This is a new story I've started writing. Somehow my brain would allow me to start a new story entirely whilst not allowing me to continue my Daryl Dixon story. Brains... Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy, please review! I could use some feedback on this one!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy, or anything affiliated with the show. All hail Kurt Sutter.

"Come on girl, why do you always insist on giving me a headache?" Coach asked her, sighing in frustration and rubbing his temples. This girl really excelled in giving him a migraine, and he wondered sometimes if she was worth it. Then he chuckled at himself. Of course she was worth it.

"I didn't do it, god dammit and you know it." She hissed back at him, while pacing back and forth through the small locker room. She was furious like she hadn't been in a really long time. It really seemed like there was no way out of this ridiculous mess. She just wanted to take that bitch into the ring now, and beat her until her head came off.

"This is complete bullshit, she's been waiting for this chance ever since I beat her in New York last year." Her hands were itching to hit something, anything, but the only things in the room were a chair, a metal locker, and her coach. And she respected the man too much to take it out on him. She'd just go on a really long jog tonight.

He sighed at her stubbornness. Even he sometimes had trouble believing her, the evidence was very convincing. But one look into her blazing eyes would set him straight. She had the biggest sense of righteousness of anyone he knew, and if she said she didn't do it, she didn't; he would bet his life on that.

"Okay darling, calm down. I know you didn't do it, you never would. You worked too hard to get where you are today. Plus, you're the most self-righteous bitch I know."

She chuckled lightly at the comment, her frustration easing marginally. "Yeah, well, tell that to the board. Bunch of pricks." She spat.

She still couldn't believe she was actually going to loose this battle today. She had worked 8 years to get where she was today, never once touching any drugs, or taking any bribes. She earned her place in this world, fair and square. And now one mistake in the ring was going to cost her dearly.

"We need to go back in there, come on." Coach told her, and she sighed. She hated those bastards right now, and it took her every ounce of self-restraint to go in there and not turn into a green, female version of the Hulk.

She followed him quietly, morosely; waiting to hear the verdict she knew was going to come.

They entered the room and sat down behind their table as the board slowly came back in. On the opposite side of the isle sat her opponent, smiling smugly. She would deal with that bitch in good time, in an honest battle. She was itching to KO that wench.

The president of the board began speaking.

"On the case of Natalie Hopman and the accusation of match making, we have come to a decision. We deem the evidence provided accurate and abundant, and therefore have come to the conclusion that Natalie Hopman is guilty of taking money to influence the result of the boxing match on June 28th, 2007 in Los Angeles. We are hereby suspending her for 12 full months after which she will have to re-apply for her professional boxing license. These 12 months include the previous 6 moths which she has already spent suspended. In addition, she will have to pay a fine of $6000 before the last 6 months are up, which will be November 17, 2008. This is the final decision, and no further measures can be taken to redeem Miss Hopman."

That was it, her dreams shattered. Natalie shrunk in her chair, placing her hands over her face. This was so unfair! She had never taken any money, but somehow Kayleigh Groener had managed to fabricate enough evidence to get her suspended. She would miss the Summer Olympics in Beijing and Groener would take her place. This was devastating to her career. There was no guarantee she would still be able to compete in 4 years. She'd be 30 then!

The urge to cry was strong, but she wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction.

The room had slowly started to empty and her coach placed his hand on her shoulder. "Come on darling, let's get you out of here."

He took her back to the gym where she changed from her formal outfit into some training gear. She was going to get rid of this anger one way or the other.

When 4 hours straight at the gym hadn't worked, her coach tried a different approach. He took her to grab some food, which she hesitantly ate, and then went straight to a bar close by. Maybe alcohol could ease her troubles, because he was at a loss. It really was a last resort measure by a man who had helped a girl turn into the woman she was today.

She hadn't spoken since the verdict, just screamed while throwing punches. She had worn herself out, but kept going nevertheless until he finally stopped her. She understood; he was just looking out for her. She knew better now than taking her anger out on him. The man simply didn't deserve it.

Things hadn't always been that way, they both were well aware. When he'd taken her under his wing nearly 10 years ago to the day, she was an angry, frustrated mess. Her mother had recently passed away and her father seemed to have forgotten her existence. He taught her boxing to give her a way to vent and to cope with the anger, and she had excelled; his best pupil by far. She could probably take about half the men in his school by now. She was fast, threw solid punches and was an incredibly tactical boxer, being very good at predicting opponent's behaviour. Combined with a high pain tolerance and the necessary quality to take a punch, he quickly had her enrolled for matches, where she could really shine.

The anger that fuelled her had never truly left her over the years, she just had gotten better at tucking it away for the appropriate moment. And she had learned it the hard way that Coach, after the initial two years when she turned 18, wasn't going to put up with an angry teenaged brat. He wanted to train a mature boxer, and so that's what she had become.

Coach was already 52 when he had taken Natalie under his wing, old enough to be her father. He had no real experience with raising a kid, but she was independent and mature for her age, and only expected him to teach her boxing.

After her dad finally bailed on her – which Coach had seen coming from a mile away – he had given her a place to live until she turned 18. He managed to keep her out of Child Protective Services, and she was immensely grateful for that. He had become a second father to her, after hers had all but died with her mother.

But even after 10 years of a close relationship, he wasn't sure how to handle this situation. It was one of the biggest blows she was dealt in her life, especially because she had earned the spot with hard work and dedication. Coach wasn't sure if it would knock her out, or if she could find the strength in her to get up and strike back with all she had.

