**I own nothing you recognize**
As she closes the door on Jackson and John Teller, Tara stops for a moment to lean against the wall in the hallway, alone for the first time since they'd received the news of the accident. Finally, she allows herself to truly think about the times it had been her in this hospital, fearing the death of a parent. She'd waited- simultaneously anxious for information and terrified to have it- in that very waiting room the night her father had knocked himself out. Somehow, however, that didn't begin to compare to this.
No, the closest she's gotten to the utter hopelessness and abject sorrow she knows Jackson's feeling- though he won't show it - is when her mother had been a patient here. She'd stood where Jackson's standing, holding her mother's hand and not knowing what to say. Eight-year-old Tara Knowles was certainly a lot freer with her thoughts and feelings than sixteen-year-old Jackson Teller, however; and though the result for their respective parents would likely be the same, Tara can at least say she hadn't grown up regretting something she hadn't said to her mom before she died. She hopes Jackson's in there finally letting down the walls he'd been building around his emotions all day; hopes her leaving the room had been the catalyst he'd needed to stop trying to be so fucking strong for everyone else.
Sighing, Tara pushes herself off the wall and turns towards the double doors leading from the ICU to the waiting area. As she nears them, though, the fluorescent light floods through the square windows, making her squint in the soothingly dark hallway. By the time she's standing at the entrance, she knows she can't spend one more minute there, waiting and worrying with nothing but the silent television to keep her company. The room is empty and seems much larger than it had a half hour ago, filled with Sons; but crossing it, running her hand along the back edge of the row of plastic chairs, takes but a moment.
She starts down the familiar hallway her father had occupied just a few weeks ago and pauses briefly outside the door of the room he'd been given. It's now housing an A. Price, according to the placard next to the door, and she fleetingly wonders what A. Price is in for before turning away; how quickly things change. Tara's struck, in the moment, by how many nameless, faceless people cycle through this hospital- unbeknownst to the residents of Charming until it's their family clinging to life in the bed. She'd been among them, as a kid, but since her mom had died, she'd never been able to pass a hospital without thinking of the people inside. The doctors and nurses, the recovering, the dying, their conditions, their accidents… but most of all the people left to wait and worry- or to grieve.
Maybe that's why she'd felt that twinge of envy deep in the pit of her stomach that day her father had been released. The doctors, the nurses- they're here; the patients and their friends and families aren't nameless or faceless to them. Even more so, they can do something besides pass by and idly imagine who's inside. Tara recalls, for a moment, the feeling that a part of a puzzle had clicked into place; she hadn't known exactly what it had meant, then, but the sheer desire to know, to be able to help that she'd felt today when faced with a battered, broken JT… maybe it's worth some thought.
Now, though, Tara's reached the end of the hallway; the plastic directional posted on the wall announces, in stark bold black, that the cafeteria is to the left, along with cardiology and various other specialists she's sure Gemma's familiar with. To the right is X-Ray, Labs, the Chapel, Administration…. May as well check in on Gemma. As she veers right, Tara's surprised again by just how day-bright the rest of the hospital is in comparison to JT's room and the hallway outside it. It would be far too easy to lose track of time in here- Tara has no earthly clue whether it's the middle of the night or early morning, though it seems like it's been days since they'd been in the Teller kitchen, laughing and preparing dinner. It seems ages longer since the T-M office where she'd watched JT's face crinkling in laughter, rage, and then laughter again as they'd told him about Clay's meeting with Rick. The last time she'd seen him and they'd dropped that bit of news on him. God, she can't believe this is happening.
The chapel is appropriately dim, lit only by a few soft recessed lights and the flickering of a bank of candles in the corner. That's where Tara finds Gemma- kneeling before the candles and looking defeated. As far as she can remember, the Tellers- particularly Gemma- are fairly lapsed Catholics like Tara's own family; if she knows Gemma, though, she'd probably picked up on any shreds of Catholicism JT had adhered to out of spite. Her daddy had been a pastor, her momma his devout supporter and it's no secret Gemma had left town at a young age to escape her mother's expectations- after all, JT likes to tease her about leaving a pastor's little girl and returning a biker's Old Lady. Regardless, those expectations were probably put in place in deference to the church and giving the middle finger to her father's church seems like an entirely Gemma way of antagonizing her mother.
Still, seeing her kneeling before the candles, likely having lit one for JT, Tara's seeing a side of Gemma Teller that's at once completely unfamiliar, yet natural. Tara eases through the door and lowers herself silently onto a pew, not wanting to disturb, but Gemma's eyes snap up as the door softly closes, and she rises to cross the room and sit next to Tara.
"I'm sorry, Gemma. I didn't mean to interrupt…" Gemma shakes her head and settles deeper into the pew, crossing her legs.
"You've been doin' that all evening- worrying around about interrupting, intruding… I know my son, sweetheart, and I know that with how he feels about you, John and I couldn't get away with treatin' you as anything less than family." Tara smiles, weakly, and Gemma's eyes search her own for a moment. "Do I need to point out that we don't want to treat you as anything less than family?" She pauses, waits for Tara to shake her head, before continuing. "Good. Because you're not. Less than that, I mean. John thought- thinks- a lot of you. He's like me; he saw somethin' between you and Jackson way back before you two had any idea what love was, and he's happy for you now. He'd want you here, make no mistake about that. Besides, Jackson needs you here."
