A/N: A lot plot coming up these next few chapters. No worries, though. The Honeymoon phase is still in effect. J&T have some fun stuff coming up including another moment a lot of you (cough* cough* SummerD123) have been itching to read.

FYI: My One-shot "ACTION MAN" is no longer a one-shot. I changed the name to "BETTER HALVES" and as of now it's a two-shot. I haven't checked the 'complete' button just yet so I might end up making it a series of one-shots. Depends on if/when inspiration hits me, ya know?

- Veritable Old Lady Crow


"I made coffee," Gemma announced, heading towards the kitchen for the brewing pot in question.

"I didn't come here for coffee, Gem."

Gemma paused at the threshold, taking a moment to compose herself—to mold her expression, to remember her lines.

Showtime, she thought as she slowly turned around.

"I know, sweetheart," the Matriarch admitted quietly. Waving her hand towards the seat in front of him, Gemma made her way back into the dining room, sliding into the chair directly across from it.

Piney never moved to sit down.

"I know you've heard the rumors," Piney declared, gruffly. "A lot of nasty shit being said about my brother….your husband."

Sympathy marred her features—the compassion in her eyes destroying any semblance of familiarity. The emotions conveyed in her solemn expression were foreign, nearly impossible to decipher.

Piney barely recognized the woman sitting in front of him.

Gemma Teller didn't do pity.

And if it were anyone else standing in front of her, they might have believed otherwise.

"It's not a rumor, Piney," Gemma told him. "It's true."

Piney shook his head. "I wanted to give you the benefit of doubt," he admitted. "I told myself it was for your son….that I was doing it for Jackson….and now that I'm standing here looking at you I know I was bullshitting myself. This was about me. I wanted to…I needed to believe you weren't that far gone. I know you've done some awful shit in the past but this has got to be the most—"

"What the Hell are you talking about, Piney?" Gemma asked, squinting her eyes at the disgusted expression on his face.

"Jesus Christ, Gem." Piney chuckled—bittersweet mirth crackling through the air until Gemma's confusion was no longer insincere. "Were you seriously going to try to convince me that JT ran his bike into a Semi? That he'd abandoned his kid and leave him for you and Clay to raise?"

"I'm sorry, Piney," Gemma urged, her expression grave. "I know you don't want to accept it but it's the truth. JT was a coward….and he tried to take the coward's way out." Standing up, she pointed a hand towards the den on the other end of the room. "I have the accident report."

"Did Unser give Clay a copy of it, too or just you?" Piney challenged. His question was met with silence—an eerie stillness that had him laughing in spite of his anger yet again. "I guess Tara's not the only one that thinks I'm a redneck, half-wit biker thug. Clearly you think I'm just as stupid as you are. Since when do you take orders from anyone, Gemma?"

"I don't," Gemma growled, nails digging into her own skin as she placed a hand on her hip.

"So this was your idea then." Piney nodded. "You're usually smarter than this Gem. Clay doesn't know what loyalty is and clearly you don't either. So why the Hell would you risk everything for him without any guarantees? It doesn't matter whose bed you're sneaking out of every night. You're John Teller's Old Lady not Clay's. I know what his angle is. He wants the gavel so damn bad he didn't hesitate to shit on a good man's reputation…his legacy for power. But what do you get out of it? Did he promise you a ring?" Piney's laughter was every bit as nasty as the glare Gemma was shooting him. "I hope you got that shit in writing. But then again…we both know how unreliable paperwork is….especially when there's a dirty cop on the take, right Gem? What's the going the rate for tampering with a police investigation anyway? I think I'll ask Unser next time I see him."

"You're delusional," Gemma snapped. "Too blinded by your loyalty to a weak man to handle the facts. And you clearly didn't come here to hear them, so what did you come here for, Piney? What the Hell do you want from me?"

"I came here for my Godson," Piney explained, simply. "Jackson is the only reason I'm giving you fair warning. I already got one brother barely hanging on. Ain't no telling if John'll make it through this, but I do know one thing. SAMCRO is my family. I've still got a table full of brothers that are hoping for the same thing I am. And I'll be cold and dead before I let that asshole Clay run my family into the ground for his own personal agenda. You need to stay away from him, Gemma. Because if push comes to blood? You'll end up being collateral damage. And in spite of all the shitty things you've done to my brother there's no denying how much you love your kid. You need to be an Old lady second and a mother first. Think about Jax. Is being the Matriarch really worth losing the only son you've got left?"

"Get the fuck out of my house."

Piney nodded, turning to walk away. Hand on the door knob, he looked back at her briefly—sincerity embedded in every word he spoke. "Stay away from him...or Clay might be the death of you."


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Twenty minutes passed before Gemma finally moved from the spot she'd stood, watching as Piney pulled her front door shut behind him.

Relief washed over her—spreading throughout her body until every muscle that had be wound tight loosened, relaxing completely in sync with her breathing, in perfect tune with her mind as the stress of what might have to happen to Piney was finally put to rest.

He doesn't know.

Piney saw through the bullshit cover story just as she'd expected, proving once again that SAMCRO's Acting President Clay Morrow could be just as naïve as the deep-thinking man he was determined to replace—permanently.

She was right about Piney not believing JT tried to kill himself—she never doubted she would be.

But now she knew for sure.

Her unspoken question had at long last been answered.

John Teller's best friend, his right hand—his brother….had no clue that what happened to him was attempted murder.

Piney really believed it was a freak accident.

And for that Gemma was genuinely happy.

Piney's ignorance meant she only had one loose end to tie instead of two.

Lowell Harland was the only liability and he would be dealt with accordingly.

Stepping down into the den, Gemma couldn't fight the rueful smile spreading across her face as she twisted the passcode into the security deposit box—wrenching it open to pull a small, brown paper bag from inside of it.

Tonight marked the first time Piney Winston had ever been wrong about her.

Gemma didn't hesitate to agree that her husband had to die. She'd been all too happy to sanction it but compromising his bike was never her idea. The end results was even proof of that.

Any plan Gemma Teller ever executed herself was always met with success.

