"You're not paying for this."
Brooke and Jax stand side by side at the local grocery store, her hand on her hip and his arms folded across his chest. It's been two days since their first kiss, and things are pleasantly normal between the two of. Well, as normal as they can be when her best friend's getting out of the hospital and Jax's mom is the one that put her there. They're getting to know each other, and to her that means doing something other than heated make out sessions in small enclosed spaces.
It's not that she doesn't enjoy kissing Jax, because she does. She loves the way her head spins and the world disappears, like it's just the two of them and there's nothing else around them, but that's the problem. She can't think when he's kissing her, when his calloused hands cup her cheeks and pull her lips to his like he's a dying man in the desert and she's the oasis he's been searching for, and she needs to be able to think around him. She needs to decide what she wants and so does he, without the added pressure that their physical connection puts on things.
She's insisting on cooking dinner tonight as a surprise for Rachel, as well as a thank you for the boys that have been cautiously watching over them during their time in Charming, and is regretting bringing him with as she's on her second cart of food and he's disputing the fact that she might actually want to pay for something. Damn him and his need to be so fucking protective over her that she couldn't even leave the club alone. It's the shopping trip in Oakland all over again, but she's strong enough to say no this time.
Brooke holds a bundle of fresh cabbage in her hand, rolling her eyes at Jax's frustration. "I have my own money. You don't need to take care of me."
"Babe, this'll be a six hundred dollar bill for all the shit you're getting. I'm not lett-"
"You're not letting me do anything. I'm buying groceries with my money for my dinner. You don't own me, Jax. You don't just get to decide things for me. End of freakin' discussion." Brooke interrupts as she tosses a few bundles of cabbage into the cart for her sweet slaw and glares at him relentlessly. She knows where this is leading to, she's just waiting for Jax to get there.
The blonde biker mutters something under his breath as they walk towards the butcher, and she glides effortlessly past him. Her walk gets more stable by the day, proudly sauntering up to the counter and requesting six of their best boneless pork roasts. Her bruises on her face have finally faded, but her damaged eye socket still lingers in a faint yellowing ring that's well hidden beneath her make up. Her long locks have successfully covered up the fingerprints on the back of her neck, her natural beach waves slowly getting blonder with the Charming sun and her skin lightly tanning up. She looks beautiful in his eyes, and better than she ever has in her own.
It doesn't take long for Jax to sidle up next to her and wrap his arm around his waist. His jealousy is off the charts since she started dressing like herself again, today a white scalloped lace tanktop tucked into a long emerald toned maxi skirt. She still hasn't managed to wrangle her feet into her heels though; Chibs has denied her access until her knee is fully healed and Jax made sure of it by hiding all the pairs that he'd bought her.
"I like it when you're bossy." Jax murmurs into her ear, and she doesn't even bother to stop the giggle that slips from her lips when he gives her waist a squeeze.
"You like it when I'm anything." Brooke retorts as she leans into him. It's simple moments like this that do it for her because here she is, standing in the middle of a grocery store with the man that makes her world stop and her most difficult decision is what kind of barbecue sauce she wants to use on the ribs.
"But I really like it when you go all boss woman on me. Shove you in a closet and kiss you till you-"
Brooke clamps a hand over his mouth in faux shock as she stifles her laughter. "We agreed! Talking, sharing, no more closet excursions until we figure out what in the hell this is." She chastises, lowering her hand with a bemused smile. She loves the way he is with her, all light and laughter. She wonders sometimes if that's the way he had been with Tara, or if it's been saved just for her.
But when Jax leans in and presses a warm tender kiss to her lips, she doesn't give a damn either way. She just leans in and rests her now brace clad wrist against his chest and actually lets herself be happy in his arms. She knows how rare it is, to connect to someone the way that she does to him with just a longing look. Regardless of how long or short it might last, she won't waste the time she has with him.
The clearing of the butcher's throat separates them, Brooke's cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as Jax shamelessly grins at her side. He even goes as far as to wink at the guy behind the counter. She smacks him in the stomach for good measure before he grabs the ribs from the kid behind the counter and gives him a nod of satisfaction.
They're wandering through the liquor store with their third cart in tow when he finally asks, his hands shoved into his pockets and his confident stroll turned into a shuffle. His blue eyes dart from bottle to bottle of vodka as Brooke searches for the ever elusive Grey Goose, and finally, it just slips out.
"How much money do you have, exactly?"
Brooke turns to look at him, finding his gaze as she grabs three bottles for herself and Rachel. The club never has any decent liquor and she's practically drooling for it half of the time since she went off the painkillers. "I have enough to keep me very, very comfortable for the rest of my life." She sighs out as they move through the aisle, her body leaning against the cart generously. "I built an empire and it crumbled, so I bolted because I didn't really have anything left."
Jax eyes her carefully, inspecting her every reaction as she grabs a few bottle of the cheap stuff for the boys before moving to the tequila area - because if this conversation is going to go any further, she'll definitely need a few shots when they get back to the club. "But what about your friends, your family. Didn't they..."
"Look for me?" Brooke cuts him off again, her eyebrow raised. She shrugs lightly, thinking back. Peyton and Lucas were married with a baby, Nathan and Haley were on baby number three and Mouth had gone off and married her former assistant, Millie. Everyone had gone off and found their happy ending while Brooke had been too busy working to pay any attention to it. The only ones that had reached out were Nate and Haley, who she still sent occasional letters and ridiculous gifts to whenever it got close to Jamie or Lydia's birthday. "They did. I just didn't want to be found." She says quietly, and her heart and mind immediately go onto the defensive. "When did you decide to join the club?"
Jax laughs like it's the craziest thing in the world for her to think that he had a choice in the matter. When she gives him her best no bullshit stare, he stops laughing and sighs, raking a hand through his beard absentmindedly. "The club...it's kind of like gravity." His face turns serious as he grabs three of their biggest bottles of whiskey. "You can only resist the pull for so long, and there's no rock bottom. The hole just gets deeper, and then..."
"...you feel like you're swimming underwater." Brooke finishes. She doesn't have a club or the obligations that Jax does, not anymore, but she remembers the way she felt when Victoria would tug her back down the rabbit hole whenever she so pleased. And from the way that he smiles and puts his arm around her waist, she knows that it's exactly how he feels.
They check out quietly with stolen glances and warm smiles, barely a word spoken between the two of them as the cashier looks over Jax like he's someone to be concerned about. Brooke doesn't even mind having an audience anymore because it's just what's to be expected with the club, and she even goes as far as to lean back against his body and let him slip his arms around her waist. She can feel the edges of his leather cut press against her, feel the flannel of his long sleeve shirt rustle against the lace of her own, and she's reminded of how powerful a man like Jax is in this town.
"Honey, could you go get the truck? My knee's starting to ache a little too, so I'll probably need you to lift me in too." Brooke says with a sweetness laid on so thick that it can only be described as sickly. She runs her fingertips back and forth along the blue flannel covering his arm with a wicked grin, the extra frosting on the cake.
He gets the point clear as day with her word of affection, and the cashier behind the counter blushes fifty shades of red when Jax's hand smacks Brooke's skirt covered ass and shoots his brunette beauty a wink that could make a nun drop her panties. "You're the boss, babe. Long as I get to get you out of that skirt later." Jax grins from ear to ear like a kid in a candy store, and she can't help but watch with the utmost pride as he goes sauntering out of the store with the confidence that she can't help but be drawn to. He's ridiculously sexy when he's all swelled up with the confident swagger that runs through his veins, and the deeper she gets in with him, the harder it is to pull away.
Without another word, she hands the cashier a few hundred dollar bills and waits for the groceries to be bagged. Brooke can just barely make out the black Ford truck that comes around the bend of the aisle, still far enough away that she can't see her blonde biker behind the wheel. She's not even really paying attention when she hands the bagger a ten to help her get the carts out to the lot, the soft smile on her face enough to show that she's pleasantly happy in the land of old lady domestication. She's so stupidly happy just waiting for Jax that she doesn't even feel someone walk up behind her.
"Afternoon, pretty girl."