Gemma puts an arm around Tara's shoulders and before she knows it, she's sinking into Gemma's side and resting her head on her shoulder. A tiny kernel of guilt makes itself known- it's Gemma's husband that's lying in the bed on the other side of the building and she's probably the one in need of comfort- but Tara ignores it in favor of just how good it feels to be mothered, even for a moment.
"I know he needs me, and I'm glad he finally broke down and said so, earlier… but I left him in there with JT, just now." Gemma doesn't respond, just smoothes Tara's hair absently. "He's been trying to be so strong for us all- you, me, his father… but all I could think about is what if- what if something happens and he never tells JT how he feels? I had to figure that out for myself by the time my mom was… well, I just didn't want him to go through that- the if onlys." Gemma tilts her head and Tara can feel her press a kiss to her scalp.
"And that's why we love you, sweetheart. Thank you for knowing what he needs even when his stubborn ass refuses to see it." Jesus. Tara knows Jackson loves her, and on some level she'd known how much JT cared about her wellbeing even before he'd returned her words of affection earlier today. But Gemma… Gemma had always been a formidable presence, seemingly barely tolerating her son's friends and their escapades; that hadn't changed, years later. Although Gemma had outright told her she'd be pleased if Tara decided to enter into a relationship with her son, it had also been followed by a direct threat- you break his heart and I'll be your worst enemy, make no mistake about that. Words of love are a surprising- but welcome- development.
Content to revel in motherly comfort for a little while longer, Tara asks another question that had been on her mind since the first time she'd laid eyes on the SAMCRO Queen after her return.
"Did you know my mom?" Try as she might- though her memories are full of Jackson and Opie's brief interactions with her parents and her own interactions with Gemma, JT, and Piney- she can't recall her mother and Gemma being friendly. If Gemma's surprised by the question, she doesn't let on, just chuckles.
"Everyone knew your mom, sweetheart. She was a Peds nurse; if you had a kid, you knew her, simple as that. Hell, I saw more of the inside of the damn hospital Thomas' first few months than I did my own house. I always hoped she'd be nurse we got when we had to come in- she just had a way with kids, and their parents, too. Not like half the rest of the staff at this damn place. When Thomas was admitted that last time… I caught myself thinkin' more'n once how it was too bad Grace wasn't here. She'd have made sure he was taken care of." Tara smiles briefly at the thought of her mom at Tommy's side, then realizes what Gemma's not saying.
"That doesn't mean you knew her, though… Sorry, that was rude. I mean-"
"It's okay, baby. No, I didn't know her well outside the hospital. We'd talk for a few moments at fundraisers, when we ran into each other at the school, or when we had to make sure you three got home okay… things like that. Parent things. But John and I had the club, your parents had their jobs… it just never really lined up, you know? I was always surprised they let you hang around over at the clubhouse, actually."
"Yeah… my mom, she was the least judgmental person I've ever known. She was always telling me to give others a chance. Give David Hale a chance, even though Jackson and Opie spent their time picking on him for being scrawny and a goody two shoes. Give Jackson a chance to make things right, even though he told me I couldn't ride with them until I could ditch the training wheels. And she helped me do it, too." Tara smiles at the memory of her mother in the driveway, running after Tara, wobbly on her two wheels. "She always liked Jackson and Opie and I doubt she spent too much time thinking about the club, really. Plus, we were never there after dark." Gemma outright laughs this time.
"Yeah, everyone knows that that's when the real magic happens over at T-M. Who the hell knows, maybe she saw you two the way we did- maybe she knew what you meant to each other, even back then…" Gemma pauses, seemingly remembering them, back then. "Well, whatever her reasons were, I'm glad she was different than the other uptight bitches in this town." She was, thinks Tara. Nothing like the Rourkes, the Hales, or the others… Now, her only real opponent to her relationship with Jackson, Tara realizes, is her father. After the mess with Clay, though, she's about done caring what he thinks. Suddenly, she realizes with a flash of guilt that they'd never had the chance to tell Gemma about her father and Clay. Tara still isn't sure what JT had intended to do with the information, or even if he'd intended to tell his wife that bit of information. Some time soon, after all of this had settled a little, she's going to have to ask Jackson what to do, but the thought of announcing to Gemma that her father had owed a favor to the man who had possibly attempted to kill her husband… well, that makes her stomach churn.
Gemma nudges her then, breaking her out of her guilty little reverie.
"Alright, sweetheart. Let's go relieve Jackson. God knows, if he has to show too much emotion, he might just explode and then we'll have to deal with another Teller in the hospital." Tara sighs and shakes her head. She wants to stay a moment, gather her thoughts about all of this. Gemma raises an eyebrow. "I told you, you need to stop-"
"I know, I know. I'm wanted." She smiles, gratefully, at the only person outside Jackson himself that's told her in so many words. "This isn't about that, I just need a moment. I'll be right down, I promise." Gemma cocks her head.
"You gettin' all religious on us?" Tara rolls her eyes.
"Coming from the person who's just lit a candle…" Gemma smiles, nods her head begrudgingly.
"S'pose you got me there. I just figured it couldn't hurt, you know? I hate feelin' helpless and I'm not exactly a fount of medical knowledge. But lighting candles and talking- whether its to myself or the Man Upstairs…. That I can do." Sounds familiar.
"I guess you could say that's the plan." Gemma pats her on the shoulder.
