Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story. They belong to the wonderful mind of Kurt Sutter, and the brilliant actors who portray them.
A/N: Flashbacks and thoughts will be italicized.
A/N 2: set during 4x8 "Family Recipe" and 4x9 "Kiss", with references and flashbacks to 4x7 "Fruit for the crows", 4x6 "With an X", 4x5 "Brick", and 4x3 "Dorylus"
Chapter 1: Deserving Nothing
He constructed the noose; a simple task, sure, but Juice took his time with the chore, as he did when sewing on the Men of Mayhem patch.
In every fiber of his being, his heart and soul, he knew he was undeserving of the patch. Hell, he was undeserving of the club! He was a ratting, lying, betraying coward.
His cell rang again. Chibs. He knew the Scottish member of SAMCRO was worried about him. He knew Chibs looked out for the club as if they were his flesh and blood brothers. The phone stopped ringing and he was half-tempted to answer it before Chibs finished leaving his message…just to hear his voice before he ended his life.
He coiled the chain around his neck; the cold chain perfectly mirrored is innermost feelings of being imprisoned…imprisoned by his fears, his paranoia.
His phone rang again. This time, it was the sheriff. Couldn't that guy take a hint? He didn't answer when he was sewing on the patch he didn't deserve, and he sure as hell wasn't about to pick up the phone now!
"You're not taking down my club…" he whispered, looking down at Miles' grave. "Shit, Miles. If I see you in the afterlife, I hope you can understand why I had to." he said, choking up near the end.
A tear was forced out as he blinked, and it plummeted towards the day-old grave. He exhaled a shaky breath, mentally preparing himself to follow the freshly shed tear. Before he even knew it, he was falling. As the chain prevented his dive, it tightened around his throat, squeezing his neck like a hungry boa constrictor.
His hands instinctively went up to the chain, trying to pry it away even though it was the last thing on earth he wanted. His lungs were burning, trying to draw in much needed oxygen. As starved neurons started randomly firing, Juice experienced many symptoms of cerebral hypoxia (deprivation of oxygen to the brain) including drowsiness, rapid heartbeat, and muscle spasms.
"Clay wants ye in the chapel." Chibs said. Juice nearly ran him down as he turned the corner, face-to-face with a statue-like Scotsman casually leaning up against the wall.
"What for?" he asked, taking a step back. Chibs just shrugged, and Juice could feel him staring behind his sunglasses. Not wanting to keep the President waiting, he left for the chapel.
"What's up?" he asked, announcing his presence as he stepped into the chapel.
"Shut the door." Clay replied, heading to his seat. Juice did as he was told. When it came to the club, he always did what he was told.
"Have a seat." Clay said, already seated in his throne. Juice started for his regular spot at the table. "No." Clay barked, a little annoyed. "Over here." he continued calmly, motioning to the Sergeant-at-Arms' seat. Juice sat down, ignoring how wrong it felt.
"You know, most days this life is just running around and getting' shit done. Some days it's more than that. Some days we ask our guys to do shit very few men could do." Clay said. Juice was about to ask why he was saying all of this when Clay placed something on the table. He glanced down and saw the words 'Man of Mayhem'.
"That's what this means." the President explained. Juice felt his insides knot up, and the taste of bile clung to the back of his throat.
"The way you handled the Russians, this hard thing with Miles…I'm proud of you." the older man said.
If only Clay knew what he had done to the club, was still doing to the club by being alive.
As the guilt started piling up, Juice was surprised he was able to force a smile, half-hearted as it was. "Thanks." he forced out, the word feeling stuck in his throat. Clay leaned forward, forcing the two to make eye contact.
"And now you need to put it behind you. You understand me?" Clay asked, voice taking on a gravely tone as his pitch lowered. Juice knew he couldn't put it behind him, and was forced to lie to one of the few people he respected.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." he said, tearing up in guilt and self-loathing.
Clay rose to his feet, patch in hand. Juice stood and took the patch.
"You earned this." Clay said, hugging the newest addition to the Men of Mayhem. "I love you, son." he said, patting Juice on the back.
He gasped for breath, flailing a bit as he awoke. He started coughing as air rushed into his lungs, and slowly removed the chain from his neck. He looked around, wondering why he was still alive. He noticed the broken branch behind him, and better understood why he wasn't dead.
He just couldn't catch a break. Even his attempted death became a cruel joke, a mockery of his existence.
The leg that was shot moments before he murdered Miles was now throbbing due to the fall. He ignored the pain, trying to block it out of his mind as he hazily tried to contemplate what his next move should be. Before he could think of anything, the drone of approaching motorcycles hit his eardrums.
"Shit! Shit!" Juice said, not realizing how hard it was to speak, how raw his throat felt. He stood, pulling his hood over his head to hide the bruise around his neck. He had very little time to return to the tow truck, so he was forced to leave the chained branch on the ground, and he limped away.