Ice dips into her veins like she's just crossed the polar caps, and Brooke freezes in her tracks. It's not Lucas, the broody boy that used to call her pretty girl and tell her that she was the most important part of his world. It's not Jax, because he'd be touching her by now and it's certainly not Chibs with his lack of an accent. She would know the voice that creeps through the air like a poisonous haze, because it's the one that she'll never forget. It's the voice that haunts her nightmares, that slips into her everyday thoughts, into the precious moments that she has with the man that she's slowly letting in.
"Why hello there, baby girl."
Brooke's hands begin to shake and her heart nearly stops in her chest. She's clutching her purse for dear life and praying that Jax will walk back in through the sliding doors and she'll have him at her side. She's praying for anyone, for Chibs or Happy or Opie to come thundering in. She can't breathe and the room begins to spin because she can feel her bones being crushed all over again.
"C'mon, pretty girl, let's go have some fun."
She can feel her face crunching beneath his fists, feel her body slam to the pavement, feel her ribs snap beneath the force of his kicks, feels the tears run down her cheeks because she had known deep in her soul that she would never be the same again, that she might not even survive it. When she begins to turn, she knows there's no going back to not knowing where he's been, if he's done what he has to someone else. There's only here and now, and when she stares her attacker in the face, she can hear his voice echo through her ears right before she goes completely numb.
"Nobody talks to me this way, you stupid whore."
She's trembling, she can feel it as she looks at him. She'd know his face anywhere, even after all the blood and the gore and the memories that she's shoved down so deep that they'll never get out. She hasn't even told Jax that she remembers being dragged from the front bar parking lot to the back, that she can still taste the gravel and feel her muscles give in, let alone the fact that he had been working on getting her battered body naked when he'd spotted someone looking around.
Her stomach lurches, doing somersaults as she takes in the disgusting look of supremacy on his face. He's older than she had thought he had been, which she's sure is courtesy of the tequila. A gold wedding ring is on his hand, the same one that had slammed into her eye socket so hard that he'd nearly shattered it, and she wonders how bad she looks. The scars on his knuckles tell a tale better than any rap sheet ever could.
"You." Her choked out words are feeble but resilient as she grasps the end of the counter with her good hand. Her entire body is threatening to give out on her at this point, as if her systems just know that this is the person that put them in their current injured state.
She wants to scream. She wants to howl out every single thing that he had done to her and let the masses descend upon him like a pack of wild animals, but her lungs are so scorched with anguish that she can't get anything else out. As he nears her, she lists off her injuries in her head. Broken ribs, dislocated knee, broken eyesocket, broken wrist and fingers and I'm still fucking standing you son of a bitch. It's a silent mantra that she can get through anything after what he did to her, and yet she nearly collapses when he starts to speak.
"I'm glad I didn't finish the job cause you look mighty fine, baby." His voice makes her skin crawl, and when he reaches out to her frozen features and runs his finger along the curve of her jaw, she nearly vomits on his uniform.
His prison guard uniform.
- - - - x - - - -
Jax is practically skipping when he gets to the F-150, high off of the emotions that are pushing through him like a drug. He's an addict for this, to feel this kind of connection with another human being, and Brooke is one of the best fixes he could've ever gotten his hands on. She makes him feel like he's sixteen again, like he's running around Charming on his bike and the world is at his fingertips. There's something in him that wakes up when he looks at her, something so beautiful and pure that it doesn't even feel possible. He's never had that. Not with Wendy, not with Colette, not even with Tara. There's a brightness in her that brings out the calmest side of him and there's not a chance in hell that he's letting that go because he needs that. He needs her.
He pulls up to the front door with the same blissed out grin on his lips, hopping out and looking through the plate glass window. Brooke is chit chatting with a bag boy, and she might as well be walking on clouds when she flashes her megawatt smile. She's so fucking beautiful that he can't even believe that he gets a chance at her, that he gets to know her. And he's fine with her whole getting to know each other thing. He just really wants to do it with less clothes on. Or no clothes. He's fine with no clothes too.
She's turning to the door when he sees it, when he sees a man approach her. He sees her body go rigid, her hands tremble, the smile on her face drop like a bad habit. The light that's usually in her green eyes is gone, disappearing into the wind as quickly as it had appeared, and Jax starts walking towards her. But when he sees who it is, exactly who this man that's leering at her, circling her like a predator to his prey, his heart nearly stops in his chest.
"I'm getting released. There's nothing you can do to stop that."
But it's not the way that he seems to eye her up like a piece of meat that sends him 's not even the look on her face when the asshole goes as far as to reach out to her and run his grimy fingers down her cheek like she's a piece of property to be examined.
"I'll find out who you are and where you live."
It's because the last time he'd seen Officer Mackey, he'd organized the death of Tig at the bidding of Damon Pope, and Jax had promised that someday he'd watch him die by his hands.
"And then I'm gonna kill you."
Jax doesn't even realize he's running by the time he gets to Brooke to find her stumbling out of the store, her green eyes flooding with tears as they lock eyes. He barely gets to her in time to catch her when her knees give out, when he sees her crumble into the bounds of fear and rage. He knows that she's been threatened, that the shaky truce between black and Sons is falling apart and that she's been a victim of it, and he can't find enough words in the world to apologize to her.
She's sobbing into the worn cut he wears, her tears rolling down the black leather like rivers as she latches her arms around his neck. He can't understand the strangled words, the jumbled mess of syllables that are charred with her fear, and he immediately looks at the bag boy that's trailing behind her expectantly.
"Load the truck." Jax stuffs a fifty dollar bill in the kid's hand before he leans down to cradle the brunette in his arms, picking her up and putting her into the passenger seat without asking what he can do for her, because he knows already. She needs peace, she needs to be away from the pain, she needs the wind in her face and his arms wrapped around her so tight that the world just stops.
She crawls into his lap when he slides into the driver's side of the bench seat, not even giving him any time to ask her what's going on as his arms wrap around her body on instinct. Her heaves and gasps echo in the cab of the truck, and it's finally quiet enough that he speaks. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, Brooke. I thought he was gone, I thought they wouldn't come after you, but I was wr-"
"It was him."
Her words shatter every idea that he's had in his head, that this was about the club. Jax is wrong, so wrong and he knows it as she pulls back and looks into his eyes with the same broken look that had been in her eyes the night that he'd found her. "It was him, Jax. It was him and he talked to me. He touched me." Brooke is gasping for air as her hands fist up the leather of his cut, shaking her head from side to side in a rage he's never seen in her before. "He touched me and he told me he was glad he didn't kill me."
Jax stays quiet for a few beats as she stops crying and gets this look of undisputed violence on her face, trying to process what she's just said. Mackey, a man that had taken a brother from him, had nearly killed Brooke. He'd brutalized her to the point of unrecognizable.
He'd nearly murdered her for the hell of it, and he wants to rip the crooked guard limb from limb until he's screaming for Jax to just let him die.
He's seeing Brooke again, blood matter against her forehead and her body broken. He's hearing her moans of pain, watching them sew her up like a rag doll. He's meeting her for the first time that morning when she'd nearly killed him because this monster put the fear of god in her.
He's seeing red, bright and vivid shades of red waving in his vision like a dare. Kill him, the darkness whispers, and Jax can barely keep himself from answer its call. He's careening on the edge of his temper like a roller coaster gone wrong, flying off the tracks and hurdling towards the knife that securely holstered at his side.
And then he looks at Brooke.
Her green and gold flecked eyes pull him back to her, hazy as they are. For all the things he wants to do to Mackey, he somehow reins himself in when he looks into her tear-filled eyes and remembers that this isn't his call.
It's hers.
"Tell me what you need."
It's a simple question to most, but not to someone like him. There are undertones of pure chaos, of destruction, of all of the things that he wants to do to the man that nearly took her from this world.
Brooke's hands twist his cut, shaking her head as she tries to pull in a breath. She looks so torn, like the version of herself before all of this happened is tugging at the new, stronger version. He knows that she wants him to do it, and all she has to do is ask. There's enough darkness in him to swallow her attacker up and devour him whole. All she needs to do is say it, and he'll give it all to her. He'll give her all the bloodshed in the world if it means protecting Brooke and the people she cares about.
