Jackson Teller awakes to the sound of metal scraping metal. It's a familiar sound, but also somehow foreign to his ears. It's too loud, almost distorted. Still, he's heard it before. But where?
He sits up- too fast- and regrets it instantly. A thousand bolts of white hot lightning sear into his brain from a thousand different angles. He presses the palms of his hands firmly against his closed eyes, trying to hold them in place in case his head explodes.
His throat is full of sand and his stomach is twisting and turning like a worm on a hook. Worms. Gross. Fish. Disgusting. He clenches his lips together tightly, trying to keep whatever's in his stomach down.
"Mr. Teller," calls a familiar voice, too close and too far away all at the same time. He opens his eyes, wishing he hadn't. The overhead light is too bright, and the room is spinning. A pretty blonde dressed in uniform places a hand on Jax's shoulder. Jax can't get a good look at her, she's moving back and forth too fast, a blur of flesh and hair. "Mr. Teller, are you alright?"
He knows her. "Officer Candy," he mumbles with a smile. She bites back a grin. She's been arresting Jax since they were practically kids- she a cadet fresh out of the academy, he a SAMCRO prospect.
"That's Officer Eglee to you," she corrects him. She slides her arm under his and gently pulls him up. "Come on, let's go."
"Where we goin'?" Jax asks, standing unsteadily as the room dips and sways before him. He can't concentrate. "Candy. Can…dee! What is- oh, hey Sergeant Cane!" He smiles at Eli Roosevelt's right hand man, who is standing in the doorway of his cell. "Officer Candy and Sergeant Cane…" he snickers. "You guys should take your act on the road."
"Alright, Teller," Sergeant Cane warns. "Settle down." The two officers lead Jax through the precinct as he struggles to remain upright. He shuffles his feet and focuses only on the floor in front of him, which seems to shift wildly with every step he takes.
"Where we goin'?" he repeats, noticing that all eyes are on him, like the fine folks at the Charming Police Department aren't used to seeing him there. Shit, he spends so much time at the station, he's practically got his own desk.
"To see the judge," Officer Eglee informs him. The judge?
"For what?" Jax asks. And then, before anyone can answer, "Hey, where's Eli?" Sergeant Cane freezes in his tracks, his body rigid. He gives Officer Eglee a knowing look, one Jax is too wasted to notice. "I like Eli," Jax says. "He's a good dude."
"Keep walkin'," Officer Eglee says quietly, her tone no longer playful. Jax frowns. Something is going on. As he makes his way to the courtroom, supported by his two armed escorts, he tries to pull himself together, but it's nearly impossible. Every time he begins to have a lucid thought, a drunken haze washes over him, completely encompassing both his body and his mind.
A thought tugs at the back of his brain, one that makes him queasy- and not in the same way the alcohol does. It's clawing its way toward his consciousness, demanding to be realized, but Jax shuts it down over and over. And he's not sure why.
He sits quietly beside the club's new lawyer as she, the judge, and the prosecuting attorney discuss his case. He tries to focus on what's being said, but he feels like a toddler in a toy store- too much going on to pay attention to any one thing for more than a couple of seconds.
"Disorderly conduct…public intoxication…disturbing the peace," he hears the judge say. And then he notices a beautiful brunette sitting across the room, her hands folded in her lap. Tara? No, not Tara. Her hair is a bit too long and her skin is a bit too dark. But she definitely resembles her. Where is Tara?
"Third offense in less than two months…a pattern of destructive behavior…a public nuisance," the prosecuting attorney insists, his words flowing together into one long, run-on sentence that Jax can't keep up with. If he's been arrested, shouldn't Tara be here? What the fuck did he do? Was it really that bad? Tara. Tara, Tara, Tara. Something about Tara. Their marriage had been strained since Tara's bullshit arrest, but they're all good now. Right? They have to be, because that was some hot ass make up sex. Jax bites his lip to keep from smiling at the thought. Tara's lips on his. Her hands unbuttoning his shirt. Her body inviting him inside her.
Jax's lawyer stands up. "Family man…life-long resident of the community…small business owner…struggling following recent events…death of his wife." Tara lying on the kitchen floor. Tara's blood- everywhere. Tara cold, unmoving. Tara's gone. Tara. Is. Gone.
Jax pounds his fists on the table in front of him and lets out a deep, primal growl. His lawyer rubs his back comfortingly as he begins to sob, his head in his handcuffed hands.
"Time served…$2500 fine…100 hours community service…psychiatric evaluation," the judge decides.
"This is good, Jackson," his lawyer whispers into his ear. Good? What the fuck does that even mean? Tara is gone. Nothing will ever be good again.