these guys seem to know quite well. Blondie walks him over to where I'm sitting on the curb in front of the store. The coroner pushes a gurney past us. I am oddly relieved to see that they have removed the axe.
"Trammel, this is Josie. Be nice to her; she's had a rough night."
"Hello, Miss…" The cop looks at me expectantly.
"Dean. Josie Dean."
"Can you tell me what happened here tonight, Miss Dean?"
"Um, I was lost - I don't read maps very well. I stopped here, since it was the only place I saw in this wasteland, to get directions. Before the guy could tell me how to get back on the interstate, Crew Cut there started shootin' up the place," I explained, pointing at the dead guy on the swiftly rolling gurney. Moving my eyes back to Trammel, I see Chibs moving closer to us with a satisfied grin on his face and a cigarette in his hand. I want that. The cigarette, I mean. Or the sexy Scot. Whichever. "Hey. Can I get one of those?"
"Sure, love." He makes it over and hands me a smoke. I put it between my lips and barely stop myself from licking them when he crouches to light the cigarette. Judging by the quirk of his mouth, I'm pretty sure he knows I was gonna do it anyway. Trammel catches something, too, I think. His eyes do get wider. "Are ya done with Miss Dean?" Chibs asks, but doesn't really ask. Sounds like an order to me.
"Yes, I think I have what I need. Thank you, miss."
"Uh, yeah. You're welcome." And he leaves. Like, gets in his car and leaves. Confused, I ask Chibs, "Is that really it? Seriously?"
"Yeah, darlin'," Blondie answers for him. "Trammel is a friend."
"It's good to have friends," I nod.
"Aye, it is, at that," Chibs says, still very close to me. I don't mind. "You did well."
"Thanks. It's not exactly my first time in a shitty situation. I had friends, too." No fucking clue why I just told him that.
"Friends like us?" He tilts his head to get a clearer view of my eyes.
"I knew a guy," I tell him. It's the best I can give him. He leans back to ponder my answer.
"What're you gonna do now, Josie?" the Prospect asks.
"Wish I knew, Prospect. Call a tow, I guess. No idea after that."
"We can send a tow for you," offers Mohawk.
"Huh?"
"We work at a garage. We can send our truck out here. We're only one town over, in Charming," he explains
"Oh. Thanks, Mohawk."
"No problem," he laughs along with the others. "I'm Juice, by the way."
"Okay. How is Juice better than Mohawk?" See? I get to laugh now, too.
"Might not be better, but it's what we call him. I'm Jax," Blondie informs me.
"Jacks? Like the child's game?"
"No. Jax, J-A-X. Short for Jackson. And you already know Chibs."
"What about me?' the Prospect whines.
"Your name is Prospect until they tell me otherwise," I say before thinking again. Jax widens his eyes at me.
"She knew a guy," Chibs reminds him.
Blondie shakes his head. "Trouble,' he grins, pointing at me.
"So, I'll be here when the tow arrives. Not like I can go anywhere, right?" I say, quickly moving the topic along.
"Oh., no. Fuck that. You're coming with us," Chibs tells me with no room for argument. I look to Jax, who nods.
"He's right. We are not leaving you out here."
I weigh my choices here. I don't normally go around jumping into cars with four random badass dudes, but I don't usually get shot at either, so it's a day for new experiences. They have already protected me from a dude with a gun and a cop and offered me a tow, so I don't see why they'd start being assholes now. The alternative is to stay here, in the dark, alone. Besides, I don't think they are likely to let that happen anyway.
"Thanks. Can I just grab a few things from my Jeep?"
"Yeah. Go ahead."
As I'm filling my back pack with a change of clothes and my toiletries and grabbing my acoustic, I realize there's something else I have to tell these guys before I get in their car. Shit.
"Uh, Jax? Chibs?"
"Yeah, darlin'?" Jax answers as they both walk my way.
"Uh, I have a, uh, shit. Um…"
"Spit it out, Josie. It's been a long day," Chibs groans in frustration.
"I can't leave my .38 in the truck. There are no numbers on it. They, uh, mysteriously disappeared before I got it. If the cops come back and search my shit, I'm gonna be in deep shit. I was gonna just shove it in my bag, but I thought that might be a bad idea."
"A very fucking bad idea, Josie. You been carrying this whole time?" Jax seems a bit concerned.
"A knife in my boot," I explain as I show them. Carefully. "Gun's in the glove box."
Jax pulls open the passenger door and reaches into the glove box. Finding my gun easily, he inspects it closely. "Nice."
"I like it."
"Why, Josie? Blade in your boot, .38 snub nose in your truck. Who's after you?" The Scot seems to actually be concerned.
"No one. Everyone. I'm a chick on her own on the highway, dude. Any fucker could be a threat. Think tonight proves it, don't you?"
Chibs and Jax both nod, though I'm not sure if either of them is convinced by my bullshit. The VP empties my gun, keeps the ammo, and hands me my useless weapon.