It was a mistake putting her trust in Clay's ability to follow through—she'd been so caught up in keeping her own hands clean that she'd forgotten why JT was able to handle the weight of the gavel for as long as he had.

John Teller had an Old Lady that always had the right answer for every Who, What, When, Where and Why. She should have never left it up to a man—especially one so power-hungry that his focus was singular.

Lowell was Clay's mistake—an error in judgment that she would fix.

She wasn't giving him another opportunity to fuck everything up.

For both of them.


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Alex "Tig" Trager looked up from the bar countertop at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey," Tig said, sliding down off the stool. "Where you think you're going, Prospect?"

Right hand still curved around the handle, Kyle turned his head—meeting his taunting gaze with confidence. "There's some shit I gotta take care of."

"Damn right," Tig bit back. "Bobby clogged up the toilet again. Go fix it."

Kyle smirked. "Clay has me handling some other shit. Told me to tell you to handle it."

"You think you're funny asshole?" Tig sauntered towards him. "I know you're a grunt but you should at least know how voting in new members works around here. The decision has to be unanimous and right now I'm not really liking the idea of sharing a patch with you."

"Clay wants to share a patch with me," Kyle boasted. "And I know how you work. You'll go with whatever he says like a good little soldier. Or Sargent," the young fool taunted, eyeing the Srgt. At Arms patch on the breast pocket of Tig's leather Kutte—the patch Clay had been wearing before JT's accident.

"No one will question it if you go missing," Tig threatened, nostrils flaring.

"Relax, Tiggy," Kyle urged, smiling at him. "Clay's not replacing you. To be honest I don't think I could fill your shoes even if I wanted to. Your brand of crazy doesn't come in my size. I'm just helping him out with a few things." Kyle nodded his head towards the back hallway. "You want to know what's going on? Ask him." Pulling on the handle, Kyle opened the clubhouse door, eyes widening briefly when they landed on Herman Kozik—Tig Trager's very own partner in crime. Smirking, the prospect raised his eyebrows at the conflicted expression on the blonde biker's face as he stood at Club Reaper's threshold with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. "Mornin' Kozy."

Brushing past him, Kyle patted Kozik on his shoulder—whistling as he made his way towards the Teller-Morrow pickup truck on the other end of the lot.

Today was a big day for him.

JT laying down his bike had turned out to be the blessing he never saw coming.

Clay Morrow was giving him an opportunity to earn his place—to prove once and for all that he had what it takes to be a SON.

And by the end of the night he'd do just that.


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"That asshole's been walking around here like he's a fuckin patch President the past couple days," Tig commented as they watched the gleeful prospect drive off the lot. "He's really starting to piss me off."

I guess the fact that Clay's been boxing you out to have secret meetings with him has nothing to do with it.

Kozik nodded stiffly. "It's probably whatever he has going with Clay. He's probably banking on JT not pulling through. It's not like we don't know that's the only way he's getting patched in."

"He's not getting patched in," Tig declared. "I don't give a shit what Clay wants."

Kozik snorted. "Could have fooled me."

"Really?" Tig glared. "We doing this shit again?"

Kozik shrugged. "I still don't understand why we're doing this. And you getting pissed with me when I bring it up just lets me know you don't even know why. You don't care why. You never do."

"You ask too many damn questions," Tig snapped. "Our Prez asks us to do something for him, we handle it. Simple as that. No bitchin and moaning or asking why."

"Clay's not our President," Kozik corrected, shaking his head. "JT is. And I never have to ask why when he wants something done because he brings shit to the table for all of us to weigh in on. This shit with Lowell—"

"Needs to be handled….today," Tig growled, struggling not to raise his voice. "We don't have time to play twenty questions, Herm. We gotta get this shit done. Clay'll fill us in when the time is right. Same thing goes for the rest of the club."

"Jesus Christ." Kozik raked a hand through the unkempt, blonde spikes sticking up at the crown of his head. "Only time you call me Herm is when you're trying to—"

"Quit whining like a little bitch!" Tig snapped. "Let's do this shit. I'm going...whether you back me or not."

"I know you are," Kozik said, shaking his head. "That's the only reason I'm here. To make sure you don't fuck up the way you usually do."

"Then let's go," Tig urged, walking past him—headed towards his bike. "His wife's shift starts in a few hours. We need to be in and out before she comes in."

One of these days Clay's gonna lead you straight off a cliff, Kozik thought as he sat on his bike, next to him. Revving it up, he slowly backed out of the space.

As he peeled out of the lot, riding behind SAMCRO's Srgt. at Arms, Kozik wondered who was the bigger idiot. Tig for blindly following a man who was only ever out for himself.

Or him—the man following behind Tig when he could see clearly just how big of a risk it was.


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"Hey, handsome." Wendy had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at the anxious expression on Lowell Junior's face when she walked up to him. "Relax, Junior. I didn't come over here to ask you to make an honest woman out of me or anything."

Lowell cleared his throat.

It didn't help him a bit.

"Good morning," he squeaked.

I tried.

Wendy giggled. And she couldn't even bring herself to feel guilty about the sudden redness in his cheeks as she sat down on the bottom step of Charming High school's front entrance stairs next to him. "Did you sleep well?" she teased.

"About last night," Lowell started. "Before you say anything, I wasn't lying you know. I really am—well I was a—"

"I couldn't tell," Wendy commented, working overtime to keep a straight face.

"Yeah?"

Who said the Prince was the only one who could be charming?

Wendy smiled. "Are we really going to talk about it?" she asked. "If you really want to we could….but it kinda takes the fun out of it for me."

Lowell nodded. "Right. Me, too." His face was just starting to return to its shade when Wendy started laughing again. "What?"

Wendy shook her head. "Nothing," she answered quickly. Then deciding to change the subject altogether, she asked, "You going to see your Old man after school today?"

Lowell nodded. "Yeah."

"So ummm….you're gonna tell him about what you"—Lowell was already shaking his head No before she could finish her question. "Good….well I was planning on going to St. Thomas to harass Tara and check on Jax and his dad anyway. My last class is ninth period so if you want to ride with—what the Hell?"

