*I own nothing you recognize*
Clay's fucking getting out.
Jax doesn't know how SAMCRO had managed it- or if it had even been them, actually- but the witnesses had gone away and suddenly, the SanJoa Sherriff's Department can't manage to make the charges stick. Once again, he hadn't been privy to the vote, the discussion, or whatever orchestrations the club had probably had to perform for whatever their place has been in this whole series events- but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Clay's going to be leaving County late tomorrow morning and he has a date with whatever destiny the Sons have in store for him shortly thereafter. Better yet, Jax thinks, his father's going to be able to bear witness to all of it.
He slows to a halt at a stop sign- the Dyna rumbling in idle beneath him- and weighs his options for the evening. He should really go see if Opie had been filled in- knowing Piney, shit would be vague, but the thought of actually discussing this shit again tonight is daunting. JT had mentioned that he expected Gemma to come by the hospital after she drops Tara at home, so he's off the hook where his mom's concerned; not that he really has much desire to face her anyway, after her little excursion to the Doc with his girlfriend. What he really wants to do- what he always wants to do, actually- is find Tara and bury himself in her, both literally and figuratively. He's got some shit to think through, and being in her presence always seems to help. Jax checks his watch- six thirty; Gemma's probably on her way to St. Thomas, already there, which means Tara's at her house. On a Friday night, who the hell knows if Rick's there or not.
Jax settles back on his bike, glances around at the empty street and sighs, still at the stop sign. Fucking Rick. He'd been mostly a non-issue since that night at the clubhouse… except Jax knows better- he'll always be an issue as long as he's in Charming, as long as Tara calls him 'Dad'. Jax had been spending most all of his after school hours with Tara and since Rick's return, they'd built a sort of routine: he'd drop Tara at home so she can fix dinner and eat with Rick, and Jax would either hang at Ope's or at his own house and wait until about ten o'clock before heading back to Tara's. Luckily for him, Gemma had been mostly distracted by JT being in the hospital and the times she did notice he wasn't sleeping at home, he'd been able to successfully convince her it was because he still didn't trust Rick. It wasn't a lie, really- no matter what Tara says, Jax isn't a hundred percent sure Rick won't get drunk and lose his shit. Still, he remembers all too well the things Gemma had said about knowing in her gut Tara's father wasn't treating her right… so he'd pressed that button, hard, and felt no remorse for it afterwards. In retrospect, though, that's probably part of what had led to Tara's trip to the Doc.
A sharp honk sounds behind him, and Jax is jolted out of his thoughts; he doesn't bother to turn around and glance at the car behind him, just pushes off and makes the split-second decision to cruise past Tara's to see if she's home. If not, he'll take a night ride to kill some time.
The Knowles house is mostly dark, save the square of light falling on the driveway that Jax knows instantly is coming from the kitchen door. The Cutlass is nowhere in sight and his heart lurches- maybe he's luckier than he'd thought; a plan forming, he pulls up into the driveway- they won't be here long if he has it his way. Almost before he gets his helmet off, the kitchen door is opening and he's barely off the bike before Tara's in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, a curtain of chestnut hair draped over the arm he'd raised to wrap around her shoulders. He drops his lips to the top of her head so he can take in the sweet scent of her and feels the smile he can't help but wear whenever he's in her presence creep across his lips. She pulls back, then, a curious expression on her face.
"What?" Her voice is soft, and just the sound of her sets up a longing in the depths of his chest that somehow hasn't lessened since the day she'd come back to him. He cocks an eyebrow, unsure what she's referring to, and she gestures at his face, where mild surprise and the faint vestiges of his smile still linger; the smile widens as understanding dawns.
"You're actin' like you haven't seen me in a week, babe." He can't help but feel relieved, a little- relieved she's not pissed at him for the whole ride-home-from-school disagreement, and relieved she's not hesitant to come within a mile of him after being subjected to his mother and her…lady doctor, all afternoon. Sure enough, though, Tara's eyes close in exasperation and she drops her head back as if she's about to look to the heavens for patience.
"It feels like it's been a week, Jackson; or maybe I just feel like I've aged a week since I last saw you. Do you have any idea what it's like to be closed up in a car with your mother?" He gives her a look that's meant to answer her rhetorical question, and she rolls her eyes and backhands him lightly on the chest. "No you don't; at least not like I do. She's your mother, you can tell her when she's being overbearing, or crossing the line… but I can't. Not if I want to live long enough to graduate high school…" Jax can't help it- the laughter starts somewhere in his gut, and before he realizes it, it's rumbling through his chest and out his nostrils until he's shaking with laughter. He's not surprised when she smacks him again- this time a little harder. "Jackson!" He shrugs.
"Hey, I had to get the Don't Screw Up Your Future version of the sex talk from JT. That shit was awful, too." She's not buying it, though.
"Yeah, well, he's your dad. And I'd have traded you Gemma for JT any day of the week." Jax chuckles. He's got to give her that one; it'd be a trade half the goddamn club would have made, even on a good day. Suddenly, her indignation's gone and her clear green eyes are contemplative again, as she's clearly thought of something else. "Did JT, uh… did he tell you about them?" There's no need to ask who them is, and Jax nods at her in response.
"Yeah. I've heard most of it before, but the gist of it was: they'd never regretted me, but shit would have gone a lot smoother if they'd have had me five years later." Jax thinks she nods, almost imperceptibly, before she's blurting out another question.
"Did he talk to you about the future at all?" Jax stuffs his hands into his pockets, his mind racing for some way to put this that walks that fine line he's been walking ever since Tara had started talking about going to nursing school or even med school one day: supportive, yet carefully avoiding anything specific that could start the discussion down a path he'll regret… especially since it isn't something they have to face for another couple years.
"Yeah, he did. He said you and I, we've got potential." Shit. He can tell that's not going to be enough to satisfy her, not with the way she's looking at him- expectantly, waiting for him to explain. "He said you and I, what we have is strong enough to last, together. And as individuals, well, you got-"
Then, she's speaking along with him, finishing his sentence, her words mirroring his… well, sort of.
"-dreams I need to support you in."
" –to support you and your legacy."
Both stop, their words not meshing like they'd thought they would. Jax shakes his head, hesitant, this time. "My dad said my Ma had her own dreams back then, and that I should support you in yours." Tara looks at him for a moment, her eyes growing ever more thoughtful, before she responds in kind.
"Your mom said you had a legacy to fulfill, that you couldn't afford to get distracted." Slowly, Jax takes Tara's hand, Gemma's words warring with JT's in his mind.
"Dad said I had options, I had so much potential..." he trails off as Tara takes his other hand, smiling faintly.
"Gemma said I had options, too, that they'd probably take me out of Charming for a while." A pang of dread thuds its way through him- that's what JT had said, too. He disguises it behind a chuckle.
"Sounds like my parents discussed this, but they sure as hell didn't wind up on the same page." He wants to tell her how fucking conflicted his father had sounded, about how whatever the Irish deal was had changed everything, what his father had said about wanting to change the club for the better before he even considered Jax patching in… and his deepest, darkest fear that maybe his father had never wanted him to be a part of SAMCRO at all. But Tara's eyes are shining up at him in the moonlight, they're standing in her driveway in the dark, and he contents himself with reassuring her, tries not to think about just how much he's reassuring himself.
"Dad also said that we need to keep our options open; basically, we can do anything we set our minds to. But that's years away, Tara." She's unconvinced- he can practically see the uncertainty residing somewhere in the depths of her eyes- but then she lays her head against his chest again and he can't bother to read too much into things. Not tonight.
