He found none of it strange until today. Nothing felt wrong, or at least, a tad bit off. He had felt honor, and pride, among other emotions when it was bestowed upon him. He knew his responsibilities, and what he needed to do. He did not overthink anything. He did not second-guess when it was handed to him, nor when he was sitting at home, cigarette between his lips, glasses on, pulling a large needle and thick thread through his kutte. It had not felt real until he fulfilled the tasks in front of him, and now stood in the Chapel, hands that normally grasped guns and handlebars, now gripping the back of the wooden chair and, for the first time in years, a bit of normality.

He had not realized how unusual it would be to stand at the head of the table—a table that had seen it all and heard so much more, and a chair in a position he had never imagined he would sit in. He felt honored, but he also feared it. His mentors had sat here. His enemies had sat here. He had never been a true leader before, but the bodies ready to take their seats to his right and left had complete faith in him. He was different from the Teller men. He was not Teller blood. He was not even American blood, for that matter. Nevertheless, he was smart. He had the clearest head. He had more to live for, and had the club never been dragged through war, no one would have deserved the honor more. He had fulfilled his promises to the club as their new President, and the members could not feel prouder of Chibs Telford.

Tig Trager, the new Vice President of the Sons of Anarchy, walked up to his spot to Chibs' left and clapped a hand on the President's shoulder. Chibs snapped out of his thoughts and glanced up at the blue-eyed man beside him.

"Hey," Tig said, giving him a crooked smile, "It's all yours, man. Sit."

Chibs' eyes flickered from the Vice President to the gavel on the table. Happy Lowman, their Sergeant at Arms, stood to Chibs' right and nodded respectfully. Juice Ortiz, newly reinstated and forgiven after confessing what he knew about Gemma Teller, Jax Teller's mother, murdering his wife, Tara Knowles. Chibs, knowing the boy's complicated life, decided to swipe his slate. His explanation?

"Ya fuck up under me, and I'll blow your fuckin' head off, Juicy."

Juice was more than willing to rejoin the club with his mentor, and promised he would make things right, including routine check-ins and paperwork from a clinic proving his blood work was clean. He had redeemed himself in the eyes of the club, and was now slowly becoming a respected member.

Chibs looked across the once full table. They were missing Bobby Munson, who was killed in the last war, and Jax Teller, who had bestowed the title of President to Chibs and had walked away, escaping the results of a Mayhem vote. His children, Abel and Thomas, were in the care of Abel's birth mother, Wendy Case.

The members of SAMCRO waited, standing behind their chairs with eager eyes on Chibs. His eyes met each members'. Happy gave him a slight nod, Juice, a boyish smile, and Quinn, Ratboy, Montez, T.O., and Tig, watched him in anticipation. Chibs pulled the chair where his mentor had sat, and where the little blonde Teller boy had once sat, and without hesitation, took the throne. Chucky Marstein, the club's bookkeeper, entered just in time to see Chibs take a seat, a tray of Jack Daniels and shot glasses balanced on one hand. Once Chibs was seated, the club erupted in loud clapping and shouting. Chibs gave them a sideways smile. Tig clapped and looked over to Chucky, who was smiling as well.

"Chucky, bring that shit over here!" he called out.

Chucky obeyed without response and walked in between the VP and Juice, setting the tray on the table and proceeding to pour the shots. Tig helped and they passed the drinks around.

"Give me the goddamn bottle, will ya?" Chibs barked.

Tig laughed and passed the bottle to the President. The boys held their glasses up as Tig began the toast.

"Alright," he said loudly, then looked down at Chibs, "To you, you lucky bastard."

Chibs laughed.

"To Chibs!" the others declared, and they toasted their glasses to Chibs' bottle before downing their drinks and slamming the glasses on the wooden table top.

Chibs chugged the whiskey before letting out a contented "Ah!" and setting the bottle down.

"Someone take that away from me," he ordered playfully.

Happy took the bottle and passed it back to Chucky.

"We're proud of you, man," Juice spoke up.

Tig lightly punched Chibs shoulder as the crew began to sit down.

"You, man," he agreed, "We owe ya big time."

Chibs shrugged.

"Just doin' what shoulda been done a long time ago," he replied.

"Damn straight!" Happy agreed.

Chibs smiled at that.

"Chucky, take this shit out of here, will ya?" Tig asked.

Chucky nodded, gathered the glasses and the bottle of Jack Daniels, and Happy patted his back as he left the Chapel, leaving the remaining members of SAMCRO to their meeting.

"As much as I would like to get the hell outta here and get drunk, we have some business to attend to," Chibs announced.

The men settled down, their full attention on their President.