But she doesn't say it. She doesn't ask him. Brooke's bottom lip trembles, threatening to give way, but her resolve never breaks. "Take me back to the clubhouse, and let me not think for a while." She murmurs weakly as his hand cups her cheek. She leans into his touch, her good hand lacing through his. It's not a question, and even if it was, he'd give her whatever she could possibly desire. "Let me cook and drink and forget that this ever happened."
"You know what I'm asking, babe." Jax murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers and embedding his hand into her long locks. "He needs to pay for what he did to you."
She shakes her head again, her fingers trailing through his beard. "I won't be the reason you go back there." Brooke whispers. Her eyes are glassy with tears because she knows how short a time it's been since he was shoving meat forks into the heads of the people he had thought might be involved with Tara's death, that he had almost torn his family and his club apart to do it. It hasn't been long since vengeance had been the only thing on his mind.
"Brooke..."
"Jackson Teller, you better take my ass home before I start screaming."
Her words are formidable and strong, everything that he knows she's always been. She's an old lady, he thinks to himself as he gives way to her, kissing her forehead before easing her off of his lap and into the middle of the seat. The resounding thud of the bed gate forces him to drive out of the parking lot because he doesn't want her to have to look at this place any longer, for her to have to swallow back all of the pain and pretend that everything's okay.
"Yes ma'am." Jax replies with a heavy heart as she lays her head on his shoulder. He laces his hand through hers, and he feels the exhale of air that escapes her body. Brooke's entire body relaxes into his side at the drop of a hat, and the load of anger lightens upon his shoulders.
She needs him, he thinks to himself with a smile as he pulls out of the parking lot while Brooke's braced wrist rests on his chest, her fingers running along the curve of his cut. He knows in that moment without any question that he loves her, he loves this woman at his side for all of the things she's done and everything that she's stopped him from doing. And by some grace, the woman he loves actually needs him, and that's all the reassurance in the world that he needs to know that he's doing something right with his life.
- - - - x - - - -
He calls church the second that they walk back into the clubhouse.
Opie's still at the hospital with Rachel, who still hasn't received her discharge papers yet due to a busted stitch that they've promised to fix. Jax is sure that Opie's raising hell with the hospital staff, given that he hasn't spent a single night away from the redhead's room since he had been instructed to stay there with her - despite the fact that his perky blonde wife is waiting at home for him. He's almost positive that his childhood friend and Brooke's feisty traveling partner have something going on, but he's keeping quiet on the subject until he knows for sure.
While Jax files into the chapel with the boys, Brooke sets to work in the kitchen. She'd started cooking back in New York as something to do when she had always been alone, a coping mechanism. For her, cooking a big meal for people she cared about had always been the most cathartic thing she could do for herself. Today is no exception, as she's making a true Southern dinner for the boys, pulled pork and all.
She's chopping up the pork roasts when she hears him yelling in the small room about how "someone had to pay", and she lets the large chef's knife slam against the cutting board for effect. She hates that he's doing this, that he's using this as a reason to go back to his former self. She wants Jax the way he is, battered and bruised and all, and he's dangerously leaning to the man that she's heard Chibs speak of like a mythic monster. Dark, dangerous, volatile, murderous. She's not ready for that side of him, not yet.
She starts chopping the onions as the first round of well seasoned pork begins to brown in the pan. It's a good excuse for why she's crying, and it's enough of a reason for her to just let the tears flow. She doesn't even hear the front door to the club open, openly weeping as she slices up a few Vidalia onions for the sweet slaw and letting her emotions run rampant through her. She breathes in the aromas of the pork and tries to slow it, but there's no stopping the pain that's bubbling up in her chest.
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone besides Chucky use this kitchen."
Brooke's head goes on a swivel, finding a man standing in the doorway that she doesn't quite recognize. He's a hispanic man that's a few inches taller than Jax with a graying black hair and beard that he's running his fingers over, probably in his late fifties. His eyes are brown, his smile is kind, but nothing sticks out to her as something that she should remember from Jax's many stories. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met." She says with worry in her voice. Her grip on the well sharpened knife tightens.
The old Latino man smiles in the doorway, and it's earnest. "Easy, mami. I'm a friend of Jax's. Nero Padilla." He holds his hands up in surrender, walking into the kitchen. His hands slide into the pockets of his tan cardigan, but her hold on the makeshift weapon doesn't loosen a muscle when she remembers who he is.
"You're Gemma's boyfriend." Brooke goes back to slicing the onion, the sound of her chops still as loud as can be. "I doubt she'll want you near me after last week's incident. You might want to keep moving along." She says tartly before reaching over and turning the chopped up roast pieces with a satisfying sizzle.
Nero laughs gently, taking a few steps into the kitchen. "Calma, chiquita. Gemma can be a little hot, but she's nothing to be worried about. She means well." He tries to explain, but they both know that's not even the half of it.
Brooke picks the knife up and balances it in her hand, pointing it directly at his chest. Thinking of the old bitch that may or may not have killed Jax's wife doesn't exactly make her want to bake cookies and build friendships. "Gemma shot my best friend because she wouldn't let her walk in on Jax and I in bed together. Rachel's now been through two surgeries, the first to remove the bullet and the second to take out her spleen after it ruptured spontaneously." Brooke slams the knife down into the onion for her final cut, her hazel eyes glimmering with rage. If she could, she'd tear the old bat limb from limb just for what she's done to Rachel, let alone Jax.
Nero shifts from side to side. He's trying to find the right words, and Brooke wonders for a moment how often he has to defend the Teller matriarch's insane behavior. "Like I said, Gemma can be temperamental."
"Temperamental is having a loud disagreement. She shot someone just for getting in her way. She's fucking unhinged is what she is." She snarls, her gaze narrowed. She'll go to the mat if she has to because there's not a single person in the world who can tell her that Gemma Teller-Morrow is a decent human being.
"Which is probably why she and I aren't really feelin' each other anymore." He leans over the pan as she starts to violently chop up the cabbage for the sweet slaw. Nero slides in at her side without so much as another word when she gives him a look of approval, and she wonders if it's because of Jax that people are like this with her. Cautious about what they do, careful not to upset her. She supposes that having a flirtation with the club president has its perks.
"I've heard about you, you know. You're famous in this club. The one they saved, the fighter."
She laughs because she's never pictured herself as a fighter, not in a very, very long time. "Oh yeah? What else do the boys say about me when I'm not looking?" Brooke stops chopping, not wanting to take off any of her fingers in a blind rage if it's not something that she wants to hear.
"That you're the one he's all enamorado with. They call you la guerrera, the warrior, cause nobody thought you'd make it through the night and somehow you're here."
Brooke blushes fifty different shades of red, smirking as she puts the cabbage into a big metal bowl on the side. She flips the meat one more time to make sure that it's fully browned, avoiding the subject as much as possible. "Why didn't the two of you stay together?" She asks softly, desperate to change the subject back to him. She needs a little breather from her drama with Jax, given that his audible yells can still be heard from chapel.
But the way Nero's face darkens, she knows that it's not just about Gemma. It's never just about one thing with the Teller family, she's found. There's always something hiding in a closet just waiting to jump out at her, some deep dark secret that holds their world together at the seams.
"Jax made a decision that I wasn't on board with. We haven't moved past it yet." Nero grimaces as she pulls the pan off of the stove and dumps the contents into a nearby slow cooker. She's trying to keep herself busy, keep her hands moving so she doesn't throttle him for more information. The whole point of getting to know Jax is letting him open up to her, not forcing him to by interrogating his friends.
Brooke stays quiet for a few beats before mumbling something that sort of sounds like an okay, continuing on about her cooking in an effort to distance herself from the conversation. It doesn't take long for the doors to swing open to church, her loud and rowdy bikers - because they're "her's", she's decided since she's making an effort to become Jax's old lady - make their way out of the chapel to various areas of the clubhouse.