Lowell immediately followed her line of vision—turning towards the spot over his shoulders. His hazel eyes widened as they both stood up from the steps, rushing towards the left end of the parking lot.

"OPIE!" Donna screamed, pulling on the back of his shirt. "Get off of him! Opie!"

"What the Hell is your problem, man?" David Hale grunted, as him and two of his teammates pulled him off of yet another one of Charming High's Varsity football team players.

"And I thought it was entertaining watching her flip out over you," Wendy commented, smiling at the murderous expression on Opie Winston's face as he glared at the sixteen year old boy pressing a hand to his bloody nose.

"Not now, Wendy," Opie barked.

"Did you think I was kidding?" Donna growled, shoving hard against his chest. "I wasn't throwing a tantrum. This isn't me teaching you a lesson. I meant what I said, Opie. I'm done. We're done!"

Wendy scoffed. "Yeah right. Since when?"

Her question was met with stony silence—her dark brown eyes widening when instead of storming off together to kiss and make up, Opie headed towards his father's truck peeling out of the school parking lot, while his ex-girlfriend brushed David and the other two football jocks aside, murmuring her apology as she reached a hand up to examine the damage done to Marcus Owens face.

"Wow," Lowell said.

"Yup." Wendy agreed as the warning bell for first period rang. "And that," she said, kissing his cheek before headed back towards the school, "is why I don't do relationships."

Bitches be crazy.


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Monica looked up from the gossip column she'd been reading in her email account to see a tall, slender woman yanking toned, sleeveless arms out of a designer leather jacket she was still saving up the money to buy.

Tugging at the thin straps of her tank top, Diane Knowles made quick work of pulling her unruly mop of poorly towel-dried hair into a ponytail, completely oblivious to the fact that she was splashing the young nurse sitting in front of the computer next to her with water from the ends of her auburn hair every time she swished her head left or right.

"Is this your first day or something?" Monica asked as she watched her rummage through the messenger bag she'd hastily dropped into the vacant rolling chair on the other end of the desk.

"Good morning," Diane answered briskly, looking up only a moment before resuming her search through her giant bag.

"You're here for the seven to three shift right?"

Diane nodded, finally pulling the keycard she'd obviously been looking for from her bag as she did so. "I'm running late."

Monica's eyes flitted towards the digital time stamp displayed in the corner of her desktop computer. "It's not even six O'clock yet."

"I know."

Monica cocked an eyebrow. "Sooo…what's the rush?"

"Make sure you fill my charts out the right way," was all Diane said before she made her way around the semi-circular counter of the Nurse's station desk, sprinting through the double doors to right of her, headed towards the even numbered hospital rooms.

Gemma Teller's fingers were just curving around the door handle when Diane turned the corner. Picking up speed, Diane nearly smacked into her a second time when she finally came to a stop in front of her—right outside of Tara's room.

"What part of stay the Hell away from Tara did you not understand?" Diane hissed, snatching the angry woman's hand away from the door handle.

Gemma made a show of studying the hand she'd knocked away before looking up to sneer at her. "Tara won't be the only one lying in a hospital bed if you put your hands on me again."

"I already told you," Diane started, pointing in her face. "I'm not afraid of—"

"I don't give a shit what you're afraid of!" Gemma snapped, sudden rage contorting her features. "I care even less about the little gash that calls you auntie. The only thing I care about is my son."

"Then go be with him!" Diane screeched. "Stop stalking his girlfriend you fuckin psycho!"

Gemma's voice was low and deadly—quivering almost when she spoke as she gestured the sharp, black-tinted claws of her fingers towards the closed hospital room door.

"I haven't seen or heard from my son since that bitch checked into St. Thomas," Gemma growled. "I'm here for him not her."

Diane shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. "You are so pathetic," she said. "At least come up with a better lie, Gemma. You used to be good at making up stories."

"I'm not ly—"

"Day time visiting hours don't start for a few hours," Diane sneered. "And the last time your son was here, Tara asked him to leave. She hasn't seen him since."

"Now who's full of shit?"

"I'm calling security," Diane said, moving to stand in front of Tara's door as she pulled out her cell phone. "Your husband's in here so I doubt they'll kick you out of the hospital as a whole but I'm definitely having you banned from this floor."

"I'll go wherever my son goes," Gemma challenged. "And there's not a damn thing you or some rent-a-cop can say about it."

"Your son isn't here," Diane hissed through clenched teeth as she scrolled through her phone for the contact number.

"Then where the fuck is he!"

"He's your responsibility!" Diane retorted, as she hit the send button. "All I care about is protecting mine…..Hi, this is Diane R. Knowles. I'm an NP working in the private suites wing on the fourth floor. I need you to send someone up to room four-two-sixteen…Yes, there's a woman with no authorization to be here trying to get into one of the patient rooms. Her name is Gem—"

Gemma's nails dug into her wrists as she yanked Diane's arm hard enough to send the cellphone in her hand flying across the hallway floor.

"Get the fuck off of me," Diane snapped. Snatching her hand away, that same hand reaching out to slap the irate mother across the face.

Gemma caught her by her wrist a second time. Balling her other hand into a tight fight, she punched Diane hard in her gut sending her flying into the door—her head banging hard against it. Never the type to give anyone a moment to find their footing, Gemma gripped the angry red-head by the thin straps of her shirt and bra—her nails digging into her bare shoulders as she pulled her up just enough to shove her aside, already reaching for the door handle before Diane's knees even hit the floor.

The fingers curled around the metal handle never got to pull.

Instead Gemma's feet were knocked from under her as Diane quickly flipped over, lashing out with her own feet, kicking Gemma's ankle before wrapping her arms around her legs, tackling her down to the hallway floor with her.

Diane launched herself on top of the fallen woman, straddling Gemma's back—two fistfuls of her hair threaded between her fingers as she pulled Gemma's head back as far as physically possible, slamming her face down hard into the floor with a loud crunch.

Heavy footsteps pounded, sounding behind her from around the corner she'd just come from as Diane yanked her head back a second time angling for another meeting of her face with the freshly polished linoleum floor.

