Broken Crown

by gaelicspirit

Season 1, sometime before Episode 7, Old Bones. Jax and Chibs cover a delivery of guns to a remote location in the California foothills; Opie follows, not liking the way the job fell to Jax's shoulders. Enter the Mayans, a botched theft, and a deserted mountain pass and chaos ensues.

Title: Broken Crown
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Author: gaelicspirit
Characters: Jax, Opie, and Chibs (no pairing)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. There's no way Sutter will let them go. Title is from a Mumford & Sons song of the same name. Rated very much PG-13 for language. Lots of language.

Summary: Season 1, sometime before Episode 7, Old Bones. Jax and Chibs cover a delivery of guns to a remote location in the California foothills; Opie follows, not liking the way the job fell to Jax's shoulders. Enter the Mayans, a botched theft, and a deserted mountain pass and chaos ensues.

Author's Note: Despite having watched this show from the jump, I never dove into these fanfic waters. Writing for Supernatural pretty much sustained my storytelling needs. However, when a friend appealed to the h/c junkie in me and asked for hurt!Jax, I found I was intrigued by the prospect of writing in this fandom. Full disclosure: this was written purely for the h/c aspect. heather03nmg, you only have yourself to blame.

This is my first attempt at SoA fic. Depending on what ya'll think, it could also be my last. Apologies if anyone sounds OOC to you. *hides face* I decided to set it in S1 when things were relatively "innocent" (or as much as things can be with the Sons), and I specifically chose these guys to be with Jax to help heal me from some events in the recent season.

If you read, I hope you enjoy.

---

So I crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I can take the road and I can fuck it all away
But in this twilight our choices seal our fate

Broken Crown, by Mumford & Sons

He heard Clay give the order. Heard the gavel fall. Watched his brothers rise from their seats – always the same seats, always the same roles – and file from the table, minds set. He felt Jax's eyes on him, but he didn't look up. He waited until the room was empty. And then he took a breath.

Five years he'd been away.

Five years of watching his kids grow up from behind glass and during visitation hours. Five years of holding his wife's hand and letting the feel of her skin, the smell of her fingers as he pressed them against his lips, carry him through the rough, lonely nights. Five years of watching his back without a brother there to watch it for him. Five years of blocking out the threats, the quiet, the noise, the solitude, the crowd, the monotony, the unexpected. Five years of surviving prison – for his brothers.

They had each welcomed him back; their words, the friendly claps on his back, they all said the same thing: you did your time and we thank you, brother. Most had been inside at some point. Some, like Jax, only a few days. Others, like Bobby, had been in and out multiple times. Still others, like Chibs and Clay, had accumulated more years than Opie. They knew what it was like to try to return to life on the outside.

But they still regarded him with eyes that were dark, shadowed, wary. He'd not been a part of the MC's recent activities, didn't understand the newly developed history. He still had a vote, but he didn't have a say. He and Jax had been patched in together, yet he felt like a prospect again.

There was a wall between them all now. Between him and the only family he'd ever really wanted.

"Hey, Ope."

Except for Jax.

His friend had never allowed a wall – had stubbornly blasted through it when Opie tried to keep Jax from seeing the ways prison changed him. At Jax's call, Opie stood, muscles tender from riding once more, and made his way from the table across the room to where his friend stood, slouched against the bar, an opened beer held out to him.

Taking the bottle with a nod, he let the bitter-tasting amber slip down his throat and into his belly. It was hard to remember that there were those who would frown upon drinking beer at ten in the morning; inside SAMCRO, sometimes the only difference between a.m. and p.m. was how many lies had been told.

"You got plans later?" Jax asked casually, drawing out the words as he had a tendency to do when he was making a point.

Opie cupped his hand around a cigarette and slid the filter between his lips, a habit he'd picked up inside where it was easy for quick hands to snatch an unlit smoke. Jax held his lighter up and Opie pulled in a drag, putting his back against the bar. He shook his head.

"Not really."

"Spending some time with Donna?" Jax wasn't guessing. He was planting ideas.

He'd been on a mission to get Opie back into the rhythm of a regular life, keeping him on milk runs rather than backing the more dangerous meets. A few weeks ago, Opie had heard Jax's low voice arguing with Clay about the logic of sending Opie off on a club run when he'd just got out. Clay just shut Jax down with a claim that Opie was part of the club and it was time to get him back in the fucking game.

Opie silently agreed with Clay, but that wouldn't stop Jax from trying to protect him.

"No, nothin'." Opie exhaled a cloud of smoke, then glanced to the side, not surprised to find his friend's eyes on him. Jax had a way of watching people that made it seem like he knew more about them than he should. "Was thinking of going with you and Chibs."

Opie new Jax would shake his head. Knew he wouldn't agree. But it didn't matter. Opie had made up his mind before Clay had dropped the gavel.

"Naw, man." Jax turned to face the bar, shoving the butt of his cigarette into the silver ash tray. "It's just gonna be a long drive."

Opie dropped his eyes, his voice matching Jax's tempered volume. "Right. A long drive through the foothills. With no cover. With the Mayans on your ass."

Jax pulled the side of his mouth into a tight grin. "We're just delivering two boxes of guns to the Niners, man. We're not going to war."

Shifting slightly, his back now facing the pool table and Tig's lascivious handling of a cue to – presumably – impress the practically-naked, buxom blonde standing opposite him, Opie turned to face Jax.

"We're always at war," he said, waiting until Jax's eyes skated his way, reflecting none of the humor the empty grin tried to paint across his face. "Clay should be handling this run."

Jax looked down. "Let it go, Ope."

The muscle jumping across the line of Jax's jaw told Opie he'd landed on a nerve. A pretty raw one by the way Jax's fingers tightened on the bottle of beer in his hand. Opie stared at him, waiting. Jax darted his tongue out, drawing his lower lip against his teeth. The bar lights caught in the hairs of his short, blond beard as he angled his head toward Opie once more, leveling his eyes.

"He's testing you," Opie declared softly.

Jax's eyes emptied, but he said nothing. Opie shook his head; Clay was a master of manipulation. He'd known that since they were kids, before the man became his friend's stepfather. It was a matter of Jax staying savvy to Clay's play and not swept up by it. But sometimes, Opie had to wonder where Jax fit into Clay's plans for SAMCRO…or if he fit in at all.

"It's a short run," Jax said, using a tone Opie hadn't heard in a long time. It was the tone he'd used for years after his dad died. After Tommy died. After Gemma married Clay. It was Jax shutting down inside so that he could play the game. Opie hated that tone. "Chibs and me'll be back by midnight."

Opie's cigarette had burned down, forgotten, ashes heating his skin. He flicked his thumb against the end, knocking the tip clean and took one last drag before snuffing it out.

"I don't like it."

Jax's eyes shifted over Opie's shoulder, clearly catching sight of someone, and then darted back to his face. Another tight smile replaced the grim expression and Opie watched as truth slipped behind a shield. He realized suddenly that the reason Jax didn't allow a wall between them was that he already had one in place, keeping everyone out.

Reaching out, Jax clapped a hand on Opie's arm and met his eyes briefly. Opie heard someone approaching but didn't turn to see who it was. He kept his eyes on Jax.