She can feel him because she sees him, feel his blue eyes pierce her with his icy stare. Brooke doesn't even need to turn around to know he's there in the kitchen doorway, watching her with that intense yet bemused face. She doesn't bother to, and he sidles up to her like the protective man that she knows him to be.
Jax's hand slips onto her lower back, looking down at the food as she focuses on making the chimichurri. She'd learned how to make it when they'd been further south and she throws it on practically everything, she figures the boys will probably like it. "You good here, babe?" He murmurs into her ear, and she knows he's not asking about the food when he reassuringly presses a gentle kiss into her golden waves. Nero makes him nervous for some reason, and she's sure it's not because of Gemma.
Brooke doesn't look up from the food, restraining herself from asking each and every question that's running through her head. What decision? Had it been Jax's fault? Did he see Nero as the replacement for his father? Is your mom actually a black widow or just the incarnate of Satan?
Instead, she settles on something much more simple with a nod and the slice of of her knife against the chile peppers in front of her. "I could use an extra hand for the slow cooker. Whoever's available."
Jax nods, his thumb tracing circles over her lower back. His gaze moves to Nero, who's patiently waiting in the corner for him, before he starts bellowing out to the guys. "Yo, I need two guys to help Brooke wit-" He yells across the clubhouse, but Chibs and Happy appear in the kitchen before anyone can so much as reply to her.
"I believe Happy 'n I need some li'l hen time. You boys go sort out your business, and we'll help her with wha'ever she's whippin' up for us." Chibs says with a wink in her direction and practically shoves Jax out of the way to get next to her. She's so grateful for their presence that she nearly cries with joy, leaning into the Scotsman as he plants a kiss on her cheek.
Brooke finally looks at Jax, smiling softly as Happy jumps up to sit on the counter. "I'll have Happy come out and get you if I need anything." She promises, and all the rest of the things she wants to say feed into her loving gaze. I'm alright, be safe, I'm right here if you need me. She turns her gaze to the Hispanic gangster across the kitchen, the same small smile on her lips. "It was nice to meet you, Nero."
Nero smiles. "It was nice to meet you too, chiquita."
Jax eyes Nero warily before give him a nod of some sort, but not before leaning down and giving her a quick peck on the lips. With that, the two of them are gone, stepping behind the club for what she can only imagine to be a very heated discussion.
She sighs heavily, gazing at him as they walk out the back door. "Should I be concerned?" Brooke asks to no one in particular before turning back to the task at hand.
By surprise, it's the ever stoic Happy that places his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. He's got this. And if he doesn't, I do." He rasps out in his gravelly voice, and she breathes a little easier knowing that the tattooed bear of a biker is watching out for the man that she adores. "This shit smells good, Ma. Where'd a girl like you learn how to cook?"
Brooke shoots him a look that could kill, dangerously pointing the knife at the supplies to the large slow cooker whilst she glares. "I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment, but just for that you get to take that monstrosity outside."
Chibs laughs heartily while Happy struggles with the belligerent slow cooker, eventually forcing Rat to help him move it outside so it doesn't heat up the kitchen too much. "You are gon' to make a fine old lady, li'l hen. Here for a month, and you're orderin' around the most orniest of men and cookin' up a right feast." He says with a grin as he surveys the counter. Even with the various items she's already used, it's still covered in groceries. "Wha' exactly are you plannin' to make us?"
She briskly dices a few cloves of garlic. "Pulled pork sandwiches with chimichurri sauce and sweet slaw, shrimp and grits, fried green tomatoes and okra, collard greens and cornbread." Brooke's tone is very matter of fact, despite the fact that she only has six hours to pull it all together. "And for dessert, I'm making peach cobbler and apple pie."
His jaw is dropped when she looks up to meet his surprised gaze, and she can't help but giggle when he slides an arm around her waist and tugs her to his side. "I think I speak for ev'ry man in this club when I say...leave him, leave Jackie Boy and run away with me, beauty of mine." Chibs says with a laugh. "Now, give me the absolute easiest task tha' I cannot fuck up."
Brooke smiles with delight, handing him the knife and a few packages of tomatoes that have yet to turn red. "Start chopping sweetheart."
- - - - x - - - -
It's anything but cordial when Jax and Nero get outside. They haven't spoken since Tara's funeral, and there's been no reason to. He and Gemma were done due to the fact that Jax had ordered Juice to kill the psycho kid's mom, and Nero had thrown a decent right hook at him. It's not worth it to fight with him anymore, he tells him. They're business partners. He may respect Nero, but there's something that he's hiding from Jax and he knows it.
"Your girl is..." Nero sighs, smiling softly. "She seems good for you, mano."
Jax looks towards the door, picturing Brooke at the stove. She's probably doing what she does best and bossing the boys around, a fact only reaffirmed when he sees Rat and Happy carry out the slow cooker to the front of the club and hook it all up. "Haven't seen you in a minute." He mutters, shaking off the unspoken words. Haven't seen you since you stopped sleeping with my mother. Jax grimaces. The last thing he wants is that image in his head.
"I had to handle some shit in Norco with Arcadio's family."
The tension sets in so thick that you could cut it with a butter knife. After all, Arcadio had been Nero's cousin, right up until he'd shot him in the driveway of the cabin when he'd been trying to get his girl out.
The girl, Darvany, who Jax had then had Juice pump full of smack and smother.
"That shit's settled, bro. You need to let it go." Jax growls through gritted teeth. He can just barely hear Brooke's laughter wafting from the kitchen. "I have bigger shit to deal with now."
"Like that prison guard that killed Tig?" Nero shoots back. "That was months ago, cabron, and now I hear you fuckin' yelling about how he needs to pay? Escuchame, ain't no more blood need to be shed."
"You don't know shit about my world or my goddamn decisions. I'll kill however many people I need to because that guard is the reason why Brooke nearly fucking died. He's the one that beat the shit out of her in that bar parking lot, so I'll do whatever the fuck I please!" He yells in his friend's face, unable to control himself. All he can see is Mackey's leering gaze on Brooke, feel her sobs rack her body as he holds her, hear the sound of her shattered voice saying that it had been him who had beaten her to a pulp.
"Mira, Jax! You can't burn the world down just because you want to see it happen, shit doesn't work that way!"
Jax's hand moves before his mouth can, a mean right cross flying out and slamming into Nero's face. He's worried that he broke the old man's jaw, but Nero isn't as old as he plays out to be. Jax goes stumbling back when a jab smacks into his nose, and then he sees red. He charges at top speed, sending Nero into the nearest wall with a resounding crunch while he yells wordlessly. The two of them are a flurry of movement and swearing when they go tumbling onto the asphalt.
But Jax doesn't stop. In his mind, it's not Nero. It's Mackey, and he's going to make every since punch count because Brooke won't let him do anything to the man that hurts her. He's so angry at her that he wants to scream, he wants blood to drip from his hands and to know his strength as absolute. He wants to uncage his need for revenge. He wants to let the animal inside run wild, and it's finally time to do it.
They pull apart with the help of Happy and Rat. Jax is still swearing his head off, kicking into the air with all his might as Happy tugs him off of Nero, and with one single sentence, he freezes.
"Jackson, stop!"
He turns to find Brooke standing in the doorway to the kitchen, an apron tied at her waist and Chibs holding her back. She's trying to get to him, her eyes desperate and frantic because this isn't what she wants. She doesn't want violence. Brooke wants them to just be happy and get to know each other and be all domestic and shit, but he doesn't know how. He's an outlaw and it's what he's good at, and he wonders if she'll ever accept that.
Jax shakes off Happy and takes a step closer to her, but she recoils from him in something short of disgust. He wants her to be gone in that moment, for him to have no one to pull him back in from the edge. And so he looks at her with dead eyes, his gaze cold and ruthless. "I'm fine, relax." He snarls to no one in particular, and he looks at Brooke pleadingly. He needs her not to be here in order to be himself, to be the man that he needs to be with Nero, to be the president of this club. "Just go back inside."
Reluctantly, he watches her turn on her heel and stomp back into the kitchen, Chibs and Happy following close behind. He sighs. Of course she's pissed, she's got every right in the world to be, and when he hears a high pitched wordless yell of anger and the shattering of glass from the kitchen, he knows that he's in for tonight - and not in a good way.
