Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy.

A/N: As most hardcore SOA fans know, Opie Winston was supposed to have died at the hand of the Club at end of Season 1. However, at the last minute, Kurt Sutter had a stroke of brilliance and decided to keep the character alive. As a result, Opie Winston has been become the most tragic character in the series and a true friend and brother to Jax Teller for the last four seasons.

This story is the "what could have happened" had Sutter continued with his original plot and had kept the character of Donna Winston alive instead, with a healthy dose of my personal spin on the canon.

The next several chapters are a series of flashback events over a six-month period told from the perspective of Jax Teller and his women, with the story eventually returning to the present day.

Some of you had some interesting takes on the story so far and some pretty good guesses as to where the story will go. I hope you will stick around for the ride.

As usual, if you read, please review.

Enjoy!

Flinging open the bathroom door, Jax walked into his dorm wearing nothing but a small white towel wrapped around his waist as he used another one to dry his hair. From what he could recall, Piney was right and it had been a few days since his last dance with proper hygiene. He had reeked to high heaven of booze, weed, cigarettes and blood.

Sitting for a moment on the edge of his bed, Jax thought about the number of bars he had frequented over the last few days in Lodi and Modesto. When he hadn't been completely shit-faced, he was starting fights, hoping for someone to take a swing at him so that he could unleash his aggression on some hapless stranger. The last of his punching bags had been some fuckin' idiot who was slapping his girlfriend around in the parking lot of the Buffalo Bar in Lodi. Jax cracked the knuckles of his hands in memory, hissing in pain as he remembered too late that he had split most of them open on the 6'4, 250-pound redneck's face.

He went down like a tree. Made me work for it, too. Just like Ope would have.

Feeling an ache in his chest at the memory of his brother from another mother, Jax got up and threw on a pair of boxers. The jeans he finally ended up jumping into, while not completely clean, were in better condition than the ones currently residing on the floor of his bathroom. Grabbing a much-used first-aid kit sitting on his dresser next to some pictures of his old girlfriend taped to the mirror, Jax clumsily managed to put on some anti-bacterial cream and a couple of band aids to cover the worst of the bruises. As Jax worked on his banged up hands, his eyes kept lighting on the manila envelope that sat in the middle of his unmade bed.

When Piney had given him the envelope it had nearly burned a hole in his hand, he so badly wanted to know what was inside. Knowing that the information contained within were in his father's own words, Jax was feeling a mix of joy and apprehension.

Jax had idolized his father growing up. To his younger self, John "JT" Teller had seemed bigger than life and Jax aspired to be just like his old man. Along with his movie star good looks, JT had been a man of conviction, who led the Club with a strong hand, but who was looked up to and admired by his brothers and—to his mother's never-ending distress—every woman that ever crossed his path. Although not educated beyond the third year of high school, JT was often referred to as the thinking man's biker. He was known as being well-read and even though he would never hesitate to jump into a situation in defense of his brothers, he was always the first to offer resolution without drawing blood.

But when Jax's younger brother Tommy died, the strong man that Jax had known ceased to exist. JT became distant and withdrawn, quiet and guilt-ridden. Spending months at a time before, during and after the death of his son in Ireland, when JT had finally returned to what was left of his family, Jax barely recognized the shell of a man he had become. His father would never get the chance to recover from his heartbreak as, less than a year after his return to Charming, JT met his death on the SR-582 after being hit by a semi and dragged 178 yards. He died in the hospital two days later having never regained consciousness.

As a memorial to his father, he and Opie had rebuilt JT's panhead, which was now proudly displayed in the Clubhouse alcove. Jax had thought that in addition to the bike, a few old Harley manuals and a bunch of pictures of JT's days in Vietnam and during the formation of the Club were all that was left of his father. So for Piney to suddenly pass on to him his own father's words, his legacy in writing, was nothing short of miraculous to Jax. It was as if his father would be speaking to him from beyond the grave.

At 30 years old, as a Man of Mayhem and VP of the mother charter, Jax could honestly say that he was scared of nothing and no man, but seeing that thick envelope sitting on his bed actually made him tremble. Reading about his father would no doubt force him to re-examine his own life and the path that he had chosen for himself within the Club. The thought of possibly learning that thus far he had fallen short of the man his father had been before Tommy died was a little intimidating.