"Okay, baby. Hurry back, though, okay? Jackson will be ready to see ya." Tara nods as Gemma turns towards the chapel door, her heels clicking as she leaves the heavy red carpet and reaches the tile. When the door swings shut behind her, Tara moves- stopping at the bank of candles Gemma had been kneeling in front of- and hesitantly kneels, herself. She's been to Christmas Mass, probably a couple other holiday services with her parents… but they've never participated in most of the rituals that came along with them.
Internally, Tara scoffs. It can't be that hard… besides, God doesn't care if you light a candle the 'right' way or not. After a moment's hesitation, she spies the small box of matches near the back of the table and takes one. Tara searches the box for a strip on which to strike the match before the solution dawns on her; holding the match in the flame of one of the other candles, she imagines the prayer sent up by the person who'd lit it and wonders if the puff of smoke let off by her own flaring match could somehow add to the prayer's intensity. She feels a little silly for hoping so. Carefully, she lights a fresh candle, shakes the match until it's dark, and drops it into the receptacle.
Silently, she says her first official prayer since her mother's funeral; she asks for JT's survival, for his family's healing, for peace for all of them… whatever that means. At it's end, she hastily adds If it be Thy will, remembering how someone had told her once that you shouldn't make requests of God without adding that bit, lest they be interpreted as demands. She's not sure she feels better, or more confident of JT's chances… but the whole thing has been a calming experience and the sensation isn't a bad one.
Tara slides up onto the pew nearest the candle display and sighs. Church just isn't something she's used to anymore; it had never been a big deal in her family- either positively or negatively so- and she's not sure how she feels about the whole thing. She can admit, though, that she's beginning to see why some people choose to attend. There's just something about the mystery, the calm, the reverence of it all. Absently, she wonders if the Tellers had attended church lately.
The moment the thought crosses her mind, Tara's struck by the realization that JT, at least, had attended Church… though the Chapel was attached to a garage and not a cathedral, and the table bore a Reaper instead of the Apostles. She snickers and wonders why the Sons had chosen to refer to their meeting room as a chapel, and their meetings as church. Probably code of some sort; or, some kind of reassurance that what happens in Church stays there- a nod to the sanctity and the secrecy of 'club business'. She knows the members don't tell outsiders much- even their Old Ladies or families- and she knows that on some level, Jackson's probably already let her in on too much, necessitated by recent events or not. Tara sighs; she doesn't necessarily need or want to know about the inner workings of SAMCRO, but the idea of being completely in the dark every time Jackson's out handling club business makes her stomach hurt. Especially after what's just happened to his father, the Club President. If the President's not safe, who is?
Pushing those thoughts away- there are still years until Jackson's patched in- in favor of more pressing concerns, Tara sighs and rises from the pew. She should get back to JT, see if Jackson and Gemma are alright. Well, she knows they're not alright… none of them are. Christ, when will things settle down? If JT doesn't make it, probably never. She knows Jackson; as strong as he's trying to be right now, if he loses his father things will never be the same. Not with the club, not with his family, and certainly not within him; Tara just hopes he'll let her be there for him. She's already lost one parent- well, one and a half if you count Rick Knowles, and she doesn't really want to… two if you're going to count JT. If anyone knows what he's going through, it's her; Jackson just has to stop being so goddamn obstinate. She runs her fingers through her hair, feeling very much like him in the moment, and looks over her shoulder to the candle she's just lit, which seems to be burning brighter than the others. Tara can only hope it's a good sign.
JT's room hasn't changed much since Tara had left it; most of the lights are still off, the ventilator's still rhythmically moving his chest, and he's still not the man she'd hugged just hours ago- at least not in appearance. She stifles a shudder- the hardest part of all of this, she thinks, is that JT's face is grotesquely swollen and is well on its way to the severe bruising she knows is imminent. Unbidden, the memory of her mother's face slips into her mind; after her final, brief hospitalization, Tara's father had elected to bring her home, have Hospice step in. Perhaps it was the swelling brought on by the therapy and medications, or maybe the fact that the terrycloth wrap that stood in place of what had once been beautiful, dark hair made Grace's face stand out in stark relief against the pillow. But Tara had sat at her mother's bedside one afternoon and pretended, for a moment, that the person in the bed wasn't her. It didn't look like her anymore, and aside from brief periods of consciousness, it really didn't seem like her either. So for a moment, Tara had allowed herself to pretend that Grace was still at work, that this was just a patient, that life was still normal…
"Tara?" Tara jerks out of her thoughts; she's still standing just inside the door and Gemma's now in the chair she'd left Jackson in earlier, holding JT's hand.
"Sorry. Being here… it brings back a lot of memories, you know?" Gemma nods, her lips curling in a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry about all of that in the chapel. It's just-"
"No need to apologize, sweetheart. She was your mom; it makes sense you'd want to talk about her. We all got our associations with this place." Gemma's expression grows distant, pained, and Tara regrets bringing the subject up all over again.
"I never got to tell you, but I'm sorry about Tommy, Gemma. That had to have been… well, he was such a sweet little thing. I wish I'd have gotten to know him better." Jesus, how much more would this family have to endure? First Tommy, then JT? To her surprise, though, Gemma's smirking.
