I do not own the Sons of Anarchy.

Walking down the concrete corridor, I felt the weight of the situation hit me harder with each step I took. The squeak of my gray converse and the click of the woman's high heels that were behind me, were the only sounds heard as I walked down the long corridor, one guard was stationed at the door we were heading towards, his military stance and rifle making him an ominous figure, the only difference between this guard and the one we left at the last checkpoint was he seemed a whole lot larger and more imposing. I guess that would make sense he was the last guard between us and the inmates on the other side, only the inmates on the other side didn't scare me as much as the guard did. I grew up around inmates, for my mom's family, going to prison was practically a right of passage, all five of my uncles had spent had spent at least two years each in the confines of a concrete building, where everything was stripped of them and the only way to survive was protection from gangs and clubs. It always fascinated me that they were willing to do anything to protect whom they deemed family. Only it scared me how hard it became for them once they were released, two of them died in prison, another got lucky and escaped it only for him to come back to it a year later, but the other two had been smart and gotten with the gangs that ruled the yard and once their sentence was up they joined the club that had protected them on the inside.

Finally reaching the end of the corridor, and standing two feet in front of the guard that was dressed in a black button up and dark khaki colored slacks. The rifle held diagonally across his body, allowing for the muscles in his biceps to stretch the tight shirt. He was a good foot and a half taller than me but of course everyone had height on me since I wasn't finished growing, I had only four months ago made it to the age I could be called a teenager.

The guard glanced over at us before grabbing his keycard that was attached to his belt and swiping it through the card reader. A loud buzz could be heard echoing through the hallway before the sound of metal could be heard, the door made it halfway open before it was stopped by another guard and then opened all the way once the guards had nodded to each other. Walking through I saw the even rows of metal tables with chairs attached to them throughout the large room, people who had been in the waiting room with me earlier were now scattered throughout the room. I headed in the direction that had the least amount of guards hanging around, and gave us a nice view of the yard through the large bulletproof windows on the left side of the room.

Twenty minutes later, the inmates came in one at a time each wearing an orange pants and either a version of a white t-shirt or the matching orange jumpsuit shirt. I watched as almost a quarter of the room filled up before the man that I came to see walked in, his stance was similar to how it was when he was outside the barbed wire fence, like a panther ready to strike at any moment. Only difference here was his ever present leather cut wasn't hanging off his shoulders, looking at his hands where the thick heavy rings typically lied were now bare but his right hand wasn't a white bandage covered it, contrasting starkly with his tan skin and the black ink that was permanently etched into it.

As he came closer my eyes traveled to his face, his circle beard was more pronounced and gray hair was becoming more prominent, his lips turned into a quick smile seeing me before it went back to his neutral expression that made him so hard to read. He could be pissed or extremely happy, but if you don't notice the quickly disappearing facial expressions, you would never be able to tell.

My Aunt Gemma, well not my real Aunt but she was considered family on my dad's side, stood up to move to a table next to us to give the sense of privacy as he came up to me pulling me into a hug his strong long arms tightening around me as my small arms wrapped around his waist in a vice grip. The gruff voice of a guard the only reason we separated, once we had sat on opposite sides of the metal table, he spoke his voice raspy from the amount of cigarettes he has smoked in his lifetime, "how you doing Corrie?"

"I'm good," my voice thicker than I liked, as my eyes fell to the bandage covering his hand.

"Kid eyes up," his voice gruff and determined and I knew that if it wasn't for the fact that the guards watching the visitation room would of ended the visit if he grabbed my chin, he would of done it.

Tearing my eyes from the white bandage, I looked up into his dark eyes that matched my own only his wasn't pooling with tears as mine were.

His non-bandaged hand came to cover both of mine, "what's wrong, baby?"

"Mom, she's sick like real sick," my eyes glazed over as tears started down my tan cheeks.

His left hand tightened around my right hand as he brought it up his lips kissing it, "baby its okay, she'll get better, she's a tough bitch."

I shook my head as a sniffled and wiped my face with my free hand, "no daddy, she wont her doctor said she only has a month more." I could hear someone move before I felt Gemma's hand rubbing my back as more tears cascaded down my face and my breathing quickened.

I could tell he stopped talking to me as his voice seemed to be speaking above me, "is that why your here Gemma?"

"Yeah, Hap. I'm so sorry, Selena she wanted to tell you herself but she can barely get out of bed by herself."

"I'm not worried about that," his voice had hardened but I could tell he was, he loved my mom, his wife of fourteen years. "I want to make sure Corrie is safe, I get out in six months and if Lena doesn't make it till then I don't want to loose Corrie to the system."

"What about your mom?"

"She can't. She lives with my Aunt and a kid would be to much on them."

"Its okay Happy. Your family, we take care of our own, I got Corrie."

"Thanks."

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