**I own nothing you recognize**
Jax isn't sure whether this has been the best day of his life or one of the worst. Arguably, the time spent with Tara had far exceeded any of his expectations; he's more sure than ever that he's like a goddamn addict when it comes to her, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get enough. He'd taken his fair share of ribbing from the prospects and patched members, alike- every time he's in the clubhouse without her, someone either pantomimes being whipped or dragging a ball and chain- though they've learned to keep most of the pussy whip comments to themselves if Piney's within earshot. And it's all worth it, to him; every minute spent with her blows every minute spent taking shit from Chibs, Otto, Bobby, Tig, Kozik and the rest out of the water. Now that they've actually taken things all the way, Jax doesn't know what could be better than what the two of them have, together.
Still, though, the news that Opie may be moving out of Charming was like a punch to the gut. Jax has faith that his mother- who can talk people into almost anything and strong-arm them into the rest- had been able to talk some sense into Mary, but the whole thing is just a shitty, shitty cherry on top of what's been an up and down couple of days. He's arguably on the best terms he's been in a long time with his old man and JT and Gemma seem to be on the upswing as well; but the utterly stupid house rules Rick Knowles had set forth had led to an even stupider argument between he and Tara, then to his own dumb ass flirting with Melissa Rourke, and then to Tara's eventual suspension. But… all of that had also ended in the hottest, most mind-blowing experience of his life so far. Now this shit about Ope… fuck. He feels shitty carrying this knowledge around while Opie seems oblivious, though it's not his news to share. Jesus. A guy can't even lose his goddamn virginity and have a couple days to revel in it without distractions.
With his mind going a mile a minute, the ride from Tara's to the clubhouse seems to pass in a heartbeat. They'd returned from the cabin in time for Tara to prepare dinner, in deference to at least one of Rick's rules. When Tara's father hadn't made an appearance at the Knowles home by nine and absent any communication or message from the school regarding her suspension, she'd stashed Rick's plate in the microwave and shooed Jax away to ferret out some information about Opie's situation. Though, not before he'd almost convinced her to let him have her one more time; she'd been bending over, tucking her freshly washed sheets into the foot of her bed when he'd pounced, nuzzling all of her favorite spots until she was moaning…but begging him to leave. It had almost killed him, too, to leave her to slide under her sheets alone; though, his rational brain had told him that Rick was at least 3 hours overdue and was apt to return at any moment. He'd made himself feel a bit better, momentarily, by shrugging out of his navy blue reaper tee, covering his undershirt with a zip up hoodie, and tossing it to Tara to wear to bed. He'd had another temporary crisis when the thought of leaving her in his t-shirt and nothing else proved to be almost too much for his dick to walk away from, but she'd reminded him of Opie and he'd reluctantly taken off for the clubhouse with the promise to pick her up a little early the following day.
As he backs the Dyna into his customary spot in the lot, Jax notices that Opie's not here. He hadn't been at home, either- the Winston house had been dark and deserted ten minutes ago, at least- and it doesn't look like Piney or JT are here, either. Well, this could be a bust. Still, may as well wait inside instead of at home alone.
"My God!" shouts Kozik from across the lot, dropping a push broom he'd been holding and clutching his heart, pretending to stagger. "I think I'm seeing things. Could it be? The Prince of Charming without his Princess?" Jax rolls his eyes but grins at the prospect, about to retort when he's cut off by Tig who appears in the darkness of one of the bays, pushing his own broom.
"Nahhh, she probably wised up. Always seemed a little too good for the little prick." Jesus Christ. Always, always, when he's trading barbs with a Son- whether it's a prospect or a patched member- Tig's gotta give his two cents; it's always just that little bit over the line that's enough to piss Jax the fuck off. He grits his teeth as Kozik chuckles in the background, and makes a beeline for the door. "Heard she and Ope are pretty close, though. Is that why both of 'em are MIA tonight, or…."
"Motherfucker!" Jax yells, abruptly changing course and charging towards Tig, who's laughing and raising his arms, beckoning with his fingers for Jax to bring it on. Out of nowhere, Kozik appears to put an arm around Jax's neck, effectively taking the wind out of his sails because he can't fucking breathe.
"Jax, man, calm down." Kozik says next to his ear. "He's a dick and I don't doubt you could lay him out… except he doesn't fight fair from what I've heard. Plus, you ain't gonna do her, Opie, or anyone else any favors by brawling with him. Not tonight. I'll talk to him, tell him your Ol' Lady in Training is off limits." Jax struggles free of Kozik's arm bar as he loosens it and takes several steps back. He guesses Kozik's right; nothing good will come of fighting a Son- not even a prospect- and it's sure as hell going to catch him a lot more shit than it solves, especially with JT. He points a finger at Tig.
"You keep my best friend's and my girl's names out of your fucking mouth. Go back to sweeping up your…" he turns to Kozik. "What the fuck is this, anyway?" Kozik reddens and lets out a huff of air, though Jax can't tell if he's laughing or what.
"Fuckin' silly string. You missed the twenty minutes or so it just took us to squeegee all the lube into that drain over there. Good thing that shit's water-based…" he trails off and Jax raises an eyebrow.
"Do I even wanna know?" Kozik shakes his head.