"Darlin' I think if he'd gotten to know you any better, I'd have two sons that don't know which way is up when it comes to you." Tara's face must have registered her surprise, because Gemma breaks into a full-on smile. "You don't remember the Taste of Charming a while before you left? You watched Thomas so I could get organized and by the end of the day he was refusing to let go. Imagine if you'd been babysitting for him all these years; he'd be even more hopeless than Jackson is by now. But that's a Teller for you." Smiling, Tara remembers the chubby blonde little boy; he'd been in and out of the hospital initially out of precaution, but things had seemed to look up after he'd hit ten or eleven months.
"Where is Jackson, anyway?" Gemma tilts her head towards Tara.
"Asleep in that chair, behind the door a little." Tara spins to find Jackson, curled up on a vinyl side chair and footstool, seemingly dead to the world. "He was asleep in this chair when I came back, had his head laid next to John's hand." Her features darken. "I don't know how he gets through this, especially so soon after losing Thomas. Having you, making things right with John again… he was just starting to get back to himself. But now…" Gemma shakes her head, thoughtfully. "He's stubborn just like his father, won't let on that he's hurting."
Tara nods her agreement- the conversation mirrors the one they'd had in the chapel, a bit. Jackson had confided in her, though, so she knows how the Teller family had dealt with Tommy's death. She also knows that if Jackson's going to have to deal with JT's death, too, that Gemma's going to have to do something other than lose herself in liquor and memories or they're both going to descend into a spiral they might not be able to come out of. For the first time, she doubts even their connection is strong enough to see him through that.
"I know. And you're right- he's been pulling that shit all day- putting on a front, for us. But let's get through tonight, see how things look in the morning. Are you staying?" Gemma nods, her eyes growing distant again.
"I just want to be here with him, if…" Tara knows what she's getting at, immediately. She'd want the same if it were- God, she can't even finish that thought. "I can call one of the boys to come pick you up if you want. Sleep in your own bed-" Tara's already shaking her head.
"No. I mean, if it's okay with you, I'd rather stay. If JT… well, I want to be here for Jackson. For you, too." Gemma smiles, slightly.
"Okay, sweetheart; and thank you, really. Why don't you move his ass over; I think both of you can fit on that chair. Gotta be more comfortable than this one." She shifts, slightly, grimacing but drawing JT's hand to her lips in the process.
It takes some maneuvering, but Tara eventually manages to stretch her legs out a bit alongside Jackson- his head resting on her lap, her own upper body reclined in the chair. She can't help but take in the features that had become one of her favorite sights on earth. Asleep, his face is peaceful, without either the determinedly emotionless mask or the pain and anger he'd been wearing all day. She lets a finger trail over the faint hint of growth along his chin and allows herself to imagine him with stubble; the effect is hotter than she'd anticipated, and Tara can't help smirking to herself at the thought. Jackson shifts a bit in his sleep and his lips part just a bit; Jesus, she's having thoughts there's no way she should be having in a hospital room with his mother right there. As if Gemma can read her mind, Tara hears a chuckle from the other side of the room; Gemma's been watching.
"I knew he had it bad for you… but at least it goes both ways." Gemma's face turns serious. "I meant what I said earlier, about you being family, all that. But I didn't thank you for loving my son. I know you do… I can tell, you know. What I said a while back about breaking his heart… that still stands. But for now, you just go on loving him and we'll figure the rest of this shit out as it happens." Jesus, as if Tara needs one more thing to worry about… hell, might as well pile Gemma's threat back onto the heap. "You should see if you can catch some sleep if you're set on stayin'. It's the middle of the night and God knows the boys'll be back as soon as someone'll let 'em in."
Nodding, and a bit thankful to have an excuse to just sit in silence, Tara lets her head fall back onto the backrest. She just feels… better, if she's touching Jackson in some way, so she allows her fingers to sift lazily through his hair. As she sets a rhythm of sorts- her fingers drifting against his scalp, then up through his hair and back again- her eyelids droop; the last thing she remembers before succumbing to the call of sleep is Gemma murmuring softly to her husband, her cheek pressed to his motionless hand.
Tara's not sure what time it is when she awakens to a tap on her shoulder, though it's early morning judging by the weak light at the edges of the drawn curtains. Chief Unser is looming over her; well, as much as the man can loom given his smaller frame. Tara thinks, oddly, that if there's ever been someone who doesn't fit the stereotype for their job, it's Unser; he's fairly soft-spoken, easily influenced, and self-deprecating, qualities she'd never have associated with either a Marine or a Chief of Police. Still, the man's always treated her well and with dignity, despite her father.
"Mornin' sweetheart. I know it's early, but I need ya to come with me for a little bit." Tara stares up at him, quizzically. What could be more important than supporting her adopted family, especially right now? Suddenly, she's hit with the realization that it's fucking morning; had something happened with JT? A glance over at Gemma tells her that's not the case; she's still in the same chair, warily eyeing Unser, and JT's machines are beeping on steadily. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Tara again focuses on the Chief.
"What's going on? I… I need to be here when Jackson wakes up." Jackson stirs a bit, and Tara resumes playing in his hair as she had before. He needs sleep, and if there's no change in his father's condition, then… Unser looks apologetic.
"I'm sorry, darlin' we'll try to make this quick, okay? It's about Rick." Suddenly, she can't breathe. On top of everything goddamn else, her father had picked now to… well, do whatever was requiring the Chief of Police to come pick her up? She sighs. Of course he did. Gently, Tara cradles Jackson's head and slides from beneath it, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his forehead before standing, shakily. One thing she's learned about exhaustion these last two trips to this hospital- it makes her shake like a leaf.
