"I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it."
A hopeful new member with an affiliation to a neighbouring charter shows up in Charming, looking to get in with the infamous Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. The only problem...
Tig finally returns to Charming to an unexpected sight, learning the hard way that if he really wants Sydney back, he's going to have to speak her language.
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General trigger warnings for this story: Language, smut, mentions of rape, mentions of drug use/overdose, violence/death, racism/gang activity.
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♕
"You asshole!" Happy flinched when he heard the angry voice, followed by a stinging in his arm. He whipped his head around from where he sat on his bike to see Sydney - whose surely heavy footsteps had been drowned out by the chugging engine - standing in front of him with her hands on her hips.
"What?" He scowled, unsure of what he possibly could've done to warrant a smack on the shoulder in the three minutes since he'd arrived back on the compound.
"You let me believe that he slept with that Nevada sweetbutt!" She shook her head incredulously.
"I didn't let you believe shit." He smirked as he dismounted his machine, bending down to tie his boot that had come unlaced in the early morning wind that had assaulted his body on the drive down from Tacoma. "I wouldn't have brought her if she did that." He straightened back up.
"Well you didn't tell me why you did bring her back." Sydney's eyes widened in what she'd intended to be mock-frustration, but hours of enduring Gemma's nagging with no escape during her Friday office shift had given her theatrical annoyance a little more substance than she'd intended.
"I wanted her to tell you."
"I'm still pissed off." Sydney huffed with a roll of her eyes - she should've known that this conversation wouldn't go anywhere.
"I know." Happy smirked as he nodded towards the gates. "I brought something for that."
♕
After the longest five days of Tig's life, he finally found himself arriving back in Charming - albeit much later than he'd intended. He had practically ran to his bike after ditching the cursed cargo truck on the side of the road, mimicking the collective nervousness that Half-Sack and Juice regularly displayed on the way back to the warehouse as he anxiously tapped his foot against the floorboards of the van, and twisted the chunky silver rings that adorned his swelling fingers. He pulled his helmet down over his curls that were beginning to grow out longer than he usually allowed them to, smiling as the engine of his Dyna roared to life beneath him, the lively vibration travelling up his legs, and into his chest. It may have only been five days without the few things that had ever made him feel like he belonged, but it had felt like five years.
He sped onto the compound, scanning the lot for one of Sydney's vehicles as he coasted over to the railing - almost crashing into the row of Harleys before he realized that the lot was free of her presence. "God dammit." He grumbled. His original plan had been to return during the work day where he could guarantee some face time with her, at the very least, but business had wrapped up early on the Friday afternoon, and he had vastly underestimated his arrival time.
