**I own nothing you recognize**
"Jesus, Jax. D'ya think you could pull your head out of your girlfriend's ass for-"
"Mr. Winston! Watch the profanity!" Mrs. Castor turns from the board, eyes narrowed to focus on Opie. She holds his gaze for a brief moment, then turns back towards whatever she'd been writing- some shit about Shakespearean verse vs standard.
Jax can hear Opie's frustrated sigh behind him, but he doesn't budge from his position, leaning forward in his desk so far that he can whisper quietly enough that only Tara- slouched in the seat in front of him- can hear. He considers it a bonus when his breath tickles her neck and he can see the fine hairs there raise in response. He'd been in the process of outlining his after school plans to her; ever since they'd spent an evening at the cabin, he'd been making it a point to revisit some of the places that had thus far only borne witness to their mutual explorations and christen them- the right way, this time. So far, Ope's attic and Tara's back patio had been checked off the list. Today, since it's unseasonably warm, he means to revisit that giant willow on the Wahewa reservation.
"Once we get out there, I'm makin' a new rule: no clothes allowed once you're under the tr-"
"Mr. Teller, I believe Mr. Winston had a point, however vulgar his language may have been while expressing it. Sit back in your chair so you can pass the homework assignment to him, and stay there unless you want me to move you somewhere you won't be as distracted." Jax just flashes her the grin he'd learned, long ago, worked on most any female regardless of age; he's been working his wiles since he was a kid and had quickly figured out how to get most anyone without a dick to at least listen to what he had to say. He'd also learned to shut up and let the grin do the talking when it came to older women, since they tended to hate being called darlin' even more than Tara. Unfortunately for him, Castor isn't impressed; she actually rolls her eyes at him, much like Tara, Donna and Opie are probably doing at the moment- though he can't see them.
"You know, I'm not sure what you find so amusing about distracting not one, not two, but three of my students, counting yourself." Christ, apparently Castor's immune to his charms; half the class breaks out into snickers and he grits his teeth- he's not used to being the butt of a joke. "In that vein… I've heard so much about your beautiful writing and your potential from your teacher last year- and seen so very little of it- that I'm giving you an additional assignment." Fuck, doesn't she realize the only reason he even half-asses the homework he has now is because Tara refuses to go to bed without doing hers? "I want no more than a page, one-sided- and in print this time, I could barely read your last assignment. The topic is up to you, but I'd advise you to make it something you feel strongly about because the outcome depends on how much you make me care about whatever it is you're writing about. No hiding behind a group or partner project this time; no summaries, no book reports, no facade. Just you."
"And when is this magical paper due?" Jax tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, he really does, but surprisingly, Castor doesn't seem to notice.
"No due date." What the fuck? "But plan on spending Friday afternoons with me until it's completed to my satisfaction." The bell rings, then, sending the class scattering and prompting Castor's eyebrow to raise at him in challenge.
"Every Friday?" He doesn't have much else to say as Castor settles into her desk chair and even Tara, Opie, and Donna edge into the hallway behind him.
"That's your choice, Jackson. You want to blow this off, that's up to you; I have to be here until four thirty anyway, so we can just make it a standing date." She gives him her best imitation of the Teller smirk- though it's brief and sarcastic as hell- then purses her lips and shrugs. "But you can't go through life dodging the consequences of your choices, and you're not going to be able to charm your way out of every sticky situation, either."
Jax is sorely tempted to roll his eyes and inform her of just how many mechanics he knows that get by without finishing school- let alone impressing their English teachers, or maybe just how unappealing he finds the prospect of a date with her… But there are other students filtering into the classroom he isn't eager to give the pleasure of watching him argue with his teacher like some fucking nerd. His protests die before he has a chance to direct them at Castor, his mouth snaps shut and he turns toward the classroom door to find Tara, Donna and Ope waiting just outside. Tara's looking thoughtful while Opie and Donna look like they're about to burst into laughter at any second.
"See you after school, Mr. Teller!" Castor's too-cheerful farewell does it- Ope and Donna practically fall over laughing as Jax pushes past them and into the main part of the hallway. Tara quickly catches up with him and takes his arm.
"Jackson…"
"Every fuckin' Friday, Tara. She can't do that, not over some stupid-ass unofficial assignment." He shakes her off as he reaches his locker to shove his English notebook inside, then slams the door- only to be confronted with her gorgeous face, hiding a smile behind her hand. Christ, not Tara, too. "You enjoyin' this, babe? 'Cause I'm not. I- we- got shit to do." She shakes her head slightly, but her eyes are still crinkled as he crosses his arms.
"Maybe you should just suck it up, Jax. We'll keep Tara company after school for you." Donna bumps him with an arm, an insolent smirk crossing her lips just as Ope appears behind her and wraps his arms around her shoulders. Jax shakes his head.
"It ain't even about that-" he catches Tara's raised eyebrow and rolls his eyes briefly "-well not only that. We were supposed to go see my dad later this afternoon, after-" Christ, shut up Teller. He ignores whatever expression must be on Tara's face, now. "But you make a good point- Tara rode here with me and you two rode in together. How's she supposed to get home?" She removes her hand from her mouth, all traces of laughter gone, but a soft smile in place.
"I can walk, Jackson. It isn't that far." Jax can feel his lips tighten- no way his girl is going to have to walk home, not when he'd been the one to bring her to school. And not with pricks like David Hale- hell, half the goddamn high school- just waiting for the chance to weasel their way into her good graces. He glances down the hallway as if the bulletin board at its end is going to supply him with a solution, and groans inwardly; speaking of Hale, here the little shit comes now, bearing a thick book he recognizes as a copy of the same US History book Tara had been poring over all week and smiling at Jax like a fuckin' clown.
"Hot date after school, Teller?" The sudden appearance of Ope's hand on his shoulder and the faint reminder his brain is sending him that he already has detention are the only things that prevent Jax from lunging at Hale. He grits his teeth instead and ignores him, moving forward instead to kiss Tara, pressing her up against the locker and groaning into her mouth as his tongue tangles with hers. The whole thing's designed to make Hale uncomfortable, of course, but the moment Jax's lips touch hers, the moment her scent- which serves to remind him of that morning in her shower (yet another place to add to his list)- fills his nostrils, he forgets all about Hale, Ope, Donna, Castor… his whole world consists of Tara and the absolutely fucking magical things her mouth can do.
He's faintly aware of the warning bell, but Tara pushes him away with a smile and Ope's moving him bodily past Hale- who's looking flushed and impatient.
"C'mon, we gotta get to shop," Opie grunts as Jax chances a look over his shoulder to see Donna rolling her eyes and propelling Tara- her fingers still touching her lips- by an elbow after Hale.
"I don't s'pose you need a ride home, later…" Hale's voice trails off as they enter a classroom and Jax stops dead in the middle of the hallway, ready to to turn on a heel and pound the fucker into next week, to hell with class, the thin ice he's already on when it comes to half his teachers, and the whole goddamn Hale family.
"For fuck's sake, bro, move your ass." Ope's between Jax and the classroom almost instantly, shoving him down the hall towards the shop. "No sense in gettin' suspended on top of things. I'll make sure Tara gets home and that it has nothing to do with that jackass. A'ight?" Opie plants both hands on his shoulders and keeps them moving down the hallway. "Christ, I know Hale's a shit, but you sort of provoked him into that one with that little show back there." Jax dodges Opie's grasp and heads down the small set of stairs leading towards the shop and the gym under his own power.
