So it seems pretty unanimous so far that you guys are liking the Tig/Alice pairing, which works well with what I have planned. Although in saying that, anything could happen! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story so far, and that there has been so much positive feedback. I now have the next three or four chapters planned out, so expect more regular updates (fingers crossed I don't end up jinxing myself).

Annnnd, I jinxed myself. I wrote that intro nearly three weeks ago. My bad! [Insert usual excuses for not updating consistently, apology, and flaky promise that I'll try my best to do better in the future]. I didn't lie about having those chapters planned out though, so that should definitely help, I just think I may be a little bit in over my head with the amount of stories I have going at the moment. Maybe. (Definitely).

Thanks for reading! And I look forward to any feedback :) You know I always appreciate it.

Series Content Warning: Rated M for language, graphic torture, violence, racial slurs, sexual situations and dark humor.

ALICE (ii)

Bobby arrived not long after the Aryan departure, courtesy of his ATF escort. Stepping out of the black sedan, he received a warm welcome from his surrounding brothers, who immediately pulled him off towards the clubhouse, ready to get him drunk and laid after his month of involuntary sobriety. Alice chuckled at their rowdy behavior, watching as they threw their arms around Bobby's shoulders and clapped him on the back in greeting, but she hung back with Clay as together they turned to face Agent Stahl. Alice was surprised she had the nerve to show her face at the club again after all that she had done to the Winston family, but one look at the agent's face told her the woman had not soon forgotten the consequences of her actions. Still, being the kind of person she was, this didn't stop Stahl from her usual display of cocky condescension.

"Nice to see you without a black eye this time," she said to Alice, who smirked, "Guess you must be doing something right."

"Yeah, well, see there's this unspoken agreement that there can only be one battered woman on the lot at a time. Helps allay any suspicions from prying types, you know?"

"I see." She glanced around at those who remained around them, pretending to seek out the latest victim, playing along with the joke. "So whose turn was it this time?"

"I guess that depends on how long it takes you to get off the lot."

Stahl's smirk faltered, but Clay's only grew wider.

"I see none of your CIA buddies got an invite." She glanced at Clay, testing his reaction, but the club president simply stared back. So she'd told them. Well, there went her leverage. Still, she couldn't say she was surprised; the girl was smart – smart enough to have never gotten caught, at least. There was that thread again, just begging to be pulled.

"Guess they got better things to do than harass small town MCs," Alice replied.

Clay chuckled as Stahl's expression took on a bitter edge, her confident smirk barely managing to remain in place.

"Hey, why don't you stick around?" Clay asked her as she made to get back into the car. She paused in the doorway. "I bet you could do some major damage to a stripper pole."

"You have no idea," Stahl retorted, before slipping back into the car, peeling off the lot with greater haste than their previous visitors. Alice turned back to Clay, shaking her head, and found him still clutching the gifted box of cigars. He opened the lid, taking a whiff of the contents, looking unsure. He held it out to her.

Her brows drew together, thrown by his sudden generosity. "Really?"

"Yeah." He gestured with the box for her to take one, and she slowly reached out, still unsure about his endgame. "For all I know," he went on, "He mighta tampered with 'em. Better you than me."

Unsure if it was a genuine concern of his, or if he was simply masking a sudden feeling of camaraderie in the wake of Stahl's ribbing, she took one anyway.

"Oh well, if I die, I go out smoking the good stuff. Thanks." For once she was the one left sporting a skeptical expression. He gave a light snort and turned away, heading off to find his wife before she left to take care of Abel for the night.

Running the cigar under her nose, Alice moved off towards the clubhouse, following the rowdy partygoers who were still reveling in the arrival of the free man. She spotted Bobby in the center of the crowd inside, flanked by two chubby, big-breasted croweaters – one redhead and one blonde – chugging down a beer. The moment he was finished, more alcohol was shoved in his direction, but not before he paused to motorboat the breasts of the giggling redhead.

"Not a bad homecoming, huh?" Juice asked, grinning, as she approached him at the bar.

"You guys have always known how to throw the best parties," she agreed, reaching over the counter as she searched for the desired implement. Juice watched her with a slight frown, only managing to look more confused when she gave a pleased 'Aha!' and sat back down with a knife in hand. She placed the cigar atop the bar and readied the blade on its end, but before she could make the incision, a familiar hand grabbed her by the wrist.

"Jesus Christ, you're a butcher," Tig told her, taking the knife from her grip and stepping around inside the bar to rummage around in one of the drawers. He held up a cigar cutter, throwing her a judgmental look and she grinned, catching it as he tossed it to her.

