Episode 10: Firinne
Cherry's history with bad men ("I need a new life.")
You know, in the grand scheme of things, she supposes she can trace it all back to when she was in fifth grade. She'd had a crush on Johnny D, the meanest boy in school. He'd push girls off the playground and laugh. All the girls hated him, but not Cherry. She'd walked up to him, pushed him, and smirked. He'd been her first kiss.
Middle school had brought with it a slew of boys vying for her attention. It never mattered though. No matter what, no matter who it was, Cherry never wanted the boys who left chocolate in her locker or walked her to the bus.
No, she wanted the boys that stood on the corner, smoking and jeering at them. The ones that skipped morning classes to hide under the crumbling bleachers to drink beer. It didn't take long for Cherry to join them.
She never stayed with one for very long. That was their nature. They'd fall in love, be happy, fight, blow up, break up, and date friends in a desperate attempt to make the other jealous and twist the knife a little further.
That continued through high school, with it's blurry nights spent in a drunken and high state, never quite sure of who she was hooking up with and where her affections were. It didn't really matter anyways. Everything was temporary, the buzz, the sex, the bruises, the drugs. They didn't last.
Then came her mother's boyfriend, the one who leered down at her with yellowing teeth and he treated her just like her boyfriends did and she hated every second of it. The second she had a chance to escape, she did. At the end of high school, when she was 18 and a real adult, she followed where the general crowd went- to ragged, run down trailers on the edge of town. There was the rat infested one with Tommy, the one that constantly smelled like garlic with Pete, the one with no air-conditioning with Josh, they all blur together in her mind.
The last one had been with Casey. It had been slightly less miserable than the others. She was cooking the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make a meal with baked beans, bacon, and salt when she looked up. Casey, bare-assed in the front yard, was having sex with some thin girl while his friends stood around, cheering. She dropped the beans, packed her things, and left without a backwards glance.
It had been more of the same, all the way to Las Vegas. Hitchhiking, men in bars that got her drunk but had a warm bed. She knew how to make things work. She knew how to toss back a shot and smile. And that's how she met him.
The asshole. She hadn't been prepared for his blinding smile, his quick tongue, the smooth talking. How easily she finds herself attached to him. Soon, they're living together. Not in a trailer park, but a small little house that they can grow in. She finds herself with a little ring on her finger and she's happy and settled for the first time in what feels like forever.
Then came the bruises. Grips too tight on the way out of the bar. Upper arms, always covered with sleeves. Slaps, rants, punches, bitter rage. So she'd done the only logical thing she could think of at that point- burn the whole damn house down and hope he went with it. Then she ran.
Indian Hills had always been home, but that didn't mean it was the same place she'd left. Tommy had OD'd, Pete was in jail for armed robbery, and all her girlfriends were either knocked up or carting their brood of kids off to court. It was pure luck that first night at the bar she'd met Jury, who'd asked her to get him a beer and come back to the bar.
She took to the sweet butt life naturally. No steady boyfriend but plenty of attention from everyone, that appealed to her. Plus, they protected her from her past and there was always plenty of alcohol. Kip was a bright light in an otherwise fairly bleak life, and it was over too soon, for she got shipped off to Ireland.
And when everything goes to hell again and everyone around her is drunk and bitter, she thinks to herself what life could've been if she had actually made it to Vegas. She rubs her temples and tries not to just lay down and cry.
Yeah, she needs a new life.
Clay killing Keith
At least 100 memories are racing through Clay's head.
Keith, grinning at him from across the bar, the sense of belonging washing through him.
Keith, helping him pack for Vietnam, not trying to cheer him up or encourage him, but rather silent support.
His return from Vietnam, Keith practically pouring alcohol down his throat, pushing women into him, laughing.
Keith, passing him on his bike, laughing.
Keith, sitting at the table, hands folded in ponderous thought.
Keith, him, and the seven others, just trying to start something, unaware where it would lead them.
Keith, betraying the club.
That's the only memory that matters right now and that's the one that Clay chooses to focus on as Keith steps up to the ledge. He has to put away all his personal feelings. This is the nature of the club. Betrayal will not be tolerated.
That doesn't mean he can forget the memories.
Keith and his purposeful loud voice on Sunday mornings when he was hungover.