"I got this, Ope."

Jax nodded to Bobby as he turned to head down the hall to the back of the club and the grizzled man took Jax's place at the bar next to Opie. Boosting his impressive girth over the edge, Bobby reached behind the bar and grabbed a beer from the cooler, using one of his many rings to pop the cap and let it fall to the floor behind the taps. He took a long pull, sighing mightily, then looked around the room.

"He's VP, man," Bobby said suddenly.

Opie frowned, unsure where Bobby was heading. "I know."

"When Clay named him, a few people thought he was too young," Bobby continued as if Opie hadn't spoken. "Thought it should be someone else."

"Like Tig?" Opie replied.

He glanced across the room where Tig's antics with the cue had apparently achieved their purpose as he and the blonde were currently turning into a human pretzel on the pool table. Five more minutes and Opie knew he'd be seeing Tig's bare ass and hearing live-action porn. The man had no shame.

"Hell, no." Bobby raised his voice slightly. "Tig's a trained attack dog, man."

"I heard that," Tig shouted over his shoulder, his voice slightly breathless from his physical exertions.

"I said it out loud, asshole," Bobby shouted back good-naturedly. He lifted his chin, indicating the door, and Opie followed him outside.

The day was soft, the haze having burned off while they were at the table. It was one of those perfect California days Opie had learned to appreciate on the inside. He moved to the rough, wooden table positioned under the edge of the overhang and hitched his leg to slouch against it. Reaching up to tug distractedly at his beard, he let his eyes roam the empty lot, waiting for Bobby to find his way to the point he'd attempted to make inside the club.

Growing up, Opie had spent more time at here than he had at his own house. And yet the only thing that felt familiar about it now was the taste of nicotine on his lips and the cool neck of the beer hanging loosely from his fingers. A car with a missing muffler roared past the gate and Opie instinctively looked toward the sound.

"Things changed for Jax when you went inside," Bobby finally spoke up.

Opie said nothing. He already knew that much. He could tell the shift in his friend each time Jax came to see him in prison – and he'd never missed a visiting day. Donna had missed several; Opie let it go knowing she had two kids to raise on her own while he was inside.

Jax though, he'd shown up each time. Sometimes just long enough to drop off a box of smokes. But it had been enough. Opie had watched the kid he'd grown up with slowly fade before his eyes and in his place stood a man who felt dangerous. To whom, Opie wasn't sure. But there was danger there, simmering just beneath the surface.

Through all the loss, all the shit he'd had to wade through, Jax had somehow managed to maintain a certain innocence that Opie knew – even at a young age – was unique to the MC. He'd instinctively known growing up in the club would turn him cold. But somehow, his friend had managed to dodge it.

They'd always been tough little shits – quick to go to battle in the schoolyard with anyone who looked at them sideways. But there had never been malice in their fighting. It was just seeing who the toughest kid on the block was, and though Opie has always been bigger, Jax was strong. No one had ever gotten the best of them when they were together.

"He missed you," Bobby continued.

"I know," Opie replied. "Wish I coulda been there…y'know, with Wendy."

Bobby shrugged. "That woulda ended either way. Now that he's got Abel…."

Opie pushed away from the table. "If he's got Abel," he pointed out.

If Jax's infant son died because of his mother's addiction, Opie knew the dangerous light he saw in his friend's eyes would flare and that innocence would be gone forever.

"He's good for the club, Ope," Bobby said softly.

"Yeah," Opie nodded, swallowing the rest of his beer, then setting the bottle on the table. "Just wonder if the club's good for him."

He looked at Bobby, the older man's eyes squinting up at him through the beams of sunlight. It didn't matter that Bobby wouldn't have an answer for him. Opie just needed to put that thought out there – open the eyes of these men who all claimed to love Jax. He couldn't help but see how they were all watching the man they loved be slowly suffocated by the club they loved more. Opie included.

The door behind Bobby opened and Chibs stepped out, the smell of cigarette smoke and beer wafting out into the sunshine-drenched day. Opie glanced over at the Irishman, letting his face relax into a smile. Chibs grinned back at him, the ragged scars on either side of his face – mementos from an enemy long in the ground – buckling slightly with the motion. Chibs grabbed Opie's outstretched hand, pulling him in for a one-armed hug and clapping him on the back.

"Good t'see ya back at the table, brother," Chibs said. "Been too long."

Opie nodded. He'd always liked Chibs, though the man was undoubtedly one of the more deadly members of the MC. He'd been around a long time – patched in when John sat at the head of the table – and had known Opie and Jax as kids. While Opie knew Chibs had it in him to be violent when necessary, he also knew there was no one more loyal to Jax, and that fact alone earned Opie's trust.

"You needing a third man on your ride tonight?" Opie asked.

Chibs opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Clay, approaching from the body shop.

"Not gonna be a ride," Clay announced, looking at Chibs. "You're taking the pick-up. Crates of guns'll be under some tires, away from curious eyes."

Nodding, Chibs glanced at Opie. "Could always use a tail," he offered.

Clay shook his head. "Not necessary. No need to draw more attention."

Opie caught Bobby's eyes, but the older man looked away quickly.

"It's no problem," Opie tried once more. "I'm not doing—"

"I said no." Clay cut him off. Opie stared hard at him. Clay softened his voice, setting a hand on Opie's shoulder. "There's plenty of other stuff around here for you, Ope."

Opie sucked on his teeth, biting off his next words, certain they would not be wise. Clay dropped his hand from Opie's shoulder then looked back over at Chibs.

"Juice is just loading up the tires now. You two better head out so you can get through that pass before it gets dark."

Chibs tipped his sunglasses from the top of his head where they'd been holding his dark hair away from his face and stepped out from beneath the overhang into the lot.

"Where's Jax?" he asked.

"Try the roof," Clay muttered derisively before moving past Opie and heading into the club.

Chibs glanced at Bobby, who shrugged.

"Oi! Jackie-boy!" Chibs called.

"Yeah!" Opie heard Jax's voice filter down from the roof.

"Getcher ass down here! We gotta get on the road."

"Comin'," Jax called back and Opie heard a door open and close.

"What the hell's he doin' up there?" Bobby asked.

Chibs spread his hands wide. "Overseeing his kingdom," he joked.

"He used to go up there a lot when we were kids," Opie told them, feeling a bit like he was giving up a secret.

"To do what?" Bobby laughed.

Opie shrugged, running Chibs' words over in his head. "Just think." He looked from Chibs to Bobby.

Bobby's eyebrows bounced. "He can't think down here?"

Opie let his silence answer for him.

Bobby looked at Chibs. "You ever have problems thinking down here?"

"I try not to think," Chibs replied with a grin. "It throws off me aim."

Jax stepped through the door, ending any further discussion on the matter. Opie remembered the trap door that led to the roof exited down a ladder in the back of the club. He lifted his chin at his friend, getting a nod back in return.

"Anyone know that chick in there with Tig?" Jax asked around the cigarette between his lips.

"That was a chick?" Bobby quipped.

Chibs chuckled and Jax smacked Opie's arm by way of farewell as he moved toward the lot.