"I was improvising," she told him, and he shook his head.

"Good way to ruin a perfectly good cigar. Where'd you get it anyways?"

"Gift from your prez."

"No kidding." He pulled an impressed face, grabbing a couple of beers. "You sure you don't want one?" he asked her, looking like he didn't really want to take no for an answer.

"Beer and a cigar? And you call me the goddamn savage. Need some good whiskey to go with this shit."

He smirked at her and set about pouring her a glass, thinking back to the very first time he had brought her into the club house and done the exact same thing. Juice watched as she cut off the end, flinching back when she started reaching into his numerous pockets looking for a lighter.

"You could just ask," he told her, taking the desired item from the inner pocket of his kutte and flicking it open for her. She leaned towards the flame, taking a couple of puffs as Tig placed her drink in front of her, watching her with a curious little smirk. He didn't know what it was exactly, but the cigar look suited her. Their attention was drawn to the pool table as Bobby pushed his redhead back onto it and proceeded to bury his face between her legs. The woman let out a surprised squeal and grabbed him by his wild, frizzy hair as he went to work on her. The three of them chuckled, watching the man enjoy his spoils for the evening. Tig took a long gulp of his beer, eyeing Alice steadily as she smiled coyly around her smoke, enjoying the way her lips looked wrapped around the thick tobacco leaf. She took a drag then held it out to him to try, watching him as she sipped her whiskey. He passed it back after a quick puff, leaning across the counter for a kiss, Alice careful not to let him lean onto the cigar's smoldering end. As the kiss deepened, she felt the item taken from her hand, and pulled back to watch Juice take a drag. He pulled a face and was quick to hand it back to her.

"I think I'll stick to cigarettes. Shit tastes like ass."

"You would know," Tig replied, taking another sip of his drink as he leaned casually against the bar. He drained the rest of the bottle, then cocked his head and added, "Who am I kidding, so would I."

Alice chuckled, having found herself on the end of his probing tongue a number of times herself, and wasn't about to complain. Sometimes you didn't know you liked something until you tried it.

"I gotta go talk to Clay. Don't go anywhere," he told her, the devious glint in his eye hinting at what he had planned for her later. She cocked an eyebrow at the playful order, but remained seated, eyes following him over to where the president stood on the other side of the room talking to Happy. Taking another drag of the cigar, she eased back on the barstool, resting back on her elbow as she observed the room. Chibs came stumbling through the crowd, Half-Sack clutched reluctantly beneath his arm as they came to a stop beside her, ordering a fresh round of drinks.

"Hey," Half-Sack greeted her with a smile, face pink as he swayed beside the Scotsman.

"Someone got started early," she chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, don't get too drunk, Chibs. You might start talking to me again."

The Scot threw her a look, but it was lighter than usual. He still hadn't completely warmed to her, and she hadn't been around the club as often over the past few weeks, but he had noticed Tig smiling more often around the workplace. He hadn't seen his brother this happy in a long time, and despite not being a big advocate for relationships – especially not since the breakdown of his own marriage and all the bullshit surrounding that – he knew a good thing when he saw it. He was happy for Tig, but he wasn't sure he trusted her to not break the man's heart. Hell, he wasn't sure he trusted her with much of anything.

"And why would I want ta do tha', Alice?" he asked her, his accent growing thicker with each emptied bottle. He had taken to calling her by her real name ever since overhearing it at Abel's homecoming, as if in some attempt to point out his knowledge of her true identity.

"Because I'm a great conversationalist," she replied, and he made a doubtful face, making her laugh. He watched as she pulled a drag of her cigar, then glanced over at Juice, who was looking around the room with his usual cheerful smile. He was pleased to have noticed a distinct decrease in the hostility between the boy and their Sergeant-at-Arms, but wasn't sure whether to attribute this to final acceptance from Juice, or a strong talking to from the woman caught between them. Though knowing Tig, and having heard some of the more sordid details of her tryst with Happy, he wouldn't be surprised if the three of them had settled things in a very different kind of way. He straightened up from the counter as he caught Alice's face light up in a friendly smile as she gestured a greeting to someone. Glancing around, he spotted Jax making his way through the crowd towards Bobby, receiving a brief nod from the vice president. They watched as he smacked Bobby on the back, drawing the man's attention from his squealing meal before pulling him into a tight embrace. After a quick word, Jax left him to get back to his waiting woman, and made his way towards the others.

"Long time no see, Teller," Alice smiled, standing from her seat to accept a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Your face smells like pussy, by the way," she informed him as they parted.