"Yeah, well, that little prick needs to know where he stands… especially when it comes to my girl." Opie rolls his eyes.
"I don't think there's a guy in school that doesn't know where he stands with Tara, since I practically have to pry you guys apart every day so you can eat enough lunch to sustain life. And you're forgetting about the fact that Tara basically claimed you in front of the whole goddamn school not two weeks after she got here, and that both of you told off Melissa and Hale at lunch a couple weeks ag-"
Opie's interrupted by the bell. He shoots Jax a murderous look- Christ, he's getting almost as good at those as his old man- before jerking the shop door open and heading inside, grumbling something about goddamn drama under his breath.
The final bell rings, and Tara's all too ready to leave AP Algebra and Trigonometry behind for the weekend. It's her least favorite class; not even Donna had been willing to tackle it as a sophomore, and that means she's left to struggle with math she feels is better left to a goddamn graphing calculator- she's willing to haul one around for life, if need be- alone with the likes of David Hale and his cousin Jenny. Jenny's one of Melissa's clones, albeit with slightly more ambition regarding something other than parading cute boys in front of her friends, but her venom's mostly tempered without the presence of the rest of what Jackson and Opie call the Pussy Patrol. If Tara's being honest, she hates that term, hates what it says about what Jax and Opie- hell, the male population of the school- think about what those girls have to offer. If she's being brutally honest, though, she doesn't much care when it's applied to stupid bitches like Melissa.
Melissa, for her part, has kept her distance from both Tara and Jackson, from what Tara can see. There's been so much going on the past couple weeks with JT's accident, its aftermath and the search for Tara's father, that she'd hardly had time to devote much thought to the girl. Sure, she seems to be everywhere- several people back in line at lunch, along the fringes of the hallways, just on the other side of the classroom- making snide comments, but there's been nothing blatant. Nothing like the confrontations in the girls' room or the cafeteria, and definitely nothing about Grace Knowles.
David, however… when Donna- who seems to have little time for him- is around, he's polite but withdrawn, content to walk with them to class or not, depending on the day. His friends give them a wide berth- nobody wants to openly challenge Jackson or Opie, apparently. However, David himself doesn't seem to give a shit who he challenges; during Trig, he must feel free from the constraints of others- his football buddies, Donna, Opie, Jackson- because he's becoming more and more friendly by the day, their tiff in the cafeteria long behind them.
It isn't that she doesn't like David the opposite actually. He'd apologized for his behavior in the cafeteria and seems to be keeping his thoughts about Tara and Jackson's relationship to himself. Those had been the two major roadblocks in rekindling the casual friendship they'd had as kids; that is, besides Jackson himself. Tara sighs as she reaches her locker and recalls the scene that had unfolded in front of Jackson's locker earlier. David's mostly friendly, honest, endearing, when it's just the two of them as tablemates in Trig; however, his willingness to push Jackson's buttons is going to make it difficult for her to keep defending him to either of the boys.
Suddenly, Jackson's there, leaning against the locker next to hers and smiling.
"Hey. Ope said he's takin' you home?" Tara can't help but roll her eyes- he really is being unreasonable about this. She's perfectly fine walking; it's a nice day, and it's preferable to waiting around for Opie. She says nothing, just closes her locker and heads toward the entrance, Jackson jogging a bit to catch up with her. "Hey-" he grabs her hand just outside the door, and she pulls it away but stops to face him at the bottom of the front steps just the same.
"Jackson… you're going to have to let this go." His face is irritated, insistent, but she presses on, her hands on her hips. "I'm not waiting for Opie to take Donna home, then pick me up. I'm also not riding with David, if that's what you're fixing your mouth to say." Jackson's mouth- which had been hanging half-open- snaps shut; Tara instantly knows she was right and shakes her head in frustration. "I'm perfectly capable of walking home, and I know you know that. You're going to have to put your pride aside, Jackson. Besides… me waiting here while Opie drives Donna home is practically the same thing, and it's going to take the same amount of time." She can see him working his jaw and impulsively lurches forward to press a kiss to it before pulling back to study him again; he's still not happy, she can tell, but at least he's less agitated. "The whole school knows how we feel about each other, just like they know about your detention; it'll be crystal clear why I'm walking and I promise nobody will give two shits about your sense of manly responsibility. You're just gonna have to suck it up, Teller."
This time, it's Jackson who rolls his eyes- but then they're flashing mischievously as he leans in to kiss her. Tara's eyes are just beginning to close when they're interrupted by a few honks and a sharp whistle; Jesus, she knows where she's heard that whistle before- it's Gemma's primary attention getter when she's whipping croweaters into shape. What the hell's she doing here? Clearly, Jackson's wondering the same thing because he's currently staring over her shoulder, his brows knit in confusion. Tara turns to see Gemma's shiny black Caddy stopped in the middle of the horseshoe shaped drop-off/pick-up driveway; the passenger side window's rolled down and as she throws the car into park, parents behind her begin to tap their horns. Gemma plucks a pack of cigarettes from the center console as Jackson and Tara walk over, extracts one, and lights it as the honks become more frequent.
"Ma, you can't just stop and chat, it's a pick-up lane-" Gemma waves him off as she angles her head out of the driver's side window and shouts over her shoulder.
"Keep your goddamn pants on!" Then, to Jackson- "I am picking someone up, Jackson." He shrugs his shoulders and takes a step back from the window.
"I got detention in like 5 minutes, Mom; anyway, I still gotta get my bike-"
"Not you; Tara." Gemma shifts her attention to Tara, and she can feel her stomach drop until it's somewhere near her feet. "Get in, sweetheart." Jesus Christ. She'd been holding out hope that Gemma had forgotten about her promise to take her to her lady doctor, as Gemma had so delicately put it, but it appears her luck has run out.
"Ma, what-"
"Zip it, Jackson, and get your ass into detention before you earn another. We'll talk about whatever the hell you did to get this one, later. For now, Tara and I got shit to do." Tara can see Jackson's mind working; she'd avoided the topic ever since Gemma had brought it up at Thanksgiving and she's not sure he's putting two and two together, but she's not about to broach the subject with Gemma sitting right there. She settles for giving him a short peck and a gentle push towards the entrance to the school. He sighs like he's performing a funeral march and trudges up the stairs.
Another series of honks jolts Tara into motion and now she feels as if she may be walking to the tune of her own dirge, so reluctant is she to actually get this nightmare underway. She hadn't had a lot of boyfriends- okay, one besides Jackson- but the idea of getting into a car with any boy's mother and going to procure birth control seems… horrifying in even the best of circumstances. And with Gemma, well, things are rarely the best of circumstances. As she grasps the door handle, though, Tara reminds herself just how much worse things could be. Gemma's treated her like part of the family, has even told her she approves of Tara's relationship with her son. Hell, despite just how mortifying this trip is going to be, not many mothers would be this cool at the thought of their sons having sex; then, she has to push away internal thoughts, questions about just how much Gemma knows about Jackson's former habits.