"The best thing your mom said to me during that whole nightmare was that right now, we should just… be. Be Jackson and Tara before shit starts getting real." She angles her head up to focus on him, again. "That's what I want to take away from this, Jackson. The rest, we'll figure out when it comes, but whatever happens, it's about us, okay? Not your parents, or mine, or the club. We decide." She's determined- fierce, almost- and suddenly, even that's more than he wants to use his time with her thinking about. Desperate to change the subject, he seizes on something she's just said and smiles.
"Just us. Speaking of just us…" Jax waggles his eyebrows at her, and Tara raises one back at him, obviously not picking up what he's putting down. He tries again: "I mean, you did go to the lady doctor today, right?" There it is; he watches as understanding dawns on her face and almost instantly, she flushes and turns her face into his shirt.
"God… I mean, at least your mother didn't insist on coming into the room with me… but it was bad enough." Jax snorts; then, a thought takes hold, and he has to temper his voice, prevent himself from sounding too eager.
"So when can we…" Christ, he doesn't know how to even say what it is that's on his mind- has been ever since it had almost happened, ever since his last fantasy had played itself out in his bedroom. She keeps her face buried in his chest but though her voice is muffled, he can instantly pick up the change in her voice, the tint of heat that's evident in her next response.
"Tonight. Or, as soon as we want to. It all depends on the, uh, timing of when you start it; but in this case, the doctor told me we'd be okay right away. I…" the pause is so long that Jax is about to draw back so he can see her face, attempt to figure out for himself what she's thinking, but when her voice comes again, it's shakier. "I just would feel better if you didn't…you know…" He doesn't know, frankly, figures he's been doing pretty well to hear what she's said at all after the first word, what with the rush of lust that's currently flooding him.
"So are you free?" Shit, his voice sounds a little strangled. "Right now, I mean." Tara finally removes her forehead from his shirt and her eyes shift briefly to the kitchen door before drifting up towards his; there's a note of challenge as she narrows them at him.
"Why you asking, Teller? You want to come in?" God, he loves it when she calls him Teller; it means she's feeling playful, that she's gotten over their earlier tense topic of conversation and the awkwardness that had followed.
"Nah, babe, I got other plans. You want to go somewhere with me?" Again, she glances at the kitchen, hesitates a bit before rising to her toes to peck him on the lips.
"I made sandwiches, but I can put them in the fridge in case my dad comes home… I doubt he will, any time soon. It's a Friday night and I bet he's over at the Hairy Dog already." At this, she looks a little downcast, but Jax doesn't give her time to dwell on it before marching into the kitchen, shoving the plate of sandwiches into the fridge, and then flipping the light switch off on his way back out to her. She's laughing as he reaches her, and he thinks for about the thousandth time in his life that he'd do just about anything to keep her happy. "Jackson, I need my jacket, it's December-"
"Get it, ba-"
She's already trotting back inside before he has a chance to finish his sentence, and by the time she's back outside- jacket and helmet in tow- he's firing up the Dyna and extending a hand to help her on.
They eat, just the two of them, at one of the only places in town besides the café or the diner that doesn't serve fast food or Pizza- a little Chinese restaurant tucked away between First National Bank of Charming and a dry cleaner's. Jax smirks at her when she has to slurp at a noodle, and although she pinkens a bit, she still chucks the wadded-up napkin in his general direction once she's finished wiping her face.
"Let's see you eat noodles without making an ass of yourself, Teller. There are just some things that are impossible to do gracefully." Jax leans back in his chair a bit and grins as he takes in the cocked eyebrow, the jutting chin, and the narrowed eyes that are sure signs Tara's challenging him. Good thing she loves it when he gives it right back.
"Nah, babe, I can think of plenty of things you do gracefully…" he lets the implication hang in the air, and his smile broadens as she turns a deeper shade of pink. God, he loves teasing her, almost as much as he loves times like this, when they're just… them. She'd been talking animatedly all evening- about school, about something Donna had done the other day, about… everything, really. Clay and the club hadn't come up at all, though he knows it's a subject they'll have to visit at some point tonight, before the drama of tomorrow.
For now, though, he's just enjoying being in her presence, the calm that only settles into place after she's somehow helped everything else drain away. He mentally kicks himself for not doing this more often- treating her as a teenage girl should expect to be treated by her boyfriend, taking her on dates and just spending time together; their lives had been almost completely consumed by the circumstances surrounding JT's accident and Clay's manipulations, but the least he could have done was try to counteract it with a fucking dinner out every once in a while.
Newly determined that as much of tonight as possible is going to be about them- not Clay, SAMCRO or anyone else- Jax digs in his pocket for the few bills he'd shoved in there earlier and tosses them on the table.
"You're not going to ask if I want dessert, Teller?" Tara's voice is teasing, but her eyes are flashing, holding a hint of promise that has his blood surging southward and his response leaving his mouth before he can think.
"Oh, dessert's comin', Knowles; I'd just rather have it somewhere we can be alone." The spark of interest that appears in return is proof he'd read her right, and he makes short order of getting up from the table, pushing his chair in, then helping her out of hers and towards the exit.
"This is nice..."
They're holding hands and strolling through downtown Charming like a couple of teenagers, and Jax is more content at the moment than he'd ever admit to Ope or anyone else at the clubhouse. He squeezes Tara's hand in response as they reach his bike, and the way she beams up at him is enough to stir his blood and tug at his heart all at once. Jax feels a twinge of regret, once again, for not doing this earlier, more often; his girl deserves everything he can give her, and at once, he's determined to take the advice his parents had given them. They're going to spend time in the moment, take the opportunity to be Jax and Tara before life catches up with them and they're unable to avoid Jax Teller: SAMCRO Heir and Tara Knowles: Medical Student.
As the Dyna traces the familiar streets back to Tara's, a kernel of a plan begins to appear; by the time they're in the driveway once again, it's almost fully formed and before she can ask what he's up to, he's pulling her into her room and locking the door. As she lifts her eyes to his, he shakes his head and drops a quick kiss on her lips before crossing the room and hoisting the window sash up. He's straddling the window ledge before her voice returns to her, matching the confusion on her face.
"Jackson… what-"
"We're not staying here. Not tonight. But if your door is locked and your nightlight's on, he'll think you're in here; that is, if he's even sober enough to think to check." Jax can see the moment of doubt that clouds her face, the hesitation that belies just how much she really does try to do the right thing, always. He's about to remind her of the span of more than a week her father had essentially deserted her- left her to the wolves, so to speak- when he can see the decision in her eyes; she clambers out the window after him without a word.
Minutes later, they're in his driveway. Jax doesn't even remove his helmet, just takes a moment to press an apologetic kiss to her cheek before raising a finger and signaling that she wait. His mother's Cadillac isn't in the drive and he doesn't bother to check the garage since the house is dark; he's unsure if she's at the clubhouse, St. Thomas, or what, but it doesn't really matter. What does matter is that he grabs what he needs and gets out before she shows up. Working quickly, he dumps the contents of his backpack out onto his bed and stuffs in a couple throw blankets, a pillow, and the flashlight from his night stand. As an afterthought, he unearths his English notebook from the pile of school shit on his bed and shoves that in, too. Finally, it takes him a moment of rifling through the plastic tote of his father's stuff in the garage, but he locates the bedrolls his parents take to rallies, and tucks them under his arm.
Satisfied, Jax pauses in the kitchen only to write a short note telling Gemma he'd decided to stay with Tara what with the "club situation" going down, and locks the door behind him. Without a word, Tara takes the backpack- now much larger than it had been- as he hands it to her and puts it on as he straps the bedrolls to the back of his bike; her small smile reassures him, and Jax pushes off with a matching one of his own.