After reading what he wrote, will I find out that Dad would be disappointed in the choices I've had made or the man I've become?

There was only one way to find out.

Tossing the first-aid kit back onto the dresser, Jax strode to the bed and flopped on it, settling his back up against the headboard and reached for the envelope. Grabbing his pack of cigarettes from the night table, he lit one, and exhaling a trail of blue smoke, reached into the envelope to pull out what was a neatly typed 500-plus page manuscript.

Jax read aloud the title on the cover. "The Life and Death of Sam Crow. How the Sons of Anarchy Lost Their Way, By John Thomas Teller." Flipping over to the next page, Jax continued. "For my sons Thomas, who is already at peace. And Jackson, may he never know this life of chaos."

As the sun filtered in through the blinds, falling across the bed, Jackson Teller slowly turned the pages and read about the dream of his father and his best friend Piney Winston to create a Club, a true brotherhood with no boundaries, and as he read, his mind drifted as he thought about the trials and tribulations that he and the Club have experienced over the last six months.

Six Months Earlier.

Oswald Construction was one of three businesses part of the Oswald conglomerate. Located between Modesto and Charming, the sprawling complex was the base for all of the industrial construction, farm and lumber equipment that was built and shipped all over the world. With its own airstrip and hanger holding several cargo jets to send its goods all over the world, Oswald Construction was a thriving business, only second to Oswald Lumber, with Oswald Beef a close third.

Elliott Oswald and the Oswald family employed a fair number of Charming's 14,679 inhabitants, as well as a large number of people from San Leandro and just recently added new hires to the construction branch of its business.

Sitting on his bike in the large employee parking lot, Jax finished a cigarette, tossing it onto the small, but rapidly growing pile at his feet and lit another one. It was almost six o'clock and he was still waiting for one of the many Oswald employees to come out.

Someone had to try and get through to her, but Jax wasn't sure he knew how to accomplish that or if he was even the right person to try.

It was nearly a month since Jax's best friend and brother had been killed right on the streets of what was supposed to be the safest town in all of NorCal. Using a gloved finger to swipe a tear from his eye, Jax was still somewhat shell-shocked and was having difficulty processing the fact that his childhood friend was no more.

Over the last few months, the Club had seen more than its fair share of shit hurled at them. Having enjoyed a peaceful and prosperous period, it all came to an abrupt end about six years with the Club experiencing its first shit-storm when Opie had taken the fall alone for blowing up a Mayan-owned truck yard. Kyle Hobart, the second man on the job and Ope's getaway ride, had abandoned him at the scene at the first sound of police sirens in the distance. Because the piece of chicken shit former-patch got anxious and even though Opie had been offered a plea deal if he turned against his brothers, his best friend chose to do a nickel in Chino and remain true to SAMCRO.

Having come out of prison a different man, Opie had tried for the sake of his old lady Donna and their kids to tow the straight and narrow by no longer earning with the Club. Trying to reclaim his family, Opie still felt the tug of the brotherhood and hated the life of earning shit-pay chucking wood alongside Donna's father and brothers for Oswald Lumber. The Winstons were falling behind on their bills and were in danger of not only losing their car, but their home as well. In spite of the promises made to his loyal and long-suffering wife, Opie felt he had no choice but to return to the Life. All he had ever known was the life of an outlaw biker, but his transition back into the fold had been complicated by the web of lies spun by the ambitious, vindictive and self-serving ATF Agent June Stahl.

Jax remembered the day the Club discovered that not only had Opie's debts been paid off by the federal government, but that he and his entire family had been rounded up during the night and taken into custody. The general consensus at the table, with the exception of Jax and Piney, had been that Opie had turned, but once he was released, he had voluntarily returned to the fold and had managed to convince his brothers that he was and would always be loyal to the Club.

Shortly thereafter, a gun sale between SAMCRO and the Mayans went south when Laroy Wayne and the One-Niners crashed the party after being tipped off, and stole both the guns and the money at the two separate exchanges. Later, calling it a night before the after-Church party broke up at the Clubhouse, Opie and Donna headed home to their children. They never made it. Instead, they were ambushed at a red light by a lone gunman who shot his best friend with a semi-automatic gun as he sat on his Harley behind Donna, who was driving the family car. Opie died on Main Street in the arms of his screaming wife.

