From Across the Pond

[sullivan]

Name of Thread: From Across the Pond
Characters Involved in Thread: Eamon Sullivan/Kate Cliff
IC Month Thread Occured: July
Brief Description of Thread: Eamon makes a surprise visit to Charming, but there's no one but Kate to greet him... bonus.

---

From his arrival in Seattle a short while ago, Eamon Sullivan had covered nearly eight hundred miles of road on the west coast of the United States. The monotony of such a trip was broken by the presence of his Sam Bell brother, Doyle Finnigan, and a few good fist-fights along the way. Still, Eamon's objective remained out of reach; the man they were looking for, Roderick Stone aka Johan Hammersmith aka Marcus Miller seemed perpetually one step ahead of the pair. They would roll into a town only to find out that the bastard had rolled out a day or two before and headed south. Always south. And this constant southern trajectory led the Irish boys to a little town called Charming.

Intel put Mr. Stone in the area a day ahead of them and they hadn't yet gotten word that he'd left. Doyle was off to check on a lead and Eamon decided it was an opportune time to pay a little visit to the SAMCRO lads and officially introduce himself. And, hell, for all he knew they might be able to point him straight to the target.

The loud rumble of his chopper preceded Eamon's arrival at the Teller-Morrow garage. He rolled up and parked his bike and killed the engine and left his helmet hanging from the handle bars. He took a brief moment to stretch himself out and let out a low sigh of relief when a few stiff joints in his back and neck and shoulders popped like bubble wrap. Sure, Eamon liked riding well enough. He liked it even better on the long stretches of American highway. What he didn't like was the sore, locked up feeling that resulted from eight hundred miles on the road.

The Irishman ran a hand through his hair, a mussed bed-head looking mass of brown an inch or two overdue for a hair cut. He sauntered past the garage proper and made for the club house and threw some quick, weak little shadow-punches every few steps. He walked with his head held high and a crooked smirk on his face and a troublemaking glint in his eye. He pushed open the clubhouse door and stepped inside and swung his arms up with a big theatrical motion.

"Hey, lads! Surprise visit... from..." Eamon trailed off into silence. His arms remained in the air but for a moment, then dropped to his sides.

"Huh."

He swept his eyes across the conspicuously empty clubhouse and mock-frowned even though, he presumed, there was no one there to see it.

[mavrick]

Kate had endured a whirlwind of a time since arriving in Charming. She was pretty sure she’d experienced every emotion on the spectrum, ranging from elation to dread, lust to loathing. Her latest mood however was seething. Since Jess’ garage had burnt down and the Mayan pressure on the Tribe had increased tenfold, resulting in the Sons heading for the Hills, Kate’s sister had taken great joy in yelling at her youngest sibling about her way of life and how it was going to get her killed. The fight had ended in Kate storming out and crashing at the SAMCRO clubhouse. She wasn’t sure what was worse though, her sister, or the smell of stale pussy in Jax’s temporary bedroom.

The clubhouse had been deserted when she’d arrived, and she expected it to be the same way when she woke. With no cuts to chase, the Crow Eaters had dispersed, and while Tig had come in and out to check on things, the club house was pretty much an empty space. Kate, still half asleep wandered out of Jax’s room and into the hallway. She shuffled her bare feet and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She didn’t know what time it was, but knowing what she was like when it came to sleeping, it was probably late.

As she rounded the corner into the main bar area Kate heard an unfamiliar voice. She stopped in the doorway as she caught Eamon and the last of his grand entry. She stared at him for a second, not quite sure if she had just seen a grown man in a cut enter the room like a theatre queen, or if she was still asleep. She then became aware that this guy was real, and he was not SAMCRO, and therefore a stranger to her. And finally, she became aware of the fact that all she had on was a pair of boy cut panties and a tank top that had seen better days. And while Kate wasn’t particularly shy about such things, she didn’t think it was the best way to greet a stranger. So she went on the defensive.