"She calms you, doesn't she?"
He looks over to find Nero smiling through the blood and the bruises, and Jax drags a hand across to wipe the blood off of his face. He hates that Brooke's seen him like this, the unrestrained devil in disguise, but he nods regardless. "She makes me feel...I don't know. Human. She makes me feel human." Jax murmurs before looking over at the man he respects enough to call a father figure. "We good?" He asks expectantly.
Nero raises an eyebrow. "This is how you fix shit?"
Jax grins, shaking his head. "Nah, man. But Brooke's cooking us all dinner and if it tastes half as good as it smells, that should fix fuckin' anything."
"You better hope she doesn't poison your food, mano."
"Do you smell that kitchen? I don't even care if she does try to kill me, I'm still eating everything."
- - - - x - - - -
"Well, Miss Gattina, it looks like everything is in working order for your discharge now."
Rachel practically screams with delight as she slowly eases up from the bed. She's finally in her own clothes - or should she say, her business clothes - and it feels like she's herself again. A spleen-less and biker guarded version of herself, but herself regardless as she stands up in a pair of Loubouton high heels and a little black sheath dress that'll keep the press from asking questions about where she's been. Brooke had picked out the outfit, no surprise. She had always known what to wear for these kind of catastrophes.
She's rehearsed the line a hundred times since she got word that she would be going home today, even having Opie berate her like the reporters will. She's more than prepared. They were working on a new line and just checked out of the world at a rural retreat. They had gotten into a car accident on their way back to Los Angeles, to which the hospital paperwork is in accordance with thanks to a wad of cash that Opie had given the hospital administrator as a donation for their new cancer wing.
"We'd like to check out immediately." Opie's deep voice practically demands at her side, and the redhead can't help but smirk. He's cleaned up for this, his long brown hair tied up in a bun and his beard freshly trimmed. He'd even come in without his vest on, which had surprised even her. In a simple black shirt and ripped up jeans, he looks like any normal guy off the streets.
Her opinion of him is also getting better every time he gives her a reprieve from this hellhole with a brutally good make out session. Yesterday, he'd been so rough that he'd popped three stitches and the hospital had been forced to keep her an extra day. It had been that good.
The female doctor nods pleasantly, signing the paperwork and handing it to Rachel with a satisfied smile. "Congratulations, Miss Gattina. You've made a speedy recovery!" Her voice is a little too peppy for her liking and she's more than happy to see her bounce out of the room. Why were people so fucking nice in this town? It's starting to creep her out.
"Can't wait to get me back to the clubhouse, can you?" Rachel says with a menacing grin, taking a few slow steps to her purse. Find a button and push. That's her game with him, and she likes it that way. They're not Jax and Brooke, all tormented and lovey dovey. He's still married with dead first wife issues and she's nowhere near close to opening up to anyone. They're not about the talking. They just really need to be locked in a bedroom for a few hours. Or days.
She turns to find Opie standing right in front of her, and it doesn't take more than a second before his lips are crashing against hers in a kiss that's so hot it makes her blood set on fire. Her hands are clawing at his shoulders and his grip on her hips is so tight. Too tight.
"Fuck!" Rachel hisses, shoving him backwards. "What are you trying to do, pop my stitches again?"
Opie grins like an idiot as he stumbles back, and she's pinned to the wall before she can stop him. Even in her tallest heels, he's got her by a few inches and at least a hundred pounds of solid muscle. "Shut up, you know you like it rough." He murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again.
Before he can, her eyes narrow because there is nothing that will jeopardize her release from this place, and she slaps him with all her might. Opie goes staggering back and this time she is the one that's giving him a Cheshire Cat smile. "And you like it even more." She says before opening up the door to the hall and walking out of her former residence. He's chuckling softly behind her, and suddenly she can't wait to get him back either.
"My truck's out front. I figured that'd be better than them seeing you hop onto a Dyna Wide Glide with a ex-convict." Opie says with a glance towards the front doors, and she gratefully sighs with relief.
She waits until they're right in front of the doors to speak, sliding on a pair of big black sunglasses, "Good, 'cause I'm not wearing any panties under this thing."
Opie's hand that's resting on her lower back bunches up the fabric of her dress and nearly yanks her into the nearest bathroom right then and there, and she can't help the smile that appears on her lips as they walk out of the hospital together, despite the torrential media storm that's about to hit.
"Rachel, when did you and Brooke Davis become involved with the motorcycle club known as the Sons of Anarchy?"
"Was this all a publicity stunt for Lucas Scott's new memoir on his relationship with Miss Davis?"
"How long had you and Miss Davis been planning this?"
The questions come in like tirades as Opie tries to navigate her through the flashing cameras and yelled out questions that become more absurd the deeper they get into the crowd. He's growling and snarling at the paparazzi to get out his way, she's trying to be as graceful as possible, and then the question that she's dreading comes out.
"Rachel, how do you respond to the allegations that this was insurance fraud for Miss Davis's ten million dollar life insurance policy?"
Opie doesn't stop pushing through, but Rachel freezes in her tracks. Of course Vicki had cashed that in, that greedy whore. She had known that Brooke was alive through Rachel, who had made the call to Victoria Davis once they had decided to take their show on the road. Rachel takes a deep breath, and plays the role of the media parrot that she's all too often been for Brooke.
"While Miss Davis and I are utterly in debt to the Los Angeles Police Department for their tireless efforts to locate us, we were not aware of any life insurance policy that had been taken out on Miss Davis's life. Miss Davis and I were simply taking some time off from the world in a rural cabin for the last few months and did not think that this would be blown this far out of proportion by the media. We are very grateful for the out pour of love from Brooke's fans, but ask that our privacy be respected while we both heal from our unfortunate car accident. Thank you."
Opie's got her in the truck before they can berate her with anymore questions, peeling out of the hospital parking lot as far as they'd driven in when Chibs had rushed them in. He's quiet as can be and he looks pissed off as all hell, so she doesn't say a word until he finally speaks.
"Do you have any idea how much heat this is gonna put on the club?" Opie's tone is like sandpaper, his rage coming through. He's fiercely protective of his beloved Jax and his stupid club, and she can't help but roll her eyes. "Don't you fucking look at me like that, Rachel. Insurance fraud is criminal charges, which means a trial, which means that the club is gonna get put under a fucking microscope."
"It's not like we did it for the money! We didn't even cash that thing in!" She fires back, folding her arms across her chest as she shifts with a wince. "Her mother must have done it. She's the only one besides me that could."
"I cannot fucking believe you two." He seethes.
Neither can I, she thinks to herself as she gazes out the window, praying that the conversation will be dropped so she can get some peace and quiet. "Just drive." Rachel mumbles, squeezing the bridge of her nose to calm the headache that's beginning.
Fucking Brooke and her need to run. It's going to get them all into deep trouble, and she's not sure if she can pull them out of it this time.
- - - - x - - - -
It's down to the wire, but Brooke and the boys get it all done. She's thoroughly outdone herself as she sets up the bar with the food from the kitchen. Everything's covered to keep it nice and hot, as well as to keep the boys' hands out of it. She isn't a fool, she knows how fast all her hard work will disappear because she's that good of a cook. She's even enlisted Rat and Montez to hang up a few signs for Rachel, which had turned into Quinn and Happy running around at her bidding and getting all the food in working order. Every time she so much as touches one of the big steel serving bowls or platters, they erupt in a chorus of swearing and telling her to drop it before she hurts herself. She abides, but only because she finds it adorable.
Rachel and Opie had shown up about twenty minutes before, the two of them muttering about how they needed to check on her stitches in the latter's room before dinner, but they're not fooling her. The smirk on Rachel's lips, the glint in Opie's eyes; Brooke could've seen it from a mile away and still known that the two of them were sleeping together.
Brooke sips a short tumbler of vodka, her second for the afternoon, as she watches the guys run around. She points where she wants things, shifts bowls around and hides the still unbaked dessert in the oven. She wants it warm, which meant waiting until they were about halfway through dinner to start up the thing. It'll be an excuse to walk away from the table if necessary, which she might need with Jax acting the way he has been for the last few hours.