She doesn't ask where they're going, just squeezes tight around his midsection as they pass downtown Charming, St. Thomas, and the Salty Dog. Jax revs the engine just a little when he spies the Cutlass at the back of the lot, but Tara just holds him tighter. As they leave the Charming city limits and the light posts grow further and further between, the road darkens- a fact Jax is relieved for as he roars past the curve warning sign, the telltale boulder, and the stretch of highway his father had nearly died on. There's no trace of what had happened there, nothing that indicates what would have been the end of Jax's life as he knew it- he can't even see where Rick's rig had turned over just off the shoulder. He pushes away the thought that even if his father had been killed, the evidence would still be gone, the people cruising down this stretch of highway absolutely clueless about the man that had been lost and the chaos he'd have left behind.
As it is, though, the highway's almost deserted despite the relatively early hour, and Jax allows the relative calm of having the road in front of him and Tara at his back to wash over him- the two things in his life that are constant, the two things that can truly settle his restless mind. By the time they pull onto the gravel road leading to the part of the Wahewa reservation Charlie Horse had granted SAMCRO unfettered access to, he's almost sleepy. Still, he presses on, past the dirt road leading to the willow that had so prominently featured in his plans earlier today, and down a small driveway.
The cabin stands in stark contrast to the relative wilderness beyond it, even though it isn't really a cabin- more of a shack, really. Jax smiles as he cuts the engine and the memories come flooding back; as he turns to help Tara off the bike, he notices her eyes are darting between him and the small structure and decides he'd better put her at ease.
"Dad and Charlie Horse built this in a weekend one summer," he explains, taking Tara's helmet and hanging it from a handlebar, "I think so that they'd have a place to meet up, have a few drinks, and talk business- the rest of the tribe wasn't too happy to have the whole club roll into the main part of the reservation. Anyway, he brought Tommy and I along that time. Tommy was maybe three or four, and we set up a tent right out there and camped out while the men built it. Dad let me sign my name somewhere when it was done, let me hammer a few nails, too. I've been back a couple times since, but we never camped or stayed here again…" He lets his voice trail off as he searches around the doorframe for a moment, then smiles triumphantly when he finds it- Jackson Teller, scrawled in the handwriting of his childhood self- and points so Tara can see.
"God, I see your handwriting hasn't improved any," she quips, and he shuts her up with a kiss, hauling her into his body by a hand.
"We didn't come out here so you could critique my handwriting, Knowles. You gonna help me with the supplies, or what?" She grins against his lips and nods, obligingly moving towards the Dyna to help him unfasten the bedrolls; that completed, they haul their gear inside.
It still smells like pine, despite the years that have passed since any of the lumber had been what anyone would consider fresh. The single, tiny room is equipped only with a table- which holds a typewriter and a kerosene lamp- and two stools. Jax eyes the typewriter, wonders if his father had been coming out here to write, too, but then a thud jolts him back to the present- Tara's just dropped the backpack onto the plank floor.
"Where, exactly, are we supposed to sleep, Teller?" Her eyes are scanning the shack, likely noting the absence of any sort of bed; he smirks at this, and gestures towards the bedrolls they'd dropped just inside the door.
"I hadn't planned on doing much sleeping… but if you want to start setting up, be my guest." She rolls her eyes and crouches to unfasten the ties around one, then the other as he sets about lighting the lamp- evidently the flashlight had been an unnecessary addition. It takes him three matches, but it finally flares to life just as Tara shakes out the first roll behind him. God, he really should help, but the sight of her laying down the bedrolls, preparing their bed for the evening, just does something to his insides and he can't tear his eyes away. Her hair falls across her face in the shifting lamplight as she reaches into the backpack again, retrieving the pillow and placing it atop their makeshift bed, and suddenly the urge to draw it behind her ear- to touch her- is too great.
Quietly, he drops onto a knee next to her and moves the hair from her face, gently turning it towards him so he can see her features in full relief. Her eyes- wide with trust and love- seem to pierce into his soul, to see all of him; and he finds for the first time in his life that he wants someone else to know all of him- all the secrets, worries, and dreams most people keep to themselves. Neither of them say a word but suddenly, he feels like he's baring his soul to her there in the shack, their eyes are so intent on one another. All of the drama of the past weeks, all of the heartache of her absence, of losing Tommy are somehow there, with them- living, breathing pain that he's exhaling until… Until it recedes into the dark corners of the shack as she slowly, slowly leans towards him. Their lips touch and all of the hurt, all the pain evaporates at that moment, pulling the hidden fears and the secret dread out of him along with it.
Tara's soft lips open on a sigh and he inhales it- the life she somehow gives him- traps it within himself as he returns her kiss, suddenly uncertain and feeling like a fucking virgin again. Then, a touch of her tongue on his sends a jolt of electricity surging southward and though he feels new, Jax regains his confidence, remembers why they've come here. He threads his hands into his hair as he had the first night they'd kissed, and wholly claims her mouth with his own, his tongue seeking all the familiar hiding places in her mouth before he withdraws and sits back on his his feet.
Tara's eyes are boring into his own with a mixture of lust and curiosity, and he answers her unspoken question by crossing his arms and pulling his hoodie over his head. She smiles, then, and answers in kind by removing her jacket and shirt, but leaves her bra for him; by now they are well aware of what the other likes, and she must have learned somewhere along the way that he likes to be the one to take it off. Damn right, he does, and he makes short work of undoing the front clasp and pushing the straps over her shoulders. In the same motion, he drags his hands along her sides to cup a breast in each, gives each nipple a gentle pinch, rolling them between his thumbs. Her eyes fall closed so she doesn't see him bow his head to her, but her whole body shudders as he bestows a suckling kiss on one nipple, then the other. Then, they're a whirling tangle of arms and legs as he pushes her back onto the bedrolls and his lips find hers again. His hands seek her breasts, the expanse of smooth skin on her back, her hair… hers grip his biceps, run down his back, and slip beneath the fabric of his boxers, by turn. Their kisses become wilder, wetter, until surface touches will no longer do, until they just need more.
Jax isn't sure how his jeans become undone, though he's well aware of each and every button he has to unfasten on his way to opening Tara's fly. They're rolling, then, both wriggling out of jeans and underwear until they find themselves back where they'd started- lying facing each other on a pile of blankets without a stitch of clothing to speak of. He wants nothing more than to bury himself in her, then and there- feel her, finally, with nothing between them- but he closes his eyes briefly, reminds himself to slow down, that this is another first for them. To that end, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers and reaches for her, his hand skimming down her hip before seeking the hidden place between her thighs, and finds her flushed and ready for him, wetter than he thinks she's ever been.
"Jesus, Tara…" She doesn't respond, just places a hand on his hip as he begins stroking her, and when her eyes would usually have fluttered closed, she opens them wider, how much she wants him written clearly in their depths. After a few moments, her hand leaves his hip to still his, his fingers ceasing their fluttering against her as he draws back slightly in confusion.
"I just want to feel you Jackson… only you." Her voice is barely a whisper, though she may as well have shouted it, so suddenly does it have its effect on his dick, which grows impossibly harder- almost painfully so. Jax smiles, but doesn't have the willpower to deny her, to give her the pleasure he knows she deserves, so he rolls over her to settle between her legs. He melds his mouth, his body, to hers and flexes his hips, pushing his cock closer to home and shuddering at the shock of warmth against him in the cool shack. Then, he lifts his hips once more and presses his forehead to hers- poised at her entrance, for the first time, with nothing between them- and waits. Even though her eyes are practically begging him to get on with it, make her truly his, he has to hear her say it, just once. She's silent a moment before closing her eyes briefly and biting her lip. "Please, Jacks-"
Jax drops his lips over hers to swallow the rest of his name- her voice had devolved to a groan at that point anyway- as he plunges into her, his groan mingling with hers. Holy. Shit. He's never felt anything so warm, so good, so… everything.
