Nero Padilla was dying. It had taken eighty years, but his moment was coming; he could feel it in the hollow ache in his bones. His chest felt full of filament and cotton, and he knew that, without the damned oxygen tubing stuck in his nose, he would have been dead long ago.

He looked down at his hands. They lay flat on an old flannel blanket Wendy had covered him with. The violet tinge of his fingers and his hands almost matched the stripes that crisscrossed the fabric. He wanted to ball them into fists. He wanted to fight the lung cancer that was killing him, but he knew he'd beaten the odds long ago. After leaving Jax Teller and the Sons of Anarchy behind, death was no longer something he feared, because it was no longer beating down his door. He was an old man now. It was something he never thought he'd be.

"Hey Papi, are you hungry?" Wendy's voice filled his ears, and he smiled. Wendy. A junkie blessing. The irony never escaped him. A harrowing tale of street life gone right, just like he was, and he loved her so much it hurt sometimes. A quarter of a century had passed since they left Charming together, Abel and Thomas in tow. They'd come to the farm to begin anew, and Lucius followed shortly thereafter. In the days and months that followed, they became a family, just like Jax wanted.

Now, Wendy Case Padilla, looking younger than her fifty-eight years, stared at her husband. Her sepia eyes drank him in slowly, and her heart grew heavier with each breath he took. She knew she was losing him. The question was no longer if; it was when, and when he was gone, she had no idea what she was going to do. The last twenty-five years had revolved around him, around the kids, and now that they were grown, she and Nero had settled into a wonderful domesticity neither one knew they had in them. She loved him, and she was going to miss him, but she'd go on without him. After all, they all left her in the end anyway. It would hurt like hell, probably just as much as it did when Jax died, but it was out of their hands. After all, guns and the streets weren't taking him from her. Cancer and God were taking Nero Padilla. Even she couldn't fight that.

"Nah love, I'm good." Nero hadn't enjoyed food in ages. Nothing tasted good, and more often than not, he threw it up anyway. He rarely ate now. He gave a weak smile, but Wendy could see where love still gleamed hot and intense for her within his eyes. Her cheeks flushed pink as she recalled the way he used to ravish her. He loved her in a way no other man had ever loved her; she was cherished and respected. It took a while to become accustomed to it, but once she did, she realized how toxic her past life was. Tears filled her eyes. Charming and SAMCRO really felt like another world, another life, but the memories were still as fresh as they ever were. When they came by way of nightmares or panic attacks, Nero would hold her and remind her that time was long gone. Still, a nagging voice in Wendy's mind questioned who would hold her once Nero closed his eyes for good.

She slowly entered the room they'd shared for so long. Painted light, pretty lavender, it was a good size, big enough for a California King bed and a couple of gorgeous oak antique dressers from Gemma's father's house. On the walls were pictures of the kids in various stages of growth, framed in silver and pewter frames. Two huge stained glass windows refracted rainbow light into the room. Wendy loved those windows. It was her favorite feature of the house.
In the center of the massive bed, Nero sat upright, the oxygen tank at his side. The rumble of it filled the room with a deep, vibrating sound that reminded Wendy of the old compressors at TM. She shivered with the memory, then quickly shook it off. She sat next to Nero and took his hand in hers. It was alabaster smooth and ice cold, and it was then that she noticed how strange her hand looked in his grasp. She could see pink of her skin almost gleam against the purple of his. She rested her head on his shoulder. Time was moving faster than she had realized. For a while, they just sat there, hand in hand, her head on him, listening to the whirl of the oxygen machine. The way the sound ebbed and flowed began to lull Wendy into a deep slumber. Nero listened as her healthy breathing filled the room. How he longed to make that sound.

"What am I going to do without you, Mami?" Nero's whisper split the silence. Wendy's eyes snapped open, her momentary respite forgotten. His hand grasped hers as tightly as it could. Wendy's heart seized with the question. It sounded so damned sad. It wasn't something she'd considered. There were days she believed in Heaven and Hell, and then there were days she didn't care to know. Her days lately had been spent caring for her husband and her house. His comfort was paramount, and nothing else mattered now. There was little time to consider anything else.

Nero had nothing but time to consider it. The last six months, as the cancer tore away at his health and made it path of destruction through his body, he was left unable to move without Wendy. Once a king of the Stockton streets, Nero wondered what his vatos would say if they could see his skeletal frame. He wondered how hard they would think he was with his walker and his oxygen. There had been so much time to think of the past, of the present, and of the future. Death didn't scare him. What awaited on the other side didn't scare him. Having to wait for the woman at his side scared him. Nero loved his wife. There was no question of that.