Strong arms gripped the backs of hers, pulling her up just as the second, third and fourth set of footsteps circled around to the front of her to reveal themselves as the group of security guards she'd overheard talking about how nice her ass was when she'd walked away from asking them which elevator to take up on her first day of work.

Effortlessly pulling out of the grip on her arms, Diane turned around, stunned to see yet another familiar face.

But this wasn't another member of hospital security.

Although his family's company may have been responsible for more than eighty-five percent of home and business security systems—among other things.

"You're back in your hometown a week and you're already getting into catfights?" he asked, smirking at her.

"What the Hell are you doing here, Duncan?" Diane countered, just as she felt her arms being pulled behind her back.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Diane heard Gemma screaming behind her. "I'm not going anywhere until I know where my son is! Let g—you assholes got any idea whose Old lady—whose wife you're arresting?"

Duncan Kane's eyes flitted away from his wife's annoyed expression to stare at the guard, attempting to cuff her hands behind her back.

"What are you doing?" Duncan exclaimed. "She's the one that called you up here! She works here. Let her go!"

How the Hell did you know that?

"Look, Sir," the overweight, profusely sweating security guard grumbled as he pushed Diane along, past him. "We'll sort out all the details once we get them downstairs."

"She's a recent hire here you know," Duncan explained, rushing past the guard, only to stop in front of them, blocking his path to the other end of the Hall. "How's it gonna look to her fellow employees, you walking her through the hospital in handcuffs? You gotta let her go now. She can walk without restraints."

"There's one more set of cuffs for you," the third guard commented, coming to stop next to Diane as she looked back and forth between the two men she could see. "You keep interfering with hospital protocol I got no problem with using them, Sir."

"You won't be using those cuffs long," Duncan threatened, his voice calm as she pulled a phone from the inside pocket of his suit-jacket. "Not once I get my lawyers involved."

"You assholes in five thousand dollar suits love throwing that L-word around," the guard huffed, making Diane cringe at his hot breath on her neck. "I'm started to get why your wife is hiding from you, son. You just can't seem to resist helping a damsel in distress. Not that I blame you with the tight ass this one's got on her."

"She is my wife," Duncan replied, his cool exterior slowly fading.

"She's your what?" Gemma squawked behind her, making Diane roll her eyes towards the ceiling.

GOD.

Kill me now.

No, actually kill that crazy bitch Gemma first.

Then me.

"Last chance boys," Duncan warned, holding the flip phone in front of him. "Somehow I don't see any of you keeping your jobs once the hospital board finds out you're the reason Kane Industries decided against moving forward with the deal they offered discounting Kane Software for St. Thomas' new state of the art security system….then again…with an upgrade from my company you three are probably looking at a pink slip regardless."

Pompous asshole.

"Ughh. Give me five minutes with the cuffs off," Diane huffed, glaring at the handsome blue-eyed guy in front of her. "I'll take care of him for you and meet you downstairs to straighten this shit out."

"What's it gonna be?" Duncan challenged, ignoring Diane's dismissal of his assistance.

Diane sighed heavily when she felt the cuffs sliding off of her wrist.

"Are you fuckin kidding me?" Gemma shrieked.

"Relax, Gemma," Diane said, smirking when she turned around to see blood dripping from the enraged woman's nose. Smiling triumphantly, she nodded at the guard standing behind her. "Let her go, too."

"Hold on a second," Duncan said behind her. "I'm getting you off the hook. Not this crazy—"

Dealing with you or dealing with Gemma.

Gemma Teller, no contest.

"My niece got banged up pretty bad in a car accident the other night," Diane explained to the guards. "We're all still a little on edge…" Looking at Gemma, she had to force the words out of her mouth. "She's family," Diane said, making a conscious effort to keep her face neutral. "We're family. We had a little disagreement...but I should have kept it between us instead of using the fact that I work here to try to get her thrown out….even if she really isn't supposed to be here before visiting hours start."

"As you can see she's very sorry for inconveniencing you guys," Duncan added.

"Yeah, I'm sure," the guard behind Gemma grumbled as he released her from her handcuffs. "Let's just go, Guys. We don't get paid enough for this bullshit."

Duncan watched as the three men disappeared around the corner. When he turned around to face her he was met with Diane's fist.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled from behind his hand as he held his mouth. "A simple thank you is all that was necessary. What the Hell is—"

"Go home, Duncan," Diane yelled. "I thought I made myself clear. You need to leave."

"How could you make anything clear in the three sentences you wrote on that post-it you stuck on the fridge?" Duncan shook his head, smiling. "I thought it was a joke until I walked in our closet to see all your clothes missing. You didn't seriously think you could just skip town and I'd let you go did you? I'm not your brother, Diane. I actually noticed when you left. And I'm here to bring you back. Tara, too. I think she'll like San Diego. The public school dis—"

"We are not moving to San Diego!" Diane screeched. "I'm not moving her anywhere. She's staying right here and so am I. Go home, Duncan. Call me when your lawyers are done drawing up the papers so I can sign them."

Dunan shook his head. "No. Baby, listen to me. I'm sorry—"

"I cannot deal with this shit right now!"

"She really can't," Gemma agreed, making Diane spin around as her voice grew louder the closer she got to her. "Whatever issues you got with her are gonna have to wait until I'm finished with her."

"I'm done with you, too, Gemma," Diane threatened. "Unless you want me to finish breaking the rest of your face."

"When you were running up and down the hospital looking for me did you happen to come across the cafeteria?" Diane asked her husband as she continued to glare a hole into the angry woman's face in front of her.

"Yes, as a matter of fact—"

"My shift starts in half an hour," Diane interrupted. "I take my first break at eleven-thirty. I'll meet you then….and we'll talk."

Then you can take your ass back to Neptune with your family.

FUCK SAN DIEGO.

There was a pregnant pause when no one in the hallway said anything.

Then finally.

"I love you, Dee," Duncan said, walking off. "Make sure you show up. Then we can work through this."

Diane watched through the corner of her eye as he disappeared around the corner.

"I can't keep doing this with you, Gemma," Diane said quietly. "Not here. Not where I work. We need to—"

"Save it bitch." Gemma waved a hand at her as she quickly brushed past her, knocking into her shoulder—pushing Tara's room door open.

