The Right Direction: Part 2

Redemption or Retaliation?

"We're gonna take our boys and we're gonna get the hell out of here. Start fresh somewhere. Be a real family." To his everlasting regret, Jax failed to honor that promise to Tara – and now she's gone, along with every hope he has for his own future. But he still has a chance to carry out what she risked everything to do: save their sons from a legacy of crime and violence. Or will he be derailed - by death or prison - as he pursues his murderous quest for vengeance?

"Sons of Anarchy" belongs to Kurt Sutter. I own nothing (except my OC – who's inspired by a SOA character, can you guess who?).

AN:

Hi Friends, welcome to Part 2!

For those of you who haven't read Part 1, that's OK, you should be able to read Part 2 without it.

As some of you know, I started writing this story out of disappointment (and absolute disgust) over S6; since I refuse to watch S7 (or even read recaps/reviews), creating this story is the only way I can say goodbye to my favorite TV couple.

Part 2 has been outlined for months, and I wrote the Prologue and Epilogue before I started writing Part 1, so any similarities to anything happening/happened on the show are pure coincidence. That said, since I've always liked Annabeth Gish (especially her X-Files days), I've included Sheriff Althea Jarry vs. using the OC Sheriff that I'd originally intended. However, I have no idea what kind of characterization she has on the show so please don't be disappointed if my version of Sheriff Jarry is different.

Finally, since Tara was - by far - my favorite character, there's no way I'm writing this without her. So expect a LOT of flashbacks.

PROLOGUE:

Taking a smoke break, Mo stands outside the garage and watches the car - obviously a rental - pull into the WH Motors' parking lot, wondering what the driver could possibly want. In his experience, most rental car drivers don't care about repairing a problem since they could always complain and get a different car. His curiosity's piqued even further as the driver steps out and starts looking around. Judging from his short and perfectly cut blond hair, pressed slacks, tweed jacket and expensive shoes - the guy's definitely not from around here.

Tweed Jacket (as Mo decides to call him) spots Mo immediately and starts walking towards him, pulling off his sunglasses as he approaches. There's something vaguely familiar about the twenty-something, tall, broad-shouldered stranger that Mo can't quite place so he waits for the guy to state his business in hopes that could jar his memory.

"Hi there, you know where I can find the owner of this place?" Instantly on alert, Mo stiffens, his fingers tightening around his cigarette. Most customers look for help from any of the employees, never asking for the owner or a manager unless there's a complaint. Since Mo's never seen this guy before, he doubts there's a complaint - rather another problem altogether. But he knows there's nothing to worry about with the auto shop; he and his business partner own this place outright and run a tight ship. The only drama in Mo's life has been with his dad, and he's been clean for years.

"You're looking at him," Mo informs the guy before taking a long drag off his cigarette. "Moby Harland; the H in WH Motors. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Bobby Munson." Tweed Jacket surveys the parking lot and the open garage bays before turning his light blue eyes back on Mo. "I've been told that he hangs out here sometimes."

Narrowing his eyes, Mo switches on to high alert. Was Tweed Jacket some kind of cop or a fed? Bobby's definitely had some colorful history, but the he's harmless now. "Who's asking?" Crossing his arms, he glares at Tweed Jacket warningly.

"Let's just say I'm a friend of a friend." Tweed Jacket smiles and jams his hands into his pockets. "Look, I'm no threat - not a cop or any kind of law enforcement. I just want to talk to the man."

Mo regards him silently, trying to decide if the guy's on the level or full of shit; with a drug-addict father, he's more than used to the latter. "Well, 'friend of a friend,' Bobby's not here right now. Why don't you leave me a number you can be reached, and I'll give it to him the next time he's here."

Tweed Jacket hesitates, then sighing resignedly, he pulls out his wallet and extracts a business card. "I'm staying in town for a while so tell him to call the mobile number." With that, he turns and heads back to his rental; taking another long look around before getting in the car and driving off the lot.

Once the rental car disappears around the corner, Mo looks down at the thick white business card and nearly falls over. He practically runs to the office and throws the door open - startling the shit out of his partner, who's hunched over the desk reading spreadsheets. "What the hell, Mo?" Kenny growls at him.

"You will never fucking believe who was just here looking for Bobby." Mo hand him the business card, still buzzing in excitement over the discovery.

Kenny's eyes nearly bug out as he stares at the card, his mouth dropping open in shock. "Holy fucking shit."

Mo shakes his head - unable to believe what just happened, who he just met; "I thought he looked familiar; just like his old man - better dresser, though. Bobby's gonna freakin' love this."

"Yeah," Kenny agrees. "That…is an understatement. You should give him a call and tell him to get over here; don't tell him why - let it be a surprise."

As Mo skips off to call Bobby, Kenny looks back down at the card; tracing the embossed lettering, he smiles slowly, fondly. "Abel Teller, M.D. Your mom would be proud."