"Hey," Opie called. Jax turned, walking backwards. "Be careful."

Spreading his arms wide, Jax grinned and Opie saw it hit his eyes. "Always am, brother."

soa

It wasn't hard to slip away from the club. They still weren't used to him being around and he was able to pull out of the lot without anyone so much as giving him a sideways glance. It was harder to explain to Donna, however. She'd known what she was getting into, marrying him. But when he went to prison for the club, she changed her mind.

He'd told her once that loving him meant loving the club. Donna no longer saw it that way. Watching him pull the knit cap over his thick hair – it had grown long in prison and he'd cut it just before getting out – Donna's pretty face was knotted in fury.

"I don't see why it has to be you," she said for the third time.

"I told you – no one else is worried."

"Maybe you shouldn't be worried," she huffed, shoving his backpack at him. "Maybe you should let Jax Teller fight his own goddamn battles."

Opie stopped, his backpack in one hand, his pistol in the other, and stared at her. "Listen," he said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible, working to temper the anger her words triggered inside him. "Jax is heading into a trap. And Clay is just letting it happen – I just…feel it."

"You feel it?" she mocked.

Opie dropped his backpack on the workbench and shoved a full clip into the butt of his gun, placing it in the back waistband of his jeans. "He's sending him on a run to deliver some guns to the Niners in a show of good faith."

Donna frowned. "So?"

Opie grabbed a few supplies and shoved them into his pack. It was going to be a long ride, and nights in the California foothills got cold. "So, the route to the meet takes them through the switchback – right past the Mayans. It's like he wants him to get caught. Or wants the guns to get stolen. Something."

"You said Chibs was with him," Donna pointed out.

Opie glanced at her. "Chibs isn't enough."

"Then tell Bobby or Tig. It doesn't have to be you!"

Opie whirled, shoving his face toward her, and roared, "Yes, it does!" Donna stepped back, blinking with surprise. He went on, "I stayed with you – last time they went up against the Mayans, you remember that?"

"Yes!" Donna shouted, always one to give as good as she got. "I do remember, and nothing bad happened. Everyone made it back."

"Jax got shot in the back," Opie countered.

"He was wearing a vest!"

"Cracked ribs is a close enough call, Donna." Opie turned from her, grabbing a rope and stuffing it into his backpack, just in case.

He'd seen the bruises on Jax's back spreading across his Sons tat. He knew the outcome of that raid would have been different had he been there; he wasn't willing to risk it again. And Donna needed to know that.

"You spent five years away from me – from us – for this club," Donna whispered in the face of his wrath. "You've done enough."

"They're my family," Opie replied.

"We're your family," Donna challenged.

He didn't say anything to that. He couldn't. She was staring at him with those big eyes of hers, seeming to suck all the oxygen from the room. And he was losing time; Jax and Chibs already had an hour on him. Finally, he took a breath, looking down.

"I love you, Donna," he said finally. "You have to know that." He lifted his eyes and met hers, trying to make her see. "But Jax…he's like my brother. And I can't let him fight this battle on his own."

"You don't even know—"

"I do," Opie interrupted, feeling it in his gut as sure as any fact. "Something bad is going to happen. I don't know if Clay set it up or not, but…."

He swallowed, working to calm his racing heart. He didn't want to walk out on her like this, but he was going to leave. Donna turned from him, her slim shoulders trembling, then pivoted on her heel. He thought she was going to leave the garage, but was surprised when she grabbed his kutte and shoved it at him.

"Do what you need to do, then," she muttered quietly. "Sometimes it feels like I lost you five years ago."

With that, she closed the side door of the garage, leaving him to stare after her, his breath hitching in his throat, his hands trembling at his sides. He felt as if he were standing over a crevasse, one foot planted on the side with his wife and kids, the other planted with the Sons.

Either way he shifted his weight, he knew he could fall.

soa

He left the traffic behind about a half-hour outside of Charming. It was coming on rush hour, but the highway was deserted – which for them was usually utopia, without the worry of semi-trucks or the four-wheeled family menaces running interference. But tonight, Opie wished for more traffic; it was less-likely for someone to ambush his friends if there was a chance they'd be spotted.

Darkness drew closer to the land earlier in the evening in this part of the foothills. He hadn't yet caught up with Chibs and Jax when the first of the long shadows cut across his path. The pass was filled with switchbacks, steep rises, and sharp drop-offs. Opie focused on the road, climbing up through the foothills, the vibration of the big motor thrumming through his thighs and core, forcing him to steady his breathing or get light-headed.

His hands and forearms were starting to ache. It had been a long time since he'd been on a bike for this long, going this fast. He remembered when he and Jax were first tall enough to sit astride their father's bikes. John Teller had looked proud, tugging on Jax's blond hair and telling him the fundamentals of the machine. Piney had been more reluctant, almost as if passing down a legacy was more of a burden than a gift.

But all Opie had ever wanted to be was a Son. He'd known it when all he and Jax had been able to do was pedal their Huffeys alongside the rumble of the Indians and Harleys. He'd known it when he'd seen the light in his best friend's eyes as he talked of being part of the club. Opie simply wanted to belong. Be part of a family.

He hadn't quite realized how much sacrifice came with family, however.

Rolling to a stop at the crest of a rise, Opie pulled over, shivering a bit. He'd stuffed his black hoodie in his backpack; pulling it out now, he slipped it on, adjusting the kutte on the outside so that anyone passing by would identify him as a Son. His legs were still vibrating from the power of the bike. Needing to steady himself, he paused for another moment to light a cigarette and swept his eyes across the valley below him.

The light was perfect: gold and clear, glinting off the aspens and turning the leaves to silver. He could see miles in front of him and below him, the road twisting like a serpent between the rocks and drop-offs. For a brief moment, Opie felt whole.

Free.

As if all the heartache waiting for him back home and all the uncertainty he still waded through with the club was separate from him – easily boxed up and buried and he was just a man with a bike. Riding on that feeling, he let his gaze lazily follow the only other vehicle he saw on the road before him.

It took him a moment to realize that he was looking at the red pickup from Teller-Morrow. It was far enough below him that it looked like an oversized matchbox car. Watching it take a turn with almost idle curiosity, Opie had nearly convinced himself that his worry was unwarranted when it inexplicably swerved.

He saw the windshield shatter before he heard the shot; he was that far away from them.

"No!" The cry was involuntary, his fear coalescing in one word.

Frozen, he saw the driver – he didn't know if it was Jax or Chibs – try to recover then saw a flash before the delayed crack echoed up to him as someone returned fire. But they didn't stand a chance; the onslaught was coming at them from either side of the pass and Opie watched as the pickup careened toward the embankment, toppling over the edge and catching an axel on the guardrail.

Opie had fired up his bike and was starting down the road before he fully registered moving. As he took the first turn he saw four figures in black descend from the rocks toward the truck and bile built in his throat.

He'd been right. Goddammit, he'd been right. And if he picked up on this possibility, he knew damn well Clay had, too – if not banked on it.

As he swerved around one of the tighter curves, he dug his cell phone from his pocket, trying to dial for help and not end up face-planting on a California highway at the same time. When he didn't get a signal, he swore, pocketing the phone once more. He should have realized there'd be no reception this far into the foothills; it was exactly why they'd picked this spot.

