The Scottish Thistle and The English Rose by HaylsValo

Chapter 4: Reliving Painful Pasts

sclaimer – The characters of this fanfiction, as well as the 'Sons of Anarchy' world belong to Kurt Sutter, with the exception of 'Boo' Morrow, who is an original character created by me. I make no profit from this work.

Again thank you all for the reviews and to all those that added this story to their alerts list. Really it means so much to me! A review is the greatest gift to give a writer! Although I'd love a few more this time, you guys gave me so many lovely reviews for the intro/first chapter and so few for the second. Anyways, onwards -

In a bar at London's Heathrow airport Chibs sipped his whiskey slowly, wishing he could down the whole lot in one then round it off by finishing the whole damn bottle. But he knew from experience that he wouldn't be allowed on the plane if he'd had too much to drink (after his wedding to Fiona, where he'd gotten incredibly intoxicated, he was banned from boarding the plane that would take him on his honeymoon) and so he had to settle for the one drink, holding the liquor in his mouth for a few seconds as if to try and trick himself that he was having more.

"Can I get you another drink sir?" the bartender asked, averting his eyes away from Chibs face, his scars, when all too soon the Scot polished off his drink. Chibs shook his head, knew another would lead to another… Nodding, the bartender cleared the empty glass away, wiping a towel over the spot where it had sat, before moving on to the next customer. Once he was gone, Chibs groaned heavily, dragged his hands through his hair before resting his head on the bar. He wished they'd hurry up and call his flight, delayed by a ridiculously small amount of snow falling over the English capital, so he could put all his shit behind him. A while later, when having his forehead pressed against the bar started to create a dull ache below his temple, Chibs sat up again his fingers massaging his brow in an attempt to ward off the pain. When that didn't work, he gestured for the bartender to come back over.

"Can I have a glass of water with ice please?" he asked knowing a cool drink would help ease the oncoming headache and the tight knotted feeling he'd felt in the pit of his stomach since he'd boarded his ferry the day before. Although he was sure the pain was no physically ailment and was more to do with the fact that he was running away - from Ireland, his family, from everything he knew and loved…

"Sure." The bartender nodded, grabbing a clean glass before filling it with ice and putting it in front of Chibs along with a bottle of Evian water."That will be £3.95." he said. Chibs gawped at the guy, hand frozen as it reached out to grab the drink.

"You've got teh be jokin'?" he chocked, eyes wide with shock. Near £4 for a bottle of fucking water? That wasn't right! The bartender however, shook his head, before folding his arms impatiently as he waited for Chibs to pay up. "Mary Mother of Christ!" the Scot growled, reaching into his pocket to get his wallet. He pulled out a £10 note and chucked it down on the bar. The bartender took it swiftly, as if afraid that Chibs would change his mind and take it back, and hurried off to the till to get the change. He returned a few seconds later and dumped the change on the bar in front of Chibs, not even bothering to look at the biker. The Scot rolled his eyes and went to stuff his change back into his wallet, but stopped short when he realized that he'd managed to dislodge the picture's he kept in there. Chibs heart near stopped in his chest when he realized he could see them, he normally kept them tucked out of view. He'd not looked at them in years, but he kept them in his wallet as a comfort, kept his wallet in the chest pocket of his cut, over his heart. The pictures were of his family, the only ones he had left after everything that had happened with Jimmy O, Fiona and Kerrianne all those years before. Suddenly overcome with the need to look at them, Chibs pulled the pictures out, his entire being trembling, heart pounding violently.

He smiled at the first picture, one of him at a young age – 3 or 4 he couldn't remember – with his parents in Scotland, before they'd moved to Ireland. They were at a wedding, but for the life of him Chibs couldn't remember whose wedding it was. All three of them were dressed in their Sunday best and beaming at the camera. The picture was in black and white, but Chibs could remember that his father's trousers and jacket hadn't matched, with the jacket being a deep navy and the trousers being black. Smiling to himself, Chibs set the picture to one side and moved in to the next one.