Dawn was coming. Jax Teller could see it clearly in the stripes of violet, rose, crimson, and navy that lit up the sky. He hadn't slept all night; neither did Tara. They stood, side-by-side, staring out the window. Jax's hand clutched Tara's as they stared out at the stunning mountain horizon.

Chibs is dead. The words circled around in his mind, and even now, he couldn't believe it. The old man seemed invincible, and Jax thought it would be a heart attack or natural causes that would befall his best friend. Never in a million years did he think it would be a bullet to the head. At this stage of the game, a so-called normal death seemed far more likely. But, Jax reasoned, nothing in his life was normal. It never had been.

"What are we going to do now, Jax?" Tara's voice shattered the introspection. Jax turned and met her gaze. Her hazel eyes were exhausted and swollen from the all-nighter. Crying for hours on end would do that. "Have we figured it out?"

Jax sighed deeply, unsure of the right answer. "Althea is on her way. I don't think it's wise to plan anything in full until she arrives." Tara nodded in understanding. Just hours before, they'd blindsided Chibs' lover with the news of his death.

"What do you mean, Filip is gone?" Althea Jarry's voice was incredulous as it crackled in Jax's ear. "He's not supposed to be back anytime soon." Jax sighed heavily. When he'd said Chibs is gone, that didn't mean he was heading back to Charming.

"He was shot, Althea," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "He's not coming home alive. The bullet made a clean shot through his brain. He's dead. Gone."

A horrified gasp echoed through the other end. It was followed by tears. Savage, agonized tears escaped her throat, and they rang in his ears, causing him to sob harder as he listened. Tara sat next to him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder as she did so. Her tears soaked his freshly changed gray t-shirt. This was a phone call no one wanted to make, but he had to make it. Jax owed it to his Chibs to take care of his remaining family. As her sobbing dissipated, Jax's tears lessened. Tara's didn't. The world she'd carefully constructed had been incinerated by Chibs' death. Her whole world was aflame, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"I'm coming out there," Althea firmly stated. Jax nodded. Of course she would. He had expected that much.

"Is John coming too?" Jax asked. The line went silent for a moment. Jax could hear Althea's logical thoughts through the line. Even death didn't change her talent for analyzing a situation.

"I don't think I have a choice. I don't know how to explain it to Bobby or Tig. Neither one know you're alive, and I know that, if I face them, I won't be able to keep a straight face. I'll break down. As much as I want to shield John from this part of the pain, if I leave him behind—"

"My cover is blown, Althea," Jax returned. "I broke down in front of everyone—as Chibs was in my arms. Tara did too. We—we—called each other by our names, Althea. Our real names." Jax heard a low sigh leave Althea's lips.

"John and I will catch the first flight we can. After I get there, we'll sit down and figure out what to do—Kerrianne has to be notified, of course, but I don't want to do that and blow your cover."

"There's nothing to sit down and discuss as far as our cover is concerned, Althea," Jax said solemnly. "Tara and I are tired of lying. Our kids are grown. Just because we chose WitSec doesn't mean they can—or that they want to. We have to talk to them about it, and that's happening this morning."

"I understand, Jackson," Althea's voice was weary and hollow. "We'll figure out exactly what to do when I get there. Go deal with your kids. I have to break my son's heart."

"Althea, I'm so—"

There was no goodbye, just silence followed by a dial tone. Jax clicked his phone off, and in the hours that passed, the darkest hours before the dawn, he and Tara laid together and simply held one another. The feelings that raged through them weren't all that different from almost twenty years ago, just before Jax struck a deal with Tyne Patterson. Then, it was a struggle to save the boys and the club, but there was this strange hunger, a desperation to hold each other amidst all the insanity. It was no different now. They were together, a united front against a future that was uncertain. It was truly the story of their life.

"I don't know how they're going to understand," Tara said as she rolled to her back. Her hazel eyes were a blank slate. In the years since they entered the Witness Protection Program, Jax had become innately attuned to his wife. Every move, every look, every single emotion was his. They'd truly become mirrored souls. "We've been lying to them their whole lives. Every fucking moral, every goddamned value, is a lie."

"We had no choice, Tara," Jax sighed. He sat up and kicked his legs over the bedside. His back was turned towards Tara, but his wife's eyes didn't move from the stark white ceiling. "Lies or death, what's worse?"

A sharp bark of ironic laughter burned Tara's throat. "Lies or death, Jax? You act like we haven't been balancing the two our entire lives. You act like we broke free somehow."

"Didn't we?" Jax's voice was tortured. "Didn't we give our baby girls and our boys a chance at something?"

"A chance at what? Inevitable death?" Tara asked through clenched teeth. Jax leapt from the bed as if he'd been burned. Tara tore her deadened eyes from the ceiling and stared at her beloved.

