Note: I have not done any fanfics whatsoever for a few years now (Ya know, when didn't have text or font adjusters), and I am pretty new to Sons of Anarchy (just started Season 2), so bear with me. I don't plan for this fic to go anywhere in particular, except fill in the gaps - in my own little way - between the time when Opie got out of prison, up until Donna's death. Life story aside, I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I do not own the television show 'Sons of Anarchy', any of the characters, settings or motorcycle crews affiliated with it. If I did, I would have made Opie immortal and each episode 24 hours long with a mind controlling device that allows you to zone out of reality until the whole Season is over.
I could not stand the anticipation much longer.
Tick… tick…tick. That's all I could hear; the slow, painful passing by of time. As I watched the clock on the wall of my kitchen, I felt as though each hand had dug its point into my chest and was dragging. Dragging its way across it.
I was agitated. He was coming home. After all these years. From prison. Five years he'd been away from normality, from home, from his family. From me. I wondered how he would cope. My mind couldn't even start to imagine what it would be like behind bars, not for one day, let alone five years. I'd witnessed only small glimpses of the inside on my brief and very few visits a month to the prison. It unsettled me each time, to the point I would make any excuse not to attend: "I can't make it this time, honey, Kenny's ill…"; "…the kids have so much unfinished homework…"; "…the car has broken down…"
Lame. All the excuses I'd given him were lame. I knew it, and I knew he knew it too. He'd sigh and say - so quietly, it was just a low murmur - "Okay, baby. I'll see you next time." The phone-line would go dead, and I'd stand, still holding the receiver long after he'd hung up, loose in my hands. The guilt I had felt after each excuse was unbearable. But why? Isn't it he who landed himself in jail in the first place? Isn't it he who should feel the unimaginable guilt for tearing his family apart?
"Mommy."
My fixated stare flickered from the clock to my son. I softened my tense face muscles and put on a confident smile, masking my agitation. Look how strong motherhood makes a woman. "Yes, Kenny?"
He fiddled with the bottom of his t-shirt, crumpling it up in his hands and wringing it around his finger. He looked unsure, deep in thought. I thought that maybe he didn't want anything in particular; perhaps he called me out to try to divert my attention away from the clock. Retrospectively, I realised staring at a clock for a long period could potentially look quite disturbing, especially to an eight-year-old.
I scooped him up in my arms and rested him on my hip. "Daddy will be here in a minute," I told him reassuringly. But whom was I reassuring the most? Him or myself?
Kenny looked at me blankly. Then, life came to his eyes, as though he was struck with whatever he had been searching for before. "Oh. In a minute?"
I nodded. "In a minute."
"Oh," he said again. He screwed his little face up confusedly. "Daddy?"
I nodded again. "Yes, Kenny. Daddy. That man in those pictures I show you, and the ones around the house."
Kenny had only been three years old when Opie was arrested. His memories of his daddy were practically none. He knew what he looked like, but what he was like, he was yet to discover for himself.
"What are you so confused about, baby?" I asked with puckered brows.
"Daddy is coming here? Home? Our home?"
"Yes, Kenny. I told you that," I said softly.
He gave a little scowl. "Well I didn't believe you those times."
I gave a small chuckle. He was every inch his daddy; had his daddy's scowl, all right, as well as his brown hair and puppy dog eyes. It was hard for me to see such a resemblance every day with Opie locked away. Nevertheless, I never once wished for my son to change any inch, and I never will, not even for the slightest bit of clarity.
The rumble of a deafening engine hit my ears and sparked a painful jolt in my heart. It was approaching, getting louder and louder. And then it stopped outside my house.
He was here. Opie was here. The engine of his motorcycle cut out, but the sting of broken silence lingered in its place. The garage door was closed and locked, so I imagined he'd be parked behind my 4x4 on the driveway.
He was only moments away.
Ellie came running down the stairs, toward Kenny and me. She looked startled, as though she couldn't quite believe he was here. Neither could I. I didn't say anything to her, and she didn't say anything to me, not even when I put my spare arm around her shoulders and we stepped into the middle of the hallway to face the front door.
My heart raced, chest so tight it was painful. One arm was tight around Ellie's shoulders as she leant into me, face half covered by my side. The other held Kenny onto my hip as he half-hid in my chest, fist curled around the collar of my t-shirt. As the doorknob twisted, time came to a sudden halt. I held my breath, light-headed.
Then he was there. Stood tall in the open doorway, head almost touching the top of the doorframe. Grey beanie hat, thick bushy beard, baggy jeans in which hung a chain on the side. Sad, drooped eyes. Nothing had changed - not even his patched jacket.
He saw me eyeing it. He shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he mumbled, "They were the only clothes I had." And instantly took it off.
