The biggest downside to a party at Teller-Morrow was the cleanup afterwards. Food, clothing, glasses, bottles, and drunken bodies were just a few of the things that tended to litter the place. While the cleaning could be tedious, the members typically didn't have to do much of the work themselves. That's what the prospects were for, cleaning up everything from parties to crime scenes.
As Clay made his way through the obstacle course, his eyes scanned the room for one certain person. Seeing as the man was a creature of habit, it didn't take long to find him. Underneath some sweetbutt with his back on the counter, Tig was down for the count. He must have been having a wild night, seeing as he was still fully clothed. For the notorious playboy of the club to pass out before having a happy ending of his own, he had to have been having an off night. Then again, another look at his face showed a large, bruising shiner around his left eye.
Clay had little respect for the usual sort of women that made their way to the club. Pushing the blonde tramp off of the dark-haired man, he then clapped a hand on his arm. "Rise and shine, brother," he said before making his way towards the hallway that lead to the rest of the shop.
Tig groaned, rubbing his eyes and wincing as he attempted to get up. Everything hurt, but the pain on the left side of his face was killer. "Why in the hell are you waking me up?"
"We've got a business to run, Tigger," Clay replied with a grin. "I just want to talk."
With some grumbling and groaning, Tig made his way to the opening of the hallway. "Next time I decide to piss off Ope, remind me not to." Apparently the younger man hadn't taken too kindly to him smacking Zena's rear. Bad move on Trager's part, very bad move. The throbbing pain was bad enough, but his eye was swollen shut, too. Two great additions to his hangover.
"You wouldn't listen to me, anyway. Now stop complaining and follow me," Clay said, waving the other man after him. With some complaints, they made their way to Gemma's office and closed the door behind them.
"What's going on, boss?" Tig asked, propping himself up on the desk. He and Clay had been close for years, and Clay planned on using that to his full advantage.
"You still love me, brother?" the former president asked. He knew that most of the club had lost any and all respect in him after they found out that he had killed Piney, even if they didn't know just how cold-blooded it had been. Tig was one of the few people Clay might be able to use, one who might remember the camaraderie they had shared for so many years.
That was a loaded question for the dark haired biker. He and the man front of him were a lethal combination, but he couldn't respect anyone who made a habit out of betraying brothers. That being said, Tig also had a turbulent relationship with Jax, having respect for him but not necessarily his ideas. "We have a lot of history, man," he answered. It was ambiguous enough, allowing for open interpretation. For Clay to be asking such a thing, he had to be up to something. Knowing about everything that was in the works was something Tig always tried, for both his own safety and that of the club.
Clay took the comment as a sign of brotherhood between them, however small the thread may have been. Tig had always been his right hand, after all. "Very true. So, what would you say about me trying to get the gavel back?"
Red flag, even for Tig's intoxicated mind. Sure, the income for the Sons had dropped since Jax had taken over, but they were no longer risking everything in an attempt to get the higher paying jobs. High risk, high reward wasn't the SAMCRO way of life anymore. They had a steady life and things were going well. If Clay were to take over again, that would it send them right back down the dangerous road they had worked so hard to get off of. The man was a snake and everyone knew it.
Tig decided to play into what Clay wanted to hear, a move that would make Jax proud. "If you think you're up to it, man." Whatever the old man had to believe to keep himself going, it made little difference to Tig.
Nodding with slow deliberateness, Clay took the statement as as a green flag. He and Tig had far too much history for him to simply turn his back on him. Hell, a lot of the blood that was figuratively on his hands was literally on his friends. He wasn't necessarily above using that fact, either. "Well, I have something in the works. Something every bit as big and messy as what we used to get into."
"That's not a good thing, Clay. What's going on in the screwed up head of yours?" Tig asked, brow furrowing as he tried to figure it out. For the former president to say messy, it meant someone was going to die. At least one body, but probably more.
"Same thing as always, brother. Just looking out for the best interests of the club," Clay replied with a subtle smirk, the same devilish look that earned him as much ire as it did favor. "I want to be back at the head of the table. You should be proud of me, Tiggy. I'm choosing the path with the least damage."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Right now, no. But you'll see it all play out. You know me, always having an ace up my sleeve. Then again," he chuckled as he stepped towards the door, hand slowly wrapping around the handle, "all I have to do to make a jack out of the king, is take away the queen."