"Nooope." Chuckling, Jax claps him on the shoulder and heads to the clubhouse, sending a last, emphatic middle finger over his shoulder to Tig. He's looking forward to being a patched member, for sure. But prospecting… the prospects always get stuck with the worst of the duties and take more ribbing and hazing than even Jax or Opie had ever had to deal with. It's a year of his life he's not looking forward to, really, especially as the President's son and first legacy. He knows they're going to cook up some particularly heinous shit for he and Ope to do- especially assholes like Tig. God, he hopes Tig either transfers charters by then or isn't patched in… though JT seems to like him just fine. Dammit.
Jax enters the clubhouse to find it deserted, unusual even for a weeknight; usually, there are at least a few members or hangarounds playing pool, having a beer, or talking business. Then, he catches sight of the Chapel- closed tightly, light showing in the small cracks at the floor and between the double doors. So, they're holding Church. Groaning slightly, he flings himself into one of the cracked leather side chairs in the corner- he's spent time waiting for his father to get out of Church since he was a kid and he can remember particularly tough votes when his mother had packed he and Thomas into the apartment in the back, only for JT to come join them sometime in the middle of the night.
Then, it hits him. His father isn't here- at least his bike hadn't been in the lot, and neither had Piney'- so who had called Church and how were they meeting without either the President or VP? Jax tries to recall another time his father had cut out on Church when he hadn't been in Belfast and can't come up with one; even then, Piney had been here to step in. Troubled, he eases out of the chair and heads behind the bar to snag a beer. No sense in just sitting and worrying when he can blur the edges a bit.
Try as he might, Jax can't hear anything except the low rumbling of voices coming from the Chapel, even in the relative silence of the clubhouse. He's considering easing closer to the door- something that's never crossed his mind until tonight, no matter how badly he'd wanted to know what they discussed in there- when Gemma strolls through the door. She looks a little relieved to see him, he thinks.
"Nobody was at home, so I came straight here. Thought you two would be eating that leftover meatloaf so I ate already… where's your father? Thought he'd be here." Gemma's eyes scan the empty clubhouse although Jax knows she's just as aware as he is that his father's bike's not in the lot. Jax shrugs.
"I dunno, mom. His bike ain't here and all the rest of 'em are in the Chapel." She wrinkles her brow.
"Well, who the hell called Church if your father's not here?" Jax shrugs and raises his hands as if to say I know, right? Gemma purses her lips, continuing to think out loud. "Hell, Piney showed up in Moreno late this afternoon even though I told your father I'd take care of it. Wouldn't say why, just that he thought it was important he be there. He took off before I did, he should be here, too..." She catches Jax's eye and trails off at the look on his face; shit, it must have given away his feelings on this topic, because his mother's now rubbing the bridge of her nose as if she has a headache.
"Why didn't you tell me, mom? I get that you thought it wouldn't matter after today, but don't you think I deserve to know that one of my best friends in the world- the guy I'm supposed to take over this club with some day- might have to leave town because his mom bailed?" Gemma stares him straight in the face, her hands on her hips. Remorse isn't one of her strong suits.
"Christ, Jackson, you think I wanted you to have to worry about this shit on top of everything else? You didn't need Mary's bullshit poisoning things between you and Ope, or you and the club; and trust me, that woman's full of some poisonous bullshit. Hell, it's one reason Piney didn't bat an eye when she finally took off for good- she'd been feedin' Opie shit about how the club is in danger, how he needs to leave now before he starts prospecting and it's too late… Shit this family don't need right now." He shrugs all of that off- he doesn't particularly give a shit what Mary has to say about the club, or his mother's opinion of it.
"That's not the point. Mom. The point is, I wish you'd have told me this was going down; even more so, I wish someone had told Opie. We could've… I dunno. Done something. Said something; something to help convince Mary to let him stay. Hell, I don't even know if he is stayin'. Where the hell is he now?" Suddenly fearful the next words out of Gemma's mouth are going to be I'm sorry, baby… Ope had to stay with his mom, Jax finishes his beer with a gulp, banging the bottle on the bar as he does so. Avoiding his mother's eyes, he waits for her response. Hearing none, he asks again, more quietly this time. "Mom. Where's Opie?" She meets his eyes, shakes her head slowly.
"I don't know, baby. He didn't come out to Moreno with Piney. I thought he'd be with you." Jax's heart resumes what seems to be a normal pace. She hadn't mentioned him having to stay… He allows hope to begin coursing through his veins.
"Is… is Mary makin' him stay, then?" Goddammit. His voice sounds a lot more tremulous than he'd wanted it to; Gemma seems to notice and practically rushes around the bar to fold him in her arms.
"No, baby. She's not. I'm so sorry, I should have said that first." Christ, he can't believe how relieved he is; all he can really respond to Gemma with is a shaky-
"Yeah." She pulls back a bit, frames his face with her hands.
"Opie's not goin' anywhere. The two a you are this club's future and there ain't a goddamn ex-Old Lady in California that's gonna change that." Jax nods, not sure what else to say. "Now…" it's clear from his mother's tone of voice that the subject is closed, at least for now. "Let's get you somethin' to drink besides beer while we wait for your father." Jax rolls his eyes a bit but lets his mother fuss over him; sometimes, he has to admit, it's nice to be reminded that his parents care about him. Soon, he hears motorcycles approaching and is watching as Gemma rummages through the bar fridge when Opie stalks into the clubhouse, Piney on his heels.