"I swear that was Bobby," he replied, and they exchanged grins. He greeted his brothers in the same warm manner – minus the kiss – and turned back to Alice. "Where'd you get that?" He nodded towards the smoke.

"Gift from your pop."

He glanced around at the others as if to say 'you hearing this shit?', and they smirked. "Geez, between the invite from Gemma and now this, someone might think you're up to something."

"You caught me," she replied, pulling a face of mock-disappointment, "Just part of my greater scheme to infiltrate the Teller-Morrow family. Get in good with the folks, finally make my move on the son."

He chuckled and shook his head before glancing around, looking distracted. Taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he slid one out and popped it between his lips, swapping the pack for a lighter as he cupped his hands around the flame and lit up. Finally, his gaze fell on Clay and they exchanged brief but meaningful nods, dispelling whatever bad blood had been festering between them this time. It was a fleeting attempt at a truce they both knew wouldn't last. Heaving a tired sigh, smoke billowing from his nostrils, he felt eyes on him and realized Alice had witnessed the entire exchange. She smiled at him, though through the effort she seemed just as weary.

"You good?" she asked.

"Yeah." Then, taking in the dark circles, pale complexion and her less-than-lively energy, "You?"

Feeling Juice's gaze on her, she was quick to reply in the affirmative, though the smile that accompanied it failed to convince him. He exchanged a quick look with the younger biker, who already had every intention of getting to the bottom of whatever was causing her grief – though knowing her propensity for unexpected mood swings, he was sure he already knew – but was waiting for a quiet moment without the potential eavesdropper to start spreading misinformed rumors. Satisfied that this wasn't another problem he would have to take on, hoping it at least didn't involve the club, Jax checked his watch and ran a hand over his face.

"I'm gonna head off, give Ma and Tara the rest of the night off."

"You just got here," Chibs protested, "At least have a fuckin' beer, Jackie."

"Nah, I'm good, man. Need some time with my boy, anyways. Why don't you have one for me? Or better yet, give it to the prospect. He looks like he ain't gonna be standin' much longer." He nodded to Half-Sack, who slid off his stool, hanging off his sponsor with a boozy grin. Chibs tried to shrug him off, but as the lads only means of support in his current state, his grip only tightened.

"I'll catch ya later," Jax assured them, with one last departing nod. Alice watched him go, then allowed her gaze to drift around the room as the whiskey began to work its way into her system; a pleasant warmth spreading through her body as the day's tension shrank down into something more manageable. She soon forgot about the failed meeting with the client, finding her attention drawn to the nearly-naked woman currently working the stripper pole. She wasn't unattractive – a little soft in the stomach and thighs, maybe – and judging by the way she slung her leg around the smooth metal and gave a confident flick of her long, blonde hair, this wasn't the first time she'd done this.

Senses dulled, Alice leaned back once more, elbow resting on the counter top, cigar clutched between the index and middle fingers of her other hand as she took a drag and let the woman's rhythmic movements lull her into a gentle daze. It wasn't until she noticed Juice's smirking gaze from the corner of her eye that she finally looked away.

"You look like a giant lesbian right now," he deadpanned, before breaking into one of his customary goofball grins. It wasn't just the way she was eyeballing the dancer, but the way she was lounging against the bar too, cigar clutched unceremoniously between her teeth. Not that the women who generally hung around the club were exactly classy, but there something about his friends mannerisms that night that struck him as particularly funny. Then again, it might have been the booze talking. He took a long drink from his bottle, watching the cogs whir to life behind her eyes as she formulated her best comeback. She came up short.

"Yeah, you wish."

He smiled, a playful look coming over him as he considered his next question. "Have you? I mean, have you ever, you know?"

"No, Juice, I don't know. Your level of subtlety has me completely in the dark."

His grin shrunk for a moment, as if her sarcasm had flown right over his head, then he caught her expression and lit up once more. "You totally have."

"I don't eat pussy and tell."

He laughed and gave her a playful push. She smacked his hand away, then caught him by the wrist as he lifted his beer to his lips with the other hand, holding him down as she smacked the bottom of the bottle. A fountain of fizz shot up into his mouth, the force of it a flood of fire in his nose. He at least made sure to turn towards her as it sprayed out in all directions, coating her in a fine mist of alcohol. Slowly, she opened her eyes, nose scrunched under the unpleasant wet sensation and shot him a death glare, which only proved to propel him into a fit of laughter.