Gemma's still studying Unser, the question in her eyes telling Tara he's not filled her in on what had happened. Tara stops at the foot of JT's bed, feeling apologetic and guilty, even though she has no earthly idea why CPD had sent for her. It takes an effort- even though her heart is lurching with optimism, her stomach is sinking at the prospect of dealing with whatever's going on with her father- but she manages to paste a bit of a smile on her face.
"He's…" Gemma correctly reads Tara's hopeful expression, and smiles a bit herself.
"Still with us. Doc should be in once her shift starts in about a half hour, and we'll know more then. But the night nurse couldn't stop fussing over him and praisin' Jesus that he's alive." She smiles down at her husband affectionately. "Like I said earlier about my other two boys- just like a Teller. Charmer, even when he's not tryin' to be." Tara can tell that the state of events has had it's effect on Gemma, too- she's looking hopeful for the first time, but also absolutely wrecked.
"That's great news. God, I'm sorry about this, Gemma." She indicates Unser with a wave of her hand. "I don't know what's going on with my dad, but once I find out, I'll be back up here. Can you tell Jackson I didn't mean to-"
"I'll tell him you wouldn't go until the cops showed up to drag your ass away." A hint of the old Gemma Teller smirk appears, and Tara's stomach unclenches a bit at the sight of it. Unser nods at them both and then jerks his head towards the door.
"Alright, Tara. Let's get this taken care of." He catches Gemma's eye. "Thanks, Gem. Glad to see JT's still with us- that bastard's too stubborn to give up quite so easily, I reckon." Gemma snorts and waves him off with a smile as he shuffles out of the room, Tara trailing behind him.
They're barely into the hallway before Tara decides to take a page from Gemma's book.
"Just tell me, Chief Unser." He slows, casts a look over his shoulder and waits for her to catch up a bit before resuming his pace down the hallway.
"Wayne's fine. Pretty much everyone calls me Wayne or Unser… or dickhead, or pig, or whatever, depending on the circumstances." Tara can't help but huff out a laugh.
"OK, Wayne. Can you just tell me what he's done now, so I can go back to the people that actually want me in their lives?" She thinks the half smile that appears on Wayne's face at this is sympathetic, and his reply confirms it.
"Christ, sweetheart, I'm sure he cares about ya… it's just… he ain't the same after your ma passed, you know?" Oh, she knows. "I picked him up a few times while you were in SoCal. Mostly drunken, belligerent stuff- refusing to leave the bar at closing, OWI, public intox, that sorta thing. But even though he never got his shit together while you were gone, you leavin'… it seemed to snap him out of mixin' the pills and the booze at least. No more half-assed suicide attempts, either." Tara snorts in disgust.
"Well, as good as it feels to hear that your father does better without your presence, I'm sorry if that doesn't make me want to run right into his arms and thank him for being my Daddy…" She averts her eyes as Unser studies her, unwanted tears gathering under her lower lids. Unser pauses just outside the waiting room doors and fixes her with narrowed eyes.
"That ain't what I said. I said you leavin' was the only thing that seemed to snap him out of it. He started tryin' to work his way back out of the hole he'd dug himself, and I think it took losin' you to do it. I'm just sorry it wasn't in time, you know?" Numbly, Tara nods.
"I guess…" There's not a lot else to be said as Unser pushes through the waiting room doors and towards the hall on the opposite side. It's clear he's determined to get to wherever they're going before he tells her anything. Of course.
They head down the same hallway Tara had wandered the night before, and as Unser steers them towards the right, Tara wonders if they're headed to the chapel. Her heart quickens its pace- what does the chapel mean? Serious news- she knows that much; scenarios start running through her head as she makes futile guesses as to what it could be, but keeps landing on the same one… her father, dead, dying maybe. Then, they pass the chapel and as aware as Tara is that the situation- whatever it is- hasn't changed, she breathes a little easier. As Unser guides her into one of the consult rooms, she's relieved to see it empty; she's just not sure why.
Tara hovers uncertainly behind a chair as Unser lowers himself into one on the opposite side of the small table. She's not sure what to do, here, mainly because she has no idea what the hell is going on. Unser seems to sense this and takes a moment to rub his temples before gesturing at the chair.
"Have a seat, sweetheart. I'm tryin' to get ya' back to JT as quick as I can." Frustrated, Tara shakes her head.
"You didn't have to drag me all the way down here to tell me whatever it is you've got to tell me. Whatever you say to me, you could've said in front of Jackson." He pins her with a stare, at once earnest and doubtful of what he's about to say.
"Maybe. But I couldn't bring this shit up in front of Gemma." Dumbfounded, she narrows her eyes at Unser. Why not Gemma? They'd just spent half the night talking about shit Tara hadn't mentioned to anyone, at least not since she'd confided in her aunt years ago. And if there's anyone who understands Tara's general frustration and complete non-relationship with her father, it'd be Gemma, who seems to have little to no time for Rick Knowles and who'd left her own home as a teenager because she couldn't stand one of her parents. Mulishly, she shakes her head again even as she plunks down in the chair across from Unser.
"Her, too. She's the closest thing to a mother I've got, Ch- I mean, Wayne." Unser tents his hands and lowers his head onto them for a moment before clearing his throat and seeming to steady himself.