"Did you know?" He demands without preface, halting inches from Jax's position at the bar. Jax shakes his head, swallows before answering; this isn't good…
"No, Ope. Dad just told me this morning, I swear." Jesus, he's never seen Opie this pissed off- it feels shitty. Shittier, since it's currently directed at him. Opie's face reddens even deeper, which Jax hadn't known was possible.
"This morning? The fuck, Jax? We spent all goddamn afternoon together and you didn't think that maybe the fact that my deadbeat mom wants me to fucking move was something you should tell me?" Piney steps between them, a hand on Opie's chest.
"Goddammit, I told ya before, son. I asked John not to say anything to Jackson- not that he goddamn listened. I wanted to clear shit up with your ma before I got ya all riled up like ya are right now." Opie's eyes hadn't left Jax's the entire time- not even now, when Piney's propelling him back a bit.
"Still shoulda told me." He shifts his glare to Piney. "Both a' ya. I got the right to know." Piney sighs.
"You sure do son, but look at all this. You're not even leaving and this still caused a damn shitstorm. Imagine if the two a' ya had found out before we'd had a chance to convince her to let ya stay?"
"Opie…" Gemma interjects, sharply. "Look at Jackson. He was just as twisted up by this as you are. He just figured it was up to your Pop to tell you, whichever way it went. It wasn't his secret to share." How the fuck does she do that? Study him for a few moments and then come up with exactly what it is he'd been thinking? Opie's eyes slide over to his, a little less sure of his outrage than he had been before. Jax seizes the opportunity and nods earnestly.
"They're right, Ope. I figured Piney would tell you today, once my mom got back. If he didn't, I was gonna. That's why I'm here, actually; you weren't at home, so I figured you'd be here." Opie's calmed a little bit, but Jax can tell he's still pissed. Fucking great.
"Naw, man, I was over at the diner, getting' told how lucky I am that my mom isn't taking me away from the only home I've ever known. How goddamn great it is that I'll be here- at the table someday- with my best friend. You know, the one who finally started fucking talking to me but only when it has to do with our other best friend; because apparently, when it's shit about anybody else that's on a need to know basis, I still don't goddamn need to know." Opie's always been stubborn, almost as bad as his old man; still, he's usually one of the most reasonable and laid-back people Jax knows. This shit with Mary must have hit him hard; Christ, how's he supposed to fix this? Glaring at Gemma and Piney, who look defiant and nonplussed by turn, Jax fumbles for something to say next. He's opening his mouth to suggest that just maybe, Opie's reaction right now is the reason nobody'd said anything to him, when they all jump as the clubhouse door bursts open and hits the wall.
JT heads straight for the double doors of the Chapel without acknowledging the scene before him: Piney between Jax and Opie- both boys leaning towards each other in exasperation- Gemma behind the bar, her chin raised towards the ceiling, arms crossed in front of her. All of them are frozen in silence as he crosses the room; there's something different about him, something… off. At first, Jax isn't able to discern what it is from his back but when JT makes the slight turn towards the Chapel doors, he realizes he's limping- just barely; his jeans are torn-shredded, really- from one knee down, and his whole calf is bloodied. He's carrying his kutte over one arm- Jax doesn't think he's ever seen his father enter the clubhouse without it on. There's blood streaked there- on his opposite arm- too. He pushes his way through the Chapel doors just as he had the main door to the clubhouse and all the voices within come to a halt.
"Shit," Piney growls, and lumbers off after him and into the Chapel. Opie's still staring at him; all traces of anger wiped from his face as his eyes widen, his mouth working as if to say something- only, nothing comes out. The wind's taken out of Gemma's sails as well. She's leaning forward, gripping the inner edge of the bar as if it's the only thing keeping her standing. Jax doesn't think he's ever seen his mother look this pale, this… lost. What the fuck happened? Before he can say anything, Gemma pushes off the bar and makes her way out from behind it- her focus on the Chapel, her intent clear. Before she makes the wood floor of the clubhouse, she turns awkwardly on a high heeled boot and her leg wavers. Opie springs into action moments before Jax and slips an arm around her waist.
"I'm fine sweetheart," Gemma manages in a strangled voice that indicates that she, most likely, is not fine. "I need to get to him."
"That ain't a good idea, doll." Tig's voice echoes across the large room- he and Kozik are standing just inside the doorway. "They're in Church; we ain't even allowed in there. Give 'em a while to figure this out." Figure what out? Gemma's voice, again, echoes his own thoughts.
"Figure what out, Tiggy? I just watched my Old Man barely make it across the floor of this goddamn clubhouse, covered in blood. He needs help, he needs m-"
"No. No, he doesn't, not right now. He needs his club, needs them to know what happened so they can put it right. He needs Chibs to take a look at wherever he's bleeding from. Then he'll need ya. Because from the looks of him… whatever happened, he'll need to bury himself in his Old Lady before the night is out, but you gotta let him take care a business first, Gem. C'mon." As Jax watches the usually abrasive prospect gently take his mother's arm to ease her away from Opie and towards the couch, he feels a bit of begrudging respect for the man. Not many people can talk Gemma down from something she's determined to do- not even his father, usually- and somehow, Tig had found the right mixture of harsh reality and soothing words to placate the most obstinate person Jax had ever met. As Tig helps his mother lower herself onto the couch, Jax turns his attention to Kozik, still near the door.