"Asshole," she muttered, breaking into a reluctant grin as she reached for something to clean herself up. Leaning over the bar, her back to the crowd, she had only just managed to run the napkin over her face when she felt herself lifted from her seat. Twisting in her captor's grip, she looked up to find Tig grinning down at her, his eyes a little glassy as he carried her off towards the dorms.

"Put me down, fucker!" she told him, trying for indignant but falling short. She whacked him in the shoulder as she looked back apologetically at Juice. He watched the pair with only mild disapproval, usual feelings dulled by the booze.

Tig adjusted his grip, jerking her body in an attempt to get her to settle down. "Come on, before I pass out."

"And they say romance is dead."

They somehow managed to make it into one of the dorms, Tig swaying alarmingly with each step, doing his best to balance both her weight and his. By the time he got the door open and kicked it closed behind him, he stumbled towards the bed, practically tossing Alice down onto the mattress as he fell forward, only just managing to catch himself with one hand beside her. He dropped down to his knees and ran a hand down over his face.

"Tig…"

He shook it off and grabbed her by the ankles, yanking her down to the edge of the bed before his fingers went to the button on her jeans. Growing impatient with his fumbling, she undid it for him, followed by the zipper, and then shuffled out of her lower layers of clothing. Tossing them aside, Tig paused, hand going to his head again before he glanced down at her spread legs.

"I swear to god, Tig, if you throw up on me..."

Without a reply, almost as if taking her words as a challenge, he dove forward and began the assault with his tongue. It had barely been a couple of minutes, her fingers already threaded through his curls as her hips moved up to meet each lashing, when she felt him fall back away from her.

"Oh, shit," was all he managed to say as the room began to spin. Alice pushed herself up, leaning back on her hands, and looked down at him, shaking her head. As much as she had been getting into it, and as sorry as she was at the sudden loss of sensation, one look was all it took for her to feel sorry for drunken idiot.

"Come on you big lug," she said, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him up onto the bed beside her. He pulled himself up, groaning as he rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his hand, his assortment of rings glittering gold under the cheap yellow lighting. "You gonna puke?" He shook his head then lay his other hand on her thigh, massaging it gently as if in thanks for her understanding, or perhaps in apology for failing to get her off.

"Nah, I'll be okay, doll. You can get on top if you want."

She laughed at that, but before she could even reply he was out cold. The humor of the entire situation managed to linger a little while longer, and it wasn't until she had settled in beside him, running her fingers gently through his hair, that a cold kind of dread began to drift over her. Because despite the warmth radiating from the big biker's body, she was suddenly alone in the room. And the only thing keeping her company tonight, despite the room full of raucous partygoers mere meters from where she sat, was her old friend, Insomnia.

It was four am by the time she finally worked up the courage to check her watch. No need to remind herself that yet another night was about to pass without so much as a wink slept. She was tired. A cold, terrifying kind of tired that seemed to have vacated her weary muscles and settled instead in her mind. Her ears rang with the surrounding silence, the party outside having wound down until the only things she had been able to make out were the occasional sounds of someone loudly upending the contents of their stomach in the bathroom down the hall, or those still sober enough to be fucking making their best attempts out on the clubhouse floor. Every now and then she caught movement from the corner of her eye and her gaze would flick towards it, only to find the space empty. The amount of effort it took just to adjust her gaze seemed staggering, as if her eyes had been replaced with lead weights. To remedy this, she gazed blankly at the wall across from her, absentmindedly observing all the imperfections in the plaster; small cracks and lazy paint jobs. A tightness began to form in her chest and rose up her throat like invisible fingers closing around it, only this time she wasn't enjoying the sensation. She willed the tears to come, but it seemed even they were too tired to make an appearance. So her sorrow sat heavily upon her chest, suffocating and seemingly endless. And when she found she could no longer stand it, she slipped silently from the bed – careful not to wake the sleeping giant – and pulled on her jeans before creeping out into the clubhouse.

Running her fingers back through her pale hair, she took in the scene before her; a room littered with as much trash as there were bodies. A fog of smoke, beer and sex seemed to hang in the air as she stepped further in. Not a single person stirred, and judging from the occasional puddle of puke and the compromising positions many had passed out in, the cause was pretty unanimous. But even as she eyed the scattering of empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays, Alice found a renewed sense of hope; a way to keep her mind busy as the needle of her mental meter continued to teeter on the line between 'not okay' and 'self-destruct'.