I gave Ellie's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Go give Daddy a hug," I encouraged.
She looked up at me reluctantly, as though she would rather be anywhere else other than here. I couldn't blame her - it was not an ideal situation. However, with another gentle squeeze, she stepped forward and gave her daddy a hug just short of his middle. Opie crouched down and pulled her into a huge embrace. I could only imagine what Ellie's face would be like - uncomfortable, uneasy. She barely knew this man.
As soon as Opie pulled out of the hug, he placed his hands on her arms and took a good look at her. His eyes were watering. I had never taken the children to prison to see him - and Opie agreed that it was best they didn't set foot there, too - so this was his first real look at her since she was five years old. I had sent him picture upon picture of the children's growth, but nothing could compare to seeing how much they had grown for himself.
"Getting a big girl now, aren't ya?" Opie said as soft as his gruff voice would allow him. He picked up one of her plaits between his finger and thumb, and looked at it. "Your hair's gotten real long, too."
Ellie didn't say anything. She wasn't much of a talker around strangers - much like her father - and I knew all the clear discomfort she expressed on her face matched every pang of discomfort Opie felt inside.
Opie looked past Ellie's shoulder and at me, eyes so sad, I could see the heartbreak in them. He had known all this time how difficult it would be to pick up from where he had left off , but I don't think he ever realized just how difficult.
I cleared my throat, and at that, Ellie returned to my side and Opie stood.
I stepped forward with Kenny still on my hip. "Look, Kenny - it's Daddy," I said, trying to encourage him to lift his head from my chest by gently bopping him up and down.
The movement incited Kenny to turn his head outwards a little more, but he didn't lift it. He peaked shyly at Opie, who stood so close to me I could smell his familiar fragrance of dirt and oil. Opie took the opportunity to place his hand on my cheek and stroke it with his rough thumb.
"Hi, baby," he said, in almost a sigh. I couldn't understand why he sighed. Perhaps out of guilt for getting himself arrested, or remorse for missing out on so much.
His touch felt so alien to me, although it should have been so familiar. We'd known each other since we were teenagers - dated since we were 15, even when he moved from Oakland to Charming to get away from his mother at 16. He had driven to see me every weekend and every school break we got from then, up until we were 18 and we wedded, and I moved to Charming to live with him.
"Hi," I finally said, a little too quiet, but I was proud of myself for saying something at least. I gave him a small smile, and then looked at Kenny. "Do you want to go to your daddy?"
Opie opened his arms, nodding. "Yeah, come say hi to Dad."
As I handed Kenny over, he looked at me with wide eyes, as if pleading with me not to leave him with this man. Nevertheless, this man was his daddy, and I had no reason to protect him from him. Not right now, anyway. Opie was crewless.
"You've gotten tall," Opie noted; the classic line someone would say to a child when one could not think of anything else. He placed him down onto the floor after a quick squeeze. He'd probably noticed Kenny's reluctant eyes, although it was impossible not to.
Kenny looked up - way up - at Opie, stood very still for the moment. I couldn't tell what was going on through that little mind of his. But whatever it was, I knew it wasn't positive.
"Why don't you two put on the television?" I suggested to Ellie and Kenny, trying to look at them both supportively, as though I was letting them know I knew how they felt.
The two didn't waste any time getting away, and the low murmur of the television could be heard in a matter of seconds. I knew they were already sat on the floor, right in front of it. I had told them countless times it would give them square eyes, but kids being kids would risk anything to watch their favorite cartoons.
Opie followed me as I walked into the kitchen, like a lost puppy.
"Dinner won't be too much longer," I told him with my back to him while adjusting the heat settings on the stove.
"What do we got?" He asked, and then quickly added, "Not that it matters; anything's better than prison food."
"Steak. My treat."
He was suddenly behind me, arms wrapped around my middle, pulling my back into his body, close. "I love you, Donna," he whispered in my ear. His beard prickled against the side of my neck. "I don't say it often, but I really do.
I shut my eyes. I wanted to melt into him, forgive him, and love him again with every fibre of my being. But I couldn't. I felt numb against him, nauseous, light-headed. I wanted nothing more than for him to go back to prison and for them to throw away the key, forever and ever…
I'm an awful person. He's my husband; I vowed to love him, for better or for worse, 'till death do us part…
Sucking in a big breath, I said slowly:
"I love you too."
I love reviews. They are like ammunition to me - the more reviews I get, the more I will write. I have chapter 2 all ready and waiting to be posted, so if you liked this chapter, tell me so. If you didn't, also tell me so. If you have any ideas, suggestions or anything in particular you would like me to include, I am open to them all.
Much thanks.