Keith's undying habit of adding bacon bits to everything.
Keith's passionate love of old black and white gangsta films.
Keith making the world's best meatloaf.
The first nine, a dying breed. Slowly, but surely, Clay is losing his brothers. And though he knows he shouldn't see Keith as a brother anymore, as he steps to the ledge and he's without his kutte for the first time in however many years Clay's known him, he feels the same pain he felt when he lost all his other brothers.
Keith falls and disappears and a piece of Clay's soul goes with him.
"You watch him!" "Yes ma'am."
"Jax!" Gemma yells and from the large trees in the backyard drop two boys, kicking up dust with they land hard, laughing.
"Coming mom!" Jax calls back, glancing back to see if Opie is with him. They try to brush their clothes clean, then run inside.
"What were you doing?" Gemma asks, clipping on her bracelets and leveling them with her best mom glare.
"Nothing." Jax says instantly and Gemma turns to Opie, who keeps his mouth shut tightly.
"Alright, don't tell me." She says dismissively. "But I'm going to the club."
"We're gonna go to the skate park." Jax informs her, opening the fridge and grabbing the three kinds of meat and two cheeses out, snatching the bread and taking four slices out. Gemma watches in amazement as he begins stacking a sandwich together.
"Watch him." She orders Opie, once she's able to tear her eyes away from Jax and his creation.
"Yes ma'am." Opie says in amusement, watching as Jax now contemplates how he's going to fit the sandwich into his mouth. Shaking her head, Gemma departs. "Try smashing it down." Opie suggests thoughtfully.
"No, I don't want to rip the bread."
Once Jax has finally managed to eat the sandwich, as well as half a bag of chips and three cookies, they grab their bikes and pedal to the skate park. They pause, looking through the chainlink fence in silence. A group of boys on skateboards are yelling and laughing.
"Well shit." Opie says flatly and Jax makes a face. "You still wanna go in?"
"Yeah." Jax's chin juts up in defiance. "I'm not scared of them."
"Ok then." Opie follows Jax into the park. For awhile, they stay away from the group of other boys, but that doesn't last forever and quickly, they're forced to make their way to that ramp.
"Hey, bike trash, get off our ramp." One particularly burly kid says hotly.
"It's not your ramp." Jax says heatedly. "It's at a public park dipshit."
"Yeah and white trash ain't allowed on it." He sneers and Jax rams his bike forward, hitting the kid's skateboard.
"Don't call me white trash." He warns.
"Why, it's what you are. White trash, biker trash, all around trash. Trash, trash, trash," He chants and Opie catches Jax's fist before it swings.
"Just go." He says lowly and Jax, blue eye flashing, grits his teeth and just drops in from the ramp.
"Don't think that we won't punch your face in too." The burly kid threatens and Opie just blinks balefully then drops in behind Jax.
(-)
Gemma walks into her kitchen, feeling like the weight of the world is pressing onto her shoulders. Someone, deep inside her brain, she knows things are going to get much worse, but right now, she just wants sleep. She drops her purse on the counter before realizing that someone else is in the house.
"Hi Gem." Opie is standing at the stove, stirring a pot slowly. She blinks a couple times, bewildered, mostly because Opie Winston is standing in her kitchen, cooking, and strangest of all, with a shaved head.
"Op." She says, startled. Then she walks over to embrace him tightly. "Oh, thank god you're here. How'd you ever get Mary to let you go?" She holds him out from her, inspecting him. It's not just the hair that's changed- he's skinnier, calmer, and quieter. She silently is thankful for that- she's sure Jax will need his best friend in the upcoming weeks.
"Not willingly." He tries to joke, but it's subdued.
"Well, I don't know how she ever would've kept you away. How's he doing?" Gemma questions and Opie dumps mac and cheese into one bowl, grabbing a spoon.
"Well, he yelled a lot. Then he cried a lot. I think we've found a balance now." He says quietly and the pair of them walk to Jax's room. For a second, Gemma isn't sure he's the room, but then she realizes the mess of blankets, clothes, and pillows conceal him.
"Jax…" She says quietly and the lump doesn't move.
"Food." Opie shoves the bowl into the depths.
"Not hungry." Jax says monotonously.