"This ain't something we need her or the club privy to, at least for the time being. So humor me, alright?" He pauses briefly, but doesn't bother to wait for a response before continuing. "JT's accident… he hit a semi, out on 580." Right. Tara knew this, why's Unser rehashing info she already knows? He senses her impatience and proceeds. "The driver was taken to Memorial over in Lodi following the accident… minor shit- a bump on the head from the steering wheel, whiplash, couple a bruises, that kinda thing. If we can, we try to split up the victims in cases like this- prevent the families from dealing with each other, avoid confrontations, shit like that. With this… we figured the driver didn't need ta see John. Couple a years ago over in Stockton, a trucker hit a kid on his bike- wound up gettin' stitched up in the ER while the kid was coding a couple rooms over. Kid's dad threw a few punches, trucker got suicidal… it got ugly." Why the hell's he telling her this? Unser fidgets with his badge for a moment, then meets her eyes again.
"I got to the scene fairly early, but they'd already taken the driver. Truck was tipped onto its side off the shoulder so I didn't take the time to get a good look at it. And John… well, he was the concern at the time. Someone had to let the family know, all that shit… so I guess you could say I took that burden upon myself, let the rest of the department handle everything else." Unser scrubs a hand over his mouth. "I've known John Teller since he rode into this town; Clay, Otto, Piney, the rest of the First Nine almost as long. So I guess I figured it'd be better if it was a familiar face… and I got sloppy, didn't get all the information." Jesus Christ…
"Wayne. With all due respect, why are you telling me this? I need to get back to Jackson, Gemma-"
"I didn't look into the other driver at all, let the deputies handle it." Unser continues, as if she'd never spoken. "And they did a fine job- got him treated, asked him some questions, released him… did it all by the books. They didn't put two and two together, but unless you know the MC and its associates like I do, it isn't something that would've stood out. Especially to the new guy. But it's the first goddamn thing I noticed when I couldn't sleep and went to type up the accident report." What was? Tara's damn sick and tired of all this talking with no answers.
"The driver's name." Unser covers her clasped hands with one of his own. "Rick Knowles."
There's a buzzing somewhere in the room- it's growing steadily louder and louder until it drowns out whatever Unser's saying. Yet, somehow, Tara can hear her own breathing, her own heartbeat, over it. For a moment, the room spins; she'd come across that description of fainting or dizziness in books before, and had always pictured the room whirling frantically around as the character desperately tried to stay conscious. In reality, though, the space behind Unser is drifting almost lazily to the left and up, up, up until everything seems to drain away to blackness… then she blinks, feels Unser patting her hand urgently, and the blackness recedes, the room slows, rights itself again. Woozy, the question that's begun to play on repeat in her mind is the only one she can ask.
"Was… was he drunk?" What has her father become that she's almost hoping he was drunk? At least there'd be some rhyme or reason behind the incident that's torn apart the family of the boy she loves, the people she'd come to love in their own right. Unser shakes his head.
"Nope. Tox screen was negative for everything." So her father hadn't been drunk. That's good for him, because JT said he'd warned him about drinking and driving; the club would have been sure to want to rectify that wrong- probably physically.
"And you said the truck had stayed in its lane?" Unser nods, again.
"Yeah. They determined that it was John who left his lane. He started skidding when he didn't make the curve and was either all the way down or on his way there at the point of impact. From the location of the glass and the tire tracks, that happened in the middle of the oncoming lane. Ain't much your dad coulda done, but it looks like he tried to veer right and lost control somewhere on the shoulder. Tipped over too, that's why I didn't notice the company when I was at the scene."
Ain't much your dad coulda done… except days before the accident, Clay- who JT had suspected of attempting to have him killed the night before- had been at her father's house, demanding favors. Favors even JT suspected had something to do with a possible hit. Christ. How is she going to look Jackson in the face- hell, Gemma, Opie, the Sons- if her father's the cause of JT's death, let alone a deliberate party to it? Ain't much your dad coulda done… what if he was only there at Clay's request? It would take a lot of maneuvering, but still… Worse, she knows Jackson, knows Gemma. Knows where their minds- Jackson's especially, given what she'd told him herself about Clay's favor- would likely land. Suddenly, she understands why Unser had chosen to reveal this information here, first, instead of in front of anyone club-affiliated.
"The deputies took down the time, the load he had on his truck, his usual schedule on weekdays- though it's standard procedure, nobody really thought twice once it was clear the at-fault driver was John. But what I wanted to know is why Rick was even at that part of 580. They typically deliver to Charming in the morning, Lodi midday, Stockton and Oakland evenings if the driver picks up an extra run, according to Rick himself. But your old man was headed back towards Charming- away from the warehouse- with an empty truck at 5 PM. Timing just didn't make sense to me, so I paid him a visit this morning. And do you know what he told me when I asked where he was headed?"
Christ. Tara knows what Unser's going to say before he even says it- the Salty Dog is out on the edge of town, and that's where Clay had demanded Rick make himself known. She tries to keep her face blank, neutral, and shrugs. Unser watches her carefully as he answers his own question. "He said he was going to the Salty Dog for a meet-" Nothing. That's what needs to be on her face right now. Pure, simple, nothing. "-with John Teller."