Gemma sprinted inside of the private hospital suite.

And Diane was hot on her heels, smacking into her yet again when Gemma stopped short.


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"Why aren't you in school?"

Because Donna's gonna make me kill someone.

Opie looked up at the sound of his father's voice. Piney stood in the doorway, leaning against threshold of the clubhouse dorm room waiting for his son to answer him.

"I was looking for you," Opie said, shrugging. "You weren't home when I went back so I figured if you'd turn up here eventually. Clay told me you've been stressed out…all twisted up about what happened with JT….I guess that's why you didn't take the gavel even though it's supposed to go to the V-P when—"

"Clay likes to talk out of the side of his neck," Piney interrupted. "I don't talk to that idiot enough for him to know what's going on in my head...I'm still waiting for an answer to my question."

"I just told you—"

"An honest answer."

"I got a lot on my mind, too Pop," Opie answered honestly. "I really did wanna talk to you."

Piney slowly made his way over to him, sitting at the foot of the bed beside him.

"What's going on, son?" He asked him, smiling. "You and Donna going at it again? You're teenagers for Christ Sakes. Y'all need to stop fighting all the damn time. You're worse than an old married couple."

"You mean like you and mom?"

"Yeah," Piney grunted, nodding once as his eyes drifted towards the other side of the room. "I guess so."

"Clay told me about his plans," Opie admitted. "Says he's thinking about changing the bylaws so me and Jax could prospect earlier….he also said you didn't want that for me…..And I guess I'm just wondering why that is….I mean you and Ma used to argue about the Club all the time….the whole reason she—"

"You're not prospecting early," Piney barked, his temper flaring. "And as long as Clay has that gavel in his hand you won't be wearing a Kutte at all. Don't listen to him. Don't pay attention to a goddamn word he says to you. Every thing that man does…everything he says, its smoky truth. We haven't been Seeing Eye to eye for a while now. That's why he's trying to use you to hurt me. And I'm not letting that shit happen. Stay clear of him, you hear me?" When Opie nodded, he patted his son on the back. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Piney pulled him in for a hug, ruffling his hair the way he used to when he was younger.

The gesture brought back memories of his mother and father together—him sitting between them on the couch complaining about whatever stupid cartoon he'd forced them to watch with him.

"Can I ask you something, Pop?"

Piney sighed. Pulling back, he pinched the bridge of his nose—blue eyes flitting shut. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the question."

"It's about Tara's mom," Opie explained. "Someone told me"—Piney abruptly stood up from the bed, towering over him. The intense expression on his face—the zigzag of emotions crossing his features—annoyance, suspicion, sorrow, regret, confusion, and most notably anger. The look on his father's face nearly had him backtracking, changing the subject, leaving the room to head back to school.

But he didn't.

Opie was never the type to pull punches, or hold his tongue when there was something on his mind—he was his father's son after all.

"I know you two were close," Opie stated. "Did you know her before you and mom got married? I mean she moved here when I was what? Like three?"

"Where is all this coming from?"

"I used to think mom left because of the Club," Opie admitted. "I thought she bailed on you….that she abandoned us because she didn't want to be an Old Lady anymore."

"What brought this on?" Piney wondered. "Clay?"

Opie shook his head. "I want to know if—"

"Whatever went on between me and your mother is in the past," Piney declared. "I didn't make her leave. That was her choice, son."

"I know," Opie argued. "But why? Why was that her choice? Was it because—"

"It was for reasons that don't concern you."

Opie stood up from the bed. Toe to toe with his Old man, the sixteen year old was only a few inches shorter than him. "I think Mary skipping town and leaving me behind has a lot to do with me considering I'm her son, too."

"Go to school."

"Who does it concern, Pop?" Opie challenged, his temper flaring. "It's obvious that you never gave a shit when she left. Whose left to be concerned about it? Is it Tara's concern? Was it her father's?"

"I'm not telling you again," Piney growled through clenched teeth. He pointed towards the open door. "I'm not talking about this. And the Clubhouse is for members and hang arounds. You're neither. You're a teenage boy. My son. And as your Old man I'm telling you to drop this. Take your ass back to school."

"Not yet, Pop," Opie countered, crossing his arms. "I'm still waiting for an answer to my question."

"I already gave you your answer," the irritated father barked.

Opie smirked. "I'm waiting for an honest answer."


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Gemma finally spun around to face her minutes later.

Hatred and the tiniest hint of fear swirled in her olive eyes as she stared at the young woman standing in front of her, momentarily stunned to silence.

"You're right, sweetheart," Gemma said quietly, her voice dripping with acid. "Jackson is my responsibility. And what I want for him? It's the same thing you want for her. It'll protect both of them. This…..it's a problem. A really big fuckin problem."

"I know," Diane answered, hating herself for agreeing with Gemma Teller in any capacity.

Gemma nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "You think you can handle this better than I can?" the MC Matriarch challenged, slowly stepping closer to her. "Even after the magic I worked on you and Padraic? Tell you what, Darlin. I'll give you one shot to put an end to this shit. I want Jackson back at home where he belongs tonight….or I'll handle it my way."

"You're way isn't gonna fly, Gemma," Diane warned. "I'll take care of it."

"You better."

Gemma left the room without another word, leaving Diane alone to stare at the landmine bundled up in front of her, in the middle of the room.

Tara was sound asleep, the most peaceful Diane had seen her since she'd checked into the hospital.

Her dark brown hair was a curtain of thick, wavy curls covering the half of her face that wasn't resting against his naked chest. An entire rack's worth of blankets covered the bed, messily tossed over them—stopping just shy of their waists. Tara's slender frame was hidden underneath the bagginess of his faded, grey |SAMCRO| T-shirt. Wrapped up in one another's embrace, the Ace-bandaging and the brace fitted around Tara's wrist were the only way she could tell for sure whose arms were whose. The top of her head served as the perfect cushion—the resting place for Jax's chin as he held her, the ghost of a smile on his handsome, sleeping face as his chest rose and fell, breathing in sync with the brunette all but shackled to him in center of her hospital bed.