“Who’re you?” she asked from across the room, tucking some of her bed hair behind her ear like she was fully clothed and totally put together. Her tone wasn’t challenging, more flat than anything, like a girl who’d seen just about everything, even more so now that she’d witnessed Eamon’s big entrance.

[sullivan]

As Eamon gave the deserted clubhouse a once-over his sharp, bright eyes stopped on a girl standing in the doorway in a partial state of undress, staring at him. He gave her an up-and-down look and stared back and his mock frown became a crooked, closed-mouth grin. Eamon was a little more clothed than the lady at present; a black hoodie beneath his cut, a loose and comfortable pair of faded, broken-in jeans, well-worn black motorcycle boots that made heavy sounds on the floor. A patch on his cut read 'Belfast' and when he opened his mouth his accent would clearly confirm his charter of origin.

"Eamon Sullivan," he said in a jovial tone as he started to stride towards Kate. He stopped some feet away, leaned on the nearest thing he could lean on and crossed his arms over his chest. There was an unflappable calm and an easy confidence about him. He conversed like the present situation was the most normal situation in the world. His eyes wandered only slightly but he was subtle about it; a master of sneaking glances, if you will.

"Just passing through the area and thought I'd come 'round, see the SAMCRO lads," he explained with a small shrug of his shoulders, "So I figure it's my turn to ask... Who are you, lass, and where's the boys?"

[mavrick]

Irish. Sam Bell. Kate could say honestly that this was the first member of the Belfast charter that she’d met. It’d been a long while since any Irishmen had frequented the clubhouse, Kate probably would have been an infant, if that. Kate pursed her lips at Eamon for a moment, as if she was weighing up whether he was telling the truth. She gave him an obvious once over, took in his cut, his posture, his almost cheeky smile. She had a feeling this was the kind of guy who could make you smile no matter how shitty you felt. Finally satisfied that he was telling the truth (not that it had been a hard one to work out) she replied.

“Kate,” she paused only a moment, offering no more an explanation on herself than that. “The boys are in the Hills… Nevada. The Tribe is having Mayan issues and most of them went up there to try and work out a plan of action. Tig is still in town, but I haven’t seen him. He’s probably face down in something cheap and nasty.” Her tone suggested that her comment on Tig’s whereabouts were probably fact, as opposed to taking a wild guess. “I don’t know when they’ll be back,” she added on after a short pause.

Kate had forgotten she was half naked. In truth half the shorts she wore were barely any longer than her current underwear, so she didn’t really feel any more ‘naked’ than normal. Besides, growing up around bikers meant a girl lost the ability to go pink in the face with embarrassment pretty damned fast. The years she’d spent being teased by SAMCRO and the Tribe, over the most personal and embarrassing things… she could handle anything. Having thought on this fact again, she chuckled to herself and looked up at Eamon.

“I guess I’m your welcoming party.”

[sullivan]

Eamon watched as Kate gave him an up-and-down look and he waggled his eyebrows at her, his expression silently asking her if she liked what she saw. He looked young for thirty, was neither short nor tall, and though his clothing was heavy and loose he had strong shoulders and moved smoothly, confidently. He was a fit man in control of his body, a man of skill. His military service shone through in the way he carried himself... though he had the look of a trickster in his bright hazel eyes and the same sort of attitude that just didn't seem to jive with a military background.

"Kate," Eamon repeated, nodding, smiling. "It's a pleasure."

He took a few slow, sauntering strides to close up the distance between himself and Kate, stopping just short of the 'personal space' mark. He grinned crookedly as she dubbed herself his 'welcoming party'. Eamon was the sort of fellow who emoted with his whole face; his grin reached up to his eyes, to his brows. His face was an easy read. He was thinking of fun.

"Couldn't have asked for a better welcoming party, lass." He let a beat of silence pass and his eyes did a brief wander around of the clubhouse and then settled back on Kate.

