After the almost assassination of her Sons brother sent shockwaves through the club, Meggie "Pixie" Telford and the Sons are left to pick up the pieces. With ATF on their doorstep, the League of American Nationalists wanting to make advances and Jax...
WARNING: Mentions of drugs and abuse, small amount of smut.
Hale thumped his bleating alarm clock as it woke him from his sleep. He always liked to start his weekdays off at five am, up with the dawn to get in a morning jog, a bite to eat and time to settle his busy mind before he went to work. Last night had been a late one with the call out to the house fire, and then filing paperwork and witness statements, until he was satisfied that he'd done a good job. Hale was proud about his meticulous behaviour patterns, everything had to be perfect and just right or else he'd redo until he was pleased, that's why he'd excelled in high school, the police academy, and beyond until he'd made it all the way to deputy sheriff. He pulled himself out of his queen-sized bed, straightening out the green and grey covers until they were tidy. Then he moved to grab his clean blue running joggers, white trainers, and black t-shirt from his closet before changing in his bathroom, making sure his hair was neat and presentable. Once David was sure everything was in place, he strode over to his front door, grabbing his keys and iPod on the way out. The second he opened his door he spotted something unusual on his front porch step. There was a small white takeout box, a pink sticky note on top of it, and a take-out coffee cup with steam rising from the hole in the lid.
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Hale looked around for who could have delivered him these unexpected items, and spotted a black van parked across the road with Pixie at the wheel. She gave him a small wave and drove off before he had a chance to move. David picked up the take-out box to read the note, curious as to what she was up to now. Pixie's handwriting was childish and messy, but she got the point across well, "Hale-Storm, 2004 Chevy Tahoe SUV, Reg: CH2 0FG, check the trunk, you're welcome! :)" the note read, he could practically hear Pixie's teasing tone.
Hale understood that whatever was in the trunk of the car Pixie was wanting him to look at, it was probably serious. He'd seen a silver car that matched the description hanging around the Hairy Dog for a while and knew that was the first place he'd be checking, especially as the Sons had blown up the Nords meth lab last night. He went back inside with his gifts, walking into his kitchen and placing them down on the small square dining table, before going to the cabinet and taking out the box of drug test strips. Hale took off the lid off of his coffee and tested it, recalling that the last time Pixie had offered any police officers a coffee, they'd taken a fourteen-hour nap, and Hale had things to do. When the test strips came out normal, he took a tentative sip, realising Pixie had got his usual order right too. David chuckled to himself and shook his head, wondering how the hell Pixie guessed it. Inside the take-out box was a single pink frosted doughnut with pink and white sprinkles. Typical. Hale didn't know what made him smile more, the jab at his profession with the baked treat, or the fact that the note and the doughnut were pink like Pixie.
🖤🖤🖤
Tig felt the warm sunshine of the dawn break across his cheek and he stretched a little, half-conscious and ready to succumb to a few more hours until he needed to be at the clubhouse. He felt a little wriggle against him and smiled, automatically reaching for Pixie to snuggle her closer like a teddy bear. He started to doze again when Pixie had finished her little movements, getting comfy with her front to his, little hands stroking his chest.
