Title: Redemption Category: TV Shows » Sons of Anarchy Author: Happys Hitwoman Language: English, Rating: Rated: M Genre: Drama/General Published: 04-07-11, Updated: 11-26-11 Chapters: 52, Words: 275,438 Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Chapter One In Amanda's case, death was all about relief. It was a calming peace of mind knowing her father was in a much better place than he was less than a year ago. But at the same time, all it did was widen the gaping hole left in Amanda's life. Between never having known her mother to walking out on her husband after she was given the "it's either caring for your father or our marriage" ultimatum, all Amanda had now was herself – that and an abundance of spare time that was formerly consumed with caring for her cancer-riddled father in the home she grew up in. Now that time was spent practically living day and night at The Quiet Garden – her built-from-scratch flower shop conveniently located right on the corner to the entrance of the Charming Cemetary. Most of Amanda's business came from patrons stopping in for a floral token en route to visit their loved ones in the cemetery behind her. Being surrounded by the constant reminder of death numbed her a bit – even helped prepare her for her father's passing. And knowing he was buried in that very cemetery gave her a bit of comfort, thus her early mornings and late nights at The Quiet Garden was her way of remaining close to him – if that made sense. Flowers were comforting. Their shapes were gracious and their scents were soothing. Surrounding herself with them every day was a strength to Amanda – especially after all that she had been through. But the toughest part of her day was not dealing with funeral parlors ordering the customary casket arrangement, grieving individuals looking for a single, perfect rose to recapture the beauty of life or even the occasional clueless, but well-meaning husband/boyfriend who rushes in for a bouquet of anything before rushing home to celebrate the birthday/anniversary he obviously forgot. No, the toughest part was leaving the comfort of her shop for the small, ranch-style house her parents always lived in, the home she was born and grew up in until she got married five years ago and moved to nearby Manteca which was a short, daily drive to and from her shop in Charming. The house was now hers, but she still had a decision to make as whether to sell it. She was torn between sentimentality and the painful memories of the past year. Until Amanda could make up her mind, it made sense to stay. She was never going back to Barry – that decision she made without waiver a little less than a month ago when he showed up unexpectedly as she was closing up shop, angrily fisting the divorce papers he had just been served. She remembered the conversation all too well: "What the hell is this Amanda?" Barry demanded, thrusting the divorce papers at her. "Give them to your lawyer," she replied unaffected. "He'll figure it out for you." She continued with an arrangement of stephanotis and daisies as he continued to stand there fuming, taking a bit of solace that Marge was hovering in the back room where Amanda had asked her to stay as soon as she saw Barry pull up – not that the sixty year old woman would be able to do anything anyway! "Look, 'manda," Barry said. "It's all over, okay. You took care of your dad. He's gone. Now it's time to come home." She looked at him with furious blue eyes. "Take a look, Barry," she snapped at him. "I am home. I didn't leave temporarily. I left permanently. You gave me an ultimatum. You wouldn't even consider having dad spend whatever time he had left with us. You made me choose." "I thought you'd choose your husband," he spat at her. "And as my husband, I thought you'd choose the right thing," she spat back. "Instead, it just showed what a selfish, inconsiderate, non-compassionate prick you really are. So…I chose the man who gave me life, who raised me without a mother. And now you think because he's gone and out of the way that I'm gonna come whistling back home to you and pick up where we left off. Screw you! Give those papers to your lawyer so we can get this done and over with." He shoved the papers in her face. "I'm not making it that easy for you," he said. "This isn't over, Amanda. You're my wife. You're coming back to Manteca with me." "You couldn't drag me back kicking and screaming," she calmly said. "Now…get out of my shop. If you have something to say to me, have your lawyer call mine." Although in a fit of rage, Barry thankfully left – choking on the dust the tires kicked up in the parking lot as he took off. "I was this close to calling the cops," Marge said as she reappeared from where she was hiding in the back. "He'll get over it," Amanda confidently said. "He'll go back home, have a couple of beers, calm down, sleep on it then realize in the morning that I'm not coming back." That was almost a month ago and, since then, Barry had followed through with his threat to drag the divorce out, hoping to get Amanda to come to her senses and rethink it. But she already decided that she'd wait however long it took for Barry to come to his senses and just admit defeat. Amanda switched the desk light off in the tiny back office and walked out to the front counter – gasping when she saw how dark it was becoming outside. She hadn't realized how long she had lingered in the windowless office booking her daily sales and preparing the deposit for tomorrow. Then again, she did this just about every day – stalling as long as she could to avoid going back to her family home. She picked up a note left for her on the front counter and smiled. 'Your lunch is still in the fridge – make sure you eat. See you tomorrow – M'. Marge was not only semi-retired with a botanical knowledge that knocked even Amanda off her feet, but she hovered over Amanda like a mother hen making sure she ate and didn't over-do it. No matter Marge's good intentions, Amanda always managed to do the opposite. Before closing up the shop for another day, Amanda went to the tiny fridge and grabbed a bag with her untouched lunch in it which Marge brought back for her almost six hours ago. It was now going to be her dinner. One last stop was to the glass doors which housed a stunning variety of florals. But Amanda kept it simple and chose a single gardenia – her favorite – before locking up, en route to make one more stop before going home. Not many people would venture to the cemetery at night – the creep factor alone would chill someone at the mere thought of it. But Amanda didn't mind. She didn't believe in ghosts and spirits. The quiet of the cemetery wasn't as unnerving as the quiet of her family home. She wanted a little private time to spend with her dad and this time of the evening, when dusk was slowly blending into night. Who else would be at the cemetery at night? ~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~~X~X~X~ In Happy's case, death was all about payback. Fifteen excruciating days he spent mindlessly tending to whatever club business Clay had allowed him to partake in. Being his charter's go-to hitman made him the obvious choice for whatever unspeakable acts the club had to engage in under the cover of night. But in his recent state of mind, with the anguish of his loss, with his night's spent emptying the contents of fermented amber liquid into his gut in an attempt to numb his mind and body and calm the raging beast which had made his brothers practically walk on eggshells around him, Clay knew his unquestionably loyal brother was a ticking time bomb. That rage might do him well when it came to taking someone down without conscience or emotion, but it also opened him up to mistakes. Mistakes Clay couldn't afford. Mistakes Happy knew would occur if he so much as attempted to try to venture back into his normal routine – a routine that, up until six months ago, only involved himself. Six months ago. That was when he and Opie waited outside with the bikes while Jax and Tig ventured inside some hole-in-the-wall bar to grill the owner about someone they were trying to track down and eventually teach a lesson to. Happy had gotten off his bike to stretch his legs, walking up and down the sidewalk, peering inside the individual shop windows along the way. That's when he first saw Bekka Sinclair. Staring through the window of the edgy clothing boutique, she was unboxing merchandise and putting them on hangers, her tall, lithe body wrapped in a sheer, peasant top, fringed denim shorts, and tan knee-high boots – a mass of honey colored hair twisted up in a clip while a few stray pieces sexily framed a heart shaped face with alluring hazel eyes and a mouth that was perfect for one thing he had in mind.