With that, the white-haired mechanic made his way out of the office, his usual strut carrying him out to the lot of Teller-Morrow. Tig remained in the office, trying to make sense of what his old friend meant. He shouldn't have listened, not when he knew just how trashed his mind currently was. The fact that he was even able to keep up with the conversation was astonishing. Rubbing his throbbing head, he shook his head. If he remembered the words of the other man later, maybe he could figure him out. If not… he would learn what he was up to eventually, right?
With the events of the night before and that morning still at the forefront of her mind, Tara certainly wasn't ready to be back at the Breathing Canvas. Her thoughts were with Jax and Abel. Her family, her boyfriend and son. There were so many implications that came with both of them, all of which had been cycling throw her head with all the force of a hurricane. Sure, she loved her job. Her mind and attention was just not focused on it that day.
People would come and go, setting appointments, okaying designs, or simply looking at her work. The typically exuberant young woman watched them with little concern, no passion. They were all just blurs of faces, patches of ink at had no rhyme or reason. It made her feel terrible, but she couldn't bring herself to fully love the situation she was in that day.
It wasn't like running the shop wasn't already a taxing job. Her plate had already been full. Now? It was overflowing. Running her shop, trying to stay alive, keeping Jax happy and in line, and now helping raise Abel? Little did she know that falling in bed with the king brought the responsibilities of his kingdom to her shoulders as well. Unexpected, but she was strong, stubborn, and empathetic. She could handle it.
Part of that kingdom was assigned to watch over her that day. He wasn't too much of an added problem, though, seeing as he had passed out mere moments after arriving. Not a she had expected any less out of Tig, the notorious party boy of the club. She just wished he would have showered before showing up.
Tig wasn't thrilled about his duties that day, either. All he wanted to do was grab a few beers, head home, and pass out. No, Jax just had to pick him to babysit his new old lady. He was certain the chick could take care of her own, but Fearless Leader wouldn't hear it. Didn't want to risk it, he would say. Yeah, well, Tig didn't want to risk waking up with a new tattoo, either. When did anyone ever care about his needs?
As he slept, the dark haired biker started to work his way through his conversation that morning with Clay. He had been too out of it to fully remember everything that was said, but he was sound enough to realize that his friend was up to no good. His drunken dreams were cryptic, filled with images of blood soaked cards that made no sense to him. Kings, queens, jokers, all floating in blood. When he woke up, he was beyond confused.
Stumbling his way out of the back room, Tig was instantly appreciative of his post. Tara had a pot of coffee brewed already, the heavy scent cutting through the fog of his stupor. Screw oil, coffee was the real black gold. Pouring himself a cup, he ventured to the main room of the shop.
Tara waved one of her client out, pulling the latex gloves off of her hands. People were always so quick to leave once their piece was finished. As she turned and saw Tig standing, face hidden by a mug of coffee, she let out a heavy sigh. When he looked offended, she smirked.
"Oh, don't be such a baby. Drink your coffee and be a good boy, okay?" Tara asked in a rather snarky tone. She resume her spot on one of the stools.
Tig took it as a sign for him to sit, his long gait carrying him over to the chair. Plopping down, he smirked right back at her. "You know as well as I do that women don't like good boys."
"Actually, that's not true. We like good boys, so long as they act bad for us," she replied with a simple shrug. "Like Jax. He might be the big, bad president for you guys. Not gonna lie, I think that side of him as sexy as hell. He just knows how to be a good man, too."
"You really do have him whipped," he said with a sad shade of his head. "Another good criminal, tamed by the almighty power of estrogen."
She shushed him, smacking his leg. "Right, like I could ever tame the infamous Jackson Teller. That's like trying to keep smoke in a cage, Tig. Trust me, he's still the outlaw you know and love."
"I find that hard to believe, seeing how domesticated he's been with you lately. Like last night. How the hell did you manage to get him to take you home, instead of just going to the dorm like everyone else?" He asked, not quite understanding the relationship between the two of them.
Actually, most of the club wondered the same thing. Jax had only been this way with one woman before, and she had left him high and dry. Ever since, he had no shame when it came to taking women where, when, and how he wanted them. New Tara, though, seemed to have the same affect on him that the last one had. Because of that, many of his friends feared that she would leave him the same way. Worse yet, they feared that she would be killed because of him.
Either option led to a heartbroken president, and no one wanted that.