Diane tugged at her ponytail absently, caring not in the slightest when the action resulted in the scrunchy holding it in place sliding down the wet strands, falling to the floor. Looking over towards the window, her hazel eyes ballooned, widening at the wrinkled Calvin Klein boxers laid out flat against the heat of the room's radiator as she walked towards the lounge chair near the drawn curtains of two large windows.

Duncan might be on to something, Diane thought wryly, shaking her head at the hospitals lackluster security—security that couldn't seem to stop a teenage boy from sneaking in to see his girlfriend.

"Diane?"

Diane's eyes snapped back towards the bed as his raspy, sleep-addled voice rang out a second time.

"Heyyy." Jax looked down at the brunette still fast asleep against his chest. Raking his free hand through her hair gently, he kissed her forehead. Squeezing the arm around her, he shook her lightly. "Tara…Babe...Tara, wake up." Tara's eyes opened slowly. Tilting her head back, a lazy smile spread across her face as she kissed his chin. Cupping one side of her face, it seemed Jax couldn't resist leaning down to kiss her.

Diane was convinced that if she hadn't cleared her throat loudly he would have been happy to continue kissing her as if she wasn't standing there watching.

Tara flinched away from the kiss, her head snapping towards the left of her—green eyes widening when she saw her aunt standing there.

"Diane!" Tara shrieked. Sitting up as fast as she could manage, she turned to glare at the boy still holding her waist as her aunt walked around to the foot of her bed. Jax didn't look the slightest bit guilty as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Your aunt's here," Jax announced, stating the obvious…very much after the fact.

"I see," Tara said, narrowing her eyes at him, her cheeks reddening as she turned back to face the other person in her room. "We were just—I mean last night I thought—and then when he—I mean—"

"Please stop talking," Diane interjected, slapping a hand over her eyes. When Jax started snickering she couldn't help joining in with him as she peeked through her fingers to see Tara's face turn an even darker shade of scarlet. "Somehow I think I'm better off not knowing."

"Looks like you're not the only smart one, Know-it-all Knowles," Jax teased the other girl covering her face.

"I tried to get here early so you didn't have to wait until my break to take a shower," Diane explained, pointing up at the clock mounted on the wall in the corner by the bathroom. "You can see how well that worked out. We got twenty-five minutes tops. No double-conditioning today, Gracie. You'll be lucky if you get—what the Hell is so funny?"

Tara chewed at her bottom lip, smiling sheepishly at her while the boy in bed with her leaned over, holding his stomach as he laughed next the girl who couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to be mad—elbowing him in his chest—or sit there in quiet embarrassment.

"I don't think she cares about conditioning her hair, Diane," Jax commented, failing to maneuver away from the next sharp elbow Tara threw in his direction.

"Shut up!"

"Tick tock," Diane gushed, tapping her finger against an imaginary wrist watch as she stared at the blonde-haired boy chuckling at his own inside joke. "You can visit her later, Jax. Maybe even during actual visiting hours. I gotta help her—"

"Umm…Di…." Tara briefly cast a glance towards the boxers laid against the radiator before she seemed to think better of it, green eyes flitting back towards her aunt's puzzled expression. "I kinda already took my shower…"

"You did it by yourself?" A wide smile broke out on Diane's face. "Good for you, Chickadee. I wish you would have waited until I was here to try doing it on your own. I mean the doctor did say you'd have full use of your arm after the procedure but—"

"I had help."

"—your shoulder is another story. I remember when I dislocated my shoulder when I was thirteen. Your mom had to help me shower for weeks or maybe it just seemed longer because I was so embarrassed. I don't blame you at all. I hated needing help taking a—"

"Jax helped me."

Diane stopped talking, her head tilting to one side. "I'm sorry what?"

Jax clearing his throat sounded a lot more like him suppressing his laughter.

"She…uh…She didn't want to wait for you," he explained, grinning like a kid at a candy store. He nodded towards the Calvin Klein underwear on the other side of the room. "Don't worry….I behaved."

It was Tara who laughed this time.

Jax wasn't far behind her.

I'm not even going to ask.

"I don't know how the two of you managed to sleep through it," Diane said, rolling her eyes. "Must have been really tired from all those games of scrabble and watching TV late last night."

"Sleep through what?" Tara asked, looking down at her blanket-covered feet as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Your mother stopped by," Diane answered, smirking at how quickly Jax's expression changed from one of amusement to irritation. "She was wondering why her son hasn't been home in a few days. I'm thinking you better get caught up with Momzilla before she tries to storm in here again."

"Is that what happened to your shoulder?" Jax asked as he slid his arm from behind Tara's back, standing up from the bed.

Diane looked down, shocked to see fine, pink welts forming where Gemma's nails had dug into her skin—ripping the right strap of her tank top, popping the thin strap of her bra completely. "Shit. I didn't even notice that."

"I'm sorry, Di," Tara said quietly. "I don't know why that woman hates me so much and after almost sixteen years of trying to figure it out I've given up. I don't want you getting mixed up in it though."

"There's nothing to get mixed up in," Jax barked. Diane turned to see him leaned over, tying the laces of his sneakers. "She's just being a bitch because she thinks you're the reason I can't stand being around her right now. Trust me, you're not. You just make it even easier to be somewhere else."

"Jax—"

Before she could finish her sentence Jax leaned across the bed, grazing her mouth with his own—threading his hands in her hair as he kissed her until Diane cleared her throat loudly again.

"I'll deal with my crazy mother," Jax promised. "She's not gonna bother you or your aunt again, Okay?"

Diane's snorting laughter (the yeah fuckin right! implied) went completely unnoticed by both teenagers.

When Tara nodded, Jax pressed his lips to hers once more—lingering only as long as it took him to lock the buckle of his belt in place before pulling back, smoothing her hair out with the fingers he'd pulled from the thick tresses as he whispered, "I love you," so low Diane almost missed it.

Almost.

Not quite though.

She'd heard him loud and clear—thus the reason for her sudden shortage of incredulous laughter as she gaped at the green-eyed girl staring up at him, smiling.