"What the hell happened?" Kozik shakes his head, much as he had earlier in the lot.
"I don't know, kid. My best guess, from the looks of JT and his bike? He laid it down, somehow. Bike's all scraped up on one side, but not horrible; his leg's all ate up, too, and his arm. Thing I can't figure, though, is all the blood on his chest and his right side." Jax raises an eyebrow; he hadn't noticed much besides his father's limp and the blood on his leg, and even that had taken him a minute. "The way I see it, there has to have been a reason he wiped out. It doesn't look like anything major, and the only way that much blood is on his right side is if there was someone else involved." Holy shit.
"Someone else?" Opie's already asking, behind him.
"I don't know, man. It just looks like he might have had to beat someone down or some shit. And that's just a guess." Jax stares at Kozik, who's looking right back at him. Shit seems to make sense, and Kozik's got no reason to lie.
"Why were they all in Church, without the Pres and VP?" Kozik shrugs, again.
"I don't know that either, kid. They all showed up about the same time- right around six. Didn't seem concerned about anything; a couple croweaters showed up and then that shit with the, uh, lube happened… which might have been Tig's idea, but everyone had a good laugh." Jax shifts impatiently and Kozik hurriedly continues. "Anyway… Clay took a call on the garage line about then and told everyone JT had called Church. Then he kicked out all the hangarounds and croweaters. That's all. Nobody seemed to think it was strange, Clay's had to do that shit before when JT was in Belfast." Kozik pauses, seems to be working something out. "Actually, I'd lay odds your old man was headed back here to meet them at the table, and then got held up by whatever the fuck happened." Jax nods, briefly. It all sounds plausible. It's just… that's not the way SAMCRO works- at least not to his knowledge. The President calls Church, everyone heads in to the table at the same time, and not without him. Right?
Suddenly, Opie's hands are on his shoulders, shaking him a bit. Jax turns to find suspicion in his eyes, too… and compassion. True to character, Ope doesn't put whatever he's thinking to words, not in front of Gemma, Tig, and Kozik; he just eyes Jax cautiously and pulls him into a brief, stiff hug.
"He's alright, bro. You saw him, just a little bit of road rash is all. They'll figure it out." Kozik looks relieved and excuses himself to grab a couple beers and sit with Gemma and Tig. Opie fishes in his hoodie pocket a moment, then produces a pack of Reds. "Smoke?" Jax nods, unsure he trusts himself to say much at the moment. With a last glance at the Chapel doors, still shut tight, he follows Opie onto the lot.
They sit at the picnic table in silence for several minutes, smoke and unanswered questions filling the air around them until it feels what Jax can only describe as heavy. Jax can see JT's bike a distance away, the side facing him scraped up as Kozik had claimed. Opie seems to follow his gaze, then sighs, pushing his beanie back to scratch his head.
"You think that's what happened?" Jax doesn't answer at first, just shifts his eyes back to his father's Panhead- blue where most of the others are black. JT owns a newer model Electra, but Jax can't remember seeing him ride it after Thomas had died. It's been sitting in the Teller garage under a tarp and Jax had thought briefly he might receive it on his sixteenth birthday, but it continues to sit as his father rides the classic bike instead. He wonders, briefly, if that will change when JT inevitably has to repair what appears to be mostly cosmetic damages to the Panhead.
"Jax." Shit. Opie had asked him a question- he seems to be glossing over their earlier argument and Jax needs to run with it because he doesn't know how he's going to deal with whatever is up with JT at the same time he's dealing with being in the doghouse with his best friend. He sighs.
"I dunno. It makes sense, I guess. At least about him laying the bike down because someone was after him or fought him or something…" He raises his eyes to Opie's, who doesn't look convinced.
"Yeah. What's weird is that he was riding alone and everyone else was back here. From what my dad said, they have a lot of shit coming up. He wouldn't say what, but he even told me not to ride alone until it's taken care of. At least not outside Charming. So where was JT, and why was he by himself? Why would he call church and then not show up for an hour?" Opie's questions echo in Jax's head. Yeah. That's what he wants to know, too. He shakes his head at Opie and lights another cigarette, then has a thought and almost burns his hand.
"Shit!" Shaking his hand in frustration, Jax tosses the lighter onto the picnic table, then shoves his hand into his hoodie pocket. He lowers his voice, eyeing the clubhouse door. "What if this has somethin' to do with my dad and Clay, whatever their beef is?" Opie strokes his chin, smoothes his beard with large fingers.
"Somethin'… like what, Jax? Clay was here, you heard Kozik. It couldn't've been him JT was fighting with. At least not when he laid his bike down." Jax shakes his head.
"That's not what I mean, really. Whatever they're arguing about, whatever shit happened between them … what if it finally came to a head?" Opie shrugs.
"Maybe. Maybe Clay's a part of it, maybe not, but at least we both know he didn't attack JT. The rest… we're just gonna have to keep our ears open." Jax stubs out his cigarette and runs his hands through his hair- once, twice, then keeps his head down as he mumbles his next words at the table.