The car smells of leather and cigarette smoke, a smell Tara's come to learn stands for everything that is Teller and SAMCRO; whether the leather comes in the form of seats in a nicely appointed cage, the tight leather jacket Gemma's always wearing, or the leather kuttes on the backs of the men, the smell is pervasive but comforting, in a way. And the ubiquitous cigarettes… nearly everyone affiliated with SAMCRO smokes- mostly cigarettes, but there's always the odd cigar (she shudders at the thought of Clay), pipe, or joint, too. She knows most people don't find the smell of smoke pleasant, but somehow now that she's returned to Charming, it's become something familiar- soothing, even. At a time when the world seems to be trying to quit smoking, SAMCRO is holding fast to its vices, and Tara doesn't know if there will ever be a time in her life she won't associate the scent with her ragtag pseudo-family.
Even as Tara considers this, Gemma rolls the window down further to flick the stub of her cigarette out the window, then regards Tara silently from the corner of her eye. It's a matter of a block or two before she speaks.
"You're quiet, sweetheart..." Gemma doesn't ask her what's up, just lets the question hang in the air, unspoken. Christ, is she really unaware of how awkward this is? Then again, Gemma seems to go through life doing what she feels needs to be done, saying what she feels needs to be said; its unlikely any of these facts-of-life situations would faze someone like her, especially not when she deals with croweaters and the Sons that dabble with them on a near-daily basis. Tara notices Gemma's questioning gaze intensify; something else the woman doesn't tolerate well is meekness. Tara sighs.
"I'm just a little…" Tara shrugs, and Gemma's lips curl into a smirk. Jesus, she's no longer sure where Jackson had picked up that damn smirk from- she'd assumed it had been JT, but now it seems to be a Teller thing just as much as the cigarettes; more so, actually, since JT, Gemma and Jackson all seem to have perfected it.
"…embarrassed?" Gemma finishes her sentence, though Tara had thought it was obvious. "I have to say, I'm a little surprised, given that you've spent just as many nights in my son's bed as your own since you came back to Charming." Tara can feel the flush creep up her neck and onto her cheeks; damn her pale skin. Gemma notices, and the smirk is now fading around the edges into a softer smile. "I ain't tryin' to make you uncomfortable with this shit, sweetheart. I might be a little…much, sometimes, but humiliating you ain't my intention." As good as that is to hear, Tara's not sure she feels much better. Gemma eyes her as she reaches into the center console to withdraw another cigarette, then lights it with a practiced hand. "This thing between you and Jackson… it ain't your typical high school shit, is it?" Tara shakes her head, clutching the backpack resting in her lap as sort of a makeshift shield. Christ, now they're really getting down to brass tacks; she'd been prepared for maybe a little embarrassing sex talk, but this? Gemma purses her lips momentarily, then takes a drag of the cigarette. "That's what I thought. It's…" She trails off, evidently searching for the right word.
"Intense," Tara supplies- unsure whether she really wants to know what word Gemma would have chosen- but Gemma nods, thoughtfully.
"Seems about right." She takes another couple drags of the cigarette as the Cadillac rolls through a shaded neighborhood Tara's never seen before. "That's how I'd have described John and I, back then. Intense. I was a little older than you when I met him, but everything between the two of us was just… more than anything I'd ever felt with anyone else; hell, it was more than any other experience I'd had, period." She glances at Tara, again. "But then, there wasn't much opportunity to see the world here in Charming. Or in goddamn Nowhere, Oregon, either. And after Nathaniel- my brother- died… after Rose got it into her head that Daddy should retire so we could live somewhere even more secluded than Charming, I just needed that- needed more. And John was it."
Her expression grows distant as she takes an almost subconscious puff on the cigarette. Tara wants to ask questions, wants to know who young Gemma was, but lets her continue, almost as if she's reminding herself of a past life; Tara supposes she Is, actually.
"I didn't feel alive, really, until I met him; I went from place to place, bar to bar, associating with the exact people my parents had always warned me about-" she chuckles to herself "-but I wasn't really there, I don't think. I just sort of existed. I thought gettin' out from under my parents' roof was what I needed, but then I met him."
A soft smile crosses her lips, then, as she remembers. "He came into the bar I was working in, one day, with a couple of the others- Piney and Lenny, I think- but everyone else sort of faded away. I couldn't even tell you the name of the damn bar, honestly; I'd only been there a matter of a couple of weeks, and after that first night with him, I never went back." Suddenly, she seems to remember Tara's sitting in the passenger seat and jerks her eyes sharply towards her.
"That's not to say I was a croweater or anything like that- hell, the term barely even existed back then. They all had their women in whatever town we were in, but from the moment I got on the back of John's bike, it was like there was nobody else on the goddamn planet. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, couldn't stand to spend more than an hour or two apart, and even that was like a living goddamn hell." She chuckles a bit to herself. "The guys hated it at first- gave him endless shit for findin' himself some barely-legal smartass to be his Old Lady- but neither of us cared; all that mattered was each other. And two months later, I was pregnant." Something about Gemma's expression changes, then, but Tara can't pinpoint exactly what.
"Just like that, John's life as an anarchist, and mine as a free spirit… it was over. I wouldn't trade Jackson for any goddamn thing." Her expression is fierce, that's what it is, Tara decides, in the midst of Gemma's declaration about her oldest son. "I wouldn't trade him for a whole stack of Panheads or a hundred thousand miles of open road. Not a goddamn chance. But everything John had built- a sort of Harley commune, free to roam from place to place without any sort of authority- well, even he knew that was no way to raise a baby." Tara's mind is racing- Christ, is this why Gemma's telling this story? As some sort of parable, a tale of caution against brewing the perfect storm of circumstances Gemma didn't want to see repeated by her own son?
"We came back here- a place I had roots but no branches, nobody to overshadow me- and he and Clay started the garage. We built the clubhouse, built… everything from the ground up, because once there's family involved, even anarchists need rules." Gemma snorts, a bit derisively. "And let me tell you, baby, that intensity John and I had, well, it don't just go away, even when you get domestic. But when you got shit pulling you in every direction- kids, the club, running a business- that kinda pull towards each other, it can either make you or break you." Gemma flicks her cigarette out the window and guides the Caddy into another turn, this time into a small parking lot; as she brings the car to a stop-shifting into park and cutting the engine- she turns to face Tara, hazel eyes clouded with thought.
"Tellers…" Gemma trails off, then shakes her head, seems to snap out of her reverie before she purses her lips again and starts over. "John told me once that his Ma used to say Tellers loved deep, hated deeper, and even though I never met the woman, I can't say she was wrong. Once it wasn't just the two of us, once the club and the boys started placing demands on our time, we…" Gemma almost flinches at whatever thought's just run through her mind; whatever it is she's not saying is painful, and Tara isn't sure she wants to know how this all is connected to her and Jackson. "We had to put all that… that passion into something besides each other- him with the club, me with our family. All of a sudden, he had to earn for a family, not just to keep us movin' until we got to the next pit stop, and that pressure came close to killing everything we had between us. It came close to gettin' him killed, if you want the truth. He told me once that he didn't think an outlaw and a father could reside within the same man… and I thought for a time that maybe he was right."
She draws a deep shaky breath, and Tara can feel herself inhaling and exhaling right along with her. Somehow, this story is clearly meant to represent something regarding Jackson and herself and she's dreading that connection, dreading where this is leading. However, Gemma smiles a bit, reaches out to touch Tara's knee- contact at which Tara has to physically temper the urge to flinch; it's not that she's intimidated by Gemma, for the most part, or afraid of her. Jackson's mother has acknowledged the connection the two of them share, mentioned that she'd always wondered if the two of them would get together, has made it clear she considers Tara family… Hell, she'd even expressed concern about the way Tara's father treats her. No, what has Tara on edge isn't Gemma Teller's opinion so much as the parallels she's inevitably about to draw; it's the latter that has Tara's stomach in knots.