"You'll be fine," Wendy said. She forced a smile as she tried to keep the warble from her throat. "You're going to Heaven, and you'll be spending so much time with your boy, you won't even notice I'm missing until I get there."

Lucius. It would be twenty-three years next month since he'd held his son. The doctor had said it could happen that way. He hadn't been the least bit surprised. A sudden illness, a moment where Lucius' body just doesn't cooperate, an infection, those things were just as deadly as the bullets his father had dodged on the streets. In the end, a bout of antibiotic resistant pneumonia bested Nero's only biological son. Nero always thought it would be something bigger that would take the boy out.

Nero inhaled deeply. Since the cancer, Nero would sometimes imagine his lungs were Lucius'. He tried to understand the pain as they filled with fluid. He would take deep breaths and revel in the agony. In a sadistic way, cancer had given Nero a connection to his son. The pain made it all alright.

"I don't know about Heaven, Mami," he said quietly.

"You're going to Heaven, Nero." Wendy was firm now. The man by her side was not the man that worked the streets. He wasn't even the man that ran Diosa. The man by her side was kind and good and morally sound. He had convictions. He had morals. Anything that he did before SAMCRO or during SAMCRO was long forgiven, at least it was in her eyes. Wendy wasn't God, but she knew a good man when she saw one, and Nero Padilla was the best kind of man.

Nero shrugged his shoulders."You and my kids are the only things that make me long for the Hereafter, Mami. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't care if I blew away into oblivion." He spoke the truth. Without them, his life would have been meaningless, especially after Lucius' passing. He looked down at Wendy. Her face was still as beautiful as it had been all those years ago. The blonde highlights that intermingled with the shades of honey and chocolate were now soft, glittering silver. The body that pressed against him was still wiry and tight, and he longed to function like a man, just one last time, with her.

Without a word, he bent his head and touched his cool lips to hers. The life coursing through her veins made him acutely aware of the lack of life coursing through his. Wendy returned the gentle kiss, and she rested her hand on his chest. Nero's heart still beat beneath her hand. It clicked and it sputtered, but it was still beating. The comfort of it amazed her. The fact that she could still want him now, even in this state, amazed her. Her fingers traced his beautiful square jawline. The sound of the doorbell broke their tentative embrace.

"Who the hell is here?" Nero's voice was slightly agitated. They were not expecting visitors. Wendy swung her legs over the bed and quickly stood. Nero watched, admiring her frame as she adjusted her plain white t-shirt. With a sweet smile, she circled the bed and made her way out to the hallway.

"Hey Wendy," Nero called. He breathed slowly. He allowed the pain to consume him as he broke from her. His breath came in long, deliberate pants. Wendy watched him struggle to speak. She knew it would eventually subside, and he'd be okay. That gnawing in her gut reminded her that one day soon that wouldn't be the case.

"I love you too, Nero." Tears sprung to her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. He smiled, relieved to be understood without saying a word.

Wendy raced down the hallway. Who the hell would be here this time of day? She smoothed her long, tousled waves as she padded barefoot towards the door. As she neared, she could make out the faint silhouette of a man through the stained glass. She'd loved the bedroom stained glass so much, she asked if Nero could have some installed in their front door. Nero happily granted that wish.

Grasping the antique brass knob, she pulled the heavy door open. Before her was a man standing over six feet tall. Long dark jeans hung on his finely muscled frame, and his feet were covered by lackluster black combat boots. A tight blue thermal hugged every edge of his body, and the blue and gray flannel he wore atop it kept him warm while a frigid wind circled him. He adjusted the heavy backpack he carried, and he ran an anxious hand through his dark hair. Piercing blue eyes, eyes so familiar Wendy actually gasped, stared back at her. When the man smiled, it was so familiar, the tears that Wendy had held in for so long finally fell.

Wordlessly, he took Wendy in his arms. She cried, and he let her. She body shook violently, but he let the tears flow. She lingered there, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled like home to her. His arms were strong and steady as they held her. They rocked back and forth for a moment, reveling in each other's embrace.

"Wendy," Nero's voice echoed down the hallway. Wendy broke her hold and pulled the man into the house. She quietly shut the door behind them. They just stood for a moment, not knowing what to say.

"Wendy, who's there?" Nero questioned once more. Wendy looked up at the boy she'd raised as her own. He looked so much like his father. Jax.

"Just our son," Wendy whispered with a smile, "Our Thomas has come home."