"Even if we do manage to figure this shit out, it's not like we can do anything about it. They'll all just lock themselves in the Chapel and argue about it like they do everything else." He raises his head to see Opie glaring at him.
"That's bullshit, Jax. Whatever the shit with Clay and your old man is, it involves your mom. It could involve my old man- you're forgetting; he wasn't here either. What if he was supposed to be with JT tonight? What if whoever fought him wanted to screw with the President and the VP? I don't fucking know what's going on, or what all these goddamn secrets are, but I ain't gonna let it mess with my family. I'm here because I'm gonna be on your left one day, but that only happens if your dad- and mine- stays whole and the club doesn't get torn apart by whatever this bullshit is." So now Opie wants to be his VP again?
"I thought-" Opie cuts him off, evidently knowing after years of friendship what he's about to say.
"Forget what you thought. Forget what I said earlier, I was pissed at you; but we can't turn into JT and Clay. And whatever is goin' on- whether we figure it out or not- it ain't gonna come between us, or the club. We can't solve their problems for them but we can make sure we- you, me, JT, Pop… hell, Gemma, Donna, and Tara, too- get through it." Nodding, Jax exhales. Ope's right. They might be sixteen and not even prospects yet, but JT had asked him for faith and that's what he'll get- faith and a son that'll have his back.
"JT said this next couple of weeks is big for SAMCRO. I don't know what move they're making but its supposedly one that gets the club back on the right track- whatever that is. He couldn't tell me much but he said it was important… important enough that your mom is comfortable letting you stay, so that we can prospect one day in a club he's proud of. I don't know what all that means, but I do know that shit's going to go down. Maybe this is just the start of that happening, but we gotta be ready for whatever. And we don't leave the girls alone until JT gives us the clear." Opie starts, suddenly, his eyes flying to Jax's.
"He say that? I mean, about the girls?" Jax shakes his head.
"Naw, not in so many words. He said he'd have talked to Rick himself about Tara's suspension but that he'd be busy and he put it to me to make sure she's safe. I just figure that extends to everything else, don't you? Opie nods, apparently lost in thought.
"What're you gonna do? I mean, Donna… she doesn't know shit about the club, not yet. And I'm not introducing her to it now, not with this shit going on; she'll be suspicious if I start stickin' to her like glue in the evenings. She lives up north, too, in a nice-ass neighborhood and her old man's protective as hell…" He trails off and Jax understands Opie's convincing himself that Donna's going to be fine if he keeps things on an even keel. Hell, she probably will be. But Tara, on the other hand…
"Tara's old man ain't worth a shit, he doesn't even lock the door half the damn time. Even though he's sober now, he's probably a worse father than he was before, if that's possible. If he cares about her, he has a shitty way of showing it. We can't ask your old man to keep an eye on her any more than he already does and definitely not with this club shit going on. It ain't fair to ask you, either."
"You know I will, bro." Jax nods, smiling.
"I know, Ope. And I know you love her, too, you're practically her brother. But she's my girl, and my responsibility. You know?" Opie bobs his head once, briskly.
"Yup. Except, her old man hates your ass. So how do you get around him?" Jax spins the lighter, thoughtfully, mulling over Opie's question before responding.
"We stick together after school," he says, finally. "And if her old man's home, she goes back there and follows his rules in the evenings. Once he's in bed, though… I park at your place and she lets me in through her window. We lock her door- though Rick barely acknowledges her even if he is in the house so it probably won't even matter- and she rides to school with me like always." Opie studies him carefully, his eyes narrowing, a small grin curling the corners of his lips.
"You sure you ain't just tryin' to get laid?" Christ. Jax can't stop his face from flooding with red and Opie quickly looks away, rolling his eyes. "Oh for fuck's sake. Forget I said anything. A'ight, bro, do what you gotta do, park in my driveway. Just don't get yourself caught, because Rick'll be up my ass the minute he's done kicking yours." Jax closes his eyes momentarily.
"Whatever this shit is the club's trying to pull off…I know they'd want Donna and Tara safe. And I think you're right; Donna's got a family. But Tara doesn't, not really, and everyone in town knows whose kid she is, what an asshole her old man is. They also know whose girl she is, which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what the club's up to. I just need to do this, Ope. At least until my dad gives the all clear, you know?"
"Yup" is all Opie replies, but his gaze is firm and Jax is filled with relief that they're back on the same page again. Suddenly, raucous laughter emanates from the clubhouse and both Jax and Opie's heads jerk towards it; the Sons are out of Church.
They make their way back into the clubhouse tentatively, halting when they see the entirety of the club standing at the bar, Tig pulling beers from the fridge and Kozik pouring Jameson into a long line of shot glasses. Jax spots JT sitting at the end of the bar, his arm around Gemma, who still looks ill. Kozik had been right- there's blood all over the chest of his blue flannel and smeared down his right arm below where his sleeve's rolled up, while it's clear from the raw skin and ripped clothing that he'd gone down on his left side. The members all grab a shot glass and a beer each, and Clay slides one down to JT, who nods and picks it up, his eyes never leaving his Sergeant At Arms. Just as JT had made a toast when Clay had returned from Ireland, Clay picks up his whiskey and clears his throat.
