Pairing: Preslash Chibs/Tig
Warning: Mentions of a canon character death
Notes: Someone on asked for Tig visiting Chibs in the hospital and him confessing his feelings to (what he thinks) is an unconscious Chibs, but Chibs hearing everything. This is not what happened in the fic.
Prompt: Hospital
Tig slips quietly into the hospital room. No one else is in there for once and he's glad. He needs some time to himself. He drops down into the chair beside the bed. Someone had pulled it closer to Chibs. It used to be against the wall and now it's right beside the bed. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. His head is pounding with all the stress and tension that's built up within the club.
"The whole goddamn club is falling apart." Tig says aloud as he rubs his forehead. He knows Chibs is still out, medicated and unconscious, but he still needs to rant, to talk, to say all these things. It's the only way he can say them.
"I don't know how to hold everyone together anymore. It's mostly my fault too. One mistake, one very fatal mistake and everything comes crashing down around us." Tig sighs, leaning back in the chair, dropping his hand.
"I don't know how to fix this either. I don't know if I can even try to fix this. This thing with Jax and Clay is ripping the club apart. Everyone is choosing a side. That's not what we're supposed to do." Tig scrubs a hand down his face in frustration.
"I need you, man. You're the voice of reason for us. How are we supposed to get past this shit without you, huh?" Tig asks, looking over at Chibs.
"How am I supposed to deal with this shit without you? I can't do this by myself." Tig whispers, voice rough as he reaches out and brushes his fingertips across the back of Chibs' hand.
"You don't have to." Chibs catches hold of Tig's hand, making him jump with the sudden gesture.
"Fuck, you scared the hell out of me." Tig grumbles, but he doesn't pull his hand away.
Chibs studies him for a moment. "Are you gonna pretend you didn't say everything you just said?"
This time, Tig does pull his hand away. He leans back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest. "Depends. How much did you hear?"
"Tigger, you can't play this game with me. You know better." Chibs tells him.
Tig sighs, sinking into the chair. He slumps down and runs his hands through his hair. "I know. I just...everything is shit right now and it's my fault."
"Whatever the burden is, Tig, it lands on the club, not just you." Chibs reminds him.
"Oh no. This is me and my mistake." Tig stares at his boots, unable to meet Chibs' eyes.
"Wanna talk about it?" Chibs asks.
"Not really." Tig glances up at him.
"Tigger, come on. It's weighing on you, brother. Talk to me." Chibs coaxes.
"Why? So you can blame me like Clay does?" Tig snaps, getting to his feet.
"Alex." Chibs says, making Tig freeze. Chibs never calls him Alex.
"What?" Tig's shoulders slump, but he doesn't turn around.
"Just talk to me." Chibs shifts on the bed.
"I can't. I can't have you look down on me too, okay? Anyone else, fine. You? I can't." Tig says quietly, back still turned to Chibs. He's vulnerable and he hates it, but he can't control it right now. He needs someone to lean on, but he's usually the one holding people up, not the other way around. He doesn't know what to do and he hates feeling like this.
"Tig, I'm not gonna look down on for something you did for the club, even if it didn't turn out right. Sit down." Chibs gestures to the arm chair even though Tig still has his back to him.
Tig hesitates a moment longer by the door, but then gives in and walks back to the chair, sitting down with a sigh.
They sit in silence for a bit, Chibs knowing when he needs to wait Tig out for him to break and talk to him. He knows when to push and when to back off, much to Tig's relief.
"Donna's death. That was my mistake." Tig lets the words fall from his lips, heavy with guilt.
"What are you talking about, Tig?" Chibs asks, no emotion in his voice.
"Clay and I thought Opie had turned rat. Found bugs in his cell and his truck. A huge chunk of his debt had been cleared by a federal wire transfer. ATF made it look like he had turned rat for them on the club. The hit was for Opie, but it was Donna in the truck. It wasn't supposed to be her." Tig doesn't look up from the floor as he spills everything to Chibs.
"What else?" Chibs asks, an edge to his voice.
"Clay thinks I can't be Sergeant-At-Arms anymore because of what happened with Donna, thinks it fucked me up in the head. Told me the patch didn't make sense for me. He's right. We tried to get our guns back from Zoebell, and it went bad. I didn't protect him like I should have. The fucking Prospect did a better job than I did." Tig says flatly.
"Tig, look at me." Chibs says softly.
Tig shakes his head, refusing. He doesn't want to see the disappointment in Chibs' eyes like he saw it in Clay's face. He could barely handle it from Clay, there's no way he can handle it from Chibs.
"Alex." Chibs snaps, harsher than he meant.
Tig flinches and looks up at him. "What?"
"You are the Sergeant-At-Arms. You can do your job, Tig. You just need to get through this." Chibs says, sinking back into his pillows, tired from the outburst.
"Yeah, maybe. Or maybe Clay's right and it's fucked me up and I should just let him take my patch." Tig laughs bitterly.
"You do what you want, brother. The Tig I know wouldn't give up his patch for anything, wouldn't give up his boys and his club for anything. You decide what you're going to do though. I need some rest." Chibs closes his eyes.
Tig stands up and looks down at Chibs. He waits a few minutes for the medicine to kick in again, pumping through Chibs' IV. Chibs' breathing is soft and even in sleep. Tig leans down and kisses his cheek, beard rasping against Chibs' own beard.
He walks out of the room, thoughts whirling, but he knows what he has to do. He can't give up his boys and his club. He the Sergeant-At-Arms for fuck's sake. The only way he gives up is if he's dead.