"My point is, I'm well aware this shit between you two ain't just goin' away; it never did for John and I. When we loved each other, we loved the fuck outta each other; when we hated each other, well… let's just say he was probably safer in goddamn Belfast. We never let the boys realize it, though, not even after Thomas…" Now a wave of pain does cross Gemma's face; she grips the steering wheel with the hand that's not on Tara's knee, and Tara can't help but pat her on the hand. The contact seems to jolt her back into the present- out of whatever memory she'd been reliving- and she turns fully in the driver's seat, bringing them face to face. Here it comes…
"I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate what you've done for my son, sweetheart. You reached him when nobody else could, brought him out of the goddamn hole he got sucked into after Thomas. Something about you just… settles him, and if I'm bein' honest, that scares the shit out of me; because like I said, that's exactly what John and I had and we almost broke each other. But I'm not stupid enough to think he'd be better off without you, either. Matter of fact, I think I've already warned you against breakin' his heart a couple of times." Tara nods, briefly. What the hell else is she supposed to say to that? At her confirmation, Gemma nods in return.
"Jackson, he's got a legacy, sweetheart. Some day, he'll be sittin' at the Reaper table with John, Piney, Ope, and the rest. I know there ain't too much you know about the club, and that's the way it needs to be, but you're a smart girl, baby. You know as well as anyone that gettin' distracted can be dangerous." Tara can feel her breathing quicken, but it isn't enough- suddenly she feels dizzy, stifled without enough oxygen there in the car. Is Gemma saying she's nothing more than a distraction?
"When I found out I was pregnant with Jackson... John, he pushed himself harder than he should have to earn- to get the club to earn- and they made some risky decisions. Shit that brought in money so we could survive; but with money comes trouble, and the club's still dealin' with the consequences of those decisions today. I don't want Jackson puttin' himself through that, not when John's worked so hard to try to put things right." Tara can see she's sincere, and none of the typical Gemma Teller brashness is evident in her demeanor.
"Are… are you saying…" Christ, she hasn't spoken in a good ten minutes, her voice almost seems to croak on its way out. "Are you saying this is why you're bringing me here, to your doctor?" Tara asks, tentatively, "To prevent Jackson and I from making the same mistakes you and JT did?" Instantly, Gemma's shaking her head vigorously.
"No, baby, Jackson was never a mistake. In fact, he's the best thing that ever happened to me, never doubt that." Tara bites her lip in frustration; that isn't what she'd meant.
"I didn't mean… of course Jackson's not a mistake. He's the best thing in my life, Gemma, and I never want to hurt him. I just… why are we here? I mean, I know why we're here, but why are you telling me all this?" At this, Gemma seizes both her hands, pins her with a look so penetrating, Tara couldn't drag her eyes away even if she wanted to. And God, does she want to.
"Piney says you're a lot like your mother. I didn't know her well, like I told you that day in the hospital, but I believe it. She's where you get your strength, your courage- hell, probably your brains too, knowing your old man, since he's shown exactly none of any of that shit since the day I met him. I think you're a lot like me, too, though- you want what you want, and you're not afraid to go get it. Jackson, he's got both me and John in him- loyal to a fault, but he can be unforgiving when he's wronged. Passionate, impulsive, yes; but when he needs to, he can take a step back and think, make the right decision. I just… I see the parallels between the two of you, and John and I. Wherever this thing between you goes, those feelings ain't just gonna go away, and if somethin' happens- comes between you- it ain't gonna be easy for either of you to recover from. I just want you to keep that in mind." Gemma's eyes don't leave hers even as she finishes speaking, but Tara's more confused than ever.
"But what does any of that have to do with me going on the Pill?" Finally, Gemma's smile returns, though she's as intense as ever.
"Babies are a wonderful thing, sweetheart, and someday, I want as many grandchildren as Jackson will give me." Oh, Christ… "But babies need to happen for the right reasons. Not because one person is desperate for the other to stay, or because someone got caught up in the moment. And like I said earlier, a baby at the wrong time can be flat-out dangerous when you're in the life." The life. Meaning, SAMCRO, though Gemma doesn't bother to clarify.
You got ambitions, I know you do, just like Jackson's got a legacy. That means you both need to be smart about all this because if there's one piece of advice I can give you, it's this: you have time right now to just… be. Take it, because before you know it, the club's going to have expectations of Jackson. You're going to have some of yourself, if I know you, and if you're anything like John and I, that's gonna take some compromise between the two of you. A baby thrown into the mix ain't gonna be good for either of you… or it." Holy. Shit. Tara knows there's good advice in there, actually, about just being Jackson and Tara before they're forced to grow up too fast. But all this shit about a baby…
"Gemma. I love Jackson and I'd never hurt him. I'd also never intentionally get pregnant, so I hope that's not what you meant. And I know there are a lot of similarities between us and you and JT, but we're not you. You have to let us make our own mistakes, figure this out on our own." Gemma opens her mouth and Tara rushes to finish. "I know, I know, birth control is a precaution. I'm on board, I swear, even though we've been, uh…careful so far." God… Tara can feel the flush spreading once again and by the look on her face, Gemma notices. "It's just… everything else, you have to let us handle. Advice is appreciated, I swear, but… we got this, Gemma, okay?"
One look at Gemma tells Tara she's anything but convinced that they got anything, but she merely nods and releases Tara's hands, then flips down the visor to fluff her hair. As Gemma extracts a lipstick from her oversized purse and reapplies it in the mirror, she responds, almost casually.
"Just keep in mind, sweetheart, that nobody understands what it's like to be with a Son- the Son- better than I do; and nobody understands the shit Jackson's gonna go through better than John. So even if you ain't willing to see it now, you remember that, okay? We're here for you."
"Okay." In her gut, Tara knows Gemma's right, at least about what she's just said. But as much as the woman wants to tout their similarities, Tara knows their differences are even more striking; she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to do half the shit Gemma does- keeping tabs on a flock of croweaters and standing by as the father of her children faces a potential gun battle at every turn, being at the top of the list. Always coming in second to the club is another thing Gemma takes in stride that Tara just can't wrap her mind around; she'd said she knew of Tara's ambitions, knew there would have to be compromises. However, all that would be a lot more comforting if Tara wasn't fairly certain Gemma's idea of compromise means Tara giving up the things most important to her, besides Jackson.
"Ready?" Lipstick freshened, hair perfectly tousled, and just the right amount of cleavage showing, Gemma looks ready to take on the world; Tara just wishes the conversation they'd just had would have had the same effect on her. With a sigh, she grasps the door handle and follows Gemma into the doctor's office.
Jax is still fuming as he stalks out of the school building after serving his first- and hopefully last- day of Friday detention. Who the fuck does Castor think she is? First of all, talking in class is hardly worth a detention, let alone a whole goddamn string of them; and second of all, this bullshit assignment she'd given is shaping up to be a lot harder to write than he'd thought. He'd spent the majority of the hour writing about the Dyna; it's finer points, its features, and a pretty fucking creative visual description of it, if you ask him… and Castor had barely skimmed it before handing it back with a shrug. Eh, she might as well have said.