"Goddamn it, Tara, did you miss all of tonight?" His blue eyes flashed with icy fire. "Did you miss our son saying I do? Were your eyes blind to Thomas and Will swaying on the dancefloor? They're starting their lives with the ones they love. Our twins, our girls—they're going onto amazing things—Lala to New York and Opie to Raleigh—do you think that's an inevitable death?"

"The only thing we've given them is more attachment. We've made them more vulnerable to pain." Tara was emotionless, cold. Jax remembered this side of her. This was the Tara that caught her with Collette. The same one that caught him with Ima. Those moments seemed like a lifetime ago. They were a lifetime ago. That was a totally different Jackson Teller. He would never dream of that now.

"No, we've given them a chance," Jax countered. He rounded the bed and stood above her. "We did the best we could."

"Is that what our headstones will say?" Tara venomously replied. "They won't have our real names or our real birthdays, but goddamn it, they'll say we did the best we fucking could." The fury rose in her gut, and she wanted to take it out on something. In one night, she went from a blissful wedding to a murder. She had basically outed herself to her kids. In a few short moments, she'd probably ruin their lives and their relationships. Tara Knowles Teller was angry at the situation, at the circumstances, at herself, and she wanted to hurt someone else in the same way she was hurting. Unfortunately, Jax was the punching bag.

She didn't want to think of the future. The possibility of travelling to Charming loomed huge on the horizon. Chibs had to get back there somehow, and they still had to figure out who the fuck was after them now. It was safe to say that WitSec wouldn't want them back now, and that was the only thing that brought Tara any comfort. She could go by her real name again.

"I don't know what you want from me, Tara," Jax whispered. "I can't change this. I can't fix it. If I've learned anything from you over the last eighteen years, it's that I can't make empty promises. If you want a fix-all, I don't have it. All I have is me—and the desire to keep this family as intact as I possibly can."

Tara sat up and twisted her body to face him. Her feet barely touched the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed. Wordlessly, she buried her face in his taut belly. His fingers twined in her hair as she wrapped her arms around him. Jax opened his mouth to speak, but a sob poured from Tara's throat. Before he could figure out she was crying, his shirt was soaked with her tears. He was so heartbroken, he didn't even notice his own tears as they fell on her head.

"I'm sorry, Jax," Tara cried. "I just don't know what to do. I want to kill the bastard that killed Chibs. I want to cut his goddamned throat for fucking up my son's wedding, for fucking up my family, and I—I—"

"You're powerless," Jax stated. Tara turned her beautiful face up to Jax's. He never failed to understand her. Ever. He pulled her to her feet, his handsome face swollen from crying. "I can't stop the madness, Tara. I'd be a fool to try. But I will stand with you as it rains on us. That I can promise you." Tara nodded in understanding and buried her face in his shoulder. It was comforting to be understood.

A knock sounded on the door. Tara looked up from Jax's shoulder. Pale, dim sunlight streamed through an overcast sky, blanketing the room in grayish shadows. Dawn had arrived to the vineyard. Surely, the kids were awake. Tara couldn't imagine any of them sleeping through the night.

"Come in," Jax called. The door swung in, and Hannah and Abel walked through it. Abel was casually dressed in a white t-shirt and well-worn Levis. Barefoot, he walked in ahead of Hannah. Tara's breath caught. His closely cropped hair and five o'clock shadow made him a dead ringer for fresh-outta-Stockton Jax.

Hannah wore a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a purple tank top. A sliver of her tanned belly showed, and over that, she wore a massive black sweater. Tara squinted. She'd gotten Abel the sweater for Christmas the year before. It damned near swallowed his diminutive wife. Her hair was piled in a haphazard, messy bun. She wore no makeup, but she didn't need it. Despite her obvious crying, Hannah still looked somewhat fresh and youthful. Like her husband, she was barefoot. Wide-eyed and obviously nervous, she trailed behind Abel on purpose.

"Good morning, Pop," Abel murmured. "Mama. Did y'all sleep at all?" Jax shook his head in the negative.

"Not really," answered Tara. "Maybe a few minutes here and there. I hope you fared better."

"Hannah got a couple hours," Abel replied. Tara heard the unspoken words. But I didn't. Abel with Hannah was just like Jax was with her: strong, fiercely protective, savage and loving. Even now, she watched proudly as Abel pulled Hannah into the same grasp that Jax held her in.

"We're gonna head down in a minute, son," Jax quietly stated. "Let your mama and I get cleaned up." Abel nodded.

"Luke and Will are already downstairs, trying to eat. I know Opie and—" Abel stopped himself from saying Lucius' name. He knew the boy had stayed all night in his sister's room. Under normal circumstances, Abel would've pummeled the kid himself, but he also knew Opie needed him there.
"Opie is coming down soon. I haven't heard anything from Lala, but if Opie's up, she is too."

Jax nodded. "We'll be down soon, son. We won't keep you waiting." Abel nodded in return. Clutching Hannah's hand, they turned and left, shutting the door behind them.

"That was strange," Hannah whispered as they walked away and headed towards the steps.

