Dedicated to Synnerxx.

He watched, mute, as they lowered the coffin down into the neatly dug hole, blue flowers resting upon its polished wooden surface symbolising the prayers of the living.

Jax was gone, having stalked his way through the graveyard after just moments of arriving; Gemma had her hand wrapped tightly around Clay's; Juice's head was bent – for once, Tig didn't give a shit about that ridiculous haircut of his; Half Sack was being, well, Half Sack, staring in almost clueless curiosity at the coffin while Piney looked away, lips pursed, beady eyes roaming everywhere besides the scene before him.

And Chibs.

Tig couldn't see Chibs, as they stood a ways from each other, Clay and Gemma, Juice and Half Sack between them. Tig wanted to lean forwards to see him, see how he was coping with this, whether the pain he was feeling was any lighter than what Tig was experiencing, but he couldn't bring himself to. Because Opie was just right there, and Tig couldn't look at Opie. He couldn't look at him before, when he held the gun in his hand with a perfect shot of the back of his head, and not even now, when it was all over and done with.

And Tig didn't even know why. It had been an order from Clay, the president himself, and Tig was always one to deliver with the best of his capabilities. But some goddamn invisible force had stayed his hand, gripping the gun hard and putting all matters of the trigger out of his mind. He wasn't supposed to feel anything when he killed. He was supposed to take out anyone who stood in the way, whether by discreet assassination or through a brutal beating in the street. Tig just didn't feel anything, and yet he did.

"May God have mercy on your soul," the priest murmured, touching his index and middle fingers to his lips as he said those words. Tig felt like they were directed to him, and all he could do was look away and bite his bottom lip. "Amen."

Tig was the last one to return to the clubhouse that night. Nobody knew where he went, and when he came back, he was greeted with countless looks of concern and a few demands in regards to his whereabouts. Clay, however, sat in the back, nursing what appeared to be his third bottle of beer, nonchalant.

"The hell have you been, Tig?" Juice sauntered over, and Tig, for a moment, forgot about how the youth caused him to lose a chunk of his ass. "Shit, went lookin' all over for you. Thought you broke your dick with some pussy out in the streets."

"Really." But Tig didn't see Juice, didn't hear even half of what he was saying as Juice pulled him into a half embrace and clapped him on the back. The only thing Tig could hear was the increasing beating of his heart in his ears, the dizziness that pounded the back of his head. He raked his fingers through his curly hair, messing it up more than ever. The beer that Half Sack held out for him didn't even trigger his interest. He strode right past it and through the doorway at the back of the room, eyes staring at the floor the whole time, wary of the odd gazes that his partners cast his way.

Once he was alone in the hallway, he slammed the door shut behind his heels, teeth now gritted together as he tried to control the sentiments straining against his chest, and stalked into the bathroom.

"Fucking hell." He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. "Fucking hell, Opie." Opie was the only one who wasn't there in the clubhouse, and that only made Tig fear for him and even his kids. You do somethin' stupid, I'm gonna come after you myself.

The sudden knock on the door nearly made Tig jump out of his skin.

"Tiggy, ye in there?"

Tig was silent for a while, capable of only staring at the door with eyes wide and fearful. Fear – that was something he hadn't felt in a while. It burned his nerves, a foreign fire that ate him from the inside out, and it seemed to have no intention of stopping soon. Tig had to clasp a hand on the edge of the bathtub and lean against it for support, wiping the fresh beads of sweat from his brows.

"The fuck d'you want?" Tig forced a chuckle. Didn't want the others to think he was backing out of this, that he was nothing but a weakling who only knew how to kill and not deal with the aftermath. "Scared the shit out of me, man."

"Well, isn't that nice." Tig heard a small laugh from the other side, a sound that usually lifted his spirits no matter how dull the situation. It didn't weave its magic this time though, and Tig slid down to his knees on the cold, tiled floor. "Why don't ye open up, let me have a look at how I scared ye, eh?"

Fucking idiot. Tig shook his head, a bitter smile creeping up his face. Chibs was always one to try and lighten a friend's burden, the ever generous Scotsman. Tig hated it. He liked it and he hated it all at once, and now he had the urge to jam a stick up Chibs' ass and shove him over the edge of the world.

"Fuck off, Chibs," Tig muttered, just loud enough for the both of them to hear. His voice bounced off the walls in the silence that followed, and those words came back to him in waves, beating him with invisible hands, throwing all the guilt onto his already heavy shoulders. "Fuck off." But this time, he wasn't saying it to Chibs.

"Ye know I ain't gonna do that, Tig."

"Why not?" Tig rose to his feet, wanting to drive a fist into Chibs' face right then and there. Fucking prick just couldn't leave a man alone.

"That's a stupid question only an idiot would ask," said Chibs. "And ye ain't no idiot, Tig."

Are you sure? His hands trembled by his sides, urging him on to open the door and grab hold of Chibs' throat and strangle him. If only Opie and Donna hadn't switched cars. If only Clay hadn't given out the order. If only Tig had his cell phone with him. If only he had looked before he rained down bullets into Donna's head.