He can't be blamed for his teacher's poor taste or her general disinterest in the one thing that truly holds his interest- besides Tara, that is. And he can hardly write about her, not unless he's about to start writing goddamn romance novels or erotic fiction. Besides, who knows if Castor's going to make him read it in front of the class? He loves Tara- the whole goddamn school knows it, too, which is bad enough… well, not bad, so to speak. He has to admit he doesn't miss maintaining the player's reputation as much as he thought he would; it's freeing not to have to deal with the Pussy Patrol on a daily basis, and the benefits of having Tara in his life far outweigh whatever negative hit his reputation had taken once everyone had found out he had a girlfriend. Still, there's no fucking way he's standing in front of the class and reading some love letter, regardless of how true its contents might be.
He reaches the Dyna and sighs again at how goddamn close-minded Castor must be to be against Harley Davidsons. A look at his bike reminds him- for probably the twentieth time today- of the plans he'd had for after school, and his dick sends up a reminder of its own at the thought. Jesus, he'd been looking forward to having Tara naked and willing under the tree where he'd first tasted her… Fuck. Now he's got a full-blown hard-on; that should make the trip over to St. Thomas a pleasant one.
Jax had spent the time Castor had been giving his paper the once-over to contemplate just what the hell he'd do while he waits for Gemma and Tara to get back from their shopping trip or whatever girly shit they're doing, and had decided to go see his old man. God knows he's getting more and more antsy with each passing day stuck in the hospital. Gemma had practically ordered him to go see JT the day before because he was driving her a bit nuts, but he'd been at physical therapy; today seems as good as any to try again. He'll find time to worry about what trouble his mother managed to instigate while shut in a car with his girlfriend, later.
As Jax pulls up to the hospital, he realizes just how different these last few visits have felt than the first few; JT's up and about now, even if it is in a wheelchair. Lowell's dead, Rick's given his statement, the club's on board as they'll ever be- at least until they hear from Clay- and Clay, well… Jax is vaguely aware of orchestrations to get the guy released from jail, but those have mostly been behind closed chapel doors. Ope hasn't been able to get much out of Piney, either, but if Jax is being honest with himself, he isn't really dying to know the details. All he wants is to be present when the club confronts Clay; the actual Mayhem vote is too much to hope for. He's never been privy to a vote before, and he doubts an exception will be made for this, probably the craziest, biggest-impact shit since the founding of SAMCRO. And as for the eventual distribution of whatever Clay's sentence will be, well…
His parents had always done a pretty good job of keeping the seedier bits of SAMCRO life away from him and Thomas, Jax thinks as he takes a left in the waiting room, towards his father's new room. At least, as far as he can remember, which is what counts when you get right down to it. Aside from the occasional lockdown, whatever had been between SAMCRO and its enemies had stayed clear of home and family; although, he can't help but note the irony that it had been a member of SAMCRO itself that had finally brought the danger home. So while Jax is sure half the people of Charming assume he's been witness to untold violence, it just isn't true. Yeah, he's been itching to be a part of the ever-elusive club business since he was a kid, but it had taken a series of attempts on his father's life for him to develop even a hint of a taste for blood. Jax is unsure what, exactly, that says about him; in fact, the thought makes him so uneasy he's barely able to look Kozik in the eye as he approaches his father's room.
"Hey kid." Easygoing as ever, even after a day spent in a plastic chair in a hospital hallway, the prospect has a grin for him as he approaches.
"Hey, Koz. My old man in there?" Kozik rolls his eyes, but doesn't lose the smile.
"Yup, but just barely. We went over to the cafeteria about a half hour ago, just for somethin' to do. He's gettin' stir-crazy, Jax, and I don't blame him; almost two weeks in the joint will do that to a guy." Jax nods and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Any word on when we can spring him?" Kozik shrugs.
"Dunno, really. They don't tell me anything." Jax eyes him for a moment, then- decision made- chances another question.
"What about our other prisoner? Any word on him?" Kozik raises an eyebrow at the question, then settles deeper into the chair and folds his arms.
"I know you're not askin' a prospect to reveal club business to a minor- even the Prince… they'd have me cleanin' the shitters after Bobby for weeks. Or worse." Jax has to laugh, because, really, what the hell could be worse?
"Christ, you're right. I'd never do that to ya. Forget I asked, alright?" Koz breaks into a smile again, and reaches up to clap Jax on the shoulder.
"Your old man's been sayin' from the beginning that this is family business, too. You want any info, though, it's gonna have to come from him. I ain't about to step on any patched members' toes, especially not with this shit." Yeah, Jax had figured. He returns Kozik's smile and jerks his head towards the door.
"A'ight, I'm gonna head in. Thanks, Koz. You gonna be here much longer?"
"Chibs is comin' at 6, thank God." Yeah, Jax would be feeling the same way after spending the day the way the prospect had. Suddenly, he's filled with a rush of gratitude for his father's Brothers- almost without question, they'd stepped up and stepped in- been willing to sit in a hard chair and make sure nobody got to JT while he was at his most vulnerable, wait in the street and keep an eye on Tara's home for most of a night, or participate in what Jax is sure is some crazy-ass scheme to bust Clay loose. Immediately, Jax realizes that this is why he's been so anxious to be in the know, get involved- it wasn't the bike, the women, or the rush of the violence… it's the brotherhood.
"No, really, man; thank you for bein' here for him. I know he ain't your Pres anymore, but-" Kozik's shaking his head and breaking in before Jax can finish.
"He's my Pres, kid. Always has been, always will be. I don't know what happens to the club until he can ride again and I'll respect anyone they put in that chair so long as they earn it, but I know he's gonna have the gavel again sooner or later. I just hope it's before I patch." Jax fights the urge to hug the man- it'd have been awkward anyway with Koz in the chair and Jax standing up- but fuck that feels good to hear. He settles with a broad grin and a clap on the shoulder in return, and knocks briefly before entering his father's room.
JT's in his wheelchair, still- it's positioned in front of the window, which doesn't have a bad view of the little corner park with the pergola and the fringes of Charming beyond- though his neck is craned towards the door. He breaks into a grin at the sight of Jax, and Jax can almost feel the relief behind it.
"Hey, Son. What brings you here alone on a Friday? Thought you'd be with your girl or off gettin' into trouble with Ope…" Jax shrugs.
"I had detention today- and I'll tell ya why in a minute- but right before I had to report, Mom showed up to pick Tara up. Said they had shit to go do, probably shopping or somethin', but I didn't have much time to ask questions because Mom insisted on parking in the pick-up lane and people were all bent out of shape about it." JT barely stifles a grin and chuckles to himself.
"Sounds just like Gem. But she wasn't pickin' your girl up for any shoppin' trip, she told me what was goin' on when she was here earlier, I just forgot until now. I gotta admit, though, I'm surprised you forgot, since your mom's been threatening this shit practically ever since the first time Tara started spendin' nights at our house." Jesus, is he the only one that hasn't been let in on some secret? Before he can think too hard on it, though, he shakes off the thought and crosses the room to grip the handlebars to JT's wheelchair.
"C'mon, old man. We're gettin' outta here for a little."
A brief conversation with Kozik- who JT had sent home- another with one of the floor nurses, and a short walk later, they're strolling down the path that cuts diagonally across the grassy park near the hospital towards the pergola.