Jax felt his chest tighten as he remembered how he and his brothers tore up the streets in order to get to the scene as Charming PD cordoned off the area with crime scene tape, only to find Donna, prostrate over her husband's body, keening and wailing like a wounded animal. It had taken all of Jax's strength to pull her away, he himself barely able to see Opie's bloody body through his own tears.

The funeral had been the biggest Jax could remember since his own father's. Opie Winston had been well-known and much-loved by his brothers spread out all over the country. Donna and the kids were barely shades of themselves as they leaned on Jax for support throughout the service. Still in shock, they mostly went through the motions of what was expected from them that day, still too numb to register that this was their final good-bye.

Now it was almost a month since Opie had been laid to rest and Donna had built a wall around herself and her children, refusing phone calls or visits. Not coming to any SOA functions, Donna had kept herself and the children sheltered away from anyone connected to the Club. She had even quit her job at Charming Savings & Loan as a bank teller, getting a new job at Oswald Construction. Jax had been able to cull that Intel secondhand from Clay, who got it directly from Elliott Oswald. Oswald, a friend of the Club, knew Opie well and had offered Donna an entry-level position well above the pay anyone else in the same position would get. Unaware that he had offered her the bump in salary as a favor to the Club, Donna was grateful for it as it would come in handy as she was now the sole provider of her family. Again.

Jax, however, had had enough. He had respected Donna's wishes and had given her as much room as possible to grieve for her husband, knowing that the extremely private woman deserved her space. But he had an obligation, a duty to take care of her for his brother's sake. Jax had done the best that he could for the Winston family, especially while Opie had been in prison, but Donna, being the independent woman that she was, would not take "charity."

Well that bullshit is over, Jax decided gruffly as he spotted the petite woman exiting the large building and heading towards her ride. It's time to beard the little lioness in her den.

Digging through her bag for the keys to the pickup, Donna cursed under her breath as she hurried down the aisle towards her ride. Even though her mother was adamant about Donna coming straight home after work to relieve her of babysitting duty, Donna had let herself get dragged into solving another office crisis at the last minute and was running late.

That's what I get for trying to be helpful, Donna thought ruefully, mentally preparing herself for the verbal beatdown she was in store for the minute she got home.

As much as Donna appreciated the help her mother had offered as she transitioned into a new job, she resented the joy her mother seemed to get out of martyring herself by cleaning up the "mess" Donna had made of her life by marrying a criminal. The fact was, if Donna didn't need every penny she earned to stay current with her bills, she would gladly cut herself off from her own family as well.

She had managed just fine without anyone's help while Opie had been inside. The only difference between then and now, however, was that back then, Donna only needed to stay afloat until her husband came home again. This time, he wasn't coming home and even though her new job as a senior clerk in the Inventory Department paid $5,000 more a year than her old job as a bank teller, it still wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to support her family and build up her savings so that she could get her family the hell out of Charming as soon as possible.

Because that was her plan.

Donna Winston had had enough. The last 5½ years had been a hard struggle, to say the least. It had not been easy working a shitty, low-paying job—maxing out her credit cards to borrow from Peter to pay Paul—while trying to raise two growing children on one income and no health insurance until her husband got out of prison. But she had done it, and had done so willingly because she loved Opie Winston with all her heart.

Donna chose to believe Opie when he promised that, once he got out, things would get better for them, as a couple and as a family. That the five long years he had spent in prison away from his loved ones had been the wake-up call he needed to see that living the outlaw life would only end up hurting his family.

And to his credit, Ope had tried. But the pull the Club had on him had been too strong. The lure of quick and fast money too great, especially when they were working so hard and still barely managed to have enough money left over for groceries.

He was born SAMCRO and he died SAMCRO, she thought bitterly to herself. Meanwhile the Club couldn't give a shit.