"Goddamn it!" Tig whirled around and kicked the base of the tub, the clang resounding and reverberating throughout the small bathroom. The pain that shot through his right foot all the way up to his knee, his thigh, his heart, grabbed hold of him with a regret that he had never known before. "Fuck!" There was nothing else that he could say – only words heavy and thick with bitterness rested on the tip of his tongue, words that were directed at himself. There was no one else to blame, only his own self and his stupidity and–

"Tiggy."

Tig threw himself to the door, the side of his face hitting so hard against wood that for a moment he saw stars. "What?" he growled through his clenched teeth, tight fists on either side of his head. "What now, Chibs? What?"

"Take it easy, brother." He was always so calm and collected, level-headed, the better part of Sons of Anarchy sanity. Tig, more than once, found himself envying his ability to stay composed in such a fucked up reality they were living in.

"You're askin' me to take it easy?" Tig kicked the door, a wild fire burning in his eyes as he saw Chibs being shot to death. Chibs, the one who was in the car instead of Donna. The one to die instead of Opie's wife. "Well, let me see you take it easy after you've shot some innocent bitch in the street!"

Tig rested his forehead against the door, his heart racing against time, pounding in his ears. He took a deep breath, but unlike other times, it didn't work. With that sigh nothing came out. The burden, it was still there. Tig grasped a fistful of the front of his shirt and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I…" His voice was hoarse to his ears, as if he had been shut in a hospital for weeks without company. "I didn't know it was Donna, Chibs."

Didn't know it was Donna till it was done.

Clay had taken him to his chest then, had wrapped a large hand around the back of his head and brought him close. Clay didn't do that to just anyone, but even though the gesture was meant to comfort, Tig hadn't felt anything other than the bitter cold that seeped into his skin. It was obvious that Clay needed someone there for him as well. Tig was grateful to him, but he just didn't feel anything. There was no warmth, not much comfort, nothing save for the extra weight upon his shoulders. It was almost like Clay giving all of his own remorse to Tig, unintentional or not.

After the funeral, Tig had gone into the arms of a whore. This time, it wasn't about sex. It was about Tig seeking consolation, a refuge from the horror he had just committed, but despite how hot and tight she had been when she wrapped herself around him, there still was that cold emptiness nagging at the back of his mind. There was no afterglow – Tig had pulled his clothes back on, donning his cut with a sense of hate he'd never known lived inside him, and rushed out. For the rest of the afternoon, he had sat under a tree in the graveyard, staring off into the distance with his hands clasped between his knees, attracting odd looks from passersby.

Tig could almost feel Donna's ghost wandering around the grave, weaving between the tombstones and wondering just what the hell her body was doing buried six feet underground. The blue flowers rested at the base of the tombstone – Tig remembered Chibs catching his eye when he went up to place a stalk on the grave. He had twirled it around between his fingers for a moment, saying a silent apology, and when he turned around to return to his position, there was Chibs. And there was Opie. And Tig had immediately looked away, cursing himself for even going up there in the first place. He hadn't the right to set foot there. He could still smell the coppery scent of blood, the sight of Donna's wide eyes as they stared unseeing, glazed over, was still fresh in his mind.

Tig's only solace, he guessed, was that the kids weren't there to witness their mother's murder.

"Open up, Tiggy," Chibs said lowly, and it was only then that Tig realized he was still there. "Ye've got to be shittin' me if ye think I'm gonna leave ye like this."

"Then I am shittin' you." Tig sent a hard, fierce punch into the door, trying to release his anger and scare Chibs off at the same time, but he knew that the Scotsman wasn't budging regardless of what he did. Goddamn it, Chibs!

And then Tig threw the door open. The only thing he saw was the deep scar on Chibs' right cheek before he took the man into his arms, fisting his hair and the back of his cut. "Fuck you, Chibs, why can't you just leave me alone?" Tig hissed into his ear, pressing his nose to the side of Chibs' neck, gritting his teeth as he tried to ease his heavy breathing, the racing of his heart as it thumped against his chest. Tig squeezed his eyes shut as Chibs hesitantly trailed his hands up his sides, slowly and soothingly, until they came to rest on his back.

"We don't leave our brothers behind, man," Chibs gave him a good-natured, reassuring slap on his shoulder blade. "Shittin' me, that's what ye're doin'." That made Tig chuckle despite himself, his hot breath falling onto Chibs' neck as the pricking behind his eyes grew with each split second.

"Not again," Tig muttered.

"It's all right, Tiggy." Chibs patted his back, held him tighter. "I ain't gonna tell Clay and the others, don't worry."

"Fuck you."

"We'll get on to that later." Chibs ran his fingers through Tig's dark curly hair. "For now, we gotta get ye under control. First, ye get bit by a fucking Dobermann. Now, ye're bein' a goddamn baby."

Tig shoved Chibs away at that, seething, but Chibs pulled him back, this time into a tighter, more peaceful embrace, and Tig found that comfort he had been looking for all this while. The warmth from the Scotsman's body washed over him, and he couldn't help but bury his face in his shoulder, hands grasping his cut as if his life depended on it.

"That's it, brother," Chibs murmured, stroking Tig's trembling back. "I ain't leavin' ye. Not now, not ever, so ye gotta deal with it."

Tig couldn't have argued even if he wanted to.