"To our Pres, my business partner and one of the toughest bastards I ever met. He made it through the jungles of 'Nam- along with myself and the old man here-" he tilts the glass at Piney, who doesn't blink "- and today laid his bike down, barely got a scratch." Jax begs to differ- his old man looks a little worse for the wear- but Clay continues. "Not to mention, he put a hurtin' on the goddamn Mayans that jumped him. I think there's more of that bastard's blood on ya than there is ya own." Jax clenches his fists. Fucking Mayans. He should have known. "To John- JT- who has more lives than a damn cat." Clay chuckles and raises his glass, followed by the rest of SAMCRO. They drain their glasses and a flurry of shouts arise. "To JT!"
Once the toast dissolves into laughter and talking once again, Jax notices his father swipe the bottle of Jameson and hoist himself off the bar stool. He raises his chin at Chibs, who nods and fists his beer. Together, the two retreat to the apartment, Gemma trailing behind them. Meanwhile, Piney slides his shot glass back towards Tig and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before shuffling towards the door, Jax, and Opie.
"Time to go, son," he rasps, not meeting Opie's eyes before pushing through the door. Opie tosses Jax an apologetic shrug, and Jax claps him on the shoulder.
"It's a'ight, man. I'll see you tomorrow." After I find out what the hell happened to my old man. Ope's out the door and the remaining club members are pouring another round of shots as Bobby sings along to some Elvis song someone queued up on the jukebox. Nobody spares Jax a glance as he slips down the back hallway and towards the apartment.
The door is cracked open and Jax briefly considers staying in the hallway and listening in but nobody's talking. There's no sound whatsoever except for JT's occasional hisses of pain as Chibs- seated in the rolling desk chair- works at using a surgical-grade tweezers to remove small bits of what Jax assumes to be tar and gravel from the large, weeping sore that covers the majority of his left calf. His destroyed jeans appear to have been cut just above the knee and from Jax's vantage point in the hallway, his father's elbow appears to have taken the brunt of the impact for his upper body; it looks bloody and sore, but has significantly less debris than the leg wound.
Jax slips inside the apartment and closes the door behind him; all three adults look up sharply- Chibs is the first to look away, returning to his work. Then, JT closes his eyes and takes a swig of the Jameson he's clutching, while Gemma stands from the small side chair she's sitting on and crosses the room to fold Jax into her arms. He hugs her briefly, then pushes her away, gently. That's not what he needs. He needs to know what the hell happened to his father, and not some wedding-toast version of events, either.
"C'mon, baby. Why don't you go lie down in-" she halts as Jax steps past her and towards the bed his father's reclined on.
"What the hell happened, Dad?" JT's eyes open slowly, as if he's hoping the longer he can keep them closed, the longer he can avoid Jax's question. He sighs.
"You heard Clay…" JT's voice trails off and he takes another pull from the bottle of whiskey. Jax shakes his head.
"C'mon, Dad. Clay… he wasn't there. You were. I wanna know, I can handle it." There's a long pause before JT speaks, his eyes closed once again.
"I was headed back from Oakland, from a meet with the Mayan president-"
"Alone?" Gemma interjects, incredulous. JT nods, slightly, his head still on the pillow.
"It was part of the deal. One on one, keep your weapons, opposite sides of the street. If there's one thing I've learned about Alvarez over the past couple years, it's that he's a rule follower by definition. His club may have beef with ours, but he's not about to start a goddamn war by gunning down the President of SAMCRO and leaving the VP, Sergeant At Arms, and everyone else to retaliate."
"Exceptin' he did, brotha." Chibs grumbles without looking up from his work, his scars appearing to deepen as he scowls at JT's leg. You cannae trust those filthy-"
"But that's what doesn't make sense to me, Chibs. Why would Alvarez have a couple guys lay in wait for me when he could have killed me where I stood thirty minutes earlier?" Chibs apparently doesn't have an answer for this and falls silent as JT continues to think aloud. "I got most of the way to Lodi when two guys popped out of nowhere along the side of the road. They got me at least twice and I hit some gravel at the same time, I think. Christ, I tried, but I just couldn't keep upright and once I laid my bike down, they were on me before I could think. I broke one of their noses before he took off on me, but the other one drew down. I thought I was dead right there, but the first guy yelled something in Spanish at him and I got a quick shot off when he was distracted. But fuck... I could barely see- my head was ringing from when I'd hit the ground- I could barely even hold my goddamn gun. I think I grazed him somewhere because he freaked the fuck out and took off running. I got a couple more shots off as they rode away but like I said, I wasn't worth a shit at that point. If I hit 'em, it wasn't fatal and they kept riding." Gemma sinks back into her chair, tears filling her eyes.
"Oh my God, baby. What if they'd shot you?" At this, JT sits up, grimly.
"They did. That's what I meant when I said they got me. That's why I went down- well, one reason." Chibs slides back in the chair as Jax watches his father pull his shirt over his head to reveal a black vest. Kevlar. Holy shit. Jax had never known his father to wear a vest but he's fucking grateful he'd chosen to wear it tonight. JT unstraps the vest and lifts it over his head to reveal a series of three, purpling bruises running diagonal across his chest from left pectoral to right collarbone. How had he not noticed holes in his father's shirt; then again, Jax guesses he'd been focused on his leg. Chibs releases a low whistle.