Oh, Gemma meant well. A couple of months before Opie had died, Donna had run into the Queen of Charming at the grocery store. Paying for the items that Donna had to leave behind because she couldn't afford them, Gemma followed her out to her car and gave her the bag of groceries along with some unwanted advice. Standing there, listening to Gemma's "SAMCRO-is-the-glue" speech, Donna hadn't believed a word of it.

The fact was that the only one Donna ever believed truly cared about Opie's family was his best friend. It was Jax who had actually made the most impact when Donna had been almost ready to leave Opie. Giving her some tough love, Jax told Donna that Gemma was full of shit. For Opie, the Club wasn't the glue that held his shit together. She was and that without her love and support, Opie would only get himself killed.

And he was right, Donna thought bleakly. Only I waited too long to take his advice. Only AFTER the ATF bitch started playing hardball, only AFTER I saw how much Opie was trying to fight for us as a family did I really get it. But it was too damn late. Too late for him. Too late for me.

Finally finding her keys as she stopped at the driver's side door, Donna didn't notice that she wasn't alone until she felt a strong, masculine hand resting on her shoulder. Whipping around suddenly, Donna used her oversized purse as a battering ram to rain blows on her would-be attacker.

"Donna, stop it! Damn it, it's me!"

Shuddering with a deep breath, Donna looked up into the deep blue eyes of Jackson Teller.

Running a trembling hand through her shoulder length dark hair, Donna glared angrily at the tall blond biker as she tried to get her rapidly beating heart under control. "Shit, Jax! Why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? You almost gave me a frickin' heart attack!"

Rubbing a hand over the hair on his chin, Jax sighed. "I'm sorry, Donna. I didn't mean to scare the shit out of you."

The pinched, hurt look on his face had Donna almost wishing she had reacted differently. Almost. She crossed her arms underneath her chest as she leaned back against the pickup's door. "What are you doing here?"

Looking down at the petite woman, who had quickly managed to get her armor back into place after getting over the shock of seeing him, Jax countered, "Why the fuck do you think I'm here, huh? It's been weeks since anyone has seen you. You've been MIA at the Clubhouse. You won't come to the door when anyone comes by, you don't pick up the phone, or return messages. You left your job at the bank and, had I not heard it through the grapevine, no one would even know that you were working here."

"Maybe that's the way I wanted it. Ever think of that?" She asked, refusing to meet his eyes.

Stepping into her personal space, Jax managed to corner her so that she could not move. Reaching out, he took the tip of his gloved index finger to raise Donna's bowed head. "I miss him too, you know."

Her head suddenly snapped up, her eyes flashing at him with pent up fury. "Well, that's really nice to know," Donna sneered. "But that doesn't exactly help, does it?" Angrily dashing her tears aside, she tried to use her hip to force enough space between the two of them so that she could get into her pickup and leave, but Jax was not budging. "Will you please move? My mom's waiting for me. I'm running late and I have to get home to feed my kids."

"How are the kids doing?" Jax asked gravely.

"How the fuck do you think they're doing?" Suddenly losing herself, Donna blurted out. "The man that they hardly had a chance to know again, their father is DEAD, and they're never going to see him again. They'll never get the chance to know him—" Her voice caught in her throat as she started to sob.

Reaching out, Jax tried to wrap his arms around the weeping woman, but Donna pushed him away, her small fists landing blow after blow on the hard, muscled plains of his chest and arms. All of the emotions, the rage, the pain, and the bitterness that Donna had been holding in for over a month as she struggled to be strong for her children, suddenly unleashed and, in that moment, she was wild and uncontrollable.

"Let me go, damn it! Let me go!" She screamed, but Jax refused. Jax wrapped his arms around her like a vise as she continued to beat on his chest, not even trying to block the small but painful blows. He let himself cry freely as he desperately tried to comfort his best friend's widow.

Burying his face in her hair, he whispered hoarsely, "I'm sorry, Donna. God, I am so, so sorry."

Hearing his voice, hearing the pain so similar to her own, finally caused Donna to stop struggling. Collapsing into his arms, she clung to Jax Teller like he was a lifeline as she wept bitterly, letting her overwhelming grief take over.

The two grief-stricken people stood, hidden between Opie's pick-up truck and the SUV parked next to it as they mourned the loss of the man that they both loved so dearly.