"Didn't ask. Eat it." Opie orders, sitting down and picking up the remote. Gemma watches from the doorway, unsure what she should do. After a couple long moments, Jax picks up the spoon and slowly lifts it to his mouth.
"You watch him." Gemma mummers to Opie.
"Yes ma'am." He inclines and she goes to fall onto her bed and curl into a ball.
Darkness falls and Jax doesn't speak. Opie sits beside him steadily, keeping the TV on. There isn't anything that passes between the two of them but silence. Opie just waits, anticipating Jax's next move. So when he suddenly stands, throwing the blankets aside, Opie is ready.
"I gotta go." Jax says abruptly and Opie just follows him outside. Jax grabs a bike, casually thrown aside and races down the driveway. Opie, thankful that he had the foresight to bring his as well, keeps up with him.
Jax races through Charming and it's not hard to tell where he's headed. Opie, his stomach sinking, just tries to keep up peddling but Jax is in better shape. When he finally skids to a stop, Jax is on a bike trail overlooking the highway.
"Jax." Opie calls and it's not an attempt to draw him back but more of a reminder that he's there, that he's not alone.
"He's gone." Jax says and Opie just waits for his best friend. "He's just gone, it's so easy to leave, we could just…" Jax takes a step forward and Opie lunges forward, grabbing Jax's arm before he can get closer to the lip of the cliff.
"Don't." He says flatly and Jax looks up at him, pain clouding his eyes.
"Op, I don't know how to do this." He whispers and Opie keeps a firm grip on his upper arm.
"You'll figure it out. We'll figure it out, together." He promises. "Now I swear, get on your bike. We're going home."
(-)
"I just… I'm speechless." Donna says, pacing back and forth in front of his couch. Opie watches her quietly, his head in his hands. "Can you believe this?"
"No." He says tonelessly, the only word he's said for the last half hour, if not more.
"I'm just… Sheer disbelief! I thought I knew her better. I thought we were closer than that." Donna fumes.
"She didn't even tell Jax." Opie responds and from the cold glare Donna throws his way, surmises that's the wrong thing to say.
"That's different Op. Tara and I were friends. Best friends. You tell your best friend things you don't even tell your boyfriend." She stops pacing and pinches her nose.
"So you're telling me Tara knows things even I don't?" He prods and she collapses into a chair, refusing to be swayed by the change of topic.
"I just can't believe she's gone." She broods.
"We all can't." Opie agrees and Donna is quiet finally. After awhile she sighs and waves a hand.
"You should go be with Jax." She insists. "His girlfriend just left him. If I know him like I think I know him, he's about to hit a downward spiral and fast."
"No, that'll come in about two to three days. He's still in the denial phase." Opie says and Donna's brow creases.
"How do you know that?"
"I've watched him lose people before." He says heavily, getting up and kissing her head. "But I'll go check on him for you."
"Opie." Donna calls as he opens the door. He glances over his shoulder. She's leaning over the top of her chair, worriedly chewing her lip. "You'd tell me if you were leaving, right?"
"No." He says honestly and hurt begins to bloom in her eyes. "But I'm never leaving you." With a smile, he walks out. He rides to Jax's, not sure what to expect. If things go by Jax's standard timeline, there are still a couple days left of the denial, forcing everything to be normal, before he moves onto blind anger. He parks, noticing Gemma's car is gone and so is Clay's motorcycle. He lets himself in, listening for Jax.
"Op, I know it's you." His voice calls from his bedroom and Opie shuts the door loudly, walking towards it.
"Should I ask how?" He asks, walking into Jax's room, prepared for the worst. The room is an absolute mess, filled with empty bottles of alcohol, food wrappers, plates, and cigarette butts.
"Mom and Clay went to the club for some," He makes air quotes. "Important shit. And it's not like anyone else is coming." He glowers and lights another cigarette. "It's not like it was Tara."
"Ok." Opie says firmly, to hide his surprise that Jax is clearly already onto the anger phase. "Get up. Get dressed. We're going to the club."
"Why?" Jax spits.
"Because you can't be alone." Opie gives him a flat look. "And I can't take care of you alone. So we might as well take you there, where the crow eaters can make sure you don't burn the whole place down when you fall asleep with a cigarette in your mouth."
"I haven't done that yet." Jax mutters and Opie throws the least smelly pair of jeans that he can find at Jax.
