For Reasons Wretched and Divine

A little taste of Sunshine

*Not quite a mature themes warning here, but a bit beyond PG-13.

The meal plan was a simple one, one that Sunshine could cook in her sleep, one that her grandmother had taught her how as soon as she was old enough to know that the stove pilot was hot.

The chicken was in the oven, the spit of the grease in the pan audible through the oven door, the potatoes were boiling in the stockpot, collard greens cooking down in the dutch oven. The pans of cornbread she had made earlier were sitting on the counter still wrapped in tinfoil, ready to be warmed up in the oven when everything else was ready.

She hadn't been joking when she said she was going to cook a proper southern meal for the croweaters, and she couldn't think of a better way to spend her day off than cooking for people that probably hadn't had anything other than fast food in months.

Sunshine hummed to herself as she carefully trimmed the edges of the last peach pie, singing loudly with Nina Simone about feeling good, swaying her hips to the rhythm of the song. Her grandmother had gifted her with her love of cooking and food when she was little; Marie was too little to appreciate it, nor did she have the patience for it. But Sunshine loved it, loved learning from her grandmother's old voice and wrinkly brown hands that were stronger than they had any business being.

The wave of bittersweet nostalgia left her with a sigh as she gently crafted the vent holes in the pies. Gramma had been gone for a long time; it seemed like they were memories from a different life.

The clubhouse had some quality speakers built into the walls, her music playlist echoing nicely through the rooms. It was probably the first time they had been used to play something other than classic rock and roll.

The clubhouse was well lived in, smelling like beer and those tree-shaped car air fresheners, and something inherently... illegal. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was the definite scent of a federal offense seeped into the very foundation of the building. It was clean by a man's standards, everything decorated by someone with a motorcycle obsession and a fascination with skulls. The last time she had been here, it had been darker and crowded, half-naked women lounging on couches and the haze of weed laced with something worse hanging in the stagnant air. It was less intimidating in the daylight, shrouded corners exposed to the sun, no darkened hallways branching off limitlessly to hide the indiscretions of the MC.

The truth came out in the daytime; such was proven as she had been unpacking her endless bags of groceries and getting the lay of the barebones kitchen, sending Half-sack back out to her car to get the last cooler of vegetables, when she heard a door open.

She wasn't snooping, most people have an instant response to hearing a door open, and that response is to turn your head and see who was entering. Humans were curious creatures and could hardly tell when enough was enough.

A rather disheveled Chibs exited the dorm, trying and miserably failing to slick back his wild hair. Just as he and Sunshine made eye contact, his eyes widening considerably in surprise, an equally tousled Juice walked out behind him, shrugging into a shirt, still favoring his left arm.

Juice didn't seem to see Sunshine as he ducked across the hall, but Chibs was still frozen in place, mouth popped open in surprise.

Sunshine recovered first. "Coffee?" she offered with a smile she couldn't force down, earning an exasperated chuckle from the Scotsman, the unsaid joke about him being up all night curling up both of their lips.

"As long as you made the coffee, sure. Half-sack can't make it without scalding the pot black."