Shadows lengthened the closer he got to where he'd seen the attack; it seemed to take hours to get through the pass. By the time he took the last curve, it was completely dark, his one headlight catching the back-end of the pickup and startling him into a quick and sudden stop.

He could smell the tang of torn metal from the bullet holes in the side of the truck and the rubber from the truck tires, suspended in mid-air but no longer spinning. The tailgate was down and the truck creaked a bit as it seemed to sway on the balance beam of the guardrail.

"Jax! Chibs!"

He heard a voice call back, but couldn't tell who it belonged to. Dismounting, he tossed his helmet aside and rushed to the bed of the truck. As he suspected, the guns were gone – tires strewn across the highway. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a flashlight and shone it into the truck cab. Both doors were open and he could see a smear of red on the back of the seat, passenger side.

Shining his light on the guard rail, he swung his leg over, trying to get a better view of the damage when he heard Chibs' voice.

"Ope?"

"Chibs!" Opie called back. "Where are you, man?"

"Here. To your left."

Opie pivoted his light and saw the man tucked up against rocks, his pistol out, barrel pointing upwards. There was blood on his face, but Opie couldn't tell how bad the damage was.

"Where's Jax?"

Chibs tilted his head, indicating further down the drop off. "I can't get to him."

Opie frowned, skidding on the crumbled leaves, brush, and gravel to make his way to Chibs. The older man was braced against the rocks, clearly in protection mode. Opie shined his flashlight over the wound on Chibs' head.

"It's all right," Chibs muttered. "Not deep. More pissed than hurt."

"Mayans?" Opie guessed, turning the flashlight down the ravine, searching for Jax.

"Dunno," Chibs growled. "Coulda been anyone. They were dressed in black, hit us fast. Knew we were coming, the fuckin' bastards."

Opie's heart was beginning to skip as all his light hit was debris and trees. "I saw blood in the cab."

Chibs coughed and Opie shone his light back on the older man's face.

"Chibs?"

"Jax was hit," Chibs said. "Fired back, but when we went off the road he fell from the cab."

"Is he alive?" Opie's voice cracked.

Chibs sucked in a breath. "He had damn well better be."

Opie started to move past Chibs, but the Irishman put a hand out, stopping him. "It's too steep, Ope."

"I got some rope," Opie told him, shrugging out of his backpack.

"Ain't you the fuckin' Boy Scout." Chibs slipped his weapon into his pocket and took the pack from Opie. "He's been quiet," Chibs told him. "I called for him, but…."

"That could mean anything." Opie dismissed the possibility of Jax not being able to answer for the reasons Chibs' concern insinuated and tied one end of the rope around the guardrail. "Listen, the truck is toast."

"Yeah. Bastards made sure o' that. Couldn't tell if they were after the guns or us." Chibs' voice turned gravely as his worry surfaced.

"Maybe both," Opie muttered.

"How'd you know, Ope?" Chibs asked.

Opie tied the other end of the rope around his waist. "Just…had a feeling."

"You always did know Jax better'n anyone," Chibs admitted. "He was worried the whole way here."

"Yeah," Opie nodded, taking his pack from Chibs. "Hey, you good to ride?" He could see Chibs' frown in the haloed effect of the flashlight. "Take my bike. Get back out until you can get a signal. Call for help."

"You think I'm leavin' you here, you're outta your fuckin' mind."

"I'm going for Jax," Opie informed him. "He's gonna need help. You want to wait on that?"

"What if they come back, Ope?" Chibs challenged.

Opie pulled his pistol from his waistband and let Chibs see he was armed. "Go, man. It's gonna take you a couple hours just to get to somewhere with a signal."

Chibs stared at him a moment. "He can't be…," he choked out quietly, unable to say the word. "I wouldn't survive that."

Opie swallowed hard. Chibs saw himself as sort of a surrogate Uncle to Jax. The Irishman had known them both since before John Teller died. Of all the members of the club outside of himself, Opie knew Chibs would always be there for Jax.

Which, if he had to guess, was why the Irishman had been sent on this run with his friend.

"I'm gonna go find him."

"I'll wait until you do," Chibs said. "Then I'll go."

Opie nodded, knowing that was the best compromise he was going to get. He lowered himself through the debris, pushing branches out of the way, and slipping on rocks and dirt. After a moment, there was nothing but darkness and air, but then the tree canopy broke and moonlight shone through, turning the world around him a pearly blue.

His toes hit a rock ledge and he realized he'd come to a landing that led to a narrow path. He was sweating, cold, and out of breath, but he was able to plant his feet on something. If Jax had fallen from the truck, he had to have landed somewhere nearby.

"Hold up!" He called up to Chibs, then felt a tug on the rope around his waist. He pulled his knit hat off, stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie and grabbed his flashlight, shining it down the rocky path. He saw him almost instantly.

Crumbled in a sort of a loose heap, Jax lay on the stone path, his face buried, only his jeans and white tennis shoes catching the light.

"Oh, God," Opie breathed.

He quickly untied the rope and moved carefully over to his friend. His hands shook as he touched Jax's shoulder, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. When he felt warmth there, he nearly sobbed.

"I found him!" he called back up.

"How bad?" Chibs called back.

Opie swallowed, gently rolling Jax to his back.

"Oh, man, Jackson," Opie muttered.

Blood covered Jax's forehead and turned his blond hair red from a cut at his temple. Tugging off his gloves, Opie carefully ran his hands down Jax's shoulders and torso. He could feel something wrong with his friend's right shoulder and a distinct wet patch at his lower left side. Tugging up Jax's sweatshirt, Opie saw a small hole through his side below his ribs. Tilting him slightly, he felt the wound at the back.

"A through-and-through," Opie yelled up at Chibs. "He's out, but breathing."

"Can you haul him up?"

"No," Opie replied, looking at Jax's dislocated shoulder. "We need to get him help, man. Now."

Shrugging out of his backpack, Opie grabbed the first aid kit he'd brought with him and pulled out gauze squares and rolls. Aside from that, he had Tylenol and Band-Aids. He swore.

"Chibs! Go!"

"Already gone, brother," Chibs yelled back, his voice receding.

In moments, Opie heard his bike roar to life and he breathed a thank you to the Irishman. Tucking the flashlight under his chin, he pressed several gauze patches against the wound at Jax's side. Jax flinched, groaning slightly, but didn't open his eyes. Chewing on his bottom lip, feeling lightly nauseous, Opie did the same for the exit wound, then quickly wrapped the gauze roll around Jax's belly, holding the dressing in place.

With dismay, he saw the white quickly turning pink, then red, and he knew he needed to somehow apply more pressure. Digging into his bag, he found an extra T-shirt he'd randomly grabbed. He'd always been bigger than Jax, even when they were kids. His clothes had dwarfed his friend, giving him fuel to tease Jax mercilessly.

Now, though, the extra cloth might be just the thing to create the pressure needed to stop Jax from bleeding out. He wadded up the shirt, positioning it on both sides of Jax's wound, and pressed, hard.

