**I own nothing you recognize**
They walk in silence for a stretch of three or four blocks, partially because Jax is actually enjoying just walking with Tara, and partially because he's got no fucking clue where to start and keeps finding things to focus on other than the heart-to-heart that's undoubtedly imminent. Even if he wanted to concentrate, he has no clue how the fuck to settle his overactive mind in her presence. It's particularly distracting the way her arm keeps rubbing against his, her fingers occasionally brushing against his own, each such occasion sending prickles rushing from the point of contact to the rest of his body. Neither of them are acknowledging it but neither move towards their respective edges of the sidewalk, either. In fact, Jax is considering experimentally hooking her pinky with his own, or briefly squeezing her hand, or running his hand down the small of her back and maybe onto the upper curve of her perfect, round…
Holy shit, Teller. This is Tara you're thinking about.
Christ, he can't be blamed for having these thoughts, though, can he? It's a cold hard fact that Tara's what most people would call pretty; half the school was buzzing about her return and just how kind SoCal had been to her. What most of them don't know, though, is how a smile- a true, genuine smile- can transform Tara from the pretty girl in English class into drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous. It's a secret Jax wants to keep to himself, because even though he won't- can't- turn on the Teller charm and find out the rest of her secrets (for many fucking reasons that tend to evade him every time her warm hand touches his own), that doesn't mean he's going to watch as some prick chases after her, either. She just got back and doesn't need to be fending off lecherous assholes, himself included.
"Jackson?" Her voice invades his inner musings and Jax is struck once again by the sheer novelty of having her here with him after so many years.
"Yeah?" She's looking at him, green eyes wide and- he thinks- vulnerable. That's something new. While she's always been intuitive, compassionate, and caring, he can't think of a moment in their past when she's been so… exposed in his presence, besides the time surrounding her mother's illness and death. He's usually the one unloading his issues, baring his soul, and it appears that Tara's about to return the favor.
"Sorry, I meant to say Jax, it takes some getting used t-"
"Tara, it's fine." He cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "I don't mind it when you say it. Jackson, I mean. It's… nice. Nobody's called me Jackson for a few years besides Gemma." She raises an eyebrow at him.
"Oh, and I suppose you prefer Jax because it sounds so much more 'badass biker'?"
"Nah, darlin', its just somethin' the ladies started and everyone else picked up on. I'm actually not sure where it came from, but it's a natural way to shorten my name, I suppose- what?" Tara's eyes had narrowed, her lips pressed in a thin line. So much for vulnerability.
"That darlin' shit… don't call me that, Jackson. I'm not one of your ladies, and I'm damn sure not about to let you blow me off like you do them. Darlin' this and darlin' that… I bet you don't even know half their names, do you?"
"'Course I do. I've known most of the high school since I was in elementary." Jax has no idea where this came from, but its sure as shit not what he'd expected to be grilled on.
"That's even worse, then. You know their names, but put them all under the same umbrella term. Darlin'… it's supposed to be a term of endearment, yet you refer to almost every girl in the school that way, including me?"
"Jesus, Tara, it's a habit. I don't know what else to say." What the fuck does she want from him? He'd grown up listening to JT, Piney, Clay, and God knows who else call every female under the sun 'darlin'. Especially when they needed something. Goddammit, maybe she had a point…
"You don't have to say anything. I just don't want to be lumped in with all the other girls at this school. Especially by you. Or Opie, for that matter." Tara juts out her chin and crinkles her eyebrows, an expression Jax immediately recognizes as the one she's always donned when she's formulating a question. "Where did Opie come from, though, really? He told me not to ask." Jax can't help laughing, both at her question and in utter relief that he's no longer the focus of her ire.
"Well, speaking of badass biker… Harry really isn't a name that screams "badass", is it?"
"Neither is Opie…" she counters.