"Jesus, its good to smell something other than hospital for a change." Jax doesn't respond, just rolls JT under the pergola and sits on one of the benches. As a second thought, he digs into his hoodie pocket for his smokes and the Zippo and offers one to JT. "Naw, Doc would kill me. And even though it would be, what, the fourth fucking attempt in so many weeks, I'm barely through this last one." They laugh together, a bit, and Jax can't help but wonder if it's good or just really fucked up that they can sit and laugh about attempted murder.
"You miss 'em?" JT looks askance at him and Jax clarifies. "Smokes, I mean. Christ, you smoked more than Ma did until you landed in here." JT smiles faintly and nods.
"Yeah, just doin' what I gotta do so I can get out of here, you know?" His expression turns stern, then, as if he's just remembering Jax is underage or some shit. "You don't need to be lightin' up either, Son. You're sixteen; give it a couple years before you pick up all my damn vices." Jax smirks at him, but doesn't put the pack away.
"And what would those be?"
"Smokes. Whiskey, beer, whatever's available. Gettin' into trouble." Jax chuckles at this one. "Writing. The fairer sex. Any of this soundin' familiar?" Laughing, Jax shakes his head, ruefully.
"Maybe, and it's probably too late for most of those." JT cocks his head and studies Jax a moment before speaking.
"Sounds like it if you got detention today. Last year, I probably wouldn't've even asked, you got detention so often for cutting, but this is the first time this year, ain't it?" Jax nods.
"Yeah, I guess Tara's a better influence on me than you are." Grinning, JT jostles his shoulder before sobering again.
"So what happened?"
"Just… some teacher got in my face about messin' around with Ope and Tara during class. Said I didn't apply myself and I always try to charm my way out of trouble- thanks for that, by the way." At that, his father's smirking again. "But I got detention every Friday for the rest of the year, or until I apply myself and write her some paper about something I'm into. And I can't just write it, I have to write it well enough to make her care about it. How stupid is that?" His father is silent for a moment, then shrugs and raises an eyebrow.
"So write the paper." Yeah, no shit; thanks, Dad. Jax has to try not to say this out loud, actually, and settles on telling his old man what had actually happened.
"I did. Wrote all about the Dyna, but she didn't give a shit."
"Well, then, it sounds like you either need to write about something you care for more, or work on writin' it so your teacher truly gets it." JT shrugs. "Writing is just one of those things, Son. A good writer can sway opinions, build trust, spread passion, change lives- and all with a pen and paper. But he's gotta have his heart in whatever it is, or none of that shit will happen. I know you love your bike, Jackson, but at the end of the day it's just a machine. It doesn't love you back, you know? Even if it does feel like it, sometimes. Shit, back in the day, I'd have told you the Panhead meant more to me than any human being here on earth, but obviously that's changed. I don't love it any less, even if it is a heap of fuckin' twisted metal at the moment, but I got stuff that matters more, now- you, your mom, the club…" JT's expression becomes distant momentarily, but he seems to come back to himself as he fixes his gaze on Jax once more. "I ain't sayin' not to write about your bike. But if you want someone else to understand why you love it, you gotta make 'em feel what you feel when you look at it, when you're riding, or when you're workin' on it. It ain't about the bike at all, in the end, its about the relationship… you get me?"
Slowly, Jax nods. He does, actually. It makes sense- Castor doesn't care much about what sort of engine the Dyna has, or the drag fairings, or any of that other shit that's probably like a foreign language to her. Suddenly, the possibilities start opening up before him. His father had presented him with the bike weeks before his own accident; also, one of the only times his overactive mind is completely at ease is when he's on some back road. Either of those two things would have been more along the lines of what his father's talking about, and almost without thinking, Jax pulls out his notepad and pencil to jot them down. Then, JT's chuckling in the distance.
"Christ, you really did inherit that particular vice from me. I noticed you writin' in that thing a couple other times while you were sittin' in the ICU with me- you do it often?" Jax nods; with anyone but his father, he'd probably have been a little- okay, a lot- embarrassed, but JT writes shit down like this even more compulsively than Jax himself. Combined with whatever he's been pecking away at on the typewriter in the apartment back at the clubhouse, the man's got no room to make fun of him. "Good. I wondered, when I gave you that thing, if it'd be as good for you as it was for me- to get your thoughts out, I mean. Sometimes, all of that shit just ain't made to knock around in your head too long." Jax nods again and shrugs a little, putting the notepad back in his pocket.
"It is, I guess. I'm gonna need a refill soon, though- this one's almost full." JT seems to consider this.
"I got a bunch at the clubhouse, check the drawer in the desk in the apartment. But Son?" Jax raises an eyebrow in response. "If I were you, I'd consider writing your paper about one of the things you put in that notepad. If they're important enough to put in there, they probably mean enough to you to get you through that assignment, don't ya think?" When there's no response from Jax, JT continues. "Think on it, alright? At the end of the day, it's your paper; I'm just assuming you'd prefer not to have to spend next Friday afternoon at school."
"Yeah, you got that right." Then, Jax remembers the other topic of conversation they'd left behind when they'd come out here. "I'd planned on hanging with Tara, but I guess that wouldn't have happened anyway." He leaves out the specific activities he'd had planned for them; he and JT had come a long way towards fixing their relationship, but he's not sure his father wants to hear about any of that shit, at least not from him. JT snorts.
"Yeah, I guess not, since your mother took her to the doctor today." Jax's head snaps up at this. The doctor? What- Another snort and an eye roll from JT stops this train of thought. "For birth control," he clarifies. Oh. Ohhh. Suddenly, Gemma's remark upon finding Tara and Jax practically making out in her kitchen days after JT's accident comes back to him, and it all comes together. He thinks- though he's not sure- Tara had mentioned Gemma bringing the topic up again over Thanksgiving some time, too. Christ. All of a sudden, the thought of Tara, trapped in the Caddy with Gemma for God knows how long, is that much more terrifying.
"Jesus, Dad. Mom's gonna eat her alive, isn't she?" JT busts out into a genuine, belly laugh, one of the first Jax has heard from him since the accident; it's a moment before he recovers enough to respond.
"Most likely. Hey, can we head to the corner, around the edge, and then back in? I'm supposed to meet with the Doc in a little bit, here." Jax obliges, pushing JT's chair out from under the pergola and towards the convergence of the sidewalks. "I know your mother's… intense." Jax rolls his eyes at the understatement, but JT can't see him since he's behind the chair. "She means well, though; and believe it or not, her and I have discussed this thing with Tara and the doc a few times. But her personality's part of what drew me to her in the first place." JT's silent a moment, evidently contemplating what to say next.
"Your mom and I… you know how we met, that bar in the middle of nowhere. It came at a time when the Sons weren't much more than an idea- an excuse, even- for all of us guys to sort of rebel against the government that had treated us so shitty the whole time we were in 'Nam, against all the assholes back here who had treated us even worse when we got back. I dunno. Maybe it takes a certain kind of person to take bein' called a baby killer in stride, but I wasn't one of 'em, back then. After so many people accuse you of bein' a killer and bein' a pawn for the government, you start either wantin' to prove 'em right or prove 'em wrong, you know?"
"Yeah." Jax doesn't know, but he's guessing his old man's going to tell him.