"As you all know, I've been workin' my fuckin' fingers bone to set shit straight. I think, as of today, everything is clear. Juicy Boy, what do ya got on the Feds? ATF? All that bullshit?"

Juice sat forward.

"As far as I can tell, we're all good. I went through their databases, and from the looks of it, they have no suspicions. No claims. We're good," he replied.

The club shouted in victory. Chibs nodded.

"How about the Mayans?" he asked.

"We're cool with them," Happy replied.

Chibs looked to Tig.

"We're out of drugs. Out of the dirty. SAMCRO's relations with everyone else is golden, bro," he said.

Chibs nodded.

"Well, as far as the Irish go, we are almost out of the gun business," he said, "We have Red Woody. No more shit between anyone. As of today, SAMCRO is the green."

They shouted again.

"The only issue on our plates seems to be new recruits. We need to expand the table. Strengthen the club," he continued.

"Yeah," Tig agreed, "No fucking Nomads either."

Chibs shook his head.

"No, we need fresh meat," Happy said, with a sickening smile that made Tig's lip curl and Chibs shoot the Sergeant at Arms a glare, eyebrow raised.

"Raise 'em as Prospects?" Ratboy asked, breaking the tension.

"No shit!" Tig popped off.

"Aye, Rat," Chibs replied.

"I know a couple of kids. Clean kids. Just motorcycle enthusiasts," Quinn spoke up.

Chibs nodded.

"Get 'em here, and we'll see what we have to work with," he said.

Quinn nodded.

"I don't know of any freshies," Tig said distantly.

"We'll find 'em," Chibs replied, "In the meantime, who wants to go get hammered?"

The room agreed loudly. Chibs smiled.

"Let's go!" he said excitedly, and slammed the gavel down, ending the meeting.

He braced himself to stand when Tig reached out and touched his chest to stop him from moving any further.

"Nah-ah! Not so fast!" he ordered.

Chibs was momentarily confused.

"We're not letting you get away that easily. Not on our brother's birthday," he said lowly.

Chibs unceremoniously sat back down.

"Ah, for Christ's sake!" he exclaimed.

Chibs was never one for attention. On his birthday, all he ever wanted to do was have a nice, semi-normal, drunken night. Of course, there was a time or two where the guys would buy each other rounds or take one or the other out to shoot targets. Race their bikes. Gemma used to bake them cakes before shit hit the fan. They were good times, but Chibs craved a pleasant, slow night this time. Tig, and apparently the entire crew, had other plans for their brother.

"Oh, come on! None of that!" Tig scolded, "Come on. Let's head down to Diosa. Get you some birthday pussy. Come on! It's on me."

Chibs rolled his eyes, but found himself laughing.

"I appreciate the gesture," he began.

Tig held his arms out, a smirk on his face.

"What are friends for, man?"

Chibs smiled and shook his head.

"I have a better idea."

Tig stared at him in shock.

"What's better than free pussy?" he asked, genuinely appalled that Chibs would turn down an appointment at Diosa Norte.

It was Chibs' turn to smirk.

"Let's all just jump on our bikes and hit the road," he replied.

"Where to?" Juice asked.

Chibs shrugged.

"Wherever the road takes us," he replied.

Tig scoffed.

"You would rather ride than go to Diosa?" he asked.

Chibs nodded. Tig let out a small grunt.

"What the fuck? Man, I heard they got this girl. Killer, most mind-blowing, fuckin' blow—"

"Man, I just want one night of just bikes and the road," Chibs interrupted, "Our first night of freedom. Let's all just go hit the road. Do what we love the most."

Tig weighed his options.

"You can pay for my gas. That can be my birthday present," Chibs offered.

Tig nodded in agreement. Hitting the road, winding down and forgetting the world did sound like a good idea.

"'Kay. I'm in," he finally said.

"Us, too, brother," Happy agreed.

Tig clapped loudly and jumped from his seat.

"Then let's go! Oh wait! We can't go too far. I have a date," he announced.

The crew stood up. Chibs pushed his chair in and shot his right-hand man a look.

"A date?" he questioned.

Tig shrugged.

"With Venus," he replied, eyes wide and innocent.

Chibs smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Tiggy," he sighed, then threw an arm around Tig's shoulders as they followed the crew out the door.

"Hey! You're the crazy one. I offer to buy you a good time and you turn it down! You must be gettin' old, man," Tig complained.

Chibs just laughed.

"Whatever. I still love ya," Tig said, then kissed Chibs on the cheek.

Chibs laughed and shoved the slightly taller man away.

"Get on ya damn bike. Let's go!" Chibs shouted.

It was not that he did not like Diosa, but the road was calling him. It was just something he felt like he needed to do. However, he did not know that the cravings he was having for a late-night ride through the rural areas outside of Charming would play out in the cards tonight.