The effect was instantaneous. Jax gasped in pain and shock, his eyes snapping open as he cried out.

"Ah! Son of a bitch!" He swatted at Opie's hands, trying to push away whatever it was that was causing him such pain. "Aw, fuck…fuck me…."

"Jax…Jax, hey, hey, it's me, man, it's Ope."

Jax rolled his eyes closed, then opened them wide once more. Opie shifted and the flashlight fell from the awkward grip at his shoulder, hitting the ground and rolling so the beam shone across Jax's face. Opie could see his eyes, the pupils blown so wide there was barely any blue visible. Jax was seeing a whole lot of nothing.

"Jax!" Opie snapped. "Jackson! Hey! Look at me. Look at me, man."

Jax blinked hard, searching for the source of the voice he clearly recognized.

"That's it, hey, there you go. Look, it's me. It's Opie."

"Opie?" Jax rasped, his voice aging with pain. "How…what…?"

"Listen, I need you to listen, okay?"

Jax closed his eyes, dropping his head back and swallowing audibly.

"Jax, open your eyes."

When his friend obeyed, Opie tried to smile, knowing Jax wouldn't be able to see it in the dark and through his wild beard, but that he'd be able to hear it.

"You're gonna be okay, man."

"Head fuckin' hurts."

"Yeah, well, you fell down a mountain," Opie informed him.

"You stab me w'somethin'?" Jax mumbled, pushing at Opie with his left hand, tipping his chin down, trying to see.

"No," Opie muttered. "You got shot."

Jax stilled then and Opie could see it flooding back to him – the ambush, the wreck, the fall.

"Chibs?" Jax asked.

"He's okay. He's gone for help."

Jax tipped his head to the side so that he could look at Opie. "Did you…come with us?"

Opie shook his head. "Clay said no."

"But…you're here," Jax mumbled, trying to put the pieces together.

"Yeah, I'm here," Opie told him. "Let me tie this off."

"No, don't fuckin' touch it," Jax groaned, dropping his head back.

Opie ignored him and wrapped the ends of the shirt around Jax's narrow waist, tying a knot that pulled the pressure against the wound tight. Jax cried out, then clamped his jaw tight, huffing out strangled breaths in an attempt to get control.

"Easy, you're okay," Opie tried to quiet him.

It unnerved him to see Jax work so hard to gain control. He could see his friend's left hand shaking as it hovered over the make-shift bandage. He made a noise somewhere between a sob and a growl, his teeth grinding. Opie grabbed his trembling hand, letting Jax dig his nails into his flesh.

"That's it. You're okay."

"Gonna fuckin' burn the bastard," Jax muttered through clenched teeth.

"I know you will," Opie replied, just to agree. Didn't matter who Jax was talking about. When his friend was angry, hurt, or scared he fought, and he needed Jax to keep fighting right now.

After a moment the pain seemed to abate enough Jax relaxed his vice-like grip on Opie's hand.

"I think your head's stopped bleeding," Opie told him. "But your shoulder—"

"It's fine," Jax snapped.

"It's two inches too low, man," Opie informed him.

"You go to medical school in prison?" Jax asked, his voice strained with pain.

"No," Opie replied.

"Then leave it," Jax implored.

Opie looked at his friend, watching the muscle bounce across Jax's jaw as he worked to stay in control, then nodded. He dug a water bottle from his pack and twisted off the cap, scooting around to lift Jax's head and help him drink.

"I wanna sit up," Jax muttered, wiping water from his chin with the back of his left hand.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"No," Jax whispered. "Help me up, man."

Opie slipped around behind Jax, easing him up, careful not to touch his right shoulder. Jax groaned, gritting his teeth and huffing out quick breaths.

"Oh, fuck…goddamn, shit," Jax growled as Opie positioned him up against him, letting his friend lean back against his chest. "I can't…I can't breathe, man…."

"Yeah, you can," Opie said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded when his heart was climbing up his throat. "If you can talk, you can breathe."

Jax was gasping, though, his body shaking against Opie's, his left hand trying desperately to get to his right shoulder and at the same time not touch it.

"Easy, man, take it easy," Opie soothed.

"Argh…shit, can't…Ope…." Jax voice came out in a strangled sob.

"Easy, Jackson," Opie said. "You're gonna be okay, you hear me? You're the toughest bastard I ever met, and I've met some pretty tough bastards."

Jax's shaking increased and Opie leaned back against the hillside, the flashlight beam now hitting their midsections. The new angle seemed to be a bit easier for Jax and Opie felt him work to take a deep breath.

"That's it, man, just breathe. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Opie knew he should bind Jax's arm to keep that shoulder immobile, but for now he just wanted to ease Jax's trembling. He kept his arm across Jax's middle, holding the T-shirt dressing in place on his friend's side, his heat seeping into Jax's chilled body. After a few moments he felt Jax's breathing start to regulate and he took his own deep breath.

"You did, though," Jax said suddenly, his voice low, rough, cracking.

"I did?"

"You went somewhere."

Opie was quiet. He'd gone to prison to take the fall for what was actually the fault of several – not Jax, but it didn't matter. It was the club. It had been the longest five years of his life. Away from his wife, his kids, his family. But until recently, he'd not thought much about what it had been like for Jax.

"Yeah," Opie said finally. "I did."

The night gathered around them as Opie held Jax, keeping him warm, keeping him still, waiting for help to arrive. Without thinking about it, he started to push Jax's blood-crusted hair from his forehead, leaving his hand on the side of his friend's face.

"You think Clay did this," Jax rasped.

"I don't know what I think," Opie replied.

Jax started to shift, but sucked in a breath as the motion disturbed his wounds. "They were waiting for us."

"That's what Chibs said."

"They wanted me dead." Jax's voice was so low Opie almost didn't hear him.

"What? What makes you say that?"

Jax was quiet. Opie frowned; it was hard to read his friend like this. Over the years, Jax had become scary good at cloaking his feelings. He'd perfected the art of siphoning emotion from his eyes, turning his face to stone, forcing people to believe his words and fear his actions.

But Opie had always been able to tell. He'd always been able to see the truth through the mask. It was there in Jax's eyes if someone knew where to look. But Opie couldn't see his friend's eyes like this. And there was a tone in Jax's voice under the pain that worried Opie.

It occurred to him that Jax had been quiet for too long. His breathing was still rapid, but he wasn't moving.

"Jax?"

The body against him flinched. Opie exhaled.

"You need to stay awake, okay? Chibs'll bring help soon."

"Hey, Ope?" Jax said, his words slurring a bit. "D'ya know Tara's back?"

Opie blinked. He'd heard Gemma talk about Tara being Abel's doc, but he'd not talked with Jax about her.

"Yeah, I heard something about that."

"Takin' care of Abel," Jax said. "Real smart. A doctor."

"Well, she always wanted to be a doctor," Opie said.

He remembered a younger Tara. Idealistic, full of light. She'd wrapped Jax up and then broke him. She'd walked away from the life; she'd seen where it was going to lead her boyfriend and wanted as far from that hell as she could get. Part of him wished Donna had seen the same truth.

"Still looks so good," Jax said. "Pretty eyes."