In that moment, she's everything; the way she tugs at his lip with her teeth, the way she drags her fingernails through the hair at the base of his scalp, the way her soft sigh escapes between their lips… He wants to stay still, feel the depths of her the way nobody else has, the way he never has until this moment- but instinct takes over and he's setting a rhythm, a gentle back and forth that's seriously about all he can handle at the moment. He'd been prepared for it to feel different, but nothing had prepared him for this… the sheer warmth, the amazing friction, and the almost unreal closeness he's never felt with a single person on this earth. God he loves her…
"I love you too.." she whispers, and he wonders just how much of what he'd been thinking had crossed his lips, but then all thoughts are banished as she pushes her hips upwards and draws him in even further, meeting his thrusts with her own. He drops his forehead onto hers again, draws one of her legs up over his hip and pulses against her over and over.
Without warning, she's fluttering around him, her hips slowing as she shudders and rolls them towards him a final time; Christ, he hadn't even had time to help her along as he was accustomed to doing, but her orgasm almost seems to initiate his own as he feels the beginnings of his release at the base of his spine. His eyes drift closed as he drowns in sensation revels in the movements inside of her he'd not been able to experience through a layer of latex. Her fingers touch his lips, then, draw him back into reality, and she fixes earnest eyes on his as he stills, a moment.
"Jackson, I need you to... mmmm…" God, he's almost there…
"What do you need, babe? Christ, Tara, you feel so good…"
"Just to be safe… I need you to… " She looks aside, then, somehow blushing even with him bare inside of her. "Just not inside me, this time, okay?" His lust addled brain finally catches on, and he nods, practically groans his acquiescence as he picks up the pace again. Holy fuck, he can't believe they're doing this, can't believe how… different it is; at the same time, though, he begins to see how these things happen, how you can totally lose yourself in someone until it's too late to turn back. He grinds his hips against hers again and again until his need is too great and he's drawing back and spilling himself onto her stomach with a groan.
Jax curls onto his side, a leg thrown over her hip, as they catch their breaths. Then, he can feel Tara's side shaking where his forehead is pressed against it; Christ, is she crying? God, the last thing he wants is for her to-
"Well, I'll say one thing for condoms, they're definitely not as messy." Her voice devolves into… laughter? Is she laughing? A snort from a few inches up the bedroll tells him he's right, and soon, he's cracking up along with her as they survey the damage.
"Sorry, babe, let me get something…" Jax is still laughing as pushes himself up from the ground and quickly spies his t-shirt lying amidst their scattered clothing. Tara looks as if she feels slightly awkward as he swipes at her belly with the shirt and tosses it over near the door, but quickly recovers once he drags the blankets over them and wraps his arms around her. They're silent for a while, enjoying the closeness and allowing themselves to settle as Jax presses the occasional kiss to Tara's temple. Then…
"So that's how that happens…" Tara's voice is a near-whisper, all traces of laughter completely erased from her face. Jax draws back a bit to study her.
"How what happens?"
"Babies," she says simply, and he laughs a bit.
"Babe, if you didn't already know tha-"
"I'm being serious, Jackson," she argues, her eyes narrowing a bit. "We were probably safe even if… it happened inside me, according to the doctor; it's been the right number days since my period and I took the pill this afternoon before I left the pharmacy. But, God… I can see how making love to the person you love, with no barriers between you…well, let's just say I can see how accidents happen."
"I thought the same thing, babe- no shit. It's crazy how you're in my head sometimes. But I also know that even though we don't want that- at least not for a long time- and even though our parents have just spent most of the day telling us all the reasons it's a bad idea… If it did happen- and it wont- but if it did… I'd be there. I'll never leave you, Tara, not if I have a choice."
He can see on her face that this isn't a subject she likes, and he doesn't blame her; Gemma had just implied that her having a baby would be nothing more than a distraction to his eventual seat at the head of the Reaper table. But Jax doesn't think she understands just how deep his need for her goes, and she definitely has no idea about the brief flashes of their future he's been experiencing like they're a fuckin' premonition. So, no, the idea of her having his babies, somewhere in the distant future, isn't something that frightens him. But he doesn't want to scare her off now by unloading all that shit on her, so he merely pulls her in tighter and plants a gentle kiss on her lips before threading his fingers through hers and resting them on her belly.
"I love you, Jackson," she says, several minutes later as their eyes are growing heavy, and even though it's the last thing he wants to bring up in that moment, he does it anyway- she deserves to know.
"I love you too, Tara. You should know, though… Clay's getting out tomorrow and so is my dad. It'll all be over this time tomorrow night." Christ, it's probably a shitty way to drop the news on her; he should have brought it up at dinner, at her house… really, any time but now, now that he's running out of time. But she seems to accept this, smiles dreamily, and nuzzles his chest before closing her eyes.
"Thank God."
A few hours later, Jax starts awake; Tara's still sleeping, pressed nude against him, and he momentarily considers drawing the blanket down to her hips to take his fill of her again… then, she turns to her side, away from him, and he remembers the notebook tucked in his backpack. Sighing, he slips from beneath the blanket to retrieve it, then darts back underneath the covers and next to Tara, needing to be back in her warmth.
He chews on the pencil and considers what JT had told him earlier- to write about something he truly loves, write about the feelings he associates with whatever it is instead of merely describing it. Tara shifts closer, curls towards him again, and he tucks the pencil away to brush a lock of hair from her face. Then, the waning lamplight flickers slightly, and Jax catches a gleam from the typewriter on the small table. He imagines his father, sitting just there, pecking away at the typewriter and watching Tommy and himself running around in the small clearing… and he has his inspiration.
Family is a word with no true definition, no one way of coming about. Sure, the dictionary includes references to blood or common ancestors, and in many cases, that's true. But there's no rule stating that you can't call a man and a wife a family, or that you can't refer to your closest friends- the one that will always have your back- as such. So I've decided that if any word warrants an individual definition- a person's own decision regarding what the meaning of it may be- it's family, and mine exists in three different parts.
The first is my parents, the standard to which I'll hold all others…
He writes until the kerosene is gone and the lamplight falters and dies. Then, he slides down on the bedroll to gather Tara in his arms once again and drifts off to sleep, dreaming of a row of Harleys, a house, a yard, two little ones… and her.
After the relative calm of last night, Jax can't decide if the atmosphere at the clubhouse reminds him more of his birthday party or the gathering after Tommy's funeral. The place is packed- the Presidents from Tacoma, Reno, Las Vegas, San Bernardino, and chapters Jax has never heard of are in the Chapel, along with Piney- temporary SAMCRO President- and JT himself. Jax had watched from the seat of the Dyna as Gemma had pulled in; he'd trotted across the lot to lug the crappy, foldable wheelchair on loan from the hospital out of her trunk and plunked it down near the passenger door for JT to slide into. His father had refused all help with the watchful eyes of several chapters of the Sons of Anarchy present, and had wheeled himself across the lot and across the threshold, Jax and Gemma following after him.