"You okay, li'l hen?" Chibs sidles up to her after the last pan of fried green tomatoes has been set and the room looks like the Food Network exploded in it. The smell is beginning to draw the guys in from all over the club, and she's just waiting on Jax to show up. Everything had been timed for Rachel and Opie's arrival, and it had gone off without a hitch. Right up until Jax had gone all caveman on Nero and decided to start a bloodbath.
Brooke leans into him as he slings an arm around her shoulders, retreating into the safety of her father-figure's arms. "I'm just nervous." It's an admission of weakness, something that she's not fond of. It means that she can be hurt, that the walls are down, and that's the scariest thing in the world for her. "About the dinner, I mean." She recovers cautiously.
Chibs smiles down at her knowingly. "Dinner, aye? Well, this dinner, is it important t'you?"
She curses him for knowing exactly what's going on, but praises him silently for playing along with her. Brooke bites down on her bottom lip, praying it'll keep the tears at bay. "It's the most important thing I've had in my life in a really long time." She nearly whispers, and she feels her heart thunder in her chest because she's not playing around. She's serious about Jax, serious enough to halt all sex until she gets to know him. "But I don't know this dinner's...recipe well enough to know how I should prepare for it."
"With a tough skin and an open heart, m'love." He says softly, wiping at a tear that's fallen from her eye. The Scotsman is endearing as ever as he cups her cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. "But you're a mighty good cook, lass. You might just be the best cook this dinner's ever had. And if you wanted to...bake a pie with the dinner, I think your body could handle it."
Brooke raises an eyebrow. "And I would bake a pie..."
"In the buff. Am I making myself clear now, or do I need to tell you tha' it's sex." Chibs says with a wiley grin, and she smacks his chest in response.
Their conversation halts when the door to the clubhouse opens. Jax and Nero saunter in, looking thick as thieves. They've clearly worked out whatever issue seems to be hanging over their heads, but that doesn't make her any less upset. The way Jax had looked when he'd reared back, it hadn't been the man that she knows. It had been the version of him that she's been warned about, the one that craved vengeance and would do anything to get it.
But now, he looks like himself again. He chuckles softly when Nero makes a comment, he hugs some of the guys that have driven in, some that he doesn't recognize. She blatantly avoids his gaze, moving from her spot at the bar and in between Happy and Chibs. It only takes a second for them to see how upset she is, and magically a cigarette and lighter appear at her lips. She breathes in until it scorches her lungs, and she lets the buzz she feels cover up her anger at him for shooing her away like he had.
"You look like a lost puppy dog." Rachel saunters up beside her, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and pulling in a drag of her own. She's trying to be inconspicuous, but the smell of sex is all over her.
Brooke smirks. "At least I'm not missing an organ or have raging sex hair." She counters, taking back her cigarette forcefully. "You and Opie, huh?"
The redhead shrugs, looking over at the man in question. He's on the other side of the room chit chatting with Jax, and it's the first time Brooke's seen the giant smile since she got here. "He's separated from Porn Whore and you left him alone with me for almost a week. What did you expect was going to happen?" Rachel takes a sip from her glass of straight Grey Goose. "Besides, you're just jealous. Opie and I don't have to take things slow because there are no feelings involved. Just really, really hot sex."
"Excuse me for wanting to get to know Jax before jumping into bed with him." Brooke growls, glaring at her. "Besides, we have more important things to worry about, like that busted nose of his."
Happy interrupts, leaning over the bar like a child waiting for Christmas morning. "Can we eat now, Ma?" His voice is playful as the grin spreads on his lips, and Brooke nods with a simple yes. She's about to head back into the kitchen to start on the dessert when a booming voice stops her in her tracks.
"Hold up, guys."
She turns to find her biker - because he's hers, even though she's ridiculously upset with him - yelling out in the crowd of men. Jax takes a few steps torward to the head of the table, his gaze focused solely on Brooke. She feels her skin rise with a chill as he begins to speak, and she can't seem to move a muscle. "I'd like to thank the two women that dropped in our laps. For some of us, literally." He raises his glass towards Opie, who smirks in the corner with his arm slung around the back of Rachel's chair.
She's waiting for him to say something, for him to saying anything with meaning to her. The tension is palpable as he walks over to Brooke, his half moon grin playing on his lips. She's trying to stay strong, to not cave to the way that his gaze makes a certain lustful heat pool in her belly and her skin set on fire. "And you all owe Brooke one big ass thank you for the dinner that she cooked for all of us tonight, so enjoy yourselves cause it's on her dime tonight." Cheers erupt like she's just invented the wheel, and she can't help the pride that sings in her veins.
But he's not done. Jax walks up to her, getting up close and personal with her. Tentatively, her hand reaches out to him, brushing them over the newly forming bruises around his left eye. "How adorable. We match now." She mutters, and he grins from ear to ear. "I'm still pissed at you." Brooke insists as her hands drops, and she even takes a step back for good measure.
But as his hands wind around her waist and tug her up into his arms, she knows that she can't win this. She's worried that his world will consume the bond that they have, that someday the violence will spill at her feet, but she decides that's a fight for another time when he leans down and kisses her so deep that her cheeks flush pink and the entire room explodes in cheering once again.
The dinner goes off without a problem, the boys moaning every so often about how good of a cook she is. By the end of it, Brooke's received six marriage proposals and all the praise in the world from the club, and even Rachel comments on how good it feels to have a normal home cooked meal. When she has Chibs bring out the desserts, they're practically eating out of her hand.
But the man of the hour is quiet at her side. Every so often, Jax brings her good hand to his lips and kisses the skin softly. He seems at ease now with a relaxed smile on his lips and casual conversation with Opie and Chibs, but she knows that something's brewing. He wants retaliation on the guard, and she can't say that she doesn't want him to.
But contrary to what the club may desire, she doesn't want the bastard dead. If she'd have it her way, he'd be beaten and broken like she was, and to suffer with his actions for the rest of his life. She'd match every injury, every broken bone, every gash in her skin. She'd make his life hell, and then come back every so every to scare the shit out of him so he would repeat Brooke's fate on some poor and unsuspecting woman.
But that's not how it works with the club. He's not just the man that had attacked her, he's the man that organized the death of their brother. She has no right to stop them, no matter how much sway peach cobbler gets her, and yet she longs to. Brooke wishes that he wouldn't, if only for her sake. She doesn't want that guilt on her conscience.
When all the dishes are cleaned up and the food's been put away, when Brooke has kissed Rachel goodbye and told Opie to take care of her girl, when the club is silent, she quietly goes back to the bedroom. Jax had been smoking at the bar with Chibs, speaking in the hushed voice that she knows means trouble, and Brooke wants no part of the conversation. She's just getting ready to hop into the shower, wanting to wash the awful day away, when she hears him from the doorway.
"It was really amazing, what you did tonight. The boys adore you."
His gracious words are quiet from his position in the doorway, and she smiles as she takes off the brace on her wrist. She loves the mobility that she gets to have now, even if there is a little less movement in the joint since its injury. "I'm glad they liked it." Brooke murmurs as she grabs a towel, turning to head into the bathroom. Her anger has settled back in after the busy day, and she just needs some time alone.
But Jax is wary of her, and he should be. "Are you pissed at me or somethin', babe? I thought we were good." He takes a few more steps into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "I know the fight with Nero today scared you, but that's just how we handle things around here."
Brooke nearly bites off her lip as she tries to hold back the words, but they come out anyway as she turns to look at him. "I heard you in church today. Calling for Mackey's head on a platter. I told you I didn't want that. I don't want anymore pain bec-"
"Because he beat the shit out of you?" Jax bluntly interrupts, his fists clenched. "This may be hard to believe, but you don't make all the calls here. I do. It's my club, and Mackey's my problem. He had Tig killed as brutally as possible in front of me, and you have no idea what that did to this club. You have no idea what it did to me!"