"I love you, Jackson."

The words sounded new—almost like they were still getting used to the way they tasted on their tongues, how it felt to say them, how good it sounded when the other one repeated them, how much it heightened every touch, every intimate gesture each time they were spoken.

But the emotion….

Damn it.

The feelings were as genuine as they were old.

This wasn't a recent development.

It wasn't a sporadic discovery unearthed by the shock and scare of accident that could have been way more fatal than it turned out to be.

This wasn't a guy saying 'I love you' to get into her niece's panties.

And this wasn't a girl who echoed the words because she was in love with the idea of being in love.

The words were new.

But the passion behind them was vintage—probably as dated as the years they were old whether either of the googly-eyed teenagers holding hands in front of her were aware of it or not.

Diane Knowles was conflicted—warring emotions pulling at her from all different directions.

Part of her wanted to squeal "awwwwwww!" the way she had when her husband's younger brother Logan asked for her advice on getting the perfect birthday gift for his girlfriend Veronica.

Part of her wanted to giggle and cheese like the teenage girl she used to be way back when she was so head over heels in love she let a scary bald guy named Happy tattoo a crow across her chest, inscribing the initials of the eighteen year old boy she was in love between the wings. And that same part of her instilled fear in every fiber of her being as she thought about the very un-happy ending to that love affair.

Part of her wanted to smack Tara over the head with a bible, and ship her off to a convent the second she disagreed with her aunt's demand to never again see or speak to the blue-eyed boy brushing his thumb lightly against the back of the hand laced in his, staring at Tara like it physically hurt him to leave her.

Like he'd said he was going to…ten minutes ago.

And then there was that one final part of her—the part of her that rang loud with a truth neither she nor Gemma Teller could avoid or escape. There was the part of her that knew without a doubt that her reaction didn't matter.

What she thought about them didn't matter.

What she did or didn't want for her niece held no value.

The only thing that mattered to Tara—the only person who could scare her away from the teenage boy she was in love with was the teenage boy himself.

Just like me and Pat.

And judging from the glazed over look in the blue eyes locked with Tara's, the teenage boy she was in love with had meant every word he said when Diane had stopped him in the hallway on his way to see her.

Jax wasn't leaving Tara's side for anyone.

I wonder if Lumpy's gym is still up and running…

I really need to get my left hook back in order…

Especially his controlling mother.


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Kyle chuckled under his breath as he watched Quentin Hobart's head jut from left to right and behind his back—paranoia offsetting his usual scornful expression when he approached the driver side of the truck.

Rolling the window all the way down, Kyle smiled at the anxious man. "Good morning, Uncle Quint. How's life?"

"I see being a lackey suits you." Officer Hobart sneered. "Now that Clay's got you at his beck and call you think you're somebody, huh?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "You got what I asked for?"

Narrowing his eyes, Quentin's jaw was set hard as he pulled the manila folder from inside of his jacket. "When you go down for this shit you're not taking me with you."

"You said that already," Kyle commented, snatching the folder—opening it to examine the contents. "As soon as I confirm that this information is legit I'll—"

"I don't want your blood money," the irate officer snapped. "You can keep it. Use it to start a legal fund. You're gonna need one working with SAMCRO."

Kyle looked up from the page he'd been reading to glare at his uncle. "I'm not working for SAMCRO," he argued icily. "I am SAMCRO."

Officer Hobart chuckled, staring at the patch on the breast pocket of his nephews leather Kutte. "I think you're a little confused on what the word prospect means in the Outlaw world. Nothing's official yet, son. And I'll tell you this. You might want to start a fund for your funeral expenses…make things a little easier on your mom and my brother. You're so eager to be the black sheep of the family you're gonna mess around and get yourself killed trying to play gangster."

"Whatever." Kyle rose up from the truck's chair, pulling a sealed, white envelope from his back pocket. Instead of handing it to him—or even giving him an opportunity to reach for it, Kyle tossed the tiny packet out of the car, on top of his Uncles feet. "You can have the cash now. If this shit doesn't check out, I'll be back here."

"To do what?" the officer challenged, eyes widening right along with the taunting smile on his face. "Jesus, Kyle. You really are an idiot."


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"I spoke with your doctor," Diane said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. "He's still waiting to hear back from your pediatrician but as long as your scans come back clean you should be going home tonight."

"What about school?" Tara wondered out loud.

Diane snickered. "That's up to you, Gracie," she said. "It really depends on what you think you can handle. I definitely don't want you overexerting yourself though. I'm think maybe you should sit Friday out, rest up over the weekend then see how you feel on Monday."

"I'm definitely not staying home Monday," Tara declared. "Missing one whole week of school is bad enough. I'm gonna be so behind and thanks to all of this I probably lost my job, too."

"I guess it's a good thing Donna convinced you to apply with her when we went with her to fill out an application for that boutique in the mall."

Tara frowned. "How am I gonna get there with no car? It was already a hassle getting back and forth to Monroe's. Lodi is even further and it's not like you don't have a job to get to so you can't take me."

"We'll figure something out," Diane promised. "But for now I'm going to focus on the problems that are right in front of me….Listen….Grace….I know you said that talking about sex was off the table," she said calmly. "And before I was okay with that. But now…."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Tara replied, color flooding her cheeks as she looked down at her blanket covered feet. "I took health class last year, you know. So I already got the basics. I don't need a lecture on protection or sexually transmitted diseases."

"Health class doesn't cover what I want to talk to you about," Diane told her. "I doubt there was a chapter in your textbook about boys named Jackson Teller."

Tara giggled. "He'd have to have his own class to cover him," she said. "And that shit would definitely be college level."

"For someone who doesn't want to talk about sex you sure don' seem to have a problem gushing about his….umm…skills."

When Tara laughed this time, it was a nervous sound—her green eyes widening in horror at her aunt's amused expression.

"I didn't meant it that way!" Tara argued. "I meant he's a complicated guy that's all. He would need more than one chapter in a book to understand him."

"I'm scared, Tara," Diane admitted, her smile faltering. "I've been here before….I was a teenage girl in love, too….and I don't want you getting hurt."