Opie nodded, smoothing Jax's hair back, listening.

"Never stopped thinking 'bout her, y'know? Even with…with Wendy," Jax's voice tightened a bit and Opie felt his body tremble as a wave of pain hit him. "Shoulda never married Wendy. Was jus' lonely…."

Tara left. Opie went to prison. Clay started moving the pawns around on his personal chess board, getting Jax into position. Sitting in the dark at the foot of a mountain, Jax bleeding against him, Opie started to see things very clearly, and the picture forming was not a pretty one.

A low rumble caught his ears.

"You hear that, man?" he said softly.

He felt Jax nod beneath his hand.

"Cavalry's here."

The sound of the motor got closer and Opie was a heartbeat from calling out when he felt Jax stiffen. Seconds later he realized why; it wasn't the sound of their MC above them – that was Spanish he was hearing.

Shit.

Jax froze, barely breathing. Opie shifted his leg to block the flashlight beam. They both looked up on instinct, though they were unable to see the truck above them. Opie couldn't understand the words, but he picked up the frustration in the tone. They were angry, that much was certain. He saw a beam of light cutting down through the trees, but it was too far up to find them.

But then he heard someone exclaim and a phrase that made his blood chill: la ropa.

"Jax," he whispered against his friend's ear. "We gotta move."

He heard Jax breath in sharply at the thought of it.

"I know it hurts, man," Opie breathed. "But they found my rope."

Jax nodded once and Opie felt his body tense up, steeling himself to move. Carefully, Opie slipped out from behind Jax. He suppressed the jolt of nausea that hit him at the sound of Jax's whimper when Opie leaned him against the hillside. Reaching for the flashlight, he shone the beam first one way down the rocky path, then back behind them.

The path ended in a steep hill one direction, but down the other he could see that it continued on a narrow path. However, it would mean going past the rope.

Opie dragged a hand down his face, tugging at the ends of his beard as he weighed his options. He pulled his weapon out and hefted it, looking up at where he knew the truck was looming, listening to the rapid Spanish being thrown around above them like bullets. The sound of metal clicking against metal caught his attention and he looked down, shining the flashlight on Jax.

The first thing he saw was how pale his friend looked in the flashlight beam, the second was the barrel of Jax's gun resting against his leg. He must have had it in the pocket of his hoodie, Opie reasoned. Opie looked at Jax's eyes, shadowed with pain, but clear and determined. He was ready to back Opie's play, whatever it was.

Opie shook his head. He had no idea how many were up there, but it was as good as signing their death warrant. And he hadn't survived five years in prison just to die on a random path in the foothills.

He slipped his gun back in his waistband and grabbed his backpack. He took Jax's gun and shoved it into his belt, then turned off the flashlight, stowing it as well. After a few moments, his eyes grew accustomed to the ambient light of the moon and he could see Jax's face, the set of his friend's jaw. He shouldered the pack, then crouched down, gripping Jax's left hand in his right.

With a tilt of his head, he asked if Jax were ready. Jax nodded once and gripped Opie's hand. On an exhale, Opie tensed, pulling Jax to his feet and breaking into a sweat as he felt rather than heard Jax bite down on the cry of pain that beat against the back of his throat. His friend was shaking again, but he was able to keep hold of Opie's hand.

Wrapping a long arm around Jax so that his hand pressed against the wound on Jax's side, Opie started them forward, step by agonizing step. He told himself they just had to get past that rope; if they got past that rope without being discovered, they were home free.

Jax's breaths were ragged, hitching and catching on his lips like they were made of sandpaper. Opie held him tight, moving them forward, ignoring the way the hand in his shook, the way Jax half-dragged his left leg in reaction to the pain in his side. They were directly beneath the rope and Opie looked up.

Someone was coming down.

Shit!

He let go of Jax's waist and grabbed his gun from his belt, instinctively pushing Jax forward with his body and keeping the barrel trained on the body descending the rope. They hadn't yet been seen. If he could just get around the curve…into the shadows….

Jax stumbled, falling forward, helplessly crying out. The figure on the rope turned, a torrent of Spanish calling up to his companions. Opie didn't wait to hear their reply. He fired, three bursts, the body falling from the rope, bouncing off the path, and tumbling further below.

Reaching down, Opie grabbed Jax by his kutte and hauled him to his feet, ignoring the teeth-gritted scream as Jax straightened. He felt a tug at his belt and looked down in time to see Jax pull his gun loose. The remaining Mayans on the road above them where firing down, blindly. Opie and Jax fired upwards, unable to see anything, simply trying to buy themselves some time – and some cover.

Opie continued to push Jax forward, further down the path, trying to get as far from the crash site as he could. After a moment, he stopped firing, shoving his gun into the pocket of his hoodie, and turned to catch Jax as his friend stumbled again.

It was then he realized Jax was sobbing, the pain overwhelming him as his gun fell from numb fingers. Opie caught it, shoving it into the top of his backpack, then grabbing Jax close to him as his friend's legs seemed to disappear on him.

"I gotcha, I gotcha, man," Opie rambled, trying to pull Jax's attention, keep him moving.

"Aw, fuck, Ope…I'm sorry…s-s-sorry, man," Jax gasped, trying to calm his hitching breaths, control the pain-laden sobs.

"It's okay, we got 'em, it's okay."

The path began to widen, the land before them leveling out, the hill vanishing as their slow descent took them to what appeared to be the base of a valley. Opie looked up and saw the rock wall above them was more steep, the guardrail on the switchback road above them vanishing. He gripped Jax's hand once more, but realized quickly that wasn't going to be enough.

Without giving Jax a chance to protest, he turned the smaller man to the side, slid one arm behind Jax's back and the other beneath his friend's knees, lifting him up. He was lighter than Opie thought he'd be, his long legs swinging with the motion of his body and his good arm dangled behind Opie's back. His lean body was all muscle and Opie struggled for a moment to balance him without causing him further harm.

Slumping his head against Opie's shoulder, Jax took a shallow, shuddering breath and went still. Opie glanced down, terror grabbing him by the throat, but breathed once more when he saw Jax's eyes roll beneath his closed lids.

Opie continued forward on the ever-widening path, trying to forget that he had no idea where he was going, and that Chibs would have no idea where to find them. There was no going back, though. If the Mayans wanted Jax bad enough, they'd climb down that rope one by one and it wouldn't take them long to figure out which way he'd gone.

Hefting Jax's limp form in his arms, Opie continued on, remembering a time many years ago when he'd carried Jax just like this from the creek that ran behind their school all the way home to Gemma. A couple of the bigger kids had started in on Opie, and Jax being Jax hadn't let it go. He'd fought by Opie's side, even though he'd been the smallest of the group, and earned a blow to the head that had dropped him like a rock.

The older boys had run off when Jax collapsed – rightly fearing the wrath of Gemma Teller. Opie had scooped up his friend and carried him six blocks, straight to Gemma's door. Opie wasn't sure what Gemma had done to those boys, but they hadn't returned to school for the rest of the week.

His arms beginning to ache, Opie paused, looking around. In the moonlight, he could see an open field one direction, a rock wall the other, and a narrowing path up ahead. With the Mayans behind him, there wasn't much of a choice which direction to go. He looked down at Jax.