Tara's sure the shock is registering on her face, and also that Unser is filing that away somewhere. As much as the man doesn't fit the description of a cop, she's willing to bet that he'll putter around, use his resources- especially his contacts and associations- until he has an idea what's going on. Absently, she thinks of Ben Matlock and Father Dowling- they didn't need to be ruthless, hard-bodied detective types to get answers, either. Unser's going to dig until he gets to the bottom of this, but Tara's sure as hell not going to be the one to tell him about Clay. And as awful as it's going be for everyone to find out that her father's the one that had hit JT- her stomach twists at the thought of Gemma's reaction to the news- as awful as it will be for Jackson to find out, knowing what he suspects about Clay and Rick… what happens if her father's involvement in some plot is confirmed?
The club will kill him, that much she knows for sure. Clay will at least get a Mayhem vote, but since her father isn't part of the club, there are no rules governing a vote, a sit down, an informal trial… nothing. And his only daughter? At the very least, nobody will be able to trust her again. At the worst, what if they think she's been in on it? And the club isn't even her primary worry. Jackson would never look at her the same way again. How could he, if her father's been involved in some plot to kill his?
All the worry, all the scenarios that had whirled around in Tara's head the day before- before she'd unloaded it all on Jackson at Tommy's grave- return with a vengeance. Except this time, it's more than crippling doubt and anxiety- it's fear.
"Tara?" Christ, Unser's talking. Tara's hanging onto a small shred of hope that the last few minutes' panic had registered as simple shock that her dad was meeting with JT- which isn't entirely inaccurate. That's just the half of it. She doesn't trust herself to speak, just raises her eyes to his. "You got any idea why your old man was headed off to meet with JT? I was under the impression the club was leaning on him a bit to shape up, be a dad, but is there any other reason you can think of they'd have to meet out at the Dog? He didn't have any answers for us, just said JT had called to set a meet, said he didn't know why." Numbly, Tara shakes her head and does something she never thought she'd have reason to do- casually lie to the police.
"No. I mean, I'm not sure. JT said something about meeting up with the club somewhere…"
"Yeah, couple of the guys said they'd expected him at some warehouse they wanted to buy, about that time. Could explain why he'd headed past the Dog- warehouse is only about a half mile past that curve. Might be he planned on heading out there first, then hooking back up with Rick on the way back. Rick said JT had said 5:30, and near as we can tell, accident was right at 5, couple minutes either way." Hadn't JT mentioned that at T-M that day, too? That he wanted to talk to Rick about Clay? She wishes she could remember their conversation more clearly. Maybe Jackson knows…
Struck, suddenly, with the urge to clear the air, to go ahead and get on with the awful part and get to the bottom of this even if it means Jackson hates her- Tara stands. She'd learned her lesson about keeping secrets, at least from him.
"I…I really need to get back to JT, if that's OK? I don't want Jackson to think I took off on him, you know?" Unser shoots her a sympathetic smile. At least he doesn't seem to suspect any sort of plot, that she can tell. It seems like he's just trying to get to the bottom of the inconsistencies- for now. Though, she doesn't expect it to stay that way once the club's aware.
"Yeah. I'll take ya back up there, I just wanted you to know what had happened. He's okay, even though ya' didn't ask. Goin' to work today and everything." Unser hoists himself out of his chair, then slows halfway up. "Listen… I think it would be best if ya didn't tell anyone about this for now- just until I can get to the bottom of it. Club probably won't know until the accident report gets released, and I'm hangin' onto it as long as I can. But no sense in them getting' all riled up about something that ain't likely Rick's fault before we got all the info." Tara nods. If there's one thing Unser hadn't had to warn her about, it's to keep this information away from Gemma and the SAMCRO, both of whom she knows operate under the notion that retaliation is king. But Jackson… he and JT had been the only ones aware of the favor her father owes Clay. She has to tell him; he'll know what to do; she just doesn't know what to say to Gemma. Fuck. Unser seems to read her mind as they start off down the hallway.
"Far as Gemma goes, I'll go ahead and tell her your old man got picked up last night at the Dog. Regular old drunk and disorderly, public intox, somethin' like that. Should explain any bruises that turn up, at least for a couple days. Club finds out about him bein' involved in the accident earlier than I think they will, I take the heat, alright? Same goes when we officially release the report. Go ahead and tell 'em I was just tellin' you about the incident, maybe doin' a bit of diggin'. But this is how we keep the club from gettin' revenge on someone who don't deserve it, before they have all the info. Alright?" Tara nods uneasily.
Gemma's in the waiting room with Otto and Chibs when they reach it; she frowns- hopefully in concern, Tara thinks.
"Everything alright?" Gemma stands, a good few inches taller than Unser, and folds her arms. Gemma's an intimidating woman, even on the best of days, and Tara watches as Unser has to steel himself a bit to lie to her.
"Yeah, I was just talkin' to Tara here about a little, ah, issue that happened last night while she was here." Gemma's gaze flits from Unser to Tara, and back again.
"Issue?" Unser clears his throat.
"Well, ah, that's confidential, actually. Everything's fine, it's just somethin' I needed to fill her in on-"
"It's fine, Chief Unser. I don't care, it's nothing new." Christ, is he going to lay this out or not?
"Whatever you want, sweetheart." He shrugs and shifts his focus back to Gemma. "Her old man got picked up last night, got in a scuffle at the bar, pretty typical, actually. I just wanted to ask her a few questions, make sure she's alright, that kinda thing." Gemma nods, smiles sympathetically.