Jax looked down at Donna as she used her small fists to wipe at her red-rimmed eyes and swollen face. Gently tucking her hair behind one ear, Jax swallowed the lump in his throat. "I think that was a longtime coming, huh?"

Finally resting her head against his chest, Donna sighed. "Yeah, it was." She whispered.

Digging into his back pocket, he handed her a clean but worn blue bandana. "Well, maybe you should use this as a snot rag instead of my kutte."

Suddenly snorting with totally unexpected laughter, Donna snatched it out of his hand. "Asshole." She grumbled. Jax smiled as he watched her wipe her face free of any remaining tears and snot. "I must look a fuckin' mess."

"You look fine." Jax assured her. Actually, she looks beautiful. "Come on, let's get you home." Jax bent down to pick up Donna's handbag, which had fallen onto the pavement after she started wailing on him. "What the hell, Don? What have you got in this thing? Bricks?"

"Oh, shut the hell up, Teller. As many women as you've bagged in your lifetime you'd think you would bother to learn a thing or two about them. Specifically, we have an inbred need to carry around as much shit as possible in our purses." Grabbing the bag from him, she opened the driver's side door of the pickup and threw it on the passenger seat.

"And I bet most of it is completely unnecessary, too." Holding her hand, Jax helped Donna get into the truck and slammed the door after her. "I'm gonna follow you home. Make sure you get there okay."

From her vantage point in the truck, Donna now realized that Jax had blocked her truck with his bike and shook her head. "You weren't letting my ass get out of here without talking to you first, were you?"

Flashing her a shit-eating grin, Jax shook his head. "Nope. One thing you should know about me by now, Donna Winston. Eventually, I always get what I want."

Watching as the young blond biker swaggered towards his ride, the petite woman sighed to herself.

"Oh I know." Donna muttered to herself. "What I don't know is why that suddenly scares the shit out of me."

Sitting in her Cadillac at a red light on Main Street, Gemma was busy lighting a cigarette when she saw Opie Winston's pickup truck head west on Heath Road with Donna behind the wheel. It had been weeks since Gemma had laid eyes on the young widow, the last time being at Opie's funeral. However, seeing her was not the reason she was now desperately trying to put out the lit cigarette that had fallen out of her mouth and into her lap.

It was the sight of the bike trailing behind Donna as she headed in the obvious direction of the Winston home.

Gemma knew that she shouldn't really be so surprised that her son had finally managed to pin Donna down. While Gemma was deeply saddened by the death of the young patch she had always loved like a son, of all of the Club members who were mourning Opie, she knew it was Jax who suffered the most.

Jax's grief seemed to overwhelm him at times. He was spending less time at the Club and more time at the NICU at St. Thomas bonding with his son Abel. It was the only silver lining in an otherwise dark cloud. It almost seemed like Opie's death had accomplished what Gemma herself had been unable to. It had managed to pull Jax closer to his sick son.

But Gemma's instincts were on high alert, especially when it came to her son. They were telling her that Jax was in a very bad place emotionally, making him vulnerable, and that was a dangerous place for an outlaw biker to be. The fact that she could see it in him had Gemma very concerned for Jax because it was only a matter of time before his brothers noticed the change in him as well. As it was, Clay's patience with Jax's grieving process was starting to wear thin.

It was painfully obvious to Gemma, judging from her old man's actions in private, that Opie's death was not the result of some feud between rival gangs. Although Gemma believed that Clay was in fact grief-stricken himself over the loss of his sponsor's son, she could sense in him his concern over how what went down would impact the Club and his place in it.

Having left Clay and Tig talking in her greenhouse while she headed over to St. Thomas to spend time with her grandson, Gemma couldn't ignore her gut and it was telling her that there was some serious shit between the two men. She could only hope that eventually the Club would get its act together. The brotherhood needed closure in order to achieve a measure of peace. The more questions that remained unanswered, the more likely it was that Jax would start digging for the truth concerning Opie's death.

As for Donna Winston, Gemma was not sure that there was anything that could be done for the angry young woman. Gemma simply did not have the same relationship with Donna that she had with other old ladies. Truth was, she had always been unable to pin Donna down as the young woman did not seem to be intimidated by the Queen of Charming at all. Donna had done her best to keep herself and her family away from the Club while Opie had been in prison and had blown off every attempt Gemma had made to reach out to her. Hopefully, now with Donna on his radar, Jax would be able to succeed where she had failed and finally bring Donna and her kids into the fold.