"I don't think anything could be possibly normal after last night," Abel said. "I just—I just—I know that man from somewhere." Abel couldn't shake the feeling. Even with the grotesque scene, Abel's gut registered the mystery man's face. The goatee, the jaw, the leather, the never-ending black clothing.

On the other side of the chateau, Delylah Teller stood in front of her mirror, tying her long, dark hair into a bun. Unlike her brother, she was trying to forget the man from the night before. She'd recognized him immediately. The man from the hotel. She shuddered. Sons of Anarchy- California. She'd caught a glimpse of the patches as the coroner loaded him into the awaiting van. Chills ran up and down her spine.She snapped her eyes shut and inhaled deeply.

"Are you okay?" Victor Sinclair's voice bubbled in her ears. Slowly, he walked towards her. Dressed in jeans and a well-fitted black button-down, he looked significantly different from the day prior. God, how I wish he wasn't a gentleman, Delylah thought as he neared. She turned to face him.

"I'm better than last night," she admitted. When everyone dispersed to their separate rooms, she'd been plenty shaken. She'd sought her twin, but a quick listen outside her door told her that her horrified sister would be spending the night in Lucius' arms. That's when it sank in for Delylah: the dead body, the strange names her parents had called one another—but what stuck out more than anything was the loneliness that filled her. She sank to the hallway floor. She wanted to cry, but nothing would come. Complete apathy had set in as she closed her eyes.

"Lala?" It was Victor. She opened her eyes and drank the tall Marine in. He'd changed into flannel pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. "What's wrong?"

Delylah's eyes were wide and haunted, but she simply couldn't speak. She just stared ahead, unsure of everything around her. Victor knelt by her side. Without asking permission, he picked her up. He cradled her easily in his huge arms. There was nothing Delylah could say; she just allowed him to take her to her room.

He opened the door easily, even with her in his grasp. He carefully placed her on the bed. She didn't bother to roll to her side. She just closed her eyes. She felt the sensation of a huge comforter being pulled over her. She opened her eyes. Victor's back was turned as he walked in the direction of the open door.

"V—Vic—Victor," she stammered. Despite the comforter, she was freezing. "P—Please. I don't w—want to be alone. Stay with me." Victor stopped walking. He turned and stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes softening.

"I wasn't leaving you," he whispered. "I was simply closing the door. I was going to sleep in the chair. You shouldn't be alone. Not now."

Lala sat up. "You don't have to do that. You can sleep with me."

A strange light flicked in Victor's eyes, but Victor extinguished it quickly. "I can't do that," he whispered. "It would look terrible if anyone saw us. Even though you're just a kid in my eyes, anyone that saw us would take it for the worst." The lie rolled easily off his tongue. Victor wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Lala and spend the night making her forget anything she'd seen.

"I wasn't asking to bang you, Victor," Lala's voice was tired. "I just need someone to hold me right now. No strings, no weirdness. I just need to feel safe, even if it's with you. I don't give a good goddamn what it looks like."

Damn, she's logical, he thought. If only she were twenty-five. He moved towards the bed. She could feel the weight of his body as it sank into the mattress. Slowly, he tucked the comforter around her, forming a soft, cushioned barrier between them. If Lala hadn't been so traumatized, she would have giggled at his efforts. Instead of laughter, Victor was met with Lala rolling over, turning her back to him. He stretched his arm and placed it carefully over her waist. All the tension within her evaporated, and within moments, Victor had found himself falling asleep to the sound of her rhythmic, dream-filled breathing.

They awoke in the same position they'd fallen asleep. The overcast day reflected through the windows. Victor peeled his arm away from her and moved off the bed. Now standing, he turned to face her. Her chocolate curls were in a crazed disarray, but she was beautiful.

"I'm gonna get dressed," he said. "I'll be back in thirty, then I'll go downstairs with you." Lala sleepily nodded as he turned and walked out the door.

Opie spied the handsome soldier leaving her sister's room. She had been heading towards Lala's room. She didn't let him see her, instead she darted into an adjacent corridor, content to be hidden in the shadows. She was grateful for the cover. It was in that moment she turned around and entered her room. I'll keep your secret, Lala.

True to his word, Victor arrived thirty minutes later.

"Thank you for last night," she said as she finished her messy bun. "I appreciate you staying—even if you didn't want to." Victor's military stance was back. In daylight, without professional make-up and hair, she looked every single minute of eighteen. No matter how I feel, little girl, he thought. You're just too young.

"You're welcome," Victor returned smoothly. "You ready to go downstairs?"

"As ready as I am going to be," Lala candidly stated. She walked towards him. There was a desperate need within her—all she wanted was to repeat the night prior. No sex—just peace. She looked up at him, and when he offered a careful smile, she smiled in return. They didn't speak as they left the room; they just walked out the door and down the steps. An eternity had passed in one night. Though Lala had no idea the turmoil that awaited her, she knew that she could find safety in Victor's arms, and for now, that was all she really needed.