Title: Of Wildwood Flowers and Whiskey

Summary: Here's to the long nights that came with smooth Tennessee whiskey and love that was sweet as wine. To wildwood flowers that hid us in the moonlight, from ourselves and each other. Chibs/OC.

A/N: Hello all! This is my second SOA fic, feel free to check out my first one! This one is AU S6, so we will not be following the plot directly. I own nothing, so please R&R- it keeps my muse going!

Chapter One: Shit

Erin woke up and groaned, her head spinning a hundred miles an hour and the sun glaring through the window was not making it any better. It took her a few moments, but her eyes adjusted to the light and she sat up slowly, feeling all of the liquids she downed last night slosh around in her stomach. She found herself naked on a bathroom floor, the tiles yellow with age. She leaned into the toilet and puked, instantly feeling relief as she emptied her stomach contents.

When she felt better, she got up and walked into the empty main room, realizing that she was in some shitty motel. Piecing together pertinent clues- the crappy drapes, the fact that she reeked of alcohol and tobacco, and the fact that she had no clue where she was, she came to the realization that she had one crazy, long night.

"Shit," she said, grabbing her clothes off the floor. She shoved her body awkwardly into the clothes, her body sore from what she could only imagine took place last night. As she grabbed her smokes off the night stand, she found a large ring lying there. She picked it, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Erin flipped it over and found what appeared to be a reaper etched into it.

"Who the hell did I pick up last night?" She muttered to herself, grabbing her stuff and shoving it into her purse. As she exited the room, and made her way to her car, she tried to will herself to remember what happened last night. Erin knew the where and how- she worked as a bartender at a local bar in town and when she got lonely enough (especially if the whiskey went down smooth enough) she could lower down the walls and let someone in long enough to release some tension. But the next morning, the walls went back up and she went about her day as if nothing happened.

She threw her purse onto the passenger seat and sped out of the shady motel's parking lot, happy to see it in her rearview mirror. What she wasn't happy to see was all the hickeys on her neck. "Shit."

The club members voted in their new patches and quickly began to celebrate, happy to finally have a full table again. Jax slapped Chibs on the back and motioned for a round of shots for everyone. The entire clubhouse hooted and hollered as their newest members walked into the room. "Shit, not me, brother. I think old age has finally caught up with me," Chibs replied, turning down the strong drink.

Jax glanced at him and smirked. "Old age, brother? I think you and I both know that you're hungover ten ways from Sunday. You gotta take it easy, especially when you have early wake up calls the next morning," he said, before walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

Chibs stared after him, envious of the fact that he could go on, as if nothing happened. As if, just 24 hours, a young boy hadn't died in the crossfire between them and the Mayans. As if, Chibs failed to save his life and now he was dead. But it didn't matter to them. All they did was go out and drink to forget the pain, but he was cut from a different cloth. He had that Catholic guilt eating him alive.

He walked over to the bar and motioned for Chuckie to pour him a beer. As he threw the beer back, he had flashbacks of the previous night's events and sighed. He drank way too much and ended up in some crappy bar with the club, in the next town over. Throwing caution to the wind, he picked up some no name bartender and they ended up at a small motel a few miles down the road. The scratch marks on his back clued him in on what went down.

As he had flashbacks of what went down, Gemma slid into the bar stool next to him, motioning to Chuckie for her own shot. "You okay, Chibs?" She asked, gently nudging him with her shoulder. She knew her Scottish friend was of the gentler kind. While he ran with the best of them, he did have a softer heart.

"Yeah, just feeling a bit under the weather," he responded. "How about you? How are things going with you and lover boy?" He asked, motioning to Nero. Gemma glanced over her shoulder to him and shrugged. "You know how that goes. Club business always rubs people the wrong way," she replied, referencing the rough patch between Nero and Jax because of the club blowback on Diosa.

Chibs nodded, knowing that she spoke the truth. "We're trying, Gems. Jax is banging his head against the wall trying to make it all right for everyone," he said. Gemma patted his back, agreeing with him. Ever since Chibs became vice president, he found himself putting out the fires that that Jax and the club started. He knew it came with the territory, but he didn't know it was going to be this tiring. She held up her shot and they both drank to a new future for the club.

Erin moaned loudly, her body shaking and wet with sweat, as she clung to her bed sheets. Her legs shook, as her back arched. "Oh my god," she moaned loudly, as her hair stuck to her wet forehead. Moments later, she awoke from her vivid dreams, panting wildly.

"Shit," she muttered, turning on her bedside sat up in bed, wiping the sweat off of her forehead. She couldn't believe it- the dream felt so real. The experience was crazy. Her body reacted like she was just in bed with a man right now. She sighed, remembering every moment of it, and craving more of it. The man from the bar.

Erin flopped back into bed and groaned, the flashbacks coming back to her. She couldn't remember his name or what he looked like, but for some reason she could imagine what he smelled like. Tobacco, car oil, and some type of cologne. He had a hearty laugh and a soft touch, that somehow managed to get past her sarcastic, bitchy attitude and into her pants. Somehow, somewhere, he saw something that he liked, when she could barely even find one little thing in the mirror. And she couldn't even remember what he looked like.

Erin groaned, climbing out of her bed and walking barefoot into the kitchen, clad only in a pair of panties and a wifebeater. She lit a cigarette and poured herself a glass of vodka, standing in her dark kitchen, looking out into the empty street. It was 3am and she couldn't sleep. "Shit."