After all, Opie had been SAMCRO and SAMCRO was a family that not even death could tear apart. And family always looked out for each other.

After parking her car, Gemma made her way up to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. The only other person in this world that she loved as much as her son was her grandson Abel. It was a miracle that the child had managed to survive the circumstances of his birth. Stepping out of the elevator, Gemma grimaced as she saw one of the reasons why.

Standing at the Nurses Station, Dr. Tara Knowles seemed quite competent and mature as she doled out instructions to a nurse and orderly. Passing by her, Gemma eyed the woman with a slight sneer on her face.

Stuck up little bitch, the Queen of Charming thought as she glided across the floor heading for Abel's room.

While Gemma appreciated the fact that she was a good doctor and had been helpful in assisting Dr. Namid, the resident pediatric surgeon, in saving Abel's life, as far as Gemma was concerned, Tara Knowles would always be bad news.

Gemma had been surprised and, if honest, worried when she heard that Tara had returned to Charming. That the young woman had returned as a doctor had been no real surprise. Anyone who had known Tara back in the day knew that the bitch was smart. She had almost been smart enough to convince Jax to leave the Club and his family behind when she relocated to Illinois in order to go to college.

Fortunately for Gemma and the Club, Jax had made the decision to stay behind, hoping that Tara would have a change of heart and stay as well. Needless to say, Tara, whose own home life had been less than picture perfect, couldn't wait to get out of Charming, with or without Jax. Jax, who at nineteen was already used to getting his way when it came to women, had not been prepared to deal with the devastation that Tara's abandonment would cause him. He spent the next several years throwing himself into the Club and at 27 had managed to become the youngest VP in the Club's history.

However, he also spent whatever remaining time he had drowning himself in all the available pussy within a 200-square mile radius of the Clubhouse. Gemma hadn't cared as long as he kept his junk wrapped and didn't bring home a croweater, thinking he could turn a whore into a housewife.

Unfortunately, he was guilty as charged on both counts. Not only had Jax shown up at the Clubhouse married to the current bane of her existence, Wendy Case, but later on, he managed to knock her up as well.

Wendy, an ex-showgirl from Reno, had somehow succeeded where others had couldn't and managed to get her son to put a ring on it. Had it been anyone else—except Tara Knowles, of course—Gemma would have been happy that Jax was finally settling down, but Wendy's biggest problem, aside from not being old lady material, was her crank habit. But even that did not surprise Gemma as her son seemed to have a fetish for damsels in distress.

Even though the Queen had advised her son quite bluntly to stop throwing money at those 12-step freaks because once a junkie, always a junkie, Jax continued wasting his efforts in trying to save Wendy from herself. After failing to stay clean one too many times, Jax had finally filed for divorce, only to backtrack when her last round of rehab seemed to stick. Against Gemma's better judgment (and she was sure, his own), Jax and Wendy made an ill-advised attempt at reconciliation, which resulted in Wendy getting pregnant.

Taking a spectacular fall off the wagon, the stupid bitch fell back into her meth habit with a vengeance in spite of her pregnancy and had given birth to Abel. Born ten weeks premature, not only had the baby already won the shitty parents lottery by way of Sid and Nancy of the biker world, but had been born with a hole in his heart thanks to the Maddoc family flaw and a hole in his belly thanks to his piece of shit egg donor's inability to stay clean for the sake of her unborn child. As frosting on the poor thing's shit cake, Abel was also born addicted to crank with the doctors at St. Thomas giving him a 20% chance of survival.

But my grandson is a fighter, Gemma smiled to herself. He fought to overcome the bad hand that he had been dealt and was making progress with each new day that dawned. Although still in an incubator in the NICU, Abel's doctors hoped that Jax would soon be able to hold his son for the first time. And, if he continued to improve, Abel would be ready to go home in the very near future.

Not bad for a kid who ran a greater chance of getting struck by lightning while inside the hospital than he did of living to see his first birthday.