"Nope. But you remember all the Harry jokes he used to get, don't you?" She nods, undoubtedly remembering "Harry Butt", "Harry Nutsack" and other gems the older boys had come up with. Now, none of those idiots would bother messing with Ope, who'd become nothing short of a giant and was a SAMCRO heir to boot; even though they weren't prospecting for a couple years, their and SAMCRO's reputation were separately "nothing to mess with" and combined, a force to be reckoned with. Back then, though, Jax and Opie'd gotten into many a shoving match when the nicknames had become too much. "Well, he finally went to Piney and Mary one day back in the 5th grade and asked if he could change his name. Piney's name is fucking Piermont, so I think he understood a little bit. But Mary said nobody was gonna call him by anything but his given name, so…"
"Don't tell me Opie's his middle name?" Tara can barely hold in her laughter as Jax answers, chuckling.
"Yep. Harry Opie Winston. Apparently, Mary had a real hard-on for Andy Griffith back in the day, and Ope had such a round face and red hair when he was born that she thought he looked like Ron Howard or some shit. Anyway, most of the modern world hasn't watched the Andy Griffith show for a few decades now, especially not the assholes in Charming Elementary, so nobody in our grade had shit to say about it when he started labeling his school shit with "Opie". I don't even think anyone remembers his name is Harry, really. He couldn't be happier about that shit. But don't tell him I told you, or he really will kick my ass."
Tara smiles, undoubtedly picturing Ope as a chubby, redheaded baby, and silence fell over them again. Tara and Opie had picked right back up where they'd left off. Why wasn't he capable of doing the same, for her? And what had she been about to say before they'd gotten off track? In any case, he'd better get his head out of his ass before Opie, Tara, or both were tempted to use him as a goddamn punching bag. From what he remembers, Tara had a decent left hook. Christ, here we go…
"Hey, Tara?" Jax doesn't wait for an answer, lets the words rush out before he can second-guess himself. "I'm glad you're back." Holy shit, that smile- not the small grins she'd bestowed on most of CHS today, but this real, genuine smile he secretly hopes is reserved for him and maybe Opie… It made her face light up- he'd heard of sparkling eyes before, but he'd never really known before this moment that the term was literal. Her eyes practically glow in his direction; her plump lips are somehow even more delectable as they curve upwards. The tension in the rest of her face seems to relax as she lifts her eyes to his and looks into his goddamn soul. Jesus, he'll say anything, do anything for her, if she'll just keep looking at him like this.
"I am too, Jackson. I missed you guys. I missed you." Just as he had done to her in the clubhouse, Tara grabs his hand, but she does him one better and twines her fingers through his; the simple touch nearly takes his breath away, and all he can do is squeeze her hand. They walk this way for a bit, and Jax barely notices their surroundings. Christ, they could be walking through a minefield or through Mayan territory for all he knows; his sole focus is on the slender fingers enclosed in his much larger hand and the way they seem to be sending warmth throughout his entire body. Eventually, he's vaguely aware of her hand tugging on his own, leading them to the edge of the sidewalk, but he doesn't realize where they're headed until they veer down a smaller path and towards a small park with a shelter house at its edge. Under the roof are a few picnic tables and Tara pulls him along towards them, keeping his hand in her grasp even as they perch on one of the tabletops.
"Jackson…" her voice trails off as she studies their linked hands, now resting on Jax's knee. Jesus, what a day it's been already. Jax feels like he's been on a never-ending roller coaster ride- descending sharply downhill the moment he saw Tara in Ope's truck, the jittery ascent of the ride to school, another stomach clenching plunge the moment she touched him… up and down, up and down and he can't decide what's more unnerving- the slow build to the temporary peaks, or the exhilarating rush of the descents. Regardless, he can feel them rising to another precipice- whatever this conversation will be is slowly clacking along, bringing them towards another freefall.
He fleetingly tries to recall the last time a girl had half this effect- any effect, really- on him, and comes up empty. The bottom line, he concludes, is that she's different from all the rest of them, beginning with the fact that he actually gives a shit about what she's about to say. His thoughts are halted when she finally peers up at him through thick black lashes, the vulnerability back in full force.