The cheer that had erupted was deafening, but JT had brooked no delays and had motioned towards the Chapel moments later, leaving the various Presidents to follow and the parties they'd brought along to loiter in the clubhouse. They'd been in there thirty minutes or so, and as each minute passes, Jax can feel himself growing more and more anxious. Christ, what could possibly be taking so long? Once everyone knows that the witnesses went away at SAMCRO's behest, just to navigate Clay out of jail, it's a pretty open and shut case as far as Jax is concerned. Besides, from everything he knows about how all this works- which isn't much, he admits- the meeting with the Presidents is pretty much a formality, barely a prerequisite to SAMCRO's own, personal Mayhem vote. It's meant only to appease the other Presidents, let them know that a former member of their ranks may be meeting Mr. Mayhem… though Clay barely fucking qualified for even that, Jax thinks furiously, plunking the beer he'd just opened onto the bar rather violently. He'd only become Pres under false pretenses, and even then, only because he'd practically fucking killed his predecessor. Add to that the extensive undermining of every piece of SAMCRO business his father had put into place, and the decision's looking pretty goddamn simple to Jax.
The Sons left in the main portion of the clubhouse are mostly talking, quietly, though Kozik, Happy- who'd patched over temporarily after Clay had gone inside- and a couple of the Tacoma brothers are shooting pool; even they're not as boisterous as usual, there's none of the good-natured ribbing or triumphant howls Jax is accustomed to hearing during a game. Kozik catches his eye from across the room and lifts his own beer in a silent toast; Jax returns the gesture and both take a sip before Kozik returns to his game. Yeah, even SAMCRO only drinks before noon for two reasons: a celebration- like a wedding, birthday, or patch-in party- or a funeral; Jax just isn't sure yet which one this is.
The door creaks open behind him, and Chibs, who's been sitting next to him at the bar, silently, perks up.
"Oooooope!" Jax whirls around, and sure enough, there's Opie, framed in the doorway like a fuckin' Viking. Jax slides off his bar stool and crosses the room to hug him, briefly, then steps back as Opie raises a hand to Chibs and the rest of the Sons.
"Jesus Christ, half the state of California is in here… and I think the other half's out at the picnic tables." Ope's voice is low, and Jax nods in return.
"Yeah. Dad said they're only stayin' until after the Presidents' vote is complete. Then, they're leaving it to SAMCRO to deal with Clay himself." Jax watches as Opie's jaw tenses before he shifts his eyes to regard Jax.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't asked to come. Pop told me about this shit last night, told me to keep my ass home." He shakes his head once, determinedly. "To hell with that shit."
"Dad didn't tell me shit, either. I heard about what was goin' on at the hospital yesterday and just sort of showed up here. I don't think Gemma or JT liked it much, but there ain't no way I'm not seeing this through. I figure, once Clay shows up, shit's gonna get real and they might be too busy to toss us out." At this, Opie breaks into a grin and settles the beanie further down on his ears.
"Same here, bro. Least, that's what I'm countin' on. We put way too much work into this whole situation to stay at home like goddamn kids; plus, it's your dad…" Then, another thought occurs to him. "Tara come?" Jax shakes his head.
"Naw, bro. I know she's been involved in this shit just as much as we have, but whatever they decide to do with Clay… I just figured she didn't need to see it." And that's pretty much exactly what he'd told her when she'd asked first thing this morning, still naked on the bedroll next to him. Her green eyes had been clear- almost a sparkling chartreuse- and the thought of them taking in the sight of the life leaving Clay's eyes and whatever bloody mess came before it had almost made him sick. He'd told her so, though he'd been careful not to sound like he was giving her a fucking order; she'd almost seemed relieved, though, and had let the subject lie.
He'd known it would come up even as he'd told her while she was drifting off to sleep the night before- even a sleepy Tara was more excruciatingly observant than most people- and his utter relief that she'd agreed to drop it had led him to kiss her out of sheer gratitude. That, by turn, had led to some more of the truly mind-blowing, no-barriers sex he's sure they'll be having for the rest of his goddamn life; the memory of her sinking down onto his bare cock with her breasts thrust out in stark relief against the morning light from the open shack door behind her infiltrates his mind for the hundredth time in the mere hours since it had happened. Jesus Christ, Teller… He's forced to shift and attempt, furtively, to adjust himself- but one glance at Ope tells him it hadn't gone unnoticed; Ope's face is a mixture of disgust and begrudging humor as he shakes his head.
"For fuck's sake, Jax, we're standin' in the middle of the goddamn clubhouse talkin' about a Mayhem situation and your sick mind is on whatever kinky shit you and Knowles get up to when you're alone-" he holds a hand up as Jax is about to protest "-and no, I don't want the goddamn details." Jax snorts.
"Yeah, like I'd tell y-"
His sarcastic remark is cut off as the Chapel doors fly open and the various Presidents file out; nobody says a word, but everybody looks somber. One by one, they gather at the bar as Chibs, who'd been set into motion as soon as the doors had opened, lines up shots of whiskey. Last to approach is JT in his chair, and the horde of bikers parts like the Red Sea as he makes his way to a spot next to the bar and takes a glass from Chibs.
"Long live the Sons of Anarchy…" JT pauses expectantly, and the rest of the clubhouse responds, lifting their own glasses.
"And long live Redwood." Glass after glass tilt back, then are slammed down on every hard surface in the clubhouse. That's the only sound that's heard as, one by one, each faction- SAMDINO, SAMTAC, and all the others- file past JT and Piney as if it's a goddamn receiving line. They shake hands, slap backs, and head out, the many models of Harley Davidson rumbling in the distance.
When all are gone, the current members of SAMCRO, the two prospects, Gemma, Jax, and Opie are the only ones left in the clubhouse, and for the first time, Jax notices that a couple are missing. JT addresses this almost immediately.
"Bobby called when he and Otto secured Clay. They should be here in a matter of minutes; you all know what to do if things get dicey, but he'll be disarmed so leave your weapons, like we discussed. The man deserves a vote like anyone else, and we're gonna give it to him. Beyond that… our, uh, guests will be here shortly after him. I didn't want to take the risk of havin' him see 'em and get wise before we could get him inside." JT's eyes shift to Jax and Opie, still frozen in place just inside the clubhouse door, then to Gemma, who's joined Chibs behind the bar. "If you ain't patched, you stay quiet unless asked to speak." His eyes return to Jax, now narrowed and holding a gleam of warning. "This isn't necessarily somethin' I think you need to witness- any of you-" Gemma crosses her arms, " -but I can respect the reasons you got for bein' here so long as Piney ain't got a problem."
With that, JT's gaze drifts up to Piney, who's agitated and shifting from one foot to the other. His glare jerks immediately to Opie, but Opie returns it and doesn't budge. The two seem locked in a stare-down for an uncomfortable minute or two, then Piney grunts, averts his eyes, and waves JT on; Jax can almost feel the triumph pouring out of his friend, but the moment is short-lived as the whole of the clubhouse- silent as it is- can hear the gates open and the approach of the tow truck that bears Clay, almost like a hearse, to the scene of the decision that will have his life hanging in the balance.
Nobody speaks. Nobody moves; hell, Jax would be surprised if anyone even blinks in the hours that seem to elapse between the time Bobby or whoever cuts the engine of the tow, and when they enter the clubhouse. Bobby's first, his wild hair seeming to defy gravity, in sharp contrast to his personality- as even-tempered as anyone Jax has ever met. He's followed by Clay himself, who'd apparently received his clothing from the night of his arrest upon his release; Jax feels the rage that's been simmering since long before this morning boil up again at the sight of Clay's kutte- still bearing the President's flash nobody had been given opportunity to remove the night of his arrest- actually on the deceitful motherfucker's goddamn body. He nods as he enters, seemingly yet unaware of what's about to transpire. Last is Otto, clutching a clear plastic bag containing what Jax guesses is the rest of Clay's belongings- from his vantage point, it looks like Clay's 9mm and some other shit. Christ, they'd kept his handgun but given him back the kutte?