"Let's go." He orders. Grumbling, Jax pulls them on and stumbles out to his bike. Opie lets him go first, following him closely to make sure he doesn't suddenly detour down an alley or back ground. When Jax finally parks in the club, Opie breathes a sigh of relief.
"Hey, what are you two doing here?" Clay asks, walking out of the shop and watching with a slight frown as Jax throws his helmet at the chainlink fence and staggers inside.
"Shit." Gemma says, coming up behind Clay, her hands on her hips. "I thought we had a couple more days before he got pissed."
"He surprised us by arriving there early." Opie declares dryly and Gemma pats Clay's shoulder than hurriedly follows Jax into the clubhouse. Opie follows after her. They walk in to find a stripper standing with a shot of tequila between her boobs, salt on her arm, and a lime in her mouth. Jax is getting ready to lick the salt.
"Jesus Christ." Gemma says tiredly. "You watch him." She turns and points to Opie.
"Yes ma'am." He says automatically then goes to the girl minding the bar. "You cut him off before he blacks out, you understand me?"
"How many is that?" She asks curiously.
"It'll be somewhere between strippers 3 and 4." He says and grabs a beer, leaving a confused girl in his wake. He sits down on the couch with his beer and watches as Jax spits the shot glass out and takes the lime. He sighs heavily as Jax then spits the lime and grabs the stripper's ass.
It's gonna be a long night.
Trinity's Teller-ness
"Trinny!" Her mother's yelling makes the small, thin girl look up. She's got her feet dangling off the rickety fire escape, a thick book about love in her hands. She debates remaining in her hiding place, but decides that nothing could be worse than her mother's rage and a ladle so she squeezes back through the window.
"Aye ma?" She tries to sound casual, seating herself in the chair by the window. Her mother rounds the corner, looking flustered before stopping and frowning at her.
"Where were ya?" She demands and Trinity shrugs.
"Dunno what ya mean, been here da whole time." She says and her mother looks ready to argue the point before shutting her mouth and sighing.
"Yer teacher called." She reveals and Trinity's stomach clenches nervously.
"Ma, I can explain." She hastily tries to avert the problem.
"Explain what Trinity?" Her mother has her serious face on, the one that means Trinity can't cry or beg or promise her way out of this trouble. She hesitates, not sure which of her sins her mother knows about and what ones she shouldn't reveal.
"My behavior." She settles for a purposely vague term, since she knows the call will at least be related to that.
"Yer fightin' in da school yard!" Her mother bursts and Trinity leans back apprehensively. That behavior.
"Ma," She tries to get a word in otherwise, but her mother is having none of it.
"My daughter! Fightin'! Are ya mad? What the Mary's name is enough to get ya fightin'?"
"Da boys ma!" She rises up the her mother's anger with some of her own and she sees her look at her in surprise. "Bullies, da lot of them!" Angry tears prick her eyes as she recalls the rainy afternoon. "They took my books, threw them in da dirt. Pulled my hair." She pulls back the sleeves of her shirt so her mother can see the bruises on her arm.
"Trinny…" Her mother breathes, clearly stunned.
"And then they pushed Darcy into da fence." She says spitefully. "So I punched Jimmy and I don't regret it Ma, they're so mean ta us!" She can't hold her furious tears in anymore.
"Ya didn't fight them till they hurt ya friend?" Her mother asks quietly and Trinity doesn't know what answer is correct, so she defaults to the truth.
"Aye." She says slowly, swiping at her eyes.
"Ah, my Trinny-girl." With a rueful smile, her mother takes her into her arms and nervously, Trinity accepts the embrace. "Yer so much like ya da sometimes. Fightin' for da weak." Trinity doesn't ask any questions about her dead soldier father.
"Am I in trouble?" She asks carefully and with a small laugh, her mother shakes her head.
"Nah Trinny, but ya can't be fightin' anyone who does ya wrong."
"Why not?" Trinity demands and for a second, her mother looks nothing but proud. Then she resumes her stern mask.
"Cause yer a smart girl. Yer teacher said ya got the highest score of ya whole class in readin'." She says and Trinity grins, glancing down at her book. "Yer smart Trinny, don't let stupid boys ruin it for ya."