"I'm sorry I left, Jackson. I'm sorry I didn't-" she's cut off as Jax drops her hand to encircle her shoulders with his arms as he shifts to face her on the tabletop; pressing against her seems to both ease the tightness in his chest and fill it with space, expanding rapidly as though he's floating from the inside. All he can think of in this moment is to shush her, stop her from voicing the guilt he knows at his core she shouldn't be carrying, the guilt that's been smoldering beneath both of them all day. And he's the one that's been stoking the fucking fire.
"Shhhh…" he doesn't say anything else, just presses her closer to him, her chin on his shoulder. She relaxes into him briefly before pulling away, pinning him with a stare.
"No, I need to say this." Her eyes burn into his, and he feels almost frantic in his desire to stop her from accepting responsibility for the past seven years- the chasm forced by her father, their reunion hampered by Jax's own stupid ego.
"Tara. You have nothing to be sorry for. You were nine fucking years old, you didn't have a choice-" She's shaking her head vigorously, twisting her hands in her lap, and he can see the words bubbling up in her throat as she cuts him off.
"I had to move, but I didn't have to stay away." She swipes quickly at the tears that streaked across her cheeks before continuing. "I spent that first few months convincing myself I was coming right back. I didn't let anyone in, I barely even talked at school. You know that isn't me." Jax huffs out a short laugh. She's more than right about that- she'd been the resident know-it-all, their third grade teacher had chided her more than once that her big brain had made her too big for her britches. Even more so, she'd been their little group's resident smartass, the first to crack a joke or poke fun at any and everyone she felt comfortable around. The thought of Tara Knowles as a reserved wallflower would have been laughable before today, when he'd witnessed her ghost her way through the hallways of CHS.
"My aunt told me I needed to make friends, that I needed to put my life up here behind me so I could do that. Its like I told Opie, I needed to make San Diego my new normal and I think that ended up being the only reason I didn't slowly go crazy there. I had to… sort of keep the two of you in my heart, just like I did with my mom. But I missed you all so much." As she tears up, Jax pulls her into an embrace again but this time it isn't to shut her up. He needs to do something to let her know that he felt the same way over those years, because God knows every time he's tried to say something to that effect today, he's fucked it all up.
Moments tick by as her breath evens out a bit and at some point, he's no longer comforting her- it's about him, even though he's pretty sure this makes him a selfish asshole once again. Normally, pressed this close to a girl, he'd be using every slick move in his repertoire to claim her; this time, the only move he makes is the one he's wanted to make since he saw her in the truck this morning. His hand leaves her shoulders, ghosting along his hoodie to the center of her spine, then slowly into her hair. He revels for a moment in the warmth it still holds from the waning sunlight before letting skeins of dark brown silk slip through his fingers. Over and over again, he runs his hand through her hair until he's fairly sure he can no longer pass this off as comforting her; he has to say something. Reluctantly, he pulls back until he can search her eyes, his hand falling still at the base of her scalp.
"We- I- missed you too. So much. I don't know how much Opie told you, but things have been rough here lately. You've always been the only one I felt comfortable telling things to, so when you were gone, it was like I suddenly had no outlet, nowhere for all those feelings to go."
"Jackson, I-"
"No, Tara. Stop apologizing for something that wasn't your fault. I'm the one who needs to apologize, I know I've been an asshole today. I know I fucked up, and that's the last thing you needed. I'm sure it wasn't easy coming back, and I could barely talk to you." A look into her eyes confirms his suspicion- he'd upset her, made her cry, even. Christ, that's the last thing he wants to do. "I just… it's not an excuse, Tara, I swear it's not. But when I saw you sitting there, all those feelings I'd had over the years, the shit I haven't been able to say to anyone, all came rushing back. It's like somehow I knew that things were going to be better, but that they were going to get worse, first. I… I don't even know how else to explain it. But I couldn't say anything, I didn't trust myself to say anything, because I didn't want to hurt you."