"Anyway, we'd decided a man's personal freedom meant a hell of a lot more than whatever small freedoms the government decided to dole out, then take away. We were in it for ourselves, for the brotherhood, which is what the goddamn war ended up bein' about once we were over there, anyway; no political shit matters when you're in the middle of some goddamn jungle, tryin' to keep yourself and the guy next to you alive. And along the way, we found others who believed as we did, brought 'em along with us. Christ, we were a bunch of goddamn Nomads, if you want the truth; but from the moment I met your mom, all that changed." Jax can't help but smile; he's heard a lot of this before, but who doesn't like hearing their origin story every once in a while?
"We were like you and Tara- couldn't keep our hands off each other. Christ, Piney fuckin' hated it, said every time he turned around he saw shit he didn't want to." At this, Jax has to laugh- Ope and Piney are clearly cut from the same cloth. "Well, you know where all that led... it wasn't but a couple months later and we found out Gem was pregnant. It was the late 70's, they'd legalized abortion, and I think everyone just sort of assumed that's the direction we'd take- your mom was as free a spirit as any of us had ever met, and I'd just spent a good five or ten years runnin' through all the pussy on the West Coast."
"Jesus Christ, Dad. I don't know if it's worse to hear that all your parents' friends assumed you'd be aborted or about your father's conquests…" He isn't bothered by what his father had said… not really; it's obvious what the club would have expected at the time, and what had ended up happening despite that.
"Let me finish, Son. They underestimated your Ma- and me, if you want to know the truth. Family ain't never been somethin' either of us had in spades, and I think she was eager to have one of her own, fix the mistakes your grandparents had made. Me… I couldn't deny that the thought of a son, someone to pass my legacy on to, meant a whole lot. My own old man, he'd popped smoke before I got the chance to know him and I didn't have shit to show for him. But you… you were gonna be different, and so was I."
"So you moved to Charming…" Jax prompts, but JT chuckles.
"Well, not right away. We landed a few more places while your mom was pregnant, but eventually, we stopped fooling ourselves that we could continue movin' around and pullin' jobs to stay afloat. Charming just became the obvious choice. Clay was the only one of us besides me that had any goddamn experience under the hood of a cage and when the shop here came up for sale, well… I figured your mother would give me hell- I thought she'd always hated it here- but it turns out your grandparents bein' in another state, the opportunity to start new, well, it sorta changed her perspective on things." Jax nods. He'd heard before about his mom's return to Charming- practically nobody had recognized her as the preacher's daughter, and those that did had stayed mostly silent on the matter since she'd arrived with nine outlaw bikers in tow.
"The moment you were born was the happiest day of my life, Jackson. That and Thomas' birth…those were the only two things in practically that whole goddamn decade after your mom and I got married that made sense- hell, even Gem and I were gettin' pulled in two opposite directions. Even when we got the shop set up, shit just kept piling up and I went against my better judgment on a lot of it, but the Irish deal in particular… Christ. And I got lost in my own head, like I tend to do. I know your mom thinks it was you boys, the responsibility of it all that had me distracted, and that was part of it- I had myself convinced we needed to earn and earn big. But I know in my heart that wasn't all of it." Jax is silent, taking it all in. He supposes it's obvious, and a baby- especially an unexpected one- would be life changing; big stuff like that has always led to his father becoming introspective, withdrawn, even. Yeah, it makes sense he'd have put pressure on himself during that time and even more sense that he'd have kept it to himself.
"I let myself get talked into gettin' in bed with the IRA- McGee and Clay, they thought it was best. And the business it brought us, the money it brought in… at first, it seemed like I'd been worryin' for nothin'. But we found out real quick that we weren't runnin' grass and cigars anymore. And the clubs out in Oakland, they found out just as quick that we were competition they needed to take seriously. Luckily, Chico had an in with the Mayans, but that shit didn't last, either, as you know. Otherwise, though… I'm not sure we'd have made it through those first years." Jesus. Jax had been a little kid, but he'd never heard his father- or anyone else, for that matter- talk about the other side of the club, the side that had almost been swallowed up before it even had a chance to get off the ground.
"Anyway, that shit ain't my point. We made it through, but we lost a lot of brothers- guys you never got the chance to know. We're still dealin' with some of that shit today but with any luck, it'll settle. Your mom and I, though… I didn't talk to her, didn't bother to tell her the shit I was struggling with, besides my doubts in myself as a father. None of the club shit, you understand?" He pauses here, and Jax jolts into action behind the chair as they turn the final corner back towards the hospital; clearly, he's expected to respond.
"Y-yeah, I do." So? he wants to ask. Keeping Old Ladies in the dark had been a SAMCRO policy since before he could remember.
"I never told her how conflicted I was about any of the shit we were gettin' into, how lost I felt the club was getting. And I think she felt like I resented her, or you boys. I dunno. We've sorted through our shit by now, but her and I- as much passion as we had in the beginning when we first met, that's how much animosity we seemed to have a decade later, and that's on me. I closed myself off from her when we probably needed each other the most, and I did it because I'd allowed club business to come first, before my wife… and before my sons. Eventually, she stopped correcting me when I said I was a shitty father and a shittier husband." Holy shit. Jax had grown up with the notion that the club family came first for the men of SAMCRO, mainly because the Old Ladies had everything else under control. To hear his father say otherwise is… Christ, he doesn't know how it makes him feel. And hearing about his parents' struggles from back in the day- in much greater detail than he had that morning they'd vaguely referenced them while he'd been pretending to sleep- makes him nervous, at best.
"You and Tara, I know you got feelings between you. I know you love her, and she loves you- I suspect you always have; its like I told Piney the first time he got into you about watchin' yourself around her- I think you've loved each other since you were kids, you just didn't know what it meant, back then. A love like that- it can be life changing if you let it."
"It has been," Jax blurts out, and just like that, the words keep coming. "She makes me a better person, Dad. She's the only one I really feel like… myself around. I mean, Ope, yeah, but there's just some things I can't even tell him." JT reaches back and pats his hand, and Jax stops at the near corner of the park.
"Come around here so I can look at ya when I say what I got to say." Jax obliges, trailing a hand on the handle of the chair as he moves to stand facing his father, then jams his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what the fuck to do with them, really.
"That's how I felt with your mom, Jackson. Still do, after all these years. We got back there, eventually; after all the lies, the mistrust, after Tommy, after-" JT stops abruptly, jaw twitching. Then, just as abruptly, he continues. "But it didn't have to be that way, Son. As much as I love the club, my brothers, wearing the patch… I can't help thinking of how different things would have been for us if we'd have just stuck to the brotherhood of it all, if we'd have established ourselves, what we wanted us to be, before we all had kids and needed to earn bigger. And I ain't just talkin' about SAMCRO, either- your Ma had dreams, too, you should ask her about 'em some time."
"But If I'd have just talked to her instead of gettin' lost in my own head; if I'd have stuck to my guns- so to speak- when it came to the whole IRA deal..." JT pauses, seemingly frustrated. "Shit, there's just so much I can't tell you about all of that because it ain't safe, but that wouldn't be the case if I'd have manned up back then, if I'd let your mother in."
"My point, Son, is this: I don't regret you or Thomas, not for one second, not one goddamn moment I've had with either of you. But sometimes I think maybe things would have been different- better for you boys and your mother- if you'd have been born a few years later. After I had my head on straight. And I sure as hell wish some of my decisions had been different. But you and Tara… you're young, you got all those decisions ahead of ya, still. Tara might not realize it now, but she's gonna have plans for herself, plans that might take her out of Charming for a while some day; the best she's gonna do here is community college and we both know she deserves to do whatever she sets her mind to.