"Sorry." Tara shrugs. She doesn't know what else to do, or say. Lying to Unser had been one thing. But lying- even standing there while Unser lies- to Gemma… that's a whole different ballgame. Terrifying is the only word she can come up with to describe it.
"You all here to see John?" Unser changes the subject, thankfully, and neither the patched members nor Gemma seem to want to dwell on Rick.
"Yup." Bobby scratches his head. "From what the doc said last night, we figured we'd be helpin' plan a memorial today, though. I ain't gonna lie- most everyone else is still at the clubhouse. We sorta tied one on in his honor last night." Gemma barks out a laugh.
"Like you all needed an excuse." Bobby has the grace to redden, but shakes his had at the same time.
"Wasn't like that, Gem. No croweaters, no hangarounds. Just a bunch of assholes in leather who thought one of the best men they'd ever known was in the process of kickin' the bucket. I ain't never seen Piney shed a tear until last night. It ain't shit I ever want to see again, if I'm tellin' the truth." Gemma purses her lips into a small, indulgent smile and bends to hug Bobby, then Otto, who looks surprised.
"So how's he lookin'?" Otto asks, apparently not one to be distracted. Gemma sighs.
"Not any better'n last night… but not any worse, either. That's all the doc can really tell us at this point. Said he's stronger than they gave him credit for, though."
"Damn right." Bobby chimes in, grinning.
"Well, it's right on eight AM. You ready to see him?" Gemma surveys the two bikers, the Chief of Police and her son's girlfriend, raising an eyebrow.
"Just show me the way, darlin'," is Otto's response as they enter the hallway.
As Bobby and Otto file into the room, Tara can hear them greet Jackson with backslaps and words of comfort. She moves to enter behind Unser, but Gemma tugs on her hand and Tara jumps a mile. Jesus Christ… she needs to stop being so damn jumpy. Gemma's suspicious by nature and a quick study when it comes to getting information from people who don't want to give it. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to have noticed Tara's edginess. At least not so far.
"Why don't you take Jackson down to the cafeteria, grab somethin' to eat? Wait, wait, don't pitch it to him that way. He'll never leave if he thinks it's for his own benefit, but neither of you ate supper last night and I don't need someone else in the family dropping out of exhaustion or low blood sugar." Gemma purses her lips a moment, then seems to come to a conclusion. "Mention that you're hungry, and I'll suggest he take you down there." Decision made, she doesn't wait for a response or confirmation before she turns and breezes into the room, and Tara has to laugh, just a little. Gemma Teller is back.
Jackson had taken one look at the selection available in the cafeteria and shaken his head.
"Nah, babe. If this is the first meal I'm gonna eat in about twenty-four hours, it ain't gonna be some reheated egg sandwiches and some sad looking grapes. Lemme go grab my hoodie, and I'll let Gemma know we're headed to that little café across the street." She'd tried to point out that it hadn't been twenty four hours, but then he'd reminded her that they'd barely eaten lunch the day before because of all the goings-on during the lunch hour, and that Gemma's meatloaf was still sitting in the Teller fridge, untouched. Touché.
She has to hand it to him, this had been a good plan. The food's good- what little of it she's been able to force down- maybe even better than the diner, though it was assuredly more hoity-toity. Tara's usual pancakes and eggs had been supplanted by crepes with various fillings, and Jackson had chosen Eggs Benedict. He's currently joking about what Piney would have to say about a dish that had an actual fucking name, when his voice trails off; he reaches across the table and takes one of her hands.
"Babe, what's wrong? I mean, besides the fact that my old man's in the hospital. You hardly touched your crepes and I don't know if you've said a word since we got here." Tara knows she hadn't; she doesn't know what to say or how to say it, but she's not going to pass up this opportunity to speak with Jackson- alone, with no Sons or Tellers present. She sighs, giving up on breakfast entirely and placing her fork on her mostly-full plate.
"I mean, JT's most of it. But… Unser came to see me this morning." Jackson nods.
"Yeah, mom said you were down talking to him. What'd he want?" Tara hesitates, her stomach churning like it had been the majority of the morning so far.
"He had some information about your dad's accident. Information he only wanted me to know, because he's still trying to figure out what happened. Jackson… we can't tell your mom or the club any of this. You have to promise me that you'll hold onto this a couple days until Unser releases the police report. Can you do that?" By turns dumbfounded and a bit angry, Jackson swallows.
"Why wouldn't Unser share everything he finds out with the club? What the hell's he playing at?" He's pissed, and Tara's trying to control her breathing, fight off the tears that she knows are coming. Christ, she hadn't cried this much in the entire seven years she'd been gone. Get it together, Knowles. Tara focuses on Jackson's eyes across the table- now that he's angry she thinks she can see the slightest bit of hazel at their centers. The last thing she wants to do is deliberately turn that anger on herself, but there's nothing to be done. Tara closes her eyes, puts her other hand on his, which effectively silences his protests.
"Jackson. He came to tell me that he knows who the truck driver was that hit your dad." Now he's confused, and the sight of how utterly lost he is crushes her heart all over again.
"I… The accident report said Dad slid into the truck's path, right?" Tara nods, slowly. "So… why does it matter what the name of the driver was? It wasn't his fault."
"It matters…" Tara squeezes his hands again, drinks in his intent expression before she shatters his illusions one more time, "…because it was my dad."