Everything else leaves Jax's mind, though, the moment Clay comes face to face with JT. The former snorts derisively, while the latter keeps his face calm, devoid of emotion. Jax knows his father, though, knows that- just as with the confrontation with Rick in the hospital- JT's calm demeanor hides a quiet anger Clay would be a fool to assume isn't there; as a matter of fact, Jax is sure Clay's aware JT's not here just for show the moment his hand flies up, unbidden, to check his kutte for the 9mm currently in Otto's hands and about to be placed on the bar. Clay's eyes narrow, derisively, as he turns to Piney.
"What is this, old man?" Piney glares at him from JT's side as JT speaks for the first time since Clay's entered the clubhouse.
"You're speakin' to your President-"
"Temporary President" Piney butts in, his eyes still trained on Clay.
"Okay, Temporary President. And this bein' official club business, you'd do well to refer to him with a bit of respect." Clay rounds on JT, his face twisted into the wide, sinister grin Jax has become so used to seeing.
"That old man is only my Temporary President because I got tossed in the clink on some bullshit and ya know it. I'm out now, and there ain't shit a fuckin' cripple's gonna have to say about it. Or did ya forget ya can't vote- and that includes Officer's Challenges?" JT chuckles and holds up his hands.
"Oh, I ain't expectin' to get a vote… any more than I'm expectin' to have to sit through a goddamn Officer's Challenge." Clay angles his head as JT continues. "You see, Piney ain't goin' anywhere, least not for the time being." JT pauses, and you could hear a pin drop in the clubhouse once again; Christ, he's pretty sure he can hear his own heart thudding against his chest. Then, Jax- and everyone else in the clubhouse- becomes aware of the reason JT's got his ear angled towards the lot; a couple of motorcycles are approaching, growing louder and louder until the engines cut somewhere outside. Quickly, Jax takes stock of the clubhouse- everyone seems to be present, so unless someone from another charter is expected, he can't figure out who's out there. That question's answered as the door to the clubhouse opens once again, but the identity of the man that walks in raises oh so many more.
Marcus Alvarez- President of the Mayans MC- another Mayan wearing Sergeant-at-Arms flash, and Chief Wayne Unser enter. Unser doesn't appear to be escorting the two Mayans in any way, and suddenly, Opie's nudging Jax's shoulder and leaning in to speak, quietly.
"What the fuck…" Ope whispers, mirroring Jax's thoughts exactly. Why is nobody drawing on them? Christ, is JT trying to get himself killed? But nobody moves- not to draw a weapon, not to throw a punch, nothing. Nobody. Moves. Besides Gemma, only the two prospects even look jumpy… then Jax's eyes land on Clay, who's staring- not at Alvarez, but at the Mayans Sergeant-at-Arms- the insolent fucking smile finally sliding off his face. JT merely nods at the visitors like having two officers of a rival MC in the clubhouse is daily fucking business.
"Gentlemen." The two nod at him, though the SAA is looking a little green. "Otto- their weapons." JT looks apologetic as SAMCRO's current SAA removes the sidearms from both Mayans' kuttes and performs a perfunctory patdown. "Sorry, standard protocol. As was the agreement, you'll find all of us here unarmed." Without a word, every Son in the room spreads his arms, shakes out his kutte, and turns to reveal the back of his waistband. Alvarez merely nods, then steps back- pulling his SAA with him- and turns his full attention on JT, leaving Clay in the near-center of the room. For his part, Clay appears to have regained some of his sarcastic bluster, and decides to make that evident with his next comment.
"I'll ask again… what is this shit?" He glances around at the Sons lining the walls of the clubhouse, angles his chin sharply upward. "The fuck happened to this goddamn club since I went away? Now we're lettin' teenagers, Prospects, old ladies, Mayans and cops in our fuckin' business?" He raises his arms and turns in a slow circle as he continues. "And this shit is gonna fly with alla ya? This kinda leadership what you all wanna see?" Clay's now facing JT again, and raises a meaty hand to point a finger at him. "Because this shit is what's gonna be the downfall of this club- John fuckin' Teller and his weak decisions. First we're breakin' deals with the Irish, next we'll be in bed with the fuckin' Mayans." His grin's back in full force, then, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the clubhouse. "You tell the rest of 'em what led you to that decision, John? That Irish pussy that led ya even further into weakness? Or was it her goddamn brother, that meddlin' fuckin' priest that convinced ya the biggest money this club's ever seen just wasn't worth it anymore?" Christ, what the hell's Clay talking about? One look at his father's face- still stoic and impassive- reveals nothing, but Clay's still ranting.
"I mean, it really don't even fuckin' matter now, does it? Majority vote and all that shit; but not a one of ya made a goddamn peep when I pulled the plug on the whole scheme after the accident, did ya?" Again, Clay surveys the clubhouse, and is met with narrowed eyes and clenched jaws. He snorts, then, turns his attention back to JT. "Your lackey here didn't even bother to step in when ya got laid up, and that says somethin' about just how strongly he believed in your… cause." Clay practically spits the last word, and Piney's glaring at him with so much intensity, he's shaking. "But Maureen Ashby, she believed in ya, didn't she? Enough to betray her Old Man and betray her cause. Tell me, John, how did the IRA and McGee feel about that betrayal?" Jesus… JT's jaw works for a moment before he responds.
"Mo was a mistake, one I paid for dearly- you and McGee saw to that, didn't you?" Clay's grin widens until it's more of a grimace. "And as for the IRA, they're satisfied. That's all ya need to know about that."
"So alla ya are good with the fact that your former Pres here nailed another President's old lady?" Again, Clay's addressing the Sons as a group. "Because that's the type of shit you're sayin' the longer ya stand here with your traps shut." Either the room is spinning, or he is, and Jax doesn't remember moving a goddamn muscle. The only thing keeping him upright, from doubling over and putting his head between his knees, is Opie, who's suddenly gripping his shoulder. His father's reply only makes things worse.
"That really how you want to play it, Clay? Because if we're headed down that route…"
"You know what, John? It really is. Your inability to control your dick pissed on the IRA, pissed on another chapter. Mine, well…" Clay shrugs. "The only thing my wandering dick did was give your old lady some goddamn consolation… consolation that while her husband was nailing some Irish tart, someone from SAMCRO had her goddamn back." Gemma's sheet-white and gripping the bar like a lifeline, but JT's still matter-of-fact. How the fuck he can sit there and maintain that deadly calm, Jax has no idea, but Jax himself is anything but calm. In fact, something's simmering below the rage he's reserved exclusively for Clay, low in his gut; though, now isn't the time to act on it.
"And Gem and I, we've dealt with that, several times over. We're still dealin' with it, to tell ya the truth- not that I owe you any. But her and I are stronger than we've ever been- thanks, in part, to finally dealing with our fuckin' issues head-on. The days of shitty, back-room, secret dealings are over, Clay- both in my marriage and in my club. Besides, it ain't my marriage that's on trial, here, but if you want to make an issue out of infidelity, go ahead. That shit's an issue only if the Son that was done dirty wants to make it one, and I think you'll find that McGee, Mo, Gem, and everyone else involved- are gettin' over shit that happened years ago." JT's eyes land on Jax and then Gemma, respectively. "Shit wasn't right, I ain't disputin' that, but beyond McGee, it ain't a club issue." It's all Jax can do to keep a straight face; had his father known this would come out? He doesn't think so- he wouldn't likely have okayed Gemma or Jax's presence; he also likely didn't think Clay would be fool enough to bring up a situation where he was just as guilty… though Clay still seems to think he holds the moral high ground.