"Aside from the fact that he knows that I'm not a whore? Easy. I didn't make him do anything. He took me home once he realized we could have more fun there and that nursing a hangover in his own bed might be better than waking up on a pool table," she explained with a bit of a smirk.
While she had a valid point, Tig wasn't convinced. Having had enough manipulative old ladies of his own, he never trusted women when they claimed innocence. Then again, this was why he moved away from relationships long ago. Too much baggage for not enough play.
"Not to mention, we had to go home to relieve the babysitter."
Now that, he believed. Jax loved his son more than anything, and usually hated leaving him with others for any longer than necessary. "Alright, alright. Don't take it personally, doll. I learned long ago not to trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die."
"I learned not to trust anyone with more STDs than brain cells, so no hard feelings," she replied with a contemptuous smirk. She had little tolerance for cliches, especially when they came from misogynistic characters like Tig. Sure, it was probably just her inner feminist that balked at the thought of a grown man and father hating women, but she definitely wasn't hiding it.
"Ouch. What did I ever do to you?" he asked, rather offended by her statement. Had to give her props for actually being able to offend him, though. "I usually have to sleep with a woman to get that sort of burn."
"Nothing personal, doll. I just can't stand two-faced people." The shrug that followed her words was so natural, it took Tig a moment to realize what she had said.
"Wait, what?" he said, the thought processing and catching him off guard. He had expected something along the lines of him being a slut or how he treated Zena. Certainly nothing so forthright and confusing. "How exactly am I two-faced?"
"That you even have to ask tells me that you are one of two things: either a professional liar or too thick to realize it," she remarked, straightening on her stool. "I know next to nothing about the history of the club and the people of it, aside from what I've learned from asking questions and what I can see, what you all tell me or what I hear in hushed tones. I've figured out the basics, though. You were Clay's right hand, the one that all of dirty business fell to. Now you're loyal to Jax, acting as his attack dog?" A scoff came from her lips as she pulled her brows together. "Yeah, I call bullshit on that. The only time that sort of about face happens is when someone has you by the short and curlies. I may not look all that bright, but I see enough to know that isn't the case here. What's your angle, Trager?"
Right about now, he was really regretting waking up and deciding to talk to her. It would have been so much simple to nurse his hangover alone. Now? He had to think about what she pointed out. Not nearly the wake-up call he was hoping for. His first answer, "I'm loyal to the club," was generic at best. When her eyes narrowed at him, he knew that generic was only going to piss her off. "Look, Jax and I have had our disagreements. Hell, we've beat on each other a few times. It comes with being in the club and having a mind of your own. He's still the president. I still respect him. As far as Clay goes? You know by know that he's lost touch. I may not be the brightest, either, but I'm no traitor."
His tone had reached such a confident seriousness, Tara knew that he wasn't lying. She hadn't thought he would fall into the trap she had laid, but she was glad that he meant what he said. There was no doubt in her mind that there were some members of SAMCRO that truly would die for their cause, their brothers. Chibs, Opie, Bobby, and now Tig had proved themselves. That being said, she wasn't about to let him off of the hook quite so easily. She'd never admit it, but she had far too much fun messing with the older man.
"Alright, alright. Say I believe you," she started, smirking in a way that made it known that she did. "How am I supposed to know that you won't hurt Jax?"
When Tig started laughing, Tara knew that he knew what she was trying to do. He just shook his head and looked at her, playfully kicking her side. "You're alright, Caston. A bit of a bitch, but I guess you have to be to fit in with all of us assholes in the club, right?"
"Actually, I think you're the only one that's an asshole," she teased before whacking his leg. "But I can be a bitch. You're not so bad yourself, Trager. Aside from being a misogynistic, womanizing, horndog. But hey, nobody's perfect, right?"
"Says the over-analytical feminist," he replied with a grin.
Oil and water on some issues, but they got along alright after their little tiff. Their banter continued for awhile, until both of them ran out of good-natured insults. Eventually the customers started rolling in again, causing Tig to fade to the background with his thoughts. The young woman really was something, and he liked her. The whole club liked her, and Jax was lucky to have her, a woman who might actually be able to keep all of them in line.
Clay's words floated back into his mind, striking him with a bit of insight that he never wanted. Clay wanted to kill Tara, and he would probably ask him to do it. After talking with her, seeing how much Jax loved her, and how much she loved all of the people involved with the club… There was no way. Now it was his turn to make a choice. Confront Clay or tell Jax. He honestly didn't know which one was more dangerous.