"She wants to do something medical…" Jax says, softly, not daring to look at his father as he says it, lest his eyes betray just how sick the thought of her anywhere but Charming makes him.
"And you…your teacher was right, Jackson; you don't apply yourself, and I know I've been tellin' you for years now that you need to get an education. Ain't nobody that can take that away from you once you've got it. You want to be a mechanic and work at T-M for the rest of your life? Fine, so long as that's what you want. But you're gonna have options, son; options that we never had, and we both know that Tara gettin' pregnant takes 'em away from both of ya." Christ…
"Where is all this baby and pregnancy shit comin' from all of a sudden? Well, not all of a sudden, but-"
"The two of you remind your mom and I a lot of ourselves, Son. That's where this is comin' from. That and the fact that we ain't stupid, though we might act like it sometimes; I see how you two are around each other, and I recognize how a couple acts when they're, uh… sexually active."
"Jesus, Dad…" JT narrows his eyes.
"Don't get all modest on me now, Jackson. I hear the rumors that go around the clubhouse just like everyone else. That means I know what you and your dick have been gettin' into ever since last summer." Yeah, that's going to take first place in the Shit Nobody Wants to Hear Come Out of Their Father's Mouth category. "Christ, you were just as lost as I was after Thomas, and I couldn't pull my goddamn head out of my own ass long enough to remind you to wrap your shit, at least not very often. God knows that if I'd been myself, if it had ever been the same girl, twice, or if all that talk would've been about sex and not just blow jobs, we'd have had this conversation then, too. But you and Tara… "
"I wear a condom every time, Dad." God…
"Let me finish, Jackson. "I don't want to see you struggle the same way we did, and I don't want you to settle, either. And I know nothin' I say is gonna change your mind about Tara, and I ain't tryin' to- there ain't nobody in this town I'd be happier to see you with than that girl, so that's not what I mean when I say settle. You just need to be smart. Keep your options for your life, your career, your family, open- and you let Tara do the same. What you got between you is strong enough to see you through if it's meant to happen, but don't be throwin' up roadblocks that don't need to be there. And all I'm sayin' is that a baby's a pretty damn big roadblock."
Jax is speechless, maybe for only the second time since Tara had come back and blown him away. Sure, enough crazy shit had gone down in the past few months to render him silent- sometimes even for a few minutes at a time - but he can't remember standing there, his mouth working but nothing coming out even though he wants it to. He wants to ask question after question, grill his father about what he meant about options; does he no longer want him in SAMCRO? Does he want Tara- or even Jax himself- to leave Charming? Christ, he'd talked about getting the club on the right path a few weeks ago- before the accident- and just now… is that what he means? Or… fuck, why can't I make my goddamn mouth work?
He's still standing there, mouth hanging open like a dipshit, when he hears a voice call out from what he assumes is near the hospital entrance, behind him.
"Mr. Teller!" Jax whirls to find Doctor Edmonds on the sidewalk just outside the electric door, her hand raised. Before either he or JT can respond, she's trotting towards them, her white coat sailing behind like some sort of cape. As she approaches them, Jax feels JT nudge him.
"Son, go on and push me back towards the building, will ya? I was supposed to meet with her a few minutes ago but I lost track of time." Without a word, Jax is back behind the wheelchair again, and they meet Edmonds a little over halfway to the hospital entrance. She's a little breathless, but… fucking happy, Jax thinks; at least from the looks of her.
"I went to your room, but you weren't there. Your guy- that Scottish one, this time- he said you and Jax had come out here for some fresh air, so I figured I'd just meet you. It's good to see you out of the room, honestly. Sometimes I need to get out…" She drifts off and colors a bit before adding, "Sorry. I usually don't go on about myself to patients." Jax can see JT wave her off with a hand.
"Naw, don't worry about that. I'm sorry we got held up out here. You're right, it is nice to get out of that room; I'm in there much longer and I think you'll have to send me on up to the psych ward- does St. Thomas have a psych ward?" Edmonds laughs.
"Nowadays, we have inpatient treatment centers for those that are mentally ill. So, no. But that's sort of what I wanted to discuss with you- getting out of that room, not the psych ward, so don't worry. Can we walk and talk?" JT nods and Jax obligingly pushes the chair so that JT and Edmonds are even with each other. "I've just been up to consult with Neurology and Internal Medicine, and as you know, I've been keeping abreast of your progress in Physical Therapy as well." Abruptly, the doctor halts. "Wait. Is Mrs. Teller here? If she is, we should probably-"
"No, she had other… business to attend to." Jax can hear the smile in his father's voice and he rolls his eyes. At least someone had managed to get some amusement out of whatever that shit show back there had been. Christ, his mind's still whirling. "Whatever you got to say, I'll fill her in, she'll live." Nodding, Edmonds continues.
"Alright. Well, the consult went well, John. Really well. The specialists couldn't be more pleased- frankly, amazed- at the progress you've made, and PT has recommended you for an outpatient program. It's still rather intensive, mind you, it would take about the same amount of time as the program you've been following while you're in here, at least at first." She glances expectantly at JT, who's looking up at her, brow wrinkled.
"Are you saying…" Jax practically mouths the words along with his father. Is she saying…
"You're being released?" Edmonds pauses, the exuberant smile on her face answering the question before the words leave her mouth. "Yes." Both father and son catch their respective breaths. Then…
"When?" Jax isn't even sure which of them had asked the question, but Edmonds answers just the same.
"Well, I'm afraid it's too late this evening- our Discharge Counselors have either gone home or are otherwise out of the building. But as soon as I can get the ball rolling tomorrow…" Edmonds continues talking as they near the hospital doors, but Jax is no longer listening. At some point along the way back to the room, she takes her leave, but he's not able to do much more than give her a smile and a little wave. He's pretty sure he's smiling like an idiot, but he doesn't much care. He's also pretty sure Chibs gives them a strange look as they approach, but he doesn't much care about that, either. Chibs stands, stretches a bit, before training his gaze on JT; he's a little harder to read than most of the club- probably due to the scars marking his cheeks- but… Christ, Jax has no idea what his expression means except that the fact he's still wearing it as they reach the door is a likely sign it has nothing to do with how fucking happy Jax must look.
"Ay, brotha. I see the Doc found ya, then." He looks like he wants to say more, but JT's already responding in the affirmative.
"Yup. Had some news for me." If it's possible, Chibs grows even more serious.
"Aye, an' I as well." He barely misses a beat before continuing, all business, in a manner that isn't typical for him. "Piney had word from Rosen today," Chibs' eyes flicker briefly to Jax "and the two witnesses recanted. They're releasin' Clay tomorra' mornin', eleven o'clock." Holy, holy shit. Jax swallows, is sure Chibs, JT, and half the waiting room a few hundred feet away can hear the lump slide past his Adam's apple. But JT only nods. Then…
"Good. I'm outta here first thing tomorrow morning. Someone- probably two of ya, maybe you and Piney- needs to give Clay a lift to the clubhouse in the tow, and I'll have Gem bring me to meet you. Have Piney call church, get everyone there by eleven. We end this shit tomorrow, brother. You got my word." All Chibs can do is nod, and Jax finds himself unable to speak for the second time in an evening.