Gemma rolled her eyes as she walked into Abel's private room and she saw her daughter-in-law sitting by his incubator, reading him a story. Smirking, Gemma noticed that the large black bible sitting next to her on a side table was the very same bible in which Gemma had placed a syringe filled with enough crank to kill a horse.

Too bad it hadn't worked. Now that she's got Jesus on her side, the bitch thinks all is forgiven.

Unfortunately, to Gemma's way of thinking, it looked like it might turn out that way. On the legal front, Wendy had barely managed to escape being charged with fetal abuse. Having completed a two-month stint in rehab, she was now residing in a sober-living house in Lincoln Village while spending her days with Abel in the hospital.

And now I'm about to extend the fuckin' olive branch.

Gemma was a realist by nature. She didn't try to sugarcoat the facts or pretend not see the reality of a situation or the shortcomings of weak-minded people. She knew that Tara Knowles was back in Charming for a reason and that reason had something to do with her son. As she told Jax several weeks ago as they stood over his son's toaster, Jax's name for the incubator that was keeping his son warm as he was unable to regulate his own body temperature, "You never forget when someone hurts your baby."

You don't forget and you sure as hell don't forgive either.

Gemma was not about to let Tara-fucking-Knowles to get her claws back into her son, so her only option was to back another horse in the race for Jackson Teller's affections, and who better than the mother of his baby?

On another day in another universe, the answer to that question would be ANYONE but the mother of his baby. At the moment, however, Gemma had very little to work with, and it was the only card she could play.

Wendy was weak and easily manipulated. Once I get Tara out of the way, it should be no problem keeping this one in line.

Sitting down in the chair opposite Wendy, Gemma crossed her legs and fixed her narrowed eyes on the woman.

"So how is my grandson doing?"

Wendy closed the book she was reading and placed it on top of the table. "He's been sleeping ever since I got here. The nurse said that his vitals are really good today and that he took a full bottle."

"Well, I guess we can be happy that my grandson is a survivor. No thanks to you."

Wendy cringed in her chair, but knew that the older woman's venom was well-deserved.

It had taken the near death of her own baby to wake Wendy up to the bad decisions she had made. Wendy was deeply ashamed that she had allowed herself to slip back into using the drugs that had almost killed her son. Unable to deal with what she had done, she had tried to take the easy way out Gemma had offered by way of a drug overdose. Instead, God in His infinite wisdom had decided to give her a second chance when the doctors at St. Thomas had been able to revive her. Now that she was clean, she was determined to get her son back. If having to prove herself to Gemma Teller was a necessary evil in order to make that happen, then Wendy was prepared to do whatever it took.

"You haven't said anything that I don't already know." Wendy replied. "But this time, I'm going to make it."

Gemma crossed her arms under her chest. "And why should I believe that this spiel is any different from all the other times you've made the same bullshit claims after getting out of rehab?"

"Because this time I have my baby to live for." Wendy said with a little spark in her voice.

"Well, my bad for having my doubts since you seem to be so damn sincere." Gemma scoffed.

"It's not important whether you believe or not. It's the truth."

"It's more important than you think, little girl," Gemma charged. "Because I'm the only thing standing between you and my grandson. What I want to know is what do you want?"

Wendy shrugged her shoulders. "I want my son."

"And Jax?"

"Jax?" The woman asked almost stupidly.

"Do. You. Want. Jax?" Gemma spelled it out. The girl's a fuckin' moron.

Afraid to answer, not sure where the older woman was going with this line of questioning, Wendy finally realized she had nothing to lose.

"Yes. I still love him and want him back. I want my family back together."

For a long moment, Gemma stared at her and then, to Wendy's great relief, nodded. "Good. If that's what you really want, I'm willing to help you, but you can't fuck around, not when that little angel is involved. I want my grandson settled, happy and safe. You are his mother and, if you're serious about getting your shit together, I'm willing to help you, but this deal is on my terms. Not yours, agreed?"

Wendy nodded slowly. If I have to dance with the devil to get my life back, I'll do it.

"All right. Then we have some work to do."

The plan to keep Tara Knowles away from my son is now in effect. God help anybody who stands in my way.

