Title: Better Man
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Rating: T
Genre: Introspection
Word count: 1315
Spoilers: None- set after the beginning of Season 4
Disclaimer: Sons of Anarchy belongs to SutterInk. No infringement is intended.
He had always been a light sleeper, but his time in prison has made it worse. The simple sounds of the house scream at him, insisting that he leave the warmth of the bed he shares with the woman he loves and investigate every groan, every creak. He deems this caution as a natural consequence to the choices that he's made- good, bad, and ugly.
The weight of his life plagues him most at night. He's often a man of action, one that does better while in a forward momentum. Throughout the day, his responsibilities with the club allow him to be distracted, but it's in the quiet of the night that he has time to think. His choices have added to the chaos around him. Like ink on water, his actions have spread out and infected all that he cares about, all that is most precious to him. The guilt of that has pushed him to the floor- and more than once kept him there with only liquor and smoke to keep him company. He has failed to protect what was his in the past, and wants nothing more than to make things right, make them better, but he is honest enough to admit that he's not completely sure how.
He roams through the house, careful not to wake his family. He's always had a soft step; something that he knows has saved his life a time or two. He walks past windows, carefully looking out into the night, scanning the darkness for an unseen enemy. He checks the locks, his fingers brushing the deadbolts, even though he can see that the lock is firmly in place. It humbles him to find comfort in that simple touch of cool metal.
He should return to his bed, should try to sleep, but instead, he finds himself in the doorway of his oldest son's bedroom. It's part of his routine to check on both boys, to make sure that they are safe. He watches them breathe and wonders about their dreams.
His sons are so incredible to him. He has missed so much of their lives. The younger boy absolutely carries his mother's stamp. Dark hair, dark eyes. Thomas is so young, precious, and innocent. He doesn't see himself in the boy. It's the older boy that looks so much like him. Same coloring, same smile, same shape of his eyes, same sharp mind that can make such quick judgments. He prays to a god that he doesn't believe in that will be the only legacy he takes from him. He hopes above all that his oldest will make better choices, and will somehow not be scathed by the close calls that life with the club has already subjected him to. He watches his oldest now, as he turns in his sleep. He stays longer than normally does, thinking about ways to make things different. He turns to leave when the boy stirs again, and starts to quietly head down the hallway.
He makes it only a few steps away when he hears his son call out, "Dad?"
He turns now, facing his son. Yet again, his actions have harmed someone else. More guilt surfaces and he fights it back to answer, "Sorry I woke you son."
The boy looks at him now, his eyes thoughtful, he knows of his father's late night walks, knows that things aren't right, "That's alright. You ok?"
He can't help but to smile softly at his son. He moves close enough to reach out and touch him but holds off. Above all, he is proudest of the kindness that seems to be at the core of this young boy. He hopes, more than anything, that kindness won't be corrupted.
A lifetime of cigarettes, whiskey, and held back screams make his voice deep and graveled, but he answers back warmly, "I'm fine Jackson."
"You want me to stay up with you?"
It's because he does, JT again softly smiles, and shakes his head, "I'm headed to bed now." He allows himself now to touch Jax, fingers glancing the boy's jaw, an echo of the touch he gave the locks on the doors. He lets his hand fall to Jax's shoulder and squeezes, "You should get some rest too."
Jax looks like he wants to say something else, but doesn't, just nods, and starts back to his room. He pauses and looks back, "Good night Dad."
"Good night son."
JT watches his boy go back to bed, and stays in the hall until he hears the light sounds of breathing. He thinks about going back to bed he shares with Gemma. He has no doubt that she would welcome him there, even allow him to wake her and let him lose himself in her. But he doesn't. Since his return, he's sensed that something has been off between them. He adds this ever-growing list of things that he knows he's responsible for. He doesn't know how to tell her that he has begun to lose his focus. Gemma's unmitigated belief in him has placed him on a pedestal- one that he's sure he will fall from. The pain of that failure has its own weight.
So he goes back to the windows, and he watches, and waits.
…
Jax leans against the doorframe of the bedroom his sons share. The nightlights around the room cast a warm glow.
He and Tara had put both boys to bed over an hour ago. In her letters to him while he was away, Tara had described her nightly routine for putting the boys to bed. He was out of practice when it came to diaper changing and putting on feety-pajamas, but he had helped as best he could. The soft music Tara had turned on still played and he found himself lulled by it.
For fourteen months he's waited to be able to watch his sons sleep. He's thought of little else but of them, and Tara, and how he so desperately wants to be a better man than his father.
He is honest enough with himself to realize that he's still angry with his father. His disappointment that JT was just a man and not the absolute hero he had believed him to be- wanted him to be- lingers. He hates the idea that Abel or Thomas ever feeling about him the way that he feels about his old man.
With crystal clarity he knows that he doesn't want the legacy of the club to carry over onto his boys any more than it already has. Fourteen months has given him the chance to plan. Now it is time to set those plans into motion. He can't let the day-to-day bullshit drama of SAMCRO get in the way of that. Jax may be impulsive, and that impulsivity has had its consequences, but for the moment, he doesn't allow himself the luxury now of looking back his actions. That will come later. For now, moving forward is the only option. Moving forward towards change.
He feels Tara come up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging his back to her. He pulls one of her hands up and kisses her palm.
"Are you coming to bed?" She asks, and he knows that she's willing to wait for him if he needs her to. As always, Tara offers him a comfort that he's never found anywhere else. Her trust and faith in him keeps him steady. He needs her now, more than ever.
Jax looks over his shoulder at her. She's fresh faced and has her hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing one of his button down flannel shirts that he knows he hasn't seen since he gave it to her in high school. It makes him smile.
"Yeah, in just a minute," he says, and she smiles back before leaving him.
He turns back to watch his sons for another long minute before moving back to join Tara.