"So you mean to tell me all those lads ran off and left you here alone? You must be bloody bored. Lucky for you I'm all sorts of fun." Wink.

[mavrick]

Kate contained her smile at Eamon. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from busting out into a cheesy grin. She took a breath, contained herself and crossed her arms over her chest. “I think livid is a more appropriate. I actually had Charming PD on my doorstep to keep me from going up there after them.” She paused, huffed and tried to keep herself from unleashing her pent up whine on the unsuspecting Eamon. “Anyways,” she said, trying to change the subject before he thought her a winey little princess, (and in truth, she was) Kate wondered what she was to do with her new Irish friend. She figured, it was never too early for a drink, especially for an Irishman.

“Did you want something to drink? We’ve got coffee, beer and about every spirit known to man. I’m guessing it’s always happy hour when you’re Irish.” She smiled, paused and then added. “Let me go put on some pants.”

[sullivan]

Eamon gave Kate his sympathies in the look on his face as she told her tale of Charming PD's interference. Eamon had the air of a fellow who'd had his fair share of run-ins with the law completely unrelated to his membership in an outlaw motorcycle club. He'd probably spent more nights sleeping it off in the drunk tank than sleeping in his own bed. The guy looked like the best kind of trouble, through and through.

He perked up like he'd been given a shot of adrenaline when she offered him alcohol. Of course his better judgement - and simple good taste - steered him away from any American beers (which in his estimation could hardly be called beer). When it came to the harder stuff, whiskey was his poison of choice. It didn't matter to him what time of the day it was... and he'd swear up and down that, no, he's no alcoholic.

"Aye, lass, I'll take a whiskey. Jameson if you've got it." He paused. His grin slowly spread wide like mischievousness was seeping into his face.

"Aw, hell, it's not like you need pants to pour a drink."

[mavrick]

Kate laughed. A genuine sound that she hadn’t made in what seemed like a long while now. She’d mostly been sulking, so she was quite glad Eamon was there to make her smile. “This is true,” she admitted to him with a half contained laugh. “But I do need them to keep my legs warm, it’s fucking cold in here. Go grab a seat, I’ll be back in a minute.” She pointed towards the bar before heading back down the hallway and into Jax’s bedroom. She grabbed her jeans, wrestled into them and threw her blue plaid button up shirt over her tank top. She then threw her hair up into a messy pony tail and returned out to the bar area.

Eamon had taken a seat at one of the bar stools, and Kate made her way behind the bar, grabbed up a shot glass for him and took down the Jameson from the shelf. She filled him up, set the bottle aside and pushed the shot towards him. “There ya go,” she said with a smile. “I think I’ll go for the coffee option, two of those and I’ll be knocked on my ass,” she added with a laugh. An empty stomach and spirits did quick work on the tiny blonde, and she didn’t really want to make a complete dick of herself with a total stranger.

That and she didn’t know the guy, and she got touchy feely when she was drunk… and she’d been down that road before with damaging results.

[sullivan]

"Well, see lass, there's a simple solution here," Eamon started, pausing only to throw back the shot of Jameson and slap the shot glass on the bar top. He made a whiskey face that morphed back into his infectious grin before it could even register.

"If two of these knock you on yer ass that mean you can still have one."

He played around with the shot glass, sliding it back and forth across the bar with his thumb and forefinger in a sort of absent way for he hadn't taken his eyes off Kate. He gave her an almost puppy dog look - and on a biker that was a sight to behold. His mouth twitched; he barely contained himself enough to pull off that pleading look.

"Come on, come on, I can't just sit here and drink alone. You've got to have one at least."

[mavrick]

Kate’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline as she watched Eamon pull off quite an adorable puppy face. Kate wondered how much trouble people had gotten themselves into when he’d pulled this face, even if he could only barely contain it. She considered the fact that she hated whiskey, the fact she hadn’t eaten, the fact she didn’t know this guy, the fact she would probably end up in his lap if she got drunk… and poured herself a drink.