"No, because you won't tell me!" Brooke advances on him, snapping at him viciously. She's a violent and snarling animal who cannot be caged, and she doesn't even bother to hold back her acidic words as she prepares to bite his head off. "You don't open up to me! You don't tell me anything unless I'm high off my ass or half asleep! You had this entire fucked up life before me that I know next to nothing about and you want me to just put blind faith in you? Don't you dare expect that out of me after what I've been through!"
"And how dare you expect me to do nothing when you almost died in my goddamn arms!"
The tortured howl rips through the air, reverberating off of the walls so loud that Brooke has to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself from openly sobbing. She keeps forgetting that, that it had been Jax who had found her that night. She does and she doesn't, she supposes. She remembers white sneakers rushing towards her, the sound of Jax's voice when he had yelled at Opie something, the smell of bike grease on his hands and the feeling of his breath settling onto her neck. She barely remembers his face that night. Everything had been in shades of red from the blood that had matted her face and poured from her body, and everything had been so blurry.
She doesn't remember what she must have looked like lying on the pavement with a halo of blood surrounding her dark hair, with her bashed in face and broken bones. She doesn't remember that it had only been a few short months since he'd found his wife in the exact same position on their kitchen floor.
Guilt rushes in like a dam breaking upon her heart, and she instinctively reaches out for Jax. He takes two steps back, and she knows that she's gone too far, that they both have. He's vulnerable and she's angry and it's a dangerous combination at best.
Jax's eyes flood with tears, her biker the ever emotional being as he rakes a hand through his slicked back hair. His voice is fragile, shaky, and so unlike him that she has to do a double take when he begins to speak. "You were dying, Brooke. You were dying and I was yelling for help and there was such a small chance that you were gonna survive. They had you on that table, stitched you up to high heaven and prayed that you'd be okay. They didn't even think that you were going to make it through the night. Mackey almost took you from me before I even knew that I could feel this way about you, and I..." He trails off as his calloused hand wipes at his wet eyes, shaking his head once more. He can't even find the words, and it's in that moment that she knows what he feels for her isn't just some fleeting infatuation.
Jax loves her, loves her enough to want to kill for her, and Brooke had never once thought for a moment that in her life someone would ever have the capacity to love her that much. It's tragic and depraved and a hundred different kinds of twisted, but it's the most loved she's ever felt in her entire life.
She reaches out for him again and he doesn't pull away this time. Brooke's dainty hands settle on either side of his face, silently running through the rough stubble on his jawline. "I know, babe. I know." She whispers, closing her eyes and savoring the natural scent of his skin. "I'm just not this person. I'm not Gemma, Jax. I'm not going to tell you to murder someone just because I say so, I won't start to manipulate you like she has."
Jax's hands run up her back, sliding over the nape of her neck and into her hair. He forces her to look up at him as he barely pulls away, his hands almost massaging her head as he does so. "You're nothing like her. Nothing. You're telling me not to do this, despite the fact that you know how much the club needs this. That's more than Gemma ever has. That's more than Tara ever did. For fuck's sake, she all but set me up to kill a guy from her past."
Tara. Her name rings out like the exorcism of a ghost in the air. Brooke's eyes fill with tears as her fingers trace the curve of his jaw, because she wants more than anything to fill the space that her death has left in his soul. Tara haunts his thoughts, his dreams, and it's no secret to her. Jax dies a little death every night that he dreams of her and wakes up to find Brooke shaking him awake, and all she wants to do is take his pain away. "You need this, don't you?" She utters with such an ache in her chest that it nearly swallows her whole. "You need revenge for Tig, for me, and I can't stop you."
Jax nods, stroking her hair gently. "We all do. This club, me, even you." He murmurs, and before she can even utter a word of disagreement, he fills the space with his argument. "I sleep right next to you, Brooke. I'm there when you wake up screaming and throwing your arms around like you're a rag doll. I think the only thing that'll stop that is him being wiped off the face of this earth."
His words are a catalyst to her thoughts, everything and nothing falling together in that moment as he holds her in his arms. Brooke feels her entire body relax into him, tears slipping down her cheeks. Every inch of her body just knows that he's right, that his solution of vengeance is the only thing that can give her peace. She can't remember the last time she slept through the night without painkillers, and each and every time her body would jerk awake with the visage of the man who brutalized her. There's nothing left for her to do, for her to work through. Therapy won't do anything and she can't ask Jax for more. He's giving her all of his energy and love, and she's worried that if she takes anymore, there'll be nothing left of him for his sons.
"Promise me you'll be careful." Her voice breaks, her truest fear betraying her. Being without Jax would be a slow and painful death that she isn't prepared for.
His lips silence her in a sweet and gentle kiss, the kind that no one would expect from a bad ass biker. There are no words left. The only reassurance she needs is Jax's arms wrapping around her and his lips devouring her whole. She wants to say it, that she loves him all the more for this and that she can't live without him, but the only thing that she finds is her hands sliding up beneath his shirt and pulling his shirt over his head. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at her, and all she can give him is a gentle smile.
It's like breathing, the way that he knows what Brooke needs in that moment. His hands slide along her back, carefully avoiding bruised ribs and skin that's yet to be healed. Jax doesn't speak, doesn't breathe a word. He lets his touch take over the conversation ask he cups her cheeks and kisses her so hard that her lips deliciously bruise, and she nearly lets go of all restraint as her hands slide along his bare chest. She pulls back ever so slowly to look at the scars that her fingers bump over, finding the tattoos that she's often examined late at night when he's drifted into a coma like sleep. His son's name is prominently inked over his heart, and Brooke just barely touches the lettering of it.
"What's he like?" Brooke asks breathlessly, looking up at him expectantly. It's the first that she's asked about his sons, and she can't help but wonder about the imaginary children that she's dreamed up in her head.
Jax raises an eyebrow. "Abel?" He asks, and she nods in response. His hands are still wandering over her lower back, keeping her tight to him. "He's quiet, rebellious. I can't even tell you how many times Wendy's been called to the school because he's started fights. He hit a kid with a lunchbox the other day." He pauses, and she watches as he swallows back a lump in his throat. "When he was born, his mom had been shooting up so much that he was addicted to crank. He was kidnapped when he wasn't even a year old. Right from my kitchen. I barely got him back. He's been through hell, and I keep wondering if his rage is a product of all of it."
Her heart aches for him as her free hand runs along the side of his head, soothing his past demons. Part of her is terrified that if she goes down this rabbit hole with him she may never find her way out, but the part of her that is grateful for him opening up keeps her on the path forward. They're getting somewhere further than his issues with his mother. He's letting Brooke know him.
She wanders to the embellished lettering on his left forearm, repeating the behavior until Jax gets the point. "Thomas is just a baby. But he looks like Tara more than me. Dark hair, blue eyes." He smiles, and it makes her heart light up. "He's got this sense of peace around him, never cries. I was in Stockton when he was born, locked up on gunrunning charges. But that's...that's a really long story."
She nods, her hand sliding to the creased scar on his abdomen. She traces it lightly with her fingers, but she examines this one. It's not surgical, she knows that from the jagged lines of the cut. Brooke looks up at him curiously, and he answers without any hesitation.
"A little present from the Russians in Stockton. Makes me look like a bad ass, right?" Jax smirks, and she knows immediately from the glint of darkness in his eyes that he must have taken his revenge with a side of blood. Her stomach flips, but she swallows her fear and keeps on going.
Brooke smiles right back at him, but it falls when her hand stops on the gravestone on the opposite arm. She knows who it's for, that John Teller's spirit is inked in Jax's skin, but she's more than surprised when he takes her hand and moves it away. It's a simple silent gesture, stating that his father is not a topic yet on the table.
She nods, her hand moving back to Abel's name. "You should see them more, you know. Instead of being here with me." She's sidestepping his bottled up memories like the professional she is as she reaches for the towel, already planning her escape route. It's their own little dance, but she doesn't have the energy for it tonight. "In fact, you should go there tonight. I'm just going to shower and sleep, I'm worthlessly tired." Brooke begins to move towards the bathroom, her sinking heart dragging her there, and he grabs her hand to stop her.
"Why don't you sleep at my place tonight."