"Hang in there, brother," he muttered.

He made it about fifty more yards before the trees along the side of the rise grew thicker, blocking out the moonlight. The land opposite the rise started to fall away once more and the path grew too narrow for him to carry Jax. He looked up toward the road and once more saw a guardrail. Another switchback. Glancing around him, he saw an outcrop of rock and eased Jax down, propping him up against the dirt-covered hillside.

He pulled up the edge of his friend's blood-soaked hoodie and checked the T-shirt bandage. Their little stunt getting away from the Mayans had caused his wound to bleed more and the shirt was nearly black. Dropping his shoulders in exhaustion, Opie dragged his hand down his face, then rotated to sit in on the hillside next to Jax.

If Chibs didn't get back here soon with help, they were going to be in serious trouble. He leaned back, his shoulder against Jax's, shifting until he took a bit of his friend's weight against him. Pulling his weapon from the pocket of his hoodie, he checked the clip, then rested the barrel along the leg of his jeans, trying to be ready for anything.

"Hey, Ope," Jax's voice came at him suddenly from the darkness, causing him to flinch. "You awake?"

"Yeah, I'm right here."

"Thank you, brother."

Opie huffed. "Don't thank me yet." He didn't know if he should be relieved or worried that Jax was talking to him.

"Thanks…for coming after me."

"You'd have done the same," Opie replied with confidence.

"Yeah, I would," Jax rumbled. "You're my best friend, Ope."

"That's the concussion talking." Opie dropped his head back against the hillside. It was getting cold now that his sweat was drying. "Next thing you know you'll be saying you love me."

Jax was quiet a moment. "I do." His voice betrayed a smirk Opie could picture as plain as day.

"You're lucky you're already broken."

"I missed you, man," Jax said quietly. "It wasn't the same…around here without you."

"Lots changed," Opie observed, eyeing the path they'd just come down, still concerned they'd been followed.

"Yeah," Jax sighed. "Not all for the better."

"I picked up on that," Opie muttered.

"You ever think about what our dads…were like when they were…our age?"

Opie tilted his head, unable to see more than Jax's profile. His friend's eyes were closed, his right arm across his middle, left hand holding it in place. The blood on his forehead looked black in the scattered moonlight.

"Not really," Opie confessed.

"They woulda been in 'Nam, y'know?"

"Yeah," Opie nodded.

"I think about my dad…a lot…lately."

It didn't surprise Opie; John Teller had started the Sons and with Clay Morrow running it, married to Jax's mom, it seemed natural Jax would wonder how John would have done things differently.

"Wonder… what he'd think…of Abel," Jax muttered.

For a moment, Opie had almost forgotten about Jax's infant son. The child didn't seem real to him, living the first weeks of his life in an incubator, fighting for every breath. Opie hadn't even seen him.

"He'd have brought him a miniature kutte," Opie teased.

In the near-darkness, Opie could see Jax's mouth bounce in a half-smile. But then the smile faded. "I don't think he loved the club as much as everyone…told us he did."

"Jax…."

"I don't know if he'd…want me…here."

Opie sat forward, turning to face Jax. "Yeah, he would, man. He would." A thought struck him. A comment Chibs had made in jest…. "He wanted you to take over his kingdom."

Jax rolled his head against the dirt, his eyes shadowed by the night, his voice rattling in the darkness. "It's a fucked up kingdom, Ope." He exhaled slowly, whispering, "I'm damned no matter what I do."

"No, Jax—" But Jax had relaxed against him once more, their conversation having taken what strength he'd stored up.

Opie reached over and smoothed Jax's hair from his face, easing his friend's head down against his shoulder. The darkness grew thicker. He wondered how many hours had passed, wondered if Chibs had really been good to ride, or if he was laying on the side of the road, wondered how he'd get Jax out of there if they lasted until morning, wondered what Clay would say about his having gone against orders and followed Jax out on this run.

His musings had almost lulled him into a doze when shouts from down the path jolted him upright. His motion shook Jax awake and the wounded man gasped against the pain from the sudden movement. Opie put a hand on Jax's chest, stilling him, and lifted his weapon.

"Ope! Jax!"

Opie looked over his shoulder at Jax, saw his friend's relieved smile. "It's Chibs."

Jax nodded, dropping his head back against the hillside. Opie looked back toward the path.

"We're here!" he called, watching for the lights. "Follow the path!"

After a few minutes, Opie saw the beam of a flashlight and Chibs's figure came into view.

"Ach, you two are a sight for these sore eyes," Chibs greeted.

Opie couldn't see the older man's face, just a white bandage on his head. He came closer and Opie pushed to his feet, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug. Chibs crouched down next to where Jax sat slumped against the hillside.

"Jackie-boy? You with us?" His voice was tight with concern, and rightly so. In the beam of Chibs' flashlight, Jax looked terrible.

"Not goin' anywhere," Jax rasped, his eyes blinking blearily. "You got me a ride home?"

"How 'bout we swing by the hospital first?" Chibs said. "Hear they got some good drugs there."

Jax gave him a tired half-smile, then looked up at Opie. Turning, Opie, grabbed Jax's outstretched hand and eased him to his feet, cringing inward at Jax's stifled cry of pain. Chibs stepped forward to help, reaching for Jax's right arm, but Jax shook his head once, pressing close to Opie.

Opie looked at Chibs. "I got him," he said quietly. "How 'bout you tell them to back up their rescue a few hundred yards?" He jerked his head up toward the hillside and the activity above them.

Chibs stepped back. "Yeah, you got it," he nodded.

"Chibs wait," Opie called, catching the older man before he hurried back down the path. "They came back."

Even in the shadows Opie could see Chibs' face darken. "Came after Jax, you mean."

Opie nodded. "I hit one," he said, then shook his head. "Don't know about any others."

"Didn't see any bodies topside," Chibs informed him. "Should we look down here?"

"He went all the way down," Opie told him. "Don't think anyone will see him in the dark. He was climbing down the rope."

Jax shifted, groaning through clenched teeth as he worked to keep upright. He gripped Opie's hand, his face buried against his friend's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jax," Chibs said, touching Jax lightly on the top of the head. "We ain't gonna make you climb a rope."

"That's a relief," Jax said, trying to play along but slipping his control.

Opie jerked his chin at Chibs and watched as the man turned, heading down the path, calling ahead to whoever had been about to join them to turn the hell around and get the bastards to back it up.

"Almost home, man," Opie said, lifting his eyes to watch for the rescue party. "Hang in there."

"Ope," Jax said, his low voice so soft, Opie had to tip his face down to hear. "Don't ever forget…."

"Forget what, Jax?"

"You're my family. Always have been."

Opie blinked, unsure how to respond. He'd said the same to Donna hours ago, but hearing it from Jax, after all his time away…the backs of his eyes burned. He tightened his hold on Jax, feeling the smaller man's legs waver.

"You don't have to stand and wait, Jax," Opie told him. "Let me set you back down."

"No," Jax shook his head, tightening his grip on Opie's hand. "No, I need t'do this."