She refilled his, slopping some over the sides as she did before putting the bottle down and grabbing her glass. “One,” she announced, though she wasn’t sure she believed herself at this point. She slammed the glass back, and contained the urge to spit the stuff all over the bar. She swallowed, felt the burn, and put her glass back on the bar top. She then immediately turned around and flicked the coffee pot on so it would boil for her. She felt the lingering burn, and her stomach voicing its protest.

She then turned back to Eamon.

“So what brings Sam Bell to Charming?” she asked, curiosity laced in her voice. Clay would have told her to expect him, had he known Eamon was coming, so she knew already that it wasn’t something that had been ‘planned’. She also knew that Eamon probably thought she was a Crow Eater, so she could hit a big Irish brick wall very soon. Even though she was practically patched in with both the Sons and the Tribe, it was hard to shake the ‘girl = sweet butt’ vibe that men outside the two charters had. And Kate wasn’t the kind of girl who introduced herself and added on ‘By the way, my dad is Uncle Jury, and I grew up here, so don’t treat me like a damned whore.’

She was curious too, to see how Eamon would react to her asking him.

[sullivan]

The moment Kate relented, the very millisecond that she succumbed to Eamon's pleading expression and poured a drink, the troublemaking Irish bastard dropped the puppy dog look and burst into an ear-to-ear grin. There was something victorious about it, like he was celebrating another successful play. He was a man who could get far on charisma alone; that was a fact that he knew all too well and used to his advantage at any opportunity.

"There you go," he remarked as she poured the drink and filled his.

He raised the shot glass and as she assured him that it would only be one drink he nodded and smiled and spoke in a tone like he didn't believe her at all: "Aye, lass. Just one."

He threw back the shot of Jameson at the same time she did, made his whiskey face as the drink burned down his throat, slapped the shot glass on the bar and had that shit-eating grin on his face again. He always seemed to be grinning, like he was forever psyched about how awesome his life was. How was he even a biker? It just didn't fit.

He leaned his forearms on the bar and drummed his fingers in a staccato beat on the surface. He let out a short chuckle under his breath when the question finally came out. Yeah, what was Sam Bell doing so far from home, anyway?

"OPSEC, lass. 'Fraid I can't exposit the details. But I'm only passing through Charming; don't figure I'll be around more than a day or two. Just business takin' us all down the coast. Lovely ride, though."

A piece of military jargon slipped out and Eamon didn't even notice it. He and Doyle often used it as a shorthand, much to the chagrin of their fellow patch members. He wasn't coming off as much of a military man; not like some of the other Sons did in their attitudes and the way they carried themselves. Eamon was two people; most of the time he was Sully, the light-hearted bastard of a trickster. But when the bullets started flying he became Company Sergeant Eamon Sullivan, the consummate soldier and a tough-as-nails son of a bitch.

Presently he regarded Kate with a sort of curiosity. Either his Irish charms weren't working properly or she wasn't just some Crow Eater. If she was, they would both be wearing considerably less clothing by now. However, figuring people out was a challenge Mr. Sullivan enjoyed.

He slid the shot glass forward on the bar and at the same time nodded in the direction of Kate's glass.

"How's about one more, yeah? You look tough. I've got faith you can handle it."

[mavrick]

Kate felt a bit of a sinking sensation in her stomach when Eamon announced he was only passing through. She paused to mentally examine it… had she just gotten upset at the idea this guy wasn’t hanging around? Sure, he was handsome, cute as hell when he made those facial expressions and made her laugh, but Kate had never been the type to have more than the occasional fling with a guy, sinking feelings were foreign to her.

She wasn’t surprised when he announced that he wasn’t about to spill details to her. She didn’t know what he was doing in the states, but she figured it wasn’t a holiday, even if he did enjoy the ride. She also noted the military term. She didn’t know what it stood for, but she figured it meant ‘classified’. She now suspected he was ex military of some description.