Taking a shaking breath, Jax drops his hand into his lap- even the small amount of contact they'd had triggers the urge to keep talking, tell her about the buzzing, tingling, shaking mess she's had him in all day, ask her if it's happening to her, too. The thing is, though- he's not sure she's felt it at all (but how can she not be party to this full-body reaction every time they touch?), and he'll be damned if he's going to fall down that rabbit hole alone. "I'm sorry, Tara. I wish I could be more like Opie, I do. He's always so calm, always waits and does the right thing. But me…" She gives him a small, wavering smile. It isn't anything close to the dazzling grin she had for him before, but it's something.
"I don't expect you to change, Jackson. You don't have to be like Opie- the three of us work pretty well together as-is, don't you think? I just want you to tell me when you're angry with me, so-"
"I'm not angry. I haven't been angry. Just… Christ, I don't know- I'm upset, at myself, at the circumstances… but not angry, and definitely not at you." He pins her with what he hopes is his most sincere look, which she seems to accept.
"Well, whatever it is, I just want you to tell me. Like you used to, so we don't have this constant up and down, or back and forth. Whatever this is." She gestures between the two of them. Jesus, he can't tell her he's been alternating between avoiding her and panting after her all day. What she needs is his friendship, not to be the subject of some ill-advised fantasy. Except that's most of the reason they'd been mired in the back-and-forth. Realizing that she's waiting for him to speak, he decides to give her what she can handle- what he can handle.
"It"- he inserts air quotes as he says 'it'- "is mostly Tommy. I don't know if-"
"Opie told me" she says, softly, her green eyes full of compassion, "back at the clubhouse. I'm so sorry, Jackson." This time, she hugs him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his encircle her waist. He fights back the tears that always come when he stops to think about his brother, and buries his his face in her hair to whisper
"I know." And he does know- he knows she cares, knows the intent behind her embrace is pure and comforting- unlike his- knows that if anyone understands, it's her. Almost as if she's read his thoughts, she continues.
"I can't say I know what it's like, losing a brother- I never had siblings or anything. But when I lost my mom, you and Opie were there for me and I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere." And she doesn't. For the next few minutes, they stay, Jax breathing in the scent of her shampoo- of her- Tara never loosening the arms wrapped around his neck. When he trusts himself to speak again, it's a murmur, near her ear.
"After he died, Ope was the only one that stayed, really. It just wasn't the same. Mom was wrapped up in her own world- all she did was smoke cigarette after cigarette and stare at his photo albums. I didn't even see my dad until a couple weeks after the funeral- he checked out worse than mom." Cringing, Jax pulls away from Tara to rub the bridge of his nose. "He was in fucking Belfast more than he was here, club business or some shit. It's always club business. But the most fucked up thing was, once they'd checked out and gotten through the worst of it on their own, it was like Tommy never existed. Hell, I don't think my mom even said his name for nearly nine months." Jesus, he sounds like a goddamn baby, but he can't deny how big of a fucking relief it is to finally say this shit out loud, to have someone listen. Especially Tara. Before he can talk himself out of it, he releases the worst of it, in a rush. "They went from missing him so much they didn't give two shits about me, to fucking normal, just like that. Because that's what you do in an MC, right? You pick yourself up off the floor and you move the fuck on. You don't act like a pussy, even when it's your six-year-old baby brother they're putting in the ground, because showing you fucking care isn't being a leader. Apparently, being a leader is taking off for Belfast and having your head up some other charter's ass."
"Oh, Jackson… I know you don't need me to excuse them, and I won't. But it was unfamiliar territory for them, too. They should have been there for you, and nobody should have to keep things bottled up like that, but don't ever think that your parents don't care about you or don't love you. I know they do. I just think they felt lost, you know? Just like you." The sound of her voice, acknowledging some of the things he'd been thinking over the past year, has exactly the effect he'd hoped it would, but feeling the release of finally being able to call out his parents for their bullshit is even more cathartic, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.
"They're lost, sad, and whatever, Tara. I get that. But they're adults. I'm a fucking teenager, and they're my parents, but the only one I feel comfortable talking about any of this shit with is you. Why is that, Tara?" Jax finally loses the battle to fight back tears and a few escape down his cheeks. Fuck.
