Impressions in Clay
Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy.
1. Jax.
Jax is riding hard against the dawn wind, the cold road under his wheels. There are streamers of pink in the sky. The breeze cuts his face; his lips are numb. But he pushes harder, stubborn, vicious. He's trying to pare himself down to the core, make himself marble, steel, unforgiving concrete. Something to shred bone and shed blood. He opens the throttle. The motorcycle howls beneath him, and Jax feels it buck under his hands. He's riding the beast, one that don't forget and don't forgive, the one he used to dream about as a kid, biting, howling animals that long to drown you on that black asphalt, that smear your daddy all over the highway.
He keeps seeing the gleam of wet flesh at the back of Donna's head, all lit up by police lights. He keeps thinking that such a sweet, vibrant woman shouldn't have come to her end like that, with her brain lit up red-blue for all to see on the bloody street.
He's got a hard knot of anger in his chest, and it crawls up his throat when he has to sit at that table and meet Clay's eyes, when he has to ride beside Tig. When he has to meet Opie's eyes, and lie through his goddamn teeth about his wife's killers.
It's not that he hasn't got a solution. Piney made that real clear. It's not like he can't lay somewhere in wait for Tig- catch him when he's off guard, drunk or drugged. He'll push the barrel of his gun between those ice-cold eyes and let out his brains for everyone to poke at.
It's not like he can't wait for Clay to be alone-lighting a stogie, taking one of his late-night rides to fend off those bloodbath dreams-and let light into that grey head.
It's not like-
But there's something catching at him, taking him from that clear purpose, the empty road. And its name is Abel.
Now that's something to see- Clay and Abel. He's taken him to heart like he's blood, loves him in an unguarded way that fascinates Jax. It's not that he thinks Clay doesn't have a heart, he just always imagined it cold, guarded in ice and chain. He loves Gemma, and Jax knows that, in his way, Clay loves him as well, but the love for his baby was fierce and immediate.
Even when Jax was expecting a phone call hour to hour telling him the kid was dead- too small, too weak, come at the wrong place at the wrong time to a fucked up set of parents- he remembers Clay over Abel's toaster, watching him. Like there was something worth watching there, before Jax ever saw it himself.
Something about family.
Something about blood.
"Fuck," Jax snarls into the wind, feeling the tears on his cheeks and willing them away as hard as he can.
He gave up on his kid. And he's giving serious thought to killing the one man who didn't.
Clay killed Donna-
Abel does his best gummy smiles for Clay, and there's always that flash of surprise in his stepfather's eyes before he grins back.
Donna, her brains on the pavement, Opie screaming-
Gemma's told him that when Abel's fussy and won't settle during the day, she'll find an excuse to give him to Clay and come back ten minutes later to find him sound asleep. It's something to do with Clay's voice, Gemma says, and his hands, and his presence, something soothing. He feels safe.
But Donna-
And Jax remembers them drinking in the shadows of the afternoon, stretching out the kinks in the last shards of sun, Clay bouncing Abel on his knee and laughing at something Bobby had said. How he had passed Abel to Happy, sitting grimly to one side, in Charming for business not pleasure, casually, so he had both hands to light up a cigar. He had shades on, but Jax caught the cunning look in his eyes all the same, as the conversation continued and the afternoon became evening and Happy's shoulders began to relax as he held the kid on his lap, bouncing him absently. How he began to join in the talk and the joking and lay down the burden of his Club.
"Fuck!"
Jax slams on his brakes, lets the tyres smoke, heaves the weight of his bike around to point back towards Charming. He's aware he's breathing heavily, that his fingers are shaking and his arms are tired. That crystal control he was looking for has smashed itself all to pieces. He's gone days without sleep over this, and it comes to him now that he wants to be home, looking in at Abel sleeping in his crib. He thinks that if he does that, his heart might stop slamming and he might get to relax his jaw a bit. That he might get to just relax, in fucking general, a bit.
Right now, Jax wants his kid. He can work all this shit out later, work it round in his head on the roof of the garage, or in Abel's room with his dad's book. He can't do it now, tearing his body up before sunrise, burning all his fuel and his temper along with it, then expect to make rational decisions.
He heads back to Charming, and the new sun above his head burns away all the dark left in the sky.
Author's Note: I don't know why I bother explaining myself any longer. My mind skips onto things like a broken record, goes everywhere like when you knock shit in a box over. And right now I've gone crazy for SOA, because it's an awesome show. In particular, I absolutely adore Clay, both because I love Ron Perlman (I mean come on, he's Hellboy) and I love his badass character. So I have decided to do some impressions of him from other characters. May develop into a plot. May have no definite plot at all.
As for this chapter, getting dangerously close to fluff, but Clay and Abel are adorable together. The big bad biker boss playing with a little baby in S2.02 nearly broke both my and A.J Weston's brains. Set somewhere early Season 2.
Concrit always appreciated.
Taluliaka.