When he prodded her to have another shot she just smiled at him and filled his glass up again. “You may have faith, but I have years of knowledge,” she said calmly before turning back to her coffee pot and scrounging for a mug and the coffee tin. “If Tig shows up and finds me passed out here, with you just sitting with a bottle… he’s likely to kill you,” she added on with a chuckle, glancing over her shoulder. It indicated that she was close to Tig, which is much more than any sweet butt could claim.

Kate poured her coffee, ladled sugar in and finally turned back to Eamon. She wrapped her cold hands around the warm mug and leaned her elbows on the bar, bringing her a bit closer to him. “Sorry the boys aren’t here, maybe you should stick around ‘till they get back? They’d be bummed if I told them you blew through without saying hello.” Sure, the Sons were the reason she wanted him to stay, not her nagging desire to shag him senseless… that was her story and she was sticking to it.

[sullivan]

Eamon watched the shot glass fill with Jameson, his eyes following the level till it hit the top. He let the glass rest in the curve between his thumb and forefinger and put his attention back on Kate while she fixed herself some coffee. When she shot a glance at him over her shoulder Eamon made a worried face, big and over-the-top and making full use of his bright expressive eyes. He looked like something out of a silent picture from Chaplin's era.

"Tig'll kill me? Really?" The look faded to a crooked grin and Eamon shook his head and made a disappointed 'tsk tsk' sound and said: "Those biker types. So violent."

Eamon slowly spun the shot glass around with his thumb and forefinger degree by degree. He looked Kate straight in the eyes while she talked and his closed-mouth grin crept wider and wider like he was realizing something. He finally picked up the shot glass and poured the Jameson down the hatch and set the glass back down.

"Well," he started after recovering from the whiskey burn, "Maybe I'll just have to stick around a little while longer. I'd hate to disappoint anybody."

[mavrick]

Kate felt a little smirk creep over her face as Eamon announced that maybe he’d stick around. It was always kind of nice when you put effort into your charm and had it pay off. Aside from the occasional ‘check up’ from Crow Eaters, the club house was deserted, and Kate was kind of glad for it. Damned sweet butts were not subtle in their ways, and the last thing the little blonde wanted was for some cheap whore to come along and start rubbing up all over Eamon while she was forced to watch and contain her urge to gag. A lot of men went for easy game, and Kate refused to play that easy, even if she knew in the first five minutes whether she’d sleep with a bloke or not.

She refilled Eamon’s glass again, knowing he’d want another one. She sipped at her coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her mug for a long moment, wondering what topic of conversation she could bring up next without prying or sounding fake. She didn’t suppose a ‘so how’s the weather’ would do, nor would a ‘can I take your pants off?’… so she looked like she was drinking to buy herself time to come up with something. She put her mug down as something came to her, and felt herself biting back a grin.

“There’s a spare room you could use, only I’ve been crashing there myself,” she began, sounding innocent enough, but knowing full well what it implied. “Hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” She could not keep the naughty cheek out of her eyes, even if she could manage to contain the grin.

[sullivan]

Eamon took a moment. It wasn't a long moment in reality, but in his head it stretched on a while like some daydream out of Scrubs. Eamon Sullivan took that moment to reflect upon how much he was starting to love America. Though the States would never replace the Republic of Ireland, that beautiful emerald isle that he served with pride and whose flag he had tattooed upon his skin, damned if he wasn't getting used to the treatment the Yanks were giving him. Was it the accent? The cut? The way he carried himself? Honestly, Eamon didn't give a damn. He was just going to roll with it.

Kate, the blonde number who'd been kindly feeding him Jameson - of which he downed another shot - had just offered up a room. There was no gentlemanly part of Eamon that just took it at face value, as some place to sleep; he was already trying to figure out the best way to gloat to Doyle the next day. The bastard could have a motel room to himself. Eamon found better company.

"Oh lass, the floor's not a problem at all. I'd be a damned fool to turn down an offer like that. And don't you worry - I'll be a perfect gentleman." He winked.