"You can keep the knife. You wouldn't be able to get it out of your boot before we stop you." he sighs and looks at Chibs then back at me. "You did right by telling us."
"Thanks," I whisper, clutching my guitar case.
"This all you need?"
"Yeah, Chibs. For tonight, today, whatever." I step closer to him, hoping I haven't pissed him off with my firepower. He just looks at me. I don't know what that means.
"Sack!" Jax yells, making me jump and making Chibs laugh at me. Shit's getting old. "Come get her shit and put it in the trunk. Time to go home."
**SOA**
"I swear to God, the next time one of you touches my thigh, you're both gonna get stabbed. I promise. I will cut off your balls."
"Half Sack over there only has one ball as it is, Josie."
I swing my head to the right. "Well, Juice, I guess that makes my job easier then, doesn't it?" Tired snickering from all the smelly boys in this busted, janky station wagon. Irritating.
"Hands off, boys."
"Thanks, Chibs." I feel myself drifting off until one of these dumbasses in this crowded back seat touches my left tit. Could be either one of them; we're that jammed. "What the fuck?! No one said you could cop a feel, assholes! Get OFF my boobs!" Giggling. These badass, tough-shit men are giggling about touching booby. "Jax, I'm seriously gonna pull my blade, dude."
"Darlin', you have to stop threatening to pull a weapon on my guys. That shit won't fly. You can punch them in the junk, though, if you want."
"Mkay. Deal. Hear that, you giggling bitches?"
"Come on, Josie. You know you think we're cute."
"Enough! Josie, get your ass up here with me, love."
"Thank fuck, Chibs. Handsy bastards…" I continue to mumble as I climb my ass over the seat onto the bench between Jax and Chibs. "Thanks, ya great Scot," I say in my very best Shrek accent.
"Great, huh,?" he says quietly in my ear.
Once I can control the shivers his breath on my neck has set off, I whisper back, "Oh, I'm pretty sure."
Chibs throws his arm around my shoulders and I lean my head on his chest, snuggling closer for comfort and warmth. The guys in back groan, Jax rolls his eyes, and I finally relax
**SOA**
"Wake up, Josie. We're here."
If I didn't actually feel him shaking me, I'd think this was an awesome dream. That voice, that accent. Yeah. I open my eyes to see his brown ones staring back at me. Not a bad sight to wake up to.
"Okay. I'm awake. Um, where are we exactly?" Groggy and confused.
"We're in Charming, at our garage. Give Sack your truck keys. He'll make sure it gets here."
I fish around in my jacket pocket to get the keys. It's then that I realize my dress has ridden a considerable distance up my thighs. Chibs notices, too, and pulls it back down and winks at me. How can you not smile at that? He takes the keys from my hand and tosses them to the prospect, then helps me out of the car.
"Is there a motel nearby? Something really cheap?"
"Why don't you just stay here for now, Josie. You can get some sleep, and your Jeep will be here when you wake up. Sound good?"
"Yeah, Jax. Sounds good. Thanks. Again. I, uh, can pay for the tow, but I'm not sure how I'm gonna cover the repairs."
"We'll work something out."
"I don't trade ass, Jax." Get that shit straight right now. Should have probably thought of it before I got in their car.
"Didn't think you did. You'd have offered by now. Goodnight." And with that he walks toward what must be their clubhouse.
Juice and the Prospect have disappeared, so it's just me and Chibs. Little awkward.
"Where do I sleep?"
"Well, I think you should be in my room," he says slowly.
"Sure you do," I reply, hands on hips. Predictable. "I'm not a sweet butt."
"I heard what ya said to Jackie Boy, Josie. I'll not jump ya. If you're in there with me, no one else will either. Understand?"
"Oh. Yeah. Shit, I get it."
"I think you do get it. Alright. Let's go."
Hand on the small of my back, he leads me through a bar with some interesting knick knacks. A curly haired man and a naked woman are sleeping tangled on the bar itself. Classy.
"No bar is complete without a couple of drunk naked people passed out next to the beer taps, I always say," I comment with a yawn. This brings a louder than expected laugh from the Scot.
"Wouldn't do at all, now would it? Here's my room. Don't mind the mess."
It's not nearly as bad as I expected. It's not exactly four star, but it's no more filthy than your average dorm room, I would imagine.
"Want a shower first?"
"No, but thanks. I'm just ready to sleep, Chibs. Can I borrow a t-shirt or something?" I ask as I sit on the bed and remove my boots.
He rummages through his dresser until he finds a worn in shirt with a faded reaper on the front. "Bathroom through that door."
I change quickly, before my body can just give up and sleep in the bathtub. Returning to the bedroom, I see him already in bed, wearing a wife beater and sweats. He looks half asleep already.
"Come on. In you go."
Easing under the soft sheets, I roll to face him. "Thank you, Chibs. For everything.'
"You're welcome. You've been too trusting, Josie. You know that," he says with real concern.
"I know. But I've had no choice. Goodnight, Chibs."
"Goodnight, Josie."