"A trial?" Clay had seized on the word, above all the others that had left JT's mouth, it seems. He chuckles, then, and the look on his face makes clear that he's taking this anything but seriously. "Not even SanJoa County could produce enough evidence to lead to a trial, and I'll be goddamned if I believe a fuckin' cripple and an old man can manage it." Much as before, the other patched members stand in silence- listening, waiting, something that surprises Jax a bit considering the uproar that had occurred the night of Clay's arrest.
At Clay's words, JT only nods, as if to say: I thought you might say that.
"You're right, this isn't a trial. What it is, though, is a Mayhem vote; I told you before, you mention my wife again, I kill ya where you stand. Seein' as how I don't get a vote, however… I figured the rest of your club would need to hear for themselves, reach the right decision." Clay- his face a little paler, Jax thinks, but just as indignant- purses his lips.
"I'm the goddamn President, you know this shit won't fly without-"
"- a Presidential Vote." JT finishes. "And it probably would have, to be honest with you, but you know SAMCRO… we play shit by the books. Vote's over, and every goddamn charter in our region is on board. Whatever we decide today, they'll abide by it." Clay doesn't respond for the first time since all of this had started, and- apparently taking his silence as a cue to continue- JT speaks again. "So let's get this over with, shall we?" He nods at Piney, who produces the gavel from his kutte pocket, then at Clay, directing a sickeningly pleasant smile his way. "Piney's interim Pres… so consider me a sort of… emcee for the event, will ya?" No response. "Right. Piney?"
The gavel hits the bar top with a bang, and everyone in the room flinches but Piney and JT.
"In today's business, Clarence Morrow stands accused of three counts of attempted murder of his President at the time, John Thomas Teller. It is believed that you either manipulated or conspired with Lowell Harland, Senior to cause the accident on November 11th of this year by cutting the brake line on my Panhead. Do you deny it?"
"'Course I deny that bullshit-" Clay huffs, but JT's already responding.
"We have it on authority from a forensic automotive technologist from LA County that the brakes were indeed cut. Wayne, here will corroborate that." Clay shrugs.
"Lowell was a goddamn crazy junkie. Who the hell knows what he'd gotten himself up to at that point," he says, a bit weakly.
"Well, you make a good point, Clay. Lowell was a junkie; he'd also shown no animosity toward me or anyone in this club, so what we're thinkin' is, you'd made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Until, o'course, he wound up dead in a hole with some Mayans, with witnesses putting you at the scene." Clay snorts again.
"Bullshit witnesses that went away the second they were asked to participate in a trial-"
"Legitimate witnesses SAMCRO nicely persuaded to recant so we could have this pleasant little chat with you." In the background, Wayne rolls his eyes and waves a hand as if to say I'm not listening. "Crime scene, according to SanJoa, has DNA evidence putting you at the scene with Lowell, though they could only prove you were there, not that you actually killed anyone- not without our witnesses. But we only really needed them to keep you out of the way long enough so we could figure out the last piece of the puzzle; and for that, I'll let Marcus here take over."
Christ, Jax had almost forgotten Alvarez was in the room, which was fucking crazy considering the man had been the equivalent of the goddamn Devil his entire childhood. Even now, he's wearing a somewhat sinister grin, his lips curling between his signature moustache and soul patch. Alvarez steps forward a bit, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and his black cowboy boots echoing through the silent clubhouse.
"First, I'm sorry if my presence is… unwelcome, to some of you. But when your Presidents-" he indicates both Piney and JT "- both of them, asked for my cooperation, it became clear that this situation was a problem for the Mayans and the Sons." He pauses, then, scratches at his moustache, then continues. "Those two Mexicans buried with your, ah, associate… Lowell, was it?" JT nods. "They were two of my guys. Prospects, actually, but one was a cousin of my wife's, and his passing caused me a whole lot of grief at home. I'm not privy to what went down when they were killed, but my Sergeant-at-Arms here was." Alvarez grins at JT for a moment. "Looks like both of us are having trouble keeping SAAs in line. He tried to come to me after the news broke, tell me they'd gotten mixed up with Morrow on their own and got themselves killed, but something didn't add up."
Jax surveys the clubhouse as Alvarez pauses- Bobby, Otto, and Tig are standing, arms crossed, silent and inscrutable. Piney looks fit to kill, Happy just looks intense, Chibs is angrily working his jaw and occasionally spitting into the sink behind the bar, and Gemma looks ill. A glance up at Opie reveals nothing- the guy may as well have been sitting in Sunday school.
"That something, it turns out, was that both of them had been involved in a confrontation the week before, come back gunshot and scraped up. Things being how they've been between our organizations, well… it was easy to dismiss as beef. But when I put two and two together, found out Teller here had been ambushed the same night, then followed that up with his accident and the eventual murders of my guys? It didn't take long for me to start asking questions, and it didn't take long for my so-called brother here to start answering them, proud he'd tried to take down the Sons' President and even prouder he'd brokered a deal to pull in a few G's from the guy he'd sent my other two guys to- Clay Morrow." Alvarez steps forward again, makes eye contact with each and every person in the room- to include Jax, who has to fight the shiver that automatically moves down his spine.
"He thought taking out your Pres would be a good move, but I promise you- that move was not sanctioned by my organization. As you know, we've been more than cooperative, including assisting you in locating your witnesses. All the Mayans ask in return is for the men who murdered my wife's cousin to be dealt with- and we'll be dealing with our little… problem in the same way." Alvarez nods at his SAA- who looks positively sick- then at JT, stepping back alongside the SAA.
"So, you stand accused of setting up a Mayan ambush," JT says, steadily, "then using Lowell to help you off the others involved. Do you deny it?" Clay merely shrugs, all of the bluster now gone, but his jaw still set. He's still trying to play this off as beneath him, Jax realizes. "In addition, you not only set Lowell to messing with the Panhead, but you approached Rick Knowles about some other plan unknown to us- the evidence of your lies is in the way you pursued both Knowles and Lowell without telling the club, and from Rick Knowles' own goddamn mouth." Clay's voice is more quiet than Jax has ever heard it- usually the guy's the loudest one in the room, probably by design.
"A drunk, a junkie, and a cripple. Sounds like the goddamn A-Team." JT shrugs, turning Clay's words around on him.
"Nah. Sounds like you made some mistakes when you were pickin' your lackeys, Clay, as evidenced by the fact that Lowell completely fucked up the last attempt you made on my life… you know, the one in the hospital where he- or you- were dumb enough to assume that unplugging all my machines would result in my death. Too bad I ain't a toy you can just unplug when you're done playin' with it, and too bad Lowell was fuckin' stupid enough to goddamn apologize while he did it. They say people who are comatose can hear the things going on around them…. Well, I'm living goddamn proof. So, again, Clay, do you deny it?" Clay's prominent jaw is set.
"I did what I did for my club. That's all I got to say." At once, voices rise in the clubhouse- some in disbelief, some in outrage.
"How kin ya say tha' tryin' ta kill our Pres was for tha club?" Chibs' voice, as usual, carries over all the others.
"John's done. He's a weak leader, an unfaithful bastard, and is draggin' this club into the poorhouse, and for what? Some ideal about a goddamn hippie biker drum circle? Get the fuck outta here," Clay scoffs, rousing another round of protests. JT merely holds up a hand, and the club quiets almost immediately.
"We'll let Clay here believe what he wants about the deals we got comin' down the pipe, which most of you know will begin to settle our business with at least two organizations, as well as start us earning straight for the first time since the mid-eighties." He delivers the signature Teller smirk in Clay's direction, then returns his attention to the clubhouse at large. "What we're dealin' with here is not pleadin' our case to a former officer, but enacting a Mayhem vote. Piney?" He nods in deference to Piney, who clears his throat and narrows his eyes at the patched members.