Brooke's heart practically stops in her chest. His house is off limits, for both of them. It's the place where his children have been raised, where he'd fallen in love with Tara, where he'd found his wife dead on the kitchen floor. It's never been a blip on her radar, and now, her mind is running wild with what Jax's home might look like. She turns to face him, his hand holding hers tightly. "You want me...to come home. With you. Where your boys are." She says slowly. Her words are deliberate but unsure. In this moment, he's a loaded gun. She never knows when he's going to go off and shut her out again.
Jax's half moon smile tugs at his lips as he nods, tugging her to him. His arms wrap around her waist delicately before he kisses her softly. "Yeah. I mean, they're bound to be at Wendy's for the night. You could meet them in the morning when she drops them off."
This time, her heart soars. "Are you sure?" Brooke says with concern, her hands resting on his biceps. "I mean, I don't want to push you. These are your kids and I know ho-"
"I don't think I've ever had to push this hard to get somebody to get into bed with me. My ego's a little bruised, so now you're definitely coming home with me." Jax interrupts with a smirk, and she doesn't even know how they're going to make it out of this room if he keeps going the way that he is. He pulls away from her, reluctant at best, and tosses his shirt back on. "C'mon, babe. What's one little night gonna do? We sleep together anyway, and if I had it my way we'd be doing way more than sleeping..."
She giggles as he leans in and nuzzles her neck, the bristles of his beard tickling her sensitive skin, and she gives into him willingly. "Fine, one night, but keep your mangy paws to yourself." Brooke counters.
He practically jumps for joy, and she can't believe how insanely happy just seeing him smile makes her. Fuck being cautious, she tells herself. She's falling in love with Jax Teller, and she wants him. They deserve to be happy, she tells herself as he takes her hand and leads her downstairs with that ridiculous grin on his lips. They deserve a little good in their lives, even if it's only for a night.
Who is she kidding? Any night with Jax is a happy night for her, even if all they do is cuddle and talk.
Brooke's just praying he doesn't get too bored of her before they even get started.
- - - - x - - - -
He wakes up somewhere around three in the morning to the sound of keys jiggling in the front door.
Jax and Brooke lay side by side in the bed he used to share with Tara, a notion that seems more dramatic than it actually is. Of course, she'd made him change every sheet on the perfectly made bed before she had dared to go near it, but he knows that's just how Brooke is. She doesn't want to replace his wife, she just doesn't want to constantly be haunted by her memory.
She'd fallen asleep almost instantly after getting into bed. She'd wrapped up in one of his old SOA t-shirts after wiping off what little makeup she'd had on, mumbling about how her bruise still hadn't faded around her eye. Jax, on the other hand, loves her like this. Brooke looks gorgeous no matter what, but when it's just before she's about to crawl in bed with him, there's something so special about it. She's stripped down to her natural beauty, just like the days after her attack. She's all his when she's like this, her head nestled into the crook of his neck and her hand on his bare chest over his heart. Her leg runs over his hips, his arms encircle her, and they are two jagged puzzle pieces that fit as one beneath the warmth of the blankets.
They've shifted by the time he wakes him, Jax's body protectively spooning hers as Brooke's breathing remains steady. She's deep in a dream filled slumber, her first without a nightmare since he's met her, and he doesn't bother to wake her up when he pulls his body out from around hers. He just grabs his glock from its home on the nightstand and shuts the door behind him, because there are only three people who have a key to his house.
The first is Wendy, but he knows for a fact that she's at her apartment with Abel and Thomas.
The second is Opie, but he's with Rachel at her new hotel room relieving his pent up sexual frustration.
The third, he really does not want coming through that door with Brooke in the next room. Or at all for that matter.
Jax draws down on the door as it slowly opens, and he nearly shoots when he sees Gemma on the other side out of pure spite.
"For fuck's sake, Mom." He mutters angrily as she looks at him wide eyed and bewildered. "It's way too late for you to be doing this."
His mother leans in the doorway, looking at him hopefully. Her neck is covered in long finger like bruises, bruises that he's responsible for. But somehow this time, he doesn't care. Jax doesn't give a shit that she's in pain, because Brooke's best friend had nearly died because of her irresponsible and out of line behavior. She deserves far more than a few contusions on the neck, and he nearly gives her the payment for her actions in lead before he lowers the glock to his side.
"I thought you'd be at the club, with her." Gemma bitterly mumbles as she remains where she is. Her age is starting to settle on her face, the crow's feet at her eyes deeper and the scar on her chest only becoming more apparent as she fast approaches her sixties. Bitter doesn't suit her anymore. It just makes her more of a worthless hag.
Jax's grip on the gun tightens at the intonation of her words, immediately glancing down the hall to make sure that the door is still shut. He gets his affirmation from the shut door, but his grip doesn't slack on the gun. Not even for a moment. He can only imagine how this looks for Gemma, with him in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, but he doesn't care. She can think whatever she damn well pleases. "Brooke is here, and she's asleep so please, just do us both a favor and get the hell out."
His mother snorts, sidling into the house and tossing her purse onto the nearby table before shutting the door. She's quiet about it, but the smirk on her face betrays her facade. "You think Fashion Barbie could hurt me? Please." She sneers at him in disgust. She folds her arms across her chest, rising to the assumed challenge. "What's she gonna do, kill me with her cast?"
"Better than a meat fork." Jax snarls through gritted teeth. He's about to raise his gun again and just pull the trigger because it would solve so many problems in his life, in Brooke's life. In their life.
He doesn't want it to be a repeat of his relationship with Tara. Falling in love, building a family, taking over the club, going to prison, and then their lives had unravelled. Tara had tried to take the boys, he had turned himself into Patterson, and then his wife had wound up dead on the kitchen floor. He wants a fresh start with her, but that seems to be impossible with Gemma in the picture.
A potentially murderous Gemma who has no goddamn boundaries.
Gemma's eyes narrow dangerously, and he watches in a somewhat helpless state as she pulls out a cigarette and lights it, wishing that she wouldn't stay for it. "Look, baby. I know you've got your suspicions about what happened to Tara, but I swear on those grandbabies of mine that I wasn't involved."
She's so matter of fact about it that he almost wants to believe her, to reach out for his mother. But he doesn't. Jax remains where he is, hand on his gun and heart covered in ice. He doesn't want to look at her anymore, doesn't want to hear her explanations, and so he does the only thing he can. He walks over to the door, opens it wide, and glares at his mother with the ferocity he never thought he'd have with her.
"Get out of my house." Jax growls dangerously. "Before I throw you out."
Gemma nods silently, grabbing her purse as she takes a drag off of her cigarette. "When you're done with the fresh pussy and you realize you fucked up, don't come whining to me." She snarls in his face.
With that, she's gone, a whirlwind of nicotine and cheap perfume hitting him as the door slams. It's her final punch, her final stoking of the fire, and he breathes a bit easier when he walks back down the hall to his bedroom. Jax stands in the doorway for a moment, his blue eyes lingering over Brooke's sleeping body. She's still passed out, her body wrapped around a pillow that he's instantly wishing was him. Her long waves have fallen around her face like a make shift crown, her chest moving in short and shallow breaths. She looks serene, peaceful, and he just wants to remember her like this forever.
"Hey, what are you doing over there?" Brooke's awake, just barely, her soft mumble bringing him back to the moment as her heavy eyelids barely stay open.
Jax smiles as he moves back over to her, sliding into the bed once more. He doesn't say anything, staying silent as her body curves to his and her legs wrap around his hips. He just breathes a little deeper and a little easier when he's in her arms. His hand runs over her hair as she falls back asleep, and as her breathing steadies once more, so does Jax. He's asleep in minutes, deeper and more restful than he's had in months.
So quickly, in fact, that he doesn't see Gemma linger at her car, watching them through the nearby bedroom window. He doesn't see her scheming, doesn't see her rage, doesn't see the brutal force building within her. He doesn't see her get in her Cadillac and scream at the top of her lungs, slamming her hands against the steering wheel.
He doesn't see the beginning of the war that's about to come as his lips press to Brooke's forehead, a content sigh slipping from his lips, and that's exactly how his dear mother wants it.