"Jayyyysusss Christ, brotha. If ye wouldn'ae had tha' vest on…" Chibs' voice fades away as Gemma, clearly having come to the same realization, claps her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I know." JT replies, settling back on the bed so Chibs can apply salve to his wound and working his jaw. "Trust me, I know."
"We gotta retaliate fer this shite, brotha. We cannae let this go" Chibs bites, fiercely. JT closes his eyes again, exhaling deeply, though Jax can't tell whether it's because of the pain or because of whatever's on his mind.
"I know, but first, we gotta think very carefully about what we're doing. Like I said in Church, this whole thing doesn't seem like Alvarez's MO, to me. Before we retaliate, we gotta make sure it was a Mayan hit." Gemma swipes quickly at her eyes and leans forward in her chair.
"But you said one of 'em spoke Spanish to the other. If that ain't Mayan, I don't know what is."
"Gem… Neither of those guys had kuttes on- the only thing tying them to the Mayans is the Spanish and even that's sketchy. Half of goddamn California speaks Spanish. if I've learned one thing dealing with all these other MCs, clean cops, dirty cops, the Feds… it's that if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it still ain't guaranteed to be a goddamn duck." For once, Jax is thankful to be practically invisible to the adults in a room- it's like they've forgotten he's here, and his mind is working over what his father's just said. If he doesn't think it's a Mayan hit, then who? He'd mentioned other clubs, the cops… a dirty cop, perhaps? Or maybe someone closer to home…
"I'm bringing the retaliation- well, waiting on retaliation- to the table tomorrow morning, brother." His father's addressing Chibs again. "Until then, I'd appreciate you keeping this to yourself, let the rest of them have a good time. They got enough shit to worry about with our little Irish problem on the horizon." Chibs finishes wrapping JT's leg in gauze, then looks up and nods earnestly.
"Ye got ma' word, brotha." Jax has always liked the Scotsman, and after watching this interaction and realizing just how his father trusts him, he feels the basis for trust of his own forming. Chibs pushes the chair back one last time and wipes his hands on the clean rag that's been draped across his thigh. "There ye be. Ah'll check it again tomorrow. Fer now, put away a litt-le more o' that Jameson and call me in the mornin' " Chibs' grin blooms as large as it can between his scars and JT returns it.
"Thanks, man. Really." Chibs nods one more time and edges past Jax to clean up, himself. As the door closes behind him, Jax watches as Gemma crosses the room to kneel next to the bed and cradles JT's cheeks in her hands.
"Jesus Christ, baby," she breathes. "This shit's gotta stop. I can't-" she glances at Jax "-we can't lose you." His father turns his head slightly to press a kiss to her forehead.
"You won't. We'll figure this out like we do everything else. For now, though-" his eyes find Jax, still hovering near the door "-it's late and we need to get to bed. Jackson, you're staying in the spare dorm room, you can stop home and shower in the morning before school. Gem, you alright with stayin' here? My bike ain't gonna be in any shape to ride and I know you got the cage but I'm just not up to it right now." Hesitantly, Gemma nods, smoothing JT's hair away from his face.
"Yeah. I'm OK, baby. I'll just wash up before we turn in. I think I still got some clothes here from last time we had a lockdown." She stands before pointing a long nail at Jax, in warning. "Don't let me catch you out there with the rest of those assholes. You got school in the morning. Now get goin', and keep your ass in that dorm room and go to sleep." Effectively dismissed, Jax turns partially towards the door before stopping in his tracks. Then, he can't seem to stop himself from stalking over to the side of the bed, leaning down, and giving his father a third hug in the past eighteen or so hours- certainly more than he'd willingly given in the past year as a whole. Abruptly, he pulls back, blinking back tears as he surveys, once again, the line of bruises that would certainly have meant his father's death if not for a thin piece of Kevlar.
"I'm glad you're OK, Dad." His father's eyes are suspiciously shiny, but Jax smiles despite himself.
"Me too, son. G'night." Smiling faintly himself, he pauses to hug Gemma before heading towards the door.
"Love you guys." Christ, he's acting like a damn six-year-old, but he can't help it as he draws the door closed on the two people that brought him into the world. He can't distinguish whose voice is whose as they respond through the door-
"Love you, Jackson."
Nearly an hour later, he's lying fully clothed on his back in the darkened spare dorm room, alternately listening to the water next door run and trying to catch bits of his parents' conversation. It's not until it's quieted down considerably in the main clubhouse- he figures most of the guys have gone home or turned in themselves since tomorrow's a workday at Teller-Morrow- that he's able to latch on to the quiet thread of dialogue drifting through the vent. It's probably compounded by the fact that the vent in the other room is directly over the bed as well- had they been anywhere else in the apartment, he'd probably have missed it. Still, the word "ambush" catches his attention, as does most of what comes after it.
"ambush. Not the Mayans, I guarantee you that much, Gem."
"But who, if not them? The Niners have been wrapped up in their own pile of shit, according to you, and most of the Russians are in jail. Plus, you said they spoke Spanish, right?"
"Right. But they didn't have kuttes on. I don't think that was because they didn't want to be identified. If they were meant to kill me, they wouldn't have bothered to hide their affiliation. Besides, like I said, if Alvarez wanted to kill me, I think he'd have done it when he had the chance. I think these guys were paid off, and Alvarez would be smarter than to choose someone that could be traced back to him. It's gotta be someone that wants us to think it's brown." Jax breathes deeply, trying to sort what he's just heard.