Sitting on a lounge chair in Gemma's greenhouse, Clay Morrow chewed on his cigar as he eyed his SAA grimly, who was pouring them both another round of whiskey. "It's Murphy's Law. Whatever could go wrong, did. There's nothing we can do about it now."

Picking up his shot glass, Tig threw the contents down, burning a trail of fire down his throat. "No, we can't do shit about the past, brother, but we sure as shit are gonna have to do something about the present."

The two men sat in what was comfortable silence for them. Having been brothers in the mother charter for over 15 years, Alexander "Tig" Trager had been protecting the back of Clarence "Clay" Morrow ever since he took over the presidency of the Club. Over the years, they had spilled a lot of blood together, but this was the first time that Tig had ever spilled innocent blood.

The circumstances surrounding the death of Opie Winston were murky at best. With Opie only recently returning to the Club, he had quickly come under suspicion when it was revealed that a confidential informant had identified Robert "Bobby" Munson as the one who shot and killed Brenan Heffner, the Oakland docks port official responsible for the death of Michael McKeevy.

Subsequently, the Club had discovered that all of Opie's debts had been paid and that he and his family had disappeared overnight and had been in the custody of federal agents. Set free and back on the streets of Charming, Opie had voluntarily come to the table to plead his innocence to his brothers. At the time it was agreed that SAMCRO believed that he had been speaking the truth.

But only moments after the meeting, Tig revealed to Clay that Opie's car and phone had been bugged. That evidence was circumstantial at best, but in conjunction with the payment of Opie's debts, had been enough for the two men to find Opie guilty. Not wanting to tear the charter apart, the SAMCRO President and his Sergeant-at-Arms had conspired to take care of the threat themselves.

Only they had been wrong, horribly wrong when it came to the assessment of their brother's character. Just minutes after Tig had left the Clubhouse to take care of the Club's "rat problem", Chief Wayne Unser had shown up to advise Clay that Opie was in fact innocent. That he had been hung out like so much bait by June Stahl, the ATF bitch gunning after SAMCRO.

Although Clay had desperately tried to stop the hit, it had been too late. In an attempt to make it appear that Opie was a victim of a gang drive-by, Tig had approached Opie in a stolen SUV, killed him in front of his wife, and fled the scene.

"Brother," Tig said. "We are in some serious shit. If it becomes public knowledge that you put a hit out on Ope and that he was killed after we had confirmation that he was no rat, we are both dead. I killed my brother. A man I swore to protect with my own life and I fuckin' feel like shit."

Clay eyed his cohort and nodded. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."

"What really sucks is that I had the chance to take Ope out the way we had planned, at the payment pick up with the Mayans, but with the Niners crashing the party, it was nothing but blood and bullets." Tig reached out to pour himself another shot. "Opie saved my ass, Clay. He never hesitated and took out a Niner just before the bastard was going to put one in the back of my head. I had the opportunity to do him then, but I just couldn't take the shot. My gut wouldn't let me. I wish I had listened to my gut again that night."

Clay shook his head solemnly. "Sometimes I forget the weight of the shit I ask you to do," He conceded. "But, based on the information we had at the time, it had to be done. And you're right. We have to handle this shit and quick. We gotta try and make things right. Give everybody some closure so that the Club can move on. And that means providing a scapegoat to take the fall for killing Opie." Clay pointed a finger at Tig.

"And how are we going to do that?" His SAA argued.

"I've already talked to Unser and Trammell about it." Clay replied and proceeded to share the details of his conversations with both men.

Tig sat back in his chair and contemplated the scenario. "That could work, but—"

"But what?"

"We accused Ope of turning on the Club at the table just days before he died. Do you really think that no one is going to question whether or not the ATF hanging him out as a rat had something to do with him being dead?"

"We'll make them believe it didn't."

"Then you better be able to convince the one person at the table who will find the fatal flaw in our plan by analyzing and questioning shit. Jax ain't stupid. You made him your VP for a reason. If he doesn't believe that justice was done for his brother, he's gonna keep digging until the truth comes out."

"Then we make sure the truth doesn't come out."

"And if we can't?" Tig pushed.

Clay rolled his cigar between his fingers, took a puff and exhaled. "Then we'll handle Jax on our own."