"Well? Y've heard the evidence, you've heard his rebuttal- which is, and I quote,' I did what I did for my club'. Anyone else got anythin' to say?" Silence; Jax notices every pair of eyes in the room is trained on Clay, who's sneering and shaking his head, but remains silent, too. "Alright. Remember, it's gotta be unanimous. All in favor of Clarence Morrow meeting Mr. Mayhem… Chibs?"
"Aye." Chibs' glare is unsettling, given his usually cheerful nature.
"Bobby?" There's a little hesitation before Bobby gives his answer.
"Yes."
"Otto?" Instantly, it comes.
"Yep."
"Hap?"
"Yup."
"And I'm an aye," Piney finishes, grinning at Clay, though the grin doesn't quite reach his eyes; Ope, who'd never released Jax's shoulder, gives it a shake. "It's unanimous- Clarence Morrow will meet Mr. Mayhem." As Piney turns, probably to retrieve JT's .45 from the bar, Clay clears his throat.
"I'm a fuckin' partner in this business, served as Sergeant-at-Arms for over twenty goddamn years. The least ya could do is let me smoke a cigar on my way out." JT nods, and gestures at Clay to go ahead; Clay retrieves his stogie and Zippo from his kutte pocket, lights up, and inhales as Piney moves forward with what he'd picked up from the bar. It isn't a gun, Jax realizes, but his father's K-bar. The cigar smoke curls around Piney's head as he- too carefully, for Jax's liking- slices the threads holding the President flash onto the kutte. He removes, too, the First Nine, Men of Mayhem, and SAMCRO patches before circling to Clay's rear and slicing off the top rocker. He hands the various patches to JT before standing before Clay once more.
"Ya can make this easy or not, but either way, that kutte's comin' off," Piney growls, and Jax prepares himself for a fistfight or… something. But Clay merely clenches the cigar between his teeth and shrugs out of the kutte, allowing it to drop in a heap on the floor. He cocks his head insolently at Piney before stepping back over it, grinding the heel of his boot into the leather before planting his feet on the wooden floor of the clubhouse. Piney shakes his head, but picks up the kutte and tosses it onto the bar. Then, he does retrieve a weapon, but it isn't JT's- it's Clay's 9mm. Piney chambers a fresh round, and hands the weapon to JT.
Immediately, JT points the 9mm at Clay, who barely flinches. JT himself hasn't let the anger Jax knows is present show on his face, not even when Clay had mentioned Gemma- Jax shudders again- and not even now. Instead, his face is calm, composed.
"Got anything else to say?" Clay appears to think on this a moment and takes another couple drags of the stogie before responding.
"Ya think you're gonna get away with killin' me, when I'm the subject of a goddamn murder investigation? Sherriff ain't gonna believe that for a g-"
"Alvarez is prepared to handle the details." JT says, simply. "See, he's got some loose ends to tie up as well." Alvarez nods. Then- without missing a beat, without moving his eyes from JT- he steps behind his SAA, pulls a pistol from the guy's waistband, and shoots him in the temple. Jax jerks in shock and he can feel Opie beside him do the same, but only a few of the Sons present even appear to react. He tosses the gun to JT, who catches it and lays it in his lap.
"Unser, you good with this all takin' place in Charming's jurisdiction?" Unser sighs and rubs at his temples before responding.
"Do what ya gotta do, I guess…" At this, JT raises his eyebrow in challenge, returning his gaze to Clay, who's now paler than ever.
"So, yeah. I think we got it handled. See, you drew on that Mayan over there, he shot you, and then killed himself. Or… whatever." JT shrugs as he continues. "We're not actually real concerned with the details, to be honest with ya. Wayne'll figure out what happened once someone reports the bodies bein' found on the edge of town, I'm sure." JT aims a smirk Wayne's way- and Wayne returns it with a long-suffering smile- before sobering and returning his attention to Clay. "Anything else?" Clay shakes his head, then, and the sneer returns to his lips before he drops his arms to his sides.
"You're too fuckin' weak t-"
Clay's last words are cut off by the bang of the Mayan's pistol in JT's hand. Jax can see the blood bloom through the shirt on Clay's chest as he sinks to the floor and eases backward, the hand he'd meant to place on his chest faltering midway as he gasps for breath, the cigar dropping to the floor and rolling away. It's seconds before an ugly, sucking sound begins, and for the second time since all this had started, Jax feels dizzy. His breath is coming in puffs, much like Clay's, and the room begins to spin. Jax tries to focus on Clay's face, and finds it helps, a bit- it's contorted with pain and the sheer effort of breathing, but in the back of his mind, Jax wonders why his father doesn't just end this. Then, JT's reaching into his kutte and extracting a thick, leather-bound manuscript with an embossed Reaper on the cover. He tosses it onto Clay's chest, and regards the remaining Sons with the same gaze he'd held the whole incident.
"It's time for a change."
And, as if JT's heard him wonder why someone doesn't just fucking end this, Jax hears another click. It's followed by another bang, and suddenly, there's a small red hole in Clay's forehead- the blood rapidly pooling behind him on the floor. It's done, Jax thinks, as the Sons begin discussing transporting the bodies. It's fucking done…
He's done. He's seen it through, watched Clay meet Mr. Mayhem, and suddenly, he's got to get out. Out, out, out; out the door, across the lot, and towards the Dyna. Out, away from his parents and their secrets, the club and its secrets… even Opie and his stoic presence is making Jax fucking sick at the moment. There's only one place he can go, one person who can help, and all he can see is her face.
Jax isn't even sure how he fucking makes it to Tara's- he doesn't remember grabbing his backpack or the drive at all, really; doesn't register banging on her door, or the look on her face when she answers. All he can do is brush past her, head blindly to her bedroom and drop his backpack with a thunk before curling on his side on her bed. It's mere moments before she joins him, and she doesn't say a word, just lifts him so she can slide beneath and lay his head in her lap. The moment the tears come is also the moment her fingers begin sifting through his hair, and by the time the choking sobs come, he knows, somehow, that they're not for Clay. They're for the end of all this bullshit, for the safety he'd taken for granted as an oblivious kid, for the rapidly retreating illusions he'd had of his parents' marriage. The one thing they're decidedly not for, is Clay fucking Morrow. He wants to reassure Tara, tell her the man will never darken her doorstep again, but he just. Fucking. Can't. Instead, as the sobs retreat and give way to ragged breathing, as Tara's ceaseless, calming presence somehow steels his spine and dries his tears, he allows himself to slip into a dreamless sleep.
Jax doesn't know what time it is when he awakens, though it's dark out, now. Tara's not here, but he can hear her rustling about in the kitchen- probably making them some dinner. He smiles at this, briefly, then sobers as the events of the day come rushing back. Sighing, he sits up and turns on the lamp on her nightstand; he isn't quite ready to face her yet, answer all the questions he knows are coming as soon as she sees he's calmed down. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he catches sight of his backpack, still lying next to her bed. Alright, he's going out there- he's just got something to take care of first. Something to focus on that will keep images of Clay- blood bubbling above the fabric of his t-shirt, breath sucking underneath it- at bay, at least for a while. Leaning off the edge of the bed, he yanks his backpack towards him and retrieves his notebook, the pencil still holding the place he'd left off last night.
He scans his work, quickly finding the beginning of the paragraph he'd had in mind:
The first is my parents, the standard to which I'll hold all others…
Pencil poised over the word parents, he pauses for a beat, then two. On the third, however, he flips the pencil over and begins to erase, the words disappearing to be brushed aside like so much eraser dust.