"Who, though? Some club that would benefit from a war between the Sons and the Mayans?"
"Possibly. Or…" The silence stretches out interminably, and Jax wonders for a moment if his father had continued, too quietly to be heard. Then- "Or someone in the club who knew the terms of the meet- knew the location, the time, and the route I'd have to take. Someone who was aware of when I left O'town because I called back here to call Church and told him I was headed this way." Jax didn't even have to listen to Gemma's answer, because the same name had imprinted itself on his brain like a hot, searing brand.
"Clay." Holy, holy shit. Just like that, his father had all but confirmed the murky suspicions that had been swirling in Jax's head ever since he'd started trying to piece things together weeks ago. He half-listens to JT caution Gemma that this was all speculation, that he needed to look into things before bringing his suspicions to the club; his mind is reeling with the thought of a Son setting up another Son, desperately grasping at some reason, any reason why… clearly, if it's true, it has to do with whatever the two of them had disagreed about- something involving Ireland, Mayhem, Gemma… it's all too much. Too fucking much.
Suddenly, he remembers his earlier conversation with Ope, his promise that he'd make sure Tara was kept safe and out of the shitstorm that was SAMCRO for the time being. He's simultaneously hit with the need to be near her- to draw comfort from her- that's set up residence in the pit of his stomach; he fucking aches with it and despite what Ope had said earlier, he knows it's not about the physical. Decision made, he fumbles with the desk drawer in the dark for a scrap of paper and a stubby pencil, and scrawls a quick note to his parents- well, Gemma, really. Went to Ope's, see you tomorrow. If she calls the Winston's, he reasons, Opie will notice his bike in the drive and cover for his ass. Piney, well… he'd have to hope Piney'd be on his side, too.
Stealthily slipping out of the spare room, Jax pauses outside the apartment door in time to hear his father's voice, which appears to be slipping off into sleep.
"Baby…when you open up the office tomorrow, make sure Lowell's ass is in here first thing. Ain't no one I trust to work on the Panhead but him."
"Mmmhmm" is Gemma's only response. After several seconds' silence, Jax deems it safe to slide the note under the door and makes his escape up the hallway and into the clubhouse. He was right, earlier- almost everyone has either cleared out or passed out. In fact, the only soul he sees in the main room is Chibs, who appears to have passed out on the couch, his reading glasses still resting on the lower bridge of his nose.
In the lot, most of the bikes are gone- including Clay's, which Jax notes with some relief. Apparently, hardly anyone had seen fit to crash at the clubhouse with a full day of oil changes and brake jobs looming in the hours ahead. He mounts his own bike and makes the trip to Tara's in near-record time.
The Winston house is dark, and Jax sends up one more shred of hope that Opie will cover for him before hanging his helmet from the handlebars and walking the half-block to Tara's. Her house is dark as well, and the Cutlass is in the drive; Rick's home, he thinks, with an inward groan. As he crosses the lawn, trying to stay in the shadows, he's struck with panic at the thought that Tara might have locked her window. Shit. What the hell's he going to do then? Probably head back over to Opie's and crash on the couch, though it sure as hell isn't what he wants to do. Gingerly, he pushes up on the windowsill and his knees go weak with relief when it slides easily upward.
Jax takes a moment to peer inside and can make out Tara's form, huddled under her comforter, facing away from him. As smoothly as he can manage, he hoists himself inside the window for the second time today and closes it gently; he toes off his shoes and quickly sheds his hoodie and jeans- leaving his chest bare since Tara's ostensibly still wearing his shirt he'd given her hours before. All he wants to do is bury himself under the covers with her, but at the last second, he remembers to creep across the room and lock the door.
Tara doesn't stir, so Jax takes a moment to gaze at her, revel in the calm she's already brought him just by being in her presence. He thinks for perhaps the hundredth time since her return how amazing, how remarkable it is that she has this effect on him. Most sixteen-year-olds in the world don't deal with outlaw motorcycle clubs, potentially rogue Sergeants At Arms, fathers who've been shot, or half the other shit he's shouldered today alone; how crazy is it, then, how ironic that he, of all people, is lucky enough to be on the receiving end of this insane ability she has to heal him, heart and soul? He knows if he thinks much more about it, he might start thinking of all the ways he could lose her, so he lightly strokes her cheek and kisses her forehead.
Tara's eyes flutter open and if she's frightened he's appeared in her room in the middle of the night, she doesn't show it. Instead, she smiles, slightly, and pulls him closer. He breathes deeply into the kiss, takes her into himself as much as possible, before he finally has to draw back and whisper.
"Can I stay? I locked your door, parked at Ope's, and if you want I'll climb back out and pretend I'm just showing up in the morning when it's time for school." He thinks he's covered all his bases, considers telling her about JT, Clay, Opie… but it's too much right now. For both of them. Tara's eyes are at half mast, so he kisses her again- he wants to make sure she knows what's going on. "Tara. Please. I… I need you." She nods, almost imperceptibly, and reaches blindly for his hand; when she finds it, she gives it a tug, her eyes never leaving his.
"Stay."
Silently, he crawls in next to her, presses his forehead to hers and draws her leg up over his hip. Sighing in relief, he's dead to the world before she has a chance to close her eyes again.