"You're right, that wasn't fair to you. They needed to deal with Tommy's death in their own way and neither of them saw that you needed to deal with it in yours. But can you honestly say that nobody else was there for you?" Jax stiffens. He's not the adult, for fuck's sake. "I'm not talking about your parents, here, though I think you need to at least let them know you still remember and care for Tommy, tell them what you're thinking. But Opie loves you too, Jax, like a brother, and he cares just as much as I do about what happens to you." She eyes him nervously, as if he's a grenade she'd just tossed the pin away from. Jax has to take a moment to digest what she's said, but it makes sense. It's just that he likes the way things are with Opie. No reason to change that, especially not when he finally has Tara back.
"I know he cares, Tara. And maybe I should have told him some of this shit, or at least apologized for being a prick. But you… you just… I don't know. You make everything so clear, and you always have. And I don't want to drag you down with all my shit, you have your own shit to deal with. I just want you to know that even though you were gone, even though I've been a dick to you today… Christ, I don't even know how to say this to you. Maybe Ope's right, maybe I am emotionally stunted."
He pulls away to stand up as Tara eyes him cautiously. If he's being honest with himself, not even he knows what he wants to say to Tara, let alone how to say it. If he's being brutally honest, he's pretty sure he loves her- not exactly in the way he loves Ope, and not really in the way JT loves Gemma (he's definitely not ready for some bullshit relationship, though his dick seems to have taken plenty of opportunity today to build a case for the latter). All he knows is that he's never felt more confused in his life and it had all started the moment he saw her sitting in Ope's truck. But how the fuck do you tell your best friend you maybe kind of love her, though you haven't been best friends for years, especially when you can't even put a finger on what the fuck kind of love you're talking about? The answer is decidedly, Jax thinks- you don't. Time to finish this conversation before he gets in even further over his head.
"C'mon, we better keep walking or it's gonna be pitch black." Extending his hand to Tara, he helps her hop off the table and keeps her hand in his as he leads her back to the sidewalk.
They walk in companionable silence for a couple blocks until Jax's conscience tells him she probably could use a listening ear, too. So he asks about her aunt (dead, about which Tara is sad but matter-of-fact), her dad (whom she's seen for a total of about 6 hours other than the disastrously awkward trip up from San Diego), her mom (whose memory apparently still practically haunts her father's house), and her school in San Diego (full of preppy surfer types, though she'd made a few friends and had had a boyfriend, at which Jax bites his lip to conceal his dismay). They pass Opie's house, where the truck sits in the driveway, prompting Tara to sigh.
"It's just so strange, how we've all changed. Years ago, we'd have been riding by here on our bikes to drop Harry off at his house. Now his name is Opie and there's a piece of shit truck in the driveway that's his. And Tara and Jackson would have taken ages to walk up to my driveway, but Tara and Jax…" She trails off, Jax thinks, because not that much has changed. For once, he can tell her exactly what he's thinking.
"I told you, Jackson's fine. And not that much has changed, Tara, but it'd be stranger if nothing had changed, wouldn't it?" As they walk up her driveway and around to the side door, he notices the Cutlass is missing. Rick's out with his buddies, he surmises. "You want me to come in until your dad gets back? Or you can come over to Opie's with me, grab something to eat before he takes me home." She shakes her head.
"No, I need to finish unpacking. I wasn't planning to be out all afternoon, really." They stand there, awkward together for the first time all evening, before Jax pitches forward to hug her once again and she sighs in what he thinks might be relief. He takes the opportunity to bury his face in her hair one more time, which he realizes is a mistake the moment his cock twitches. Careful to keep some distance between their lower bodies, he regrets not being able to pull her to him as tightly as he'd like. But for what? This can't be that. She doesn't need that, he reminds himself. Still, as he releases her, Jax can't resist dragging his cheek along her baby-soft one and touching his lips to it as they pass. He feels her shiver, but it's probably just the cool evening air. Touching his forehead to hers, he whispers
"Don't go anywhere. Please."
"I'm not."
And before he can do something they'd both regret, he takes a moment to file away the vision of her eyes, shining in the streetlight, before backing away and jogging to Opie's house like he's being chased by Mayans.