"But ma." She protests as her mother rises to head back into her bedroom. She turns and raises an eyebrow. "No one else will fight um." She reveals, watching her mother warily. "If I don't, no one will."
"Then be smart about how ya fight them." Her mother winks and Trinity frowns, trying to figure out what she means. "Like having backup." She walks into her bedroom and starts the door. Pondering what backup she could have, because Darcy is useless, she climbs back out onto the fire escape, reading her book.
She's hardly made it through a chapter before inspiration strikes. She snaps the book shut and excitedly climbs back inside. She has an uncle to call.
That next morning, all the kids in the schoolyard stop at the sound of a loud roar. They clamber to the fence, watching as a Harley motorcycle pulls up to the drop off area. A tiny girl, whip thin, with hair so blonde it almost seems white, hops off the back and hands the helmet back to the broad shouldered man.
"Thanks Uncle Keith!" Trinity says loudly, waving and skipping toward the courtyard. With a laugh, the man on the bike drives away, revving the engine extra loud when he passes the courtyard.
"Who's that?" One boy with bad teeth asks, watching the disappear bike with wide eyes.
"That's my uncle Keith." Trinity says, so all the boys can hear her.
"Did he have a skeleton on his back?" Another boy asks worriedly.
"Of, yeah." Trinity says, supremely unconcerned. "Dat's da Reaper."
"What's a Reaper?" Darcy asks timidly and Trinity glances over her shoulder at the boys that are watching her with a new sense of apprehension.
"It's da thing dat hurts da bad people dat hurt me." With that she squares her shoulder and marches through the clump of boys. They melt away in front of her, awed and cowed. She turns and gives a triumphant smile at the fact that today, no one is going to be punched or shoved. Then she skips into the library. She needs a new book.
"Is that the life you want for your child?" Abel being Jax's son
He checks the clock. 4:39. He's got an hour and roughly 11 minutes before his big moment. Plenty of time. He stretches and sets down the wrench, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Heading out?" Ken asks, appearing over the top of a bike he's been tinkering with.
"Yeah." He throws his dirty, oily rag into a bucket.
"No you're not." Quinn says, striding into the shop, his face furious.
"Shit, what now?" Abel asks, slouching.
"We've got something to handle." Quinn announces and Abel stares at him in disbelief.
"Today man, of all days?" He points out and Quinn gives him a stern look.
"Ok, ok." He grumbles, putting his hands up. "I get it. What happened?"
7 minutes later, they're riding their bikes out of the yard and Abel has half his focus on the road ahead and the other half on the time on his phone, it slowly ticking closer to 6 and his doom. He appreciates the Quinn is speeding them towards the warehouse but he'd rather be home, showering and getting ready.
But this is not an option because there are men to chase and threaten and Piper nearly dies with laughter when he sees how annoyed Abel is, standing with his gun aimed at an unconscious man, demanding if he can go now.
"Go then, we can handle this." Ken says, hauling one man to the center of the room. Quinn watches with folded arms.
"No, I'll stay." Abel mutters, glancing at the clock. 5:34. 26 minutes to get home, shower, and change. It'll be cutting it close.
"No, go, we can handle it from here." Quinn instructs.
"Are you sure?" Abel checks and Quinn glances at him, waving a hand.
"Go. Do this. Lord knows she needs it." With a grin, Abel tucks his gun back into the band of his jeans and puts his grandfathers knife where in belongs on his belt.
"Don't fuck things up with my sister!" Piper bellows as he runs out of the warehouse. He hops on the bike and rides as fast as he can home, making it in second time. 5: 47. 13 minutes. He can do it. He strips out of his clothes, noticing in annoyance that he's got blood on his jeans, but there's no time to soak them.
The shower is more of a quick rinse, getting the blood, dirt, and grime off him. His hands pass over the tattoos on his forearms and back of his hands then he quickly gets out, drying off. 5:51. 9 minutes. He's never been more thankful for picking his outfit out the night before. He pulls it on, tossing the knife and gun into the middle of the bed, knocking his other gun off the nightstand as he grabs the gift sitting there and dashes out the door.
5:53. 7 minutes. It's a 15 minute drive to the restaurant and he knows this, but the love of his life is punctual and not happy when he's late so he crosses his fingers that no cops or sheriffs will pull him over on his crusade through town. Maybe it's his father smiling down, but the drive is seamless, void of cars, cops, or red lights.
He pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine on his bike, checking the time. 6:01. He looks up in time to see the silver hybrid car's driver door open. As it always does, his heart skips a beat at the sight of her.
The long legs, the short dress, the long, blonde hair, the big green eyes, and her wide smile, ruby red lips. Willow, in all her glory. He gets off the bike and opens his arms, eager to have her in them once again.
"You're late." She declares, kissing his cheek and squeezing him tightly.
"It could've been worse." He tells her and she frowns just slightly. "You might have to get blood out of my pants later."
"Well are they soaking?" She asks him quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist as they walk into the restaurant.
"No." He admits and she sighs heavily. "That's why I'm on time!"
"Oh Abel Teller I have missed you." She says, chuckling in amusement.
"I missed you more, Willow Winston." He kisses her head then smiles at the man. "Reservations under Teller."
"Right this way." He leads them to a back table, far away from the classy people in their suits and jewels. Abel doesn't bother getting mad about it- he's learned long ago that if he keeps his kutte on while visiting these places, he will always be looked down at. It does irk him that stunning Willow is regulated to the corners, but he knows she's as unbothered by it as him.
"I've heard the fish here is great." She's muttering and he just watches her for a long moment, the way she flips her hair over her shoulder, the slight purse in her lips as she examines the menu.
"Then get the fish." He suggests, glancing at the menu before inspecting the drink menu carefully.
"What if I don't like it though?" She muses. "We don't go to fancy places often, I'm going to make it count."
"I'm sorry." He says guiltily. "I should take you out more, I just—"
"Abel." She cuts him off, resting her hand over his. "I don't care. This is just as good as grilling with you at the club." Her eyes crinkle into a smile. "Except at the club I actually know what half the stuff on the menu is."
"As long as I get some good whiskey, I'm fine with it." He declares and she makes a face at him. They order and eat, laughing and trading bites and stories. Willow's been busy with her new job, debating if she should move in with Jordan or stay with her mother.
"And I love her, I do, but she just drives me crazy." She complains, head in her hands and Abel watches in amusement. "Like, there can never be two minutes of peace and quiet, we are always on the next crisis."
"You look like you need some peace and quiet." Abel comments and she gaps at him, throwing her napkin at his face.
"Are you saying I look tired?" She questions and he waves his hands.
"No, never, you look stunning." He assures her and she rolls her eyes, smiling. "I just mean, I can tell you want a little space of your own."
"I do." She sighs, sipping on her wine. "But short of getting my own apartment, which I cannot afford, I'm just stuck between a rock and a hard place."
"Then why don't you try my place?" He suggests, nonchalantly setting the small gift box on the table in front of her. Astonished, she picks it up and opens it with shaking hands. A small key sits in the center.
"Are you asking me to move in with you?" She says lowly, looking at him in astonishment.
"I am." He says confidently. "That means waking up with you, showering with you, cooking with you, doing laundry with you,"
"There it is." Willow says dryly, picking up the key and checking it.
"Willow Jocelyn Winston, I love you, I want to live with you, please say yes because I've already cleared closet space for you." He reaches across the table and takes her hands. "Live with me."
"Well," She takes her hand away and carefully puts the key in her purse. "Let's go home then Abel Teller." With a wicked glint, she sashays out the door. He watches her hips go, feeling just slightly weak in the knees.
They stumble through the house, discarding clothing as they go, trying to squeeze in as many kisses as they can before the bedroom. Willow is telling him, between kisses, that the couch will need to go and the countertops are getting redone and he will take that stripper calendar off the fridge and he's nodding and laughing, uncaring because now his house is her house. He throws her onto the bed, going to kiss his stomach before she makes a noise of pain.
"What?" He asks, instantly on high alert. Flinching, she reaches under her head and holds up his gun. "Oh, sorry. I was in a rush!" He protests at her incredulous look.
"There are going to be rules about where we put guns in my house." She tells him firmly and he just nods before leaning down to kiss her once more.
AN: So this chapter totally ran away from me because we have Cherry and Clay and baby Jax and Opie and Trinity and Willow and wow long. Want to comment on my ramblings? Please do! Thanks for reading!