And when the rest of the Sons came into view, having followed Chibs down the path, Clay among them, Opie saw why.

Jax stood, leaning heavily on Opie, his right arm hanging uselessly, his side a bloody mess, his eyes steady and unwavering as the Sons waited with him for the EMTs to lower the orange basket that would take Jax up to the road and the waiting ambulance.

Opie watched as the Sons helped balance the basket, waiting as he eased their VP into the waiting arms of the paramedic, their eyes lifting in unison as Jax was carried up away from them.

soa

Clay was sitting outside of the hospital room. If Opie didn't know better, he'd guess the man had been waiting for him.

Jax had been in surgery for a few hours after getting to the hospital, repairing the tissue damage the bullet had caused and stitching him up. His shoulder had been put back into place and immobilized. It would be hell to ride for awhile after he recovered, but he'd eventually get his strength back.

"Clay," Opie greeted as the big man pushed to his feet. "How's he doing?"

"He'll be okay, thanks to you," Clay replied. He rested his hands on his hips, peering closely at Opie. "How'd you know?"

Opie looked down. He should have anticipated this question. "Something about it just...didn't feel right."

Clay was quiet a moment and Opie felt a myriad of possibility slam into the silence. The guns had been taken, there was no evidence at the crash site they'd ever been there. To the police, it looked like Chibs and Jax had been ambushed for no apparent reason. And since the good-faith delivery had been botched by the Mayans, retaliation was inevitable but now the Niners were on the side of the Sons.

It looked like things had worked out squarely in Clay's favor.

"You didn't say a word at the table," Clay pointed out.

"I know," Opie nodded. He drew his eyes up, meeting Clay's imposing stare squarely. "I guess I'm still trying to earn my way back in."

Clay's ample mouth folded down in a frown and he shook his head sadly. "You were never out, Ope."

Opie couldn't read this man, not as well as he could read Jax. He always felt as if he were looking at Clay through a veil, second guessing every word he said, trying to decide if he should dodge right or feint left. He saw Clay reach out a hand and he grasped it, instinctively.

"Thanks for saving his life, Opie," Clay said, sounding so sincere Opie could do nothing else but nod. Clay pulled him in for a hug, then clapped him on the back. "Gemma's in there now, but I know she'll want to see you."

Opie nodded once more, swallowing hard at the confusing tangle of emotions choking him. He moved past Clay and pushed the door to Jax's room open. Gemma was sitting next to Jax's bed, but she stood up when she saw Opie. Wordlessly, she crossed the room and opened her arms, enveloping him in a hug. Kissing his cheek, she drew back, laying her hands on either side of his face, pressing his beard flat.

"Thank you, baby," she said, tears pooling in her dark eyes. "You saved my boy's life."

Opie glanced down, unable to move his head with her hands holding him fast. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands – Gemma had always had that unnerving affect on him – so he stuffed them in the pockets of his hoodie.

"Mom," Jax's tired, raspy voice came from across the room. "It's okay. You can let him go now."

Gemma smiled, then hugged him again before wiping her eyes with a manicured finger. Opie glanced over Gemma's shoulder to Jax, slightly shocked at his friend's appearance. He looked almost worse than he had down on that path. Then again, Opie reasoned, it had been plenty dark out there.

"Hey," Jax greeted when he saw Opie look his way.

"Hey," Opie replied.

"Eloquent as ever," Gemma sighed with a wry smile. "Clearly you have plenty to say to each other. I'm just going to grab some coffee…maybe peek in on Abel," she told Jax. She moved to the side of his bed and kissed his forehead. "Get some rest, baby."

"'Kay," Jax replied, eyes still on Opie.

Gemma left and Opie shifted his feet.

"You look like shit," Jax said.

Opie half-grinned, finally lifting his face to regard his friend. "I was about to say the same thing."

The side of Jax's face was bruised, stitches walking across his forehead like an army of black ants. His right arm was strapped to his chest, and an IV was attached to his left hand. He was pale, but smiling. Opie had to admit that was an improvement.

"You saved my life, man," Jax told him.

Opie watched the mask slip in place on his friend's face, nearly obscuring the truth he'd always been able to see in Jax's eyes. With a chill, Opie wondered how close he'd really come to losing his friend last night…and how close he still might be. He stepped forward, leaning against the foot of Jax's bed.

"You gonna be okay, Jax?"

Jax lifted the corner of his mouth. "Thanks to you."

"That's not what I meant."

Jax swallowed, looking away. Opie felt a strange tug on his heart, as if he were holding tight and still watching Jax slip away from him. The innocence he'd always admired about his friend had been crushed, but an idealism had replaced it and now even that seemed to be fading.

"We all gotta make choices, Ope," Jax said finally.

He looked down, then with a heavy sigh, as if the weight of his choice sat squarely on his chest, he lifted his eyes, meeting Opie's with a look that was stripped bare of pretense and devoid of protection. There was so much raw hope and real pain in that look, Opie felt his breath catch. The tears that had been lurking from Clay's seemingly sincere gratitude burned through any shield he'd had against them and his eyes filled.

"Jax…."

"We gotta make choices and we gotta live with the fall-out," Jax continued, his jaw squaring and the heat in his eyes cooling until for one brief moment, Opie saw the kid he grew up with shining from them once more.

A heartbeat later, the kid was gone, and in his place was the prince of the Sons, and Opie felt the loss. He sniffed, dragging a hand down his face and looked away. Taking a breath, he pulled the emotion in, boxing it up and locking it away as effectively as he'd just witnessed Jax do. When he looked back at his friend, he was steady, eyes dry.

"I hear you," he said to Jax. "But...you listen to me. Do not forget who you are."

"I know who I am, Ope," Jax said in a voice both young and old and so weary it made Opie feel heavy.

"No," Opie shook his head. "I don't mean who you are to the club," he said, dropping his chin until his beard rubbed against his T-shirt. "I mean who you are. Do not let him take that away from you."

He didn't elaborate and he could tell from the muscle bunching across Jax's jaw that he didn't have to. Jax nodded, his mouth pulling into a tight smile. He glanced to the side, then back at Opie and his smile relaxed.

"Okay, Ope."

With that agreement, Opie knew Jax wasn't just stepping into a legacy; he was inheriting tragedy and violence. He was taking on the sins of more than one father, and he was going to have to shoulder them or they would bury him. If he had anything to say about it, Jax wouldn't be carrying it alone. Opie had been his brother in their youth; he wasn't about to abandon him now.

After a moment of silence heavy with promises, Jax lay back, clearly exhausted.

"I think I'll go find your mom," Opie said, shuffling back a step and turning toward the door. "See if she can introduce me to this kid of yours."

A soft, sloppy smile spread across Jax's face. "He's a fighter," he said with pride.

Opie put his hand on the door, pausing before he opened it and looked back over his shoulder. "He's like his dad," he said with a small smile.

Leaving the room, Opie wasn't able to shake the strangely ominous image of the light above the bed hitting Jax's blond hair like a crown.

---

a/n: It was both sad and necessary for me to write this story from Opie's POV. His friendship with Jax is what kept Jax human, grounded. I think it's one of the great things about this series, the brotherhood of these two characters.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.