"Clean yourself up, Jax." He was unprepared for the shame he felt as he heard her say those words. He couldn't meet her eyes; he knew what they'd portray. As kids, he initially did his best to shield her from everything he did for and with the club. As their connection grew stronger and their relationship deeper, he began to expose her to more. He wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to know or if he wanted her to know, but the outcome was the same. When she knew very little, she be concerned when he came to her with bloody knuckles, bruises, and cuts to be stitched up. She was always worried it was him that was hurt- not the other guy she hadn't seen. Concern gave way to silence. She'd patch him up without saying a word; her displeasure obvious, her concern less so. Back then, he felt ashamed too; like she was realizing he wasn't worthy of her.
Her having been gone for so long allowed him to fall deeper into the club's requirements. Without anyone to come home to to make him question the right and wrong of what he'd done that day, he was able to justify his actions with more and more ease. Wendy never questioned his whereabouts, the blood on his shirts, or the despondent way he'd return home, when he did return home. For ten years he was able to shut of his conscious, because she wasn't there to remind him he needed it.
And so he was unprepared for the shame that came rushing back- the conscious that suddenly screamed inside his head. He couldn't meet her eyes, but he couldn't justify what he'd to her. She had just saved a life, his son's, while he'd been responsible for taking the life of another man. Instead, he made his way around her, suddenly desperate to rid himself of the evidence of his indiscretions. With the evidence gone, he could put it behind him, he could rationalize it away.
"Clean yourself up, Jax." He was unprepared for the surge of pride and happiness that ran through him when he heard her say those words. He wasn't proud of his actions; he couldn't say he was proud of many things he'd done over the last ten years. Most things he did because they had to be done or because he was searching for something to make him feel whole again. He was proud of her. He was proud that she never lost her conviction. She was a doctor, she was a respectable member of society. He was proud that she was still the same girl that would readily hug him, and then call him out on his shit in the next second. He was proud that she was everything he remembered about her, despite being back in the town that had changed her before.
He was happy, and it was surreal. He was never thrilled when she'd admonish him, but right now, it was music to his ears. Since Abel was born, he was grappling with how to create the headspace to be both a good father and a good criminal. She saw blood that wasn't his staining his clothes and she knew that he wasn't being a good father right then. His conscious awakened, thanks to her. He was grateful for it. But he was unsure of what to do with that. It's like she was here to be his conscious again, to remind him of the right and wrong of it all that he'd lost sight of. It wasn't fair to put that on her; it wasn't fair to expose her to all that was happening just so he could take direction from her. He was happy she was there to wake up him, but unsure of how to let her without tarnishing her. He needed to get away from her; he was afraid of what he would say that would do just that in a selfish attempt to have her heal his numbed mind.
"Clean yourself up, Jax." He was unprepared for the anger that swept over him. Who the hell did she think she was? She up and left ten years ago. She abandoned him when they had the world at their feet. She couldn't possibly understand everything he had done over the past decade; things that saved the club, things that saved his brothers, their families, their town. He'd done things, albeit not always morally acceptable, to protect people he loved. And he did those things without anyone to sooth him to come home to. He'd earned that Men of Mayhem patch, and while his soul wasn't entirely content, his rational mind understood the necessity of his actions. Wendy, all the faceless whores, they were all poor replacements for the solace he found climbing through her bedroom window every night. She abandoned him to deal with all of this on his own so she didn't have the right to come back here and judge how he lived his life. She was so far removed from his life and everything he saw and did that she hadn't earned the right to an opinion about it.
He was angry that she still had an opinion; he was angry that her opinion got to him. He wanted to tell her off, to unleashed some pent up energy on telling her, loudly, just what he thought of her sentiment. He wanted her to understand that her place in this town was no longer connected to his. But he couldn't, because he knew he'd be lying. He knew that as long as she was here, he'd look for her and her approval. He'd try to match her approval with what he needed to do each day to ensure the survival of the club. And he was angry that her return sparked that in him. He had to put some distance between them, right now, or his anger would cause him to say things he'd regret. He needed her here, for his son, and for his redemption.
"Clean yourself up, Jax." He was unprepared for the desire he felt. Sure they were electric back in the day, and he'd be lying if he said simply seeing her now wasn't waking something long dormant up. He was not saint; the faceless whores and Wendy would attest to that, but what he'd been chasing all these years was the passion he had felt with Tara. The carnal release was a substitute, and the weed and booze dulled his senses enough to trick his brain into believing he'd recaptured some passion. But seeing her made him understand that it was only that; only a substitute, only a trick and suddenly he was craving that passion like he needed a fix. Hell, hugging her had his senses in overdrive and his brain clouded with thoughts that might even make Tig blush. Hearing her say those words did nothing to lessen that desire; it fueled it. She still cared enough to admonish his sins. She still cared. Hell, he knew he still did but hearing confirmation that she did; gave the heartbroken 19 year old inside him a ridiculous amount of hope for the future. He needed to be far away from her, or that 19 year boy would make an appearance; both begging for love and for sex.
Staring at himself in the hospital mirror, he tried to make sense of the convictions and insecurities tangling inside him. He couldn't decide which way to step; didn't know where he should land. All he did know was that she was here again, and he wanted to keep her here. What he wanted her here for, he had yet to figure out. But her presence, now when his son was born and he had to learn how to be a father and a man, seemed like the exact thing he didn't know he needed.