Disappearing into the kitchen, she rummaged around in the cupboards, returning moments later with a garbage bag, the black plastic trailing behind her like a rustling black shadow. And without even pausing to consider if this was maybe a little odd to be doing, she began the long, mind-numbing process of cleaning up. Dodging the puke piles as best as she could, she collected every empty bottle she could find, as well as those not-so-full ones that had been turned into makeshift ashtrays, sloshing with a chunky, nicotine soup. She grabbed a couple off the pool table by Bobby's head, wincing as they clinked together a little louder than she had intended, but with a pair of big, soft breasts for his pillow, the biker remained comfortably dead to the world.

Making her way around the stained, sagging couches, she spotted Juice passed out on one of them with the dancer from the stripper pole draped haphazardly over his chest. She smiled down at him, then noticed his near-full bottle still clutched in his hand, leaning at a dangerous angle over his half-raised shirt. She crouched quietly beside him and made an attempt to pry the beer from his fingers. Just as she nearly had it, his fingers clamped down over the glass neck once more and his eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to remember where he was, Alice's presence only managing to confuse him further, then he noticed the garbage bag and frowned up at her, piecing it together.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Al."

He caught her by the wrist as she stood up, his drunken haze breaking as she ripped herself out of his grasp. She wouldn't meet his gaze for a moment, but he knew. This was the pots and pans scattered in the kitchen as she cooked. It was the sleepless nights of obsessive studying when the finals weren't for months. It was the harried scribblings of everything she was suddenly inspired to do that she would lose interest in within the week. It was the split second between the exhilaration of riding the wave, and the terror of watching the water rush up from underneath you. This was the tail-end of the mania; the drowning man reaching for anything to keep him afloat, because he knows the moment he stops struggling, he's going to be sucked under. This was Alice treading water.

Carefully peeling the stripper off his body, he threw his legs over the side of the couch and ran a hand over his shaved Mohawk, letting the unconscious dancer slip down into the space behind him. He offered Alice his gentlest smile, one that said 'I'm not going to judge you, just talk to me'. When it quickly became clear that this was not about to be the case, he took it upon himself to break the silence.

"You don't have to do that, you know," he said, nodding towards the trash bag still clutched in her hand. "That's what we got prospects for. And it's kinda how the croweaters earn their keep, too."

"Well, I'm pretty sure if you asked Gemma, she'd lump me in with that crowd."

Juice gazed up at her, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to figure out if she was attempting to make a joke, or if she had already began that self-destructive dive into one of her low episodes. Ignoring her friend's protests, she turned to the coffee table in front of him and began emptying the ashtrays.

"What's going on, Al?"

"Just helping out."

Juice stared at her. She couldn't seriously think that after all these years he wouldn't recognize one of her downward spirals.

"Hey!" He said it with a little more force than necessary, his voice coming out low but commanding, finally managing to capture her attention. When she turned back he could see the defeat in her face.

"Just let it go, man."

"When's the last time you slept?"

Her head fell back as she gave a heavy sigh, but he could tell she was at least considering her reply. "I donno. Monday, maybe?"

"Holy shit, Al."

"It's been worse."

"That's four days!"

"Your point?"

"You need to sleep."

"No fucking shit, Sherlock!" she snapped at him, tired frustration finally culminating in misdirected anger. He stared at her a moment, brow furrowed, but he reminded himself that this wasn't her; this was the disorder talking. He watched as she tossed the bag aside, the weighty contents not allowing much in the way of distance. She kept her gaze trained to the floor as one hands went to her hip and the other to her forehead, but he could tell just from the way her lips were scrunched that she was fighting back an emotional deluge. Her chest began to rise and fall more heavily until finally she let out a slow, steady breath through pursed lips. She felt a warm hand slip into her own and she managed a small smile as he gave her a squeeze.

"Want me to get you something? I'm pretty sure Tig's still got those tranquilizers around somewhere. Hey, just a suggestion," he said, throwing up his hands defensively as she shot him a look. "I know you won't take Valium. I might have something…" He got to his feet, heading for his dorm as Alice groaned.

"It's fine. I'll be fine."

Now it was his turn to shoot her a look. "You look like shit and you feel like shit. Let me help."

She rolled her eyes but he could see some of her resolve melting away at the selfless gesture. To be fair, he wasn't feeling so hot himself – the mix of opiates and alcohol churning away, his stomach's review of the concoction advising imminent evacuation – but that was an easy solve. A quick thrust of fingers in the throat and he would be just peachy. Alice's situation wasn't such an easy fix, but knowing the hell she would likely be enduring in the coming days, he could at least help see her through it.

"Fine," she finally gave in, following him towards the dorms, "But if I end up in front of the cop station dressed in a goddamn diaper, you're gonna get your ass beat."