For disclaimer, see works cited at the bottom of the page.
A/N: Contains spoilers for episode three of season five, "Laying Pipe." The prompt, invisible, from my hc_bingo card begged to be used for the writing of this (inasmuch as something non-living can 'beg'). And, I needed to write something, even if I did fast forward through the most difficult parts (seeing what happened in still frames might've actually made things worse). :P
Warning: This story contains some graphic imagery.
Biker's Prayer
May the sun rise in front of me, the rain fall behind me and the wind follow me.
May the Angels guard my travels for they know what is ahead of me.
Keep me safe through rolling hills and swirling turns.
Let the eagle guide me to the mountain tops.
Let the moons light guide me through the night.
Lord, thank you for letting me be a biker.
Opie watches them from a distance. His brothers. Or, the closest thing a guy could ever have to brothers. They didn't always get along, and there were times when they got on his nerves, but, for the most part, he knew he could count on them. Until Donna, and then his Pop, were killed by his 'brothers'.
Growing up, he'd wanted nothing more than to be a Son, to join the ranks of Sam Crow. To be his best friend's right hand man when Jax took over the reins of the club, because he knew that one day, Jax would be president. It was his destiny.
And, close to the end, when he'd grown so sick and tired of all the bullshit, Opie had known that, even though Sam Crow left a bad taste in his mouth, he would stick close to Jax, eventually come back to him, maybe to the club.
Which, is why he did what he did when Jax put himself up as the sacrificial lamb, because, Jax was (had always been) his best friend, and he loved him. And, he knew, even before Jax had opened his mouth, hell, before he had hauled off and hit the sheriff so that he could join his brother in prison, that his days were limited.
It wasn't that he had a death wish. Not really. But, he had a part to play. It wasn't a glamorous part, and it wouldn't earn him any rewards – in heaven or on earth – but it was one borne of necessity. What he couldn't give to Jax in life – his unadulterated faith, and wholehearted support – he could give to him in death.
So, Opie watched. Watched the club. Watched Clay live out the life that his father should be living, except with far less finesse. Watched how Jax started coming into his own. How he was becoming the man he was meant to be, even if he didn't know it.
He'd thought Jax was weak, that his desire to leave the club for his sons was cowardly. But then, when Opie had lost everything that he'd held dear, outside of the club, he started to understand what his best friend was thinking, and that scared the shit out of him. Because, for a long while, he'd thought that the club was everything, and then the carpet was pulled out from under his feet, leaving him standing, his children motherless, and he was fucking lost, so he'd poured himself into the club. And then, the blinders came off, and what he could see, he didn't like.
He'd told Jax that he was afraid that he'd become like him, and he'd meant it. Jax cared too fucking much, about everything and everyone. The club, what Opie had sacrificed so much for, was only secondary to Jax.
Opie'd rather be like Clay, callous, single-minded, heart set on nothing but his own best interest. Like Jax, except not, because Jax loved and had hope for a future that Opie couldn't even begin to fathom, because Sam Crow was, and had always been his only home. Which is why, when Clay murdered his father, Opie'd had to step away and clear his head.
In the end, though, when he was fighting, not for his life, because he'd forfeited it when he'd pledged, alongside Jax, to be a Son, but to die with honor, it all boiled down to Jax. If it had been anyone else, Opie wouldn't have cared, but Jax and he, they were closer than brothers.
Opie'd thought that he couldn't love anyone, not after Donna, not after his father, but, he'd been wrong.
I was wrong, Opie thinks, as he watches Jax – face taut with tension, heart hardened by the death of his best friend – strike a match and light a cigarette. His eyes are dark, reflecting the light of the match as it flickers and dies and burns the tips of his fingers. Opie can almost taste the acrid smoke as Jax inhales and holds the smoke in his lungs until he's close to suffocating, and he's got no choice but to exhale.
Jax's hands are shaky, and Opie reaches out, knowing that he's invisible, that he can't touch. That this is as close as he's allowed to get to Jax.
"Fuck," Jax says, and he sucks at his cigarette, the embers burn bright red. He flicks the gray ash off the tip of it. "Should've been me."
Opie shakes his head, knowing that the gesture is lost on his friend. He tries to picture it. Tries to see what Jax must've seen through the window of the box he'd fought in, and he can't do it. He can't watch, couldn't have watched, as his best friend was beaten to death – his blood, a splash of crimson on the steel gray walls, body broken, pinkish tan brain matter spattered across the window, on the floor. It would have killed him.
But it didn't kill Jax. It put him on the warpath, and was going a long way toward making him the man that Opie'd always known he would be back when they were just kids and dreaming about being a part of Sam Crow.
Jax finishes his cigarette, crushes the stub against the heel of his boot, and then he pushes off from the headstone he's been sitting on. He crouches in the freshly turned dirt, his knees brushing against a bouquet of flowers – an offering of mourners – and kisses his fingers, places them against the cool marble, traces Opie's name, date of birth and death, the words, 'Beloved Son and Friend,' with an index finger.
A whispered prayer - I love you brother, give me the strength to avenge your death and to ride straight and true– carries itself on the wind, and Opie realizes that Jax hasn't spoken aloud.
Invisible, Opie ventures to touch, places a hand on Jax's shoulder, squeezes, and murmurs, "I will, brother."
Jax's body tenses beneath Opie's ghostly fingers which pass right through him as Opie, intangible, tries to console his friend.
"Thank you," Jax says, and he reaches up, his hand clasping the shoulder that Opie had touched. It rests there briefly, Jax's hand – warm and rough-skinned – against his own. Opie closes his eyes, lets this feeling that of Jax's hand on his own, wash over him. It is tangible and Opie wishes that he didn't have to leave.
The words, "I love you," follow Opie as he removes his hand from beneath Jax's and steps away. "I miss you."
He can't stay, can't continue to watch his brothers struggle and fall before they right themselves and learn how to walk again. He won't see how the rest of it all plays out, but he has a pretty good idea, and it's why he did what he did. He could tell himself that he did it for the club, but, in the end, what he did, he did for Jax.
"I love you too," Opie says, and then he turns, opens his arms wide and lets the wind carry him upward, like an eagle. "I always have, and always will."
Works Cited
"Bikers Prayer." Bikers Prayer. Ed. Troy Cox, Richard Kooken, and George Kennedy. American Legion, n.d. Web. 28 Sept. 2012. /LegionRiders/bikers_ .
"Sons of Anarchy's Ryan Hurst: 'Opie's Reached the End of His Rope' With Jax, Clay and SAMCRO." Sons of Anarchy's Ryan Hurst: 'Opie's Reached the End of His
Rope' With Jax, Clay and SAMCRO. , 22 Nov. 2011. Web. 28 Sept. 2012. f218/sons-anarchys-ryan-hurst-opies-reached-
end-his-rope-jax-clay-samcro-1655622/.
Sutter, Kurt, prod. "Laying Pipe." Sons of Anarchy. FX. Hollywood, CA, 25 Sept. 2012. Television.
Venable, Nick. "Sons of Anarchy Watch: Season 5, Episode 3 - Laying Pipe." Sons of Anarchy Watch: Season 5, Episode 3 - Laying Pipe. , 26
Sept. 2012. Web. 28 Sept. 2012.