The Olympics had become a feasible objective little over 3 years ago, and ever since she had given mind, body and soul to achieve this dream. Now it lay shattered at her feet. And still, she didn't cry. She was just angry.

Somehow he found comfort in this, because she had been dealing with anger all her life and it was something familiar. As they sat at the bar in silence, her slumped over the Scotch, him glancing at her occasionally, he thought that she would be okay somehow. She was tougher than anybody he knew, and if anybody could make a comeback it was this young woman sitting next to him.

The bar tender had refilled their glasses a couple of times now, and she still hadn't spoken a word. She just let the alcohol burn her throat, finding some comfort it the pleasant pain. Coach had tried the random "there's always London 2012" or "what a bitch", but none of it had the desired effect. Coach lifted his glass and brought the smooth liquor to his lips when he suddenly had a great idea. He slammed his glass down, spilling at least half his drink and placed his hand on her shoulder.

She didn't know what caught her attention more, the wasted alcohol or the firm way Coach was trying to get her attention, but either worked as she looked up to him in annoyance.

"I know exactly what you need." He said.

She raised her eyebrow in frustration, but also slight curiosity. The look he had on his face was a little ridiculous, a combination of self perceived genius and excitement.

"You need to get away from all this bullshit here in LA. You need a place where you can calm down, set your priorities straight. A place where you can sulk, but also heal without having anybody all up in your business."

She gave it a thought and she had to admit that Coach's idea sounded tempting. She knew that, if she would stay in LA, people would want to console her and talk her through it. But worst of all, she'd see that Groener bitch everywhere and she wouldn't be able to escape watching the Olympics.

"You got any particular place in mind?" She asked, almost convinced and ready to leave on the spot.

"I got a friend, not too far from here, in Cali. I'll give him a call first thing in the morning. He knows a thing or two about boxing, so you can keep training with him, but he also lives in a quiet town. I don't even think they have Starbucks there.

She frowned a little at that. Coach knew how she was without her morning coffee, that wasn't a smart thing of him to mention that particular fact.

He just sighed with a content smile on his face when he saw that familiar frown appear when she heard there was no Starbucks. He'd pitied his friend a little when thinking about the favour he was going to ask of him, but the guy wasn't the softest type either; he could handle his own, Coach was sure of that.

When she woke up the next morning in her own bed it took her a couple of minutes to remember how she had ended up there. Coach had dropped her off at her place and made sure she found her way in to bed before leaving her alone. She yawned and stretched her arms, looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

She flung out of bed when she saw it was 11 in the morning. Coach was going to kill her! She had never been this late. But as sudden as the time hit her, the realization that she wouldn't have to come in today, combined with the reason why hit her like a well-aimed brick in the stomach. She slammed herself back onto the bed, trying to forget about all of that as quickly as possible, and not caring about her strict training schedule.

When she woke up the second time that day, her phone was ringing. Her purse was on the floor next to her bed and she lazily shifted her position just far enough to reach her phone. It was Coach. Probably checking up on her, making sure she was still alive.

"What." She answered, not really in the mood to talk to him.

"Hey darling, my friend just got back to me. He had to talk it over with some people, make some arrangements, but he said you can come."

She rubbed her face with her spare hand to wake her up some more. She had no idea what the man was talking about.

"What? What friend? And go where?"

Coach just chuckled. "I thought you always said you could handle your liquor."

She merely grunted in response, urging him to speed up. He was getting on her already shot nerves.

"Remember our talk last night? We agreed that it would be a good idea if you got away from the city for a while, somewhere a little more quiet, where you could get back in the ring on your own terms."

She opened her eyes, narrowing them instantly. "You mean that shit hole with no decent coffee? Yeah I remember."

This earned her another chuckle from coach. "Exactly. So my friend said you could come over as soon as the day after tomorrow. He'll have a place ready for you to stay."

"And you really think this is a good idea?" She asked Coach.

"Yeah, darling, I really do. Look, you need some time out, and we both know you won't be getting it in LA. This place is too busy; too many people know what happened here. You won't get a minute of the rest that you need to get your head back in the game."

Natalie sighed once more, fully aware that her Coach was absolutely right. Not being able to come up with any argument against going, except that she didn't feel like leaving her apartment for the rest of her life, she agreed with Coach and told him to set it up. If Coach was surprised by her lack of resistance, he didn't show it over the phone and she was grateful.

After they hung up, Coach stared at the phone for a couple more seconds, before dialling his friend. It had been almost too easy for Coach to convince her to get out of LA, but maybe she was finally coming to her senses.

The phone rang a couple of times before his friend picked up.

"Aye, Chibs 'ere." The man answered in his thick Scottish accent.

"Hey Chibs, it's Daniel again. She's in, set it up."

"Ok, we'll make it happen."

"She'll be in Charming in 2 days." Coach said, relieved that his friend would be okay with housing Natalie for 6 months.

"Sounds good. You droppin' 'er off? We need to get us a pint mate." Chibs offered.

"You know I will. I can't just send her your way, unknowingly, and without any assistance. I'm not a sadist." They both laughed.

"Aye, I'll see you Friday." With that, the connection was ended.

Chibs was a good friend, and Coach was sure he'd look after Natalie, despite all his... extralegal activities.