Tara scrunched up her face—sitting up straighter in bed. "Why do you automatically assume he's going to hurt me? Because you got hurt? Not everyone teenage boy is the same, Di."

"I'm not saying he'll do it on purpose," Diane argued, gently. "I'm not even saying he'll be the one to do it. I don't want you hurting yourself either, Gracie. Look at you. For a second I thought you were going to punch me in the face for suggesting you miss a couple extra days of class. Your education is important to you. Going places…traveling…achieving all your goals. I want that for you. I don't want you letting anything or anyone holding you back."

"I wasn't going to punch you before, Di," Tara said. "But right now I kind of want to. Is that really how you see me? As some girl that's going to drop everything for a guy? Build my life around him and what he does? I would never do that."

Diane smiled. "It's easy to say that now, Tara—"

"It's easy to say it because it's the truth," Tara argued. "I know what I want. Nothing's stopping me from going after it either, Di. I'm meeting with my new guidance counselor first chance I get when I'm back in school. I'm gonna make sure all my classes are in order for the next couple semesters so I can graduate early like I've always wanted to ever since I knew it was possible. I already have a few college credits under my belt and as long as I don't break any more bones I'll be earning a few more over the winter break and this summer, too. I'll probably have my BA before I'm twenty-one. That means I can get a head start on Med school."

Diane's eyes widened. "Medical school?"

Tara nodded.

Sitting back against her pillow, her mind drifted in and out of the present as she stared at the wall, wincing at the memory that had been tormenting her for a long time.

"I could never forget that day," Tara confessed. "…..kneeling there on his front lawn….watching Jax cradle his little head in his lap, brushing his hair back…telling him everything was going to be okay while we just sat there…and waited….Maybe there was nothing I could have really done that would have made a bit of difference…maybe not….All I know is I hated feeling helpless…feeling useless. I couldn't even try to help Tommy...I was sitting on a bench in a courtroom pleading with the judge to give my daddy another chance….telling her all these stories the lawyer came up with to help his case…about what a good father he used to be before my mom died…about how hard he tried to take care of me and keep me happy despite how much pain I knew he was in….That's what I was doing when Jax's brother died…feeding a bunch of bullshit to some family court judge just to keep my father around so I didn't have to grow up in foster care because he couldn't stop getting drunk and crashing his car into shit….I wasn't even in the room with them when they got the bad news. And I didn't have to be because I know his doctor said the same thing my mother's doctor said to me and Arthur….She told them that they did everything they could….how sorry she was for their loss. I remember questioning it…wondering if they really had did everything just like Gemma….I also remember resenting them because I knew that whatever they did it was more than anything I attempted….anything I could even hope to accomplish…..I guess I'm a lot like my mom. I can't help feeling responsible for anything that happens to the people I care about." Tara looked over at her aunt, green eyes glistening as she smiled at her. "He wasn't my brother. He was Jackson's. But it still hurt me just as bad when he died. He was fine one second….we weren't even gone ten minutes and then everything went wrong. And ever since then I haven't been able to shake this….this need to make a difference. I know it probably sounds silly….or premature…maybe even a little narcissistic. But I want to do something with my life that effects the lives of others in a positive way. I want to be a healer. I want to spend my life working overtime to make sure no one has to go through what Jax did…what his mother and father did. And whenever fate has other plans I want to be able to genuinely say that I did absolutely everything I could. That's my future, Diane. That's what I want and no one's going to keep me from that. I don't know what'll happen with me and Jax. If he'll join his father's club…if we'll still be together ten years from now. The only thing I know for sure is that I love him and the three years I spent denying that is the only time I'm wasting. If it's meant to be we'll figure it out. The only thing I'm guaranteeing is the Doctorate I want hanging up on my wall."

Several minutes passed by before either of them spoke again.

And after the speech she'd been subjected to Diane Knowles only had one thing left to discuss with her niece.

With a labored sigh, Diane cocked an eyebrow Tara. "I didn't hear any mention of birth control in your grand plan, Gracie. Med school loans aren't the only expense you'll be dealing with if we don't get you on the pill. Babies aren't cheap."

Tara slapped a palm over her face, scarlet-red creeping into her cheeks again as she laughed into her hand.

The sex had better be worth it after I endure this conversation….


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"Baby," Lowell Harland started, squinting at the light seeping into the dark hospital room as the door opened. "I told you, you didn't have to—"

"Good morning, sweetheart," Gemma said, bracing her hand against the railing at the foot of his bed. Lowell Senior sat up, wide-eyed as she stared at the woman standing in front of him. "I hear you're checking into rehab tomorrow."

"That's the plan," Lowell answered, clearing his throat. "What are you doing here, Gemma?"

"I came to help you," Gemma stated simply.

"Help me with what?"

"Your family," the matriarch answered. "Your son is in danger, Lowell.….he's been saying things….making accusations against Clay. And we both know how reactive he is. He's like a wild animal caught in a trap. He'll bite anyone who gets too close to him."

"And you think my son is getting close?"

Gemma nodded up at him. "What did you tell him?"

"About what?"

"Did you tell your wife, too?"

"What the Hell are you getting at, Gemma?" Lowell moved to get out of bed, but Gemma rushed towards his side, gently easing him back against the pillows. "I don't understand."

"LJ's been asking questions," Gemma told him. "This shit that happened with you? Relapsing? He's putting that on Clay….seems to think you were threatened into doing something…that you did it to protect him…to protect your family."

"That's ridiculous."

Gemma smiled. "I know what you did, Lowell," she admitted. "It's okay, sweetheart. It had to be done…just like this has to be done."

"This?" Lowell's eyebrows scrunched—his hazel eyes squinting against the darkness as he drank in her expression. "What is th—what the Hell do you mean you—you…….Jesus Christ, Gemma. You were in on this shit, too? He's your husband. That's the father of your son and you tried to—"

"I didn't try anything," Gemma hissed, nostrils flaring. "That was all you and Clay. I'm just here to pick up the pieces. I'm trying to give you a chance to make sure your son doesn't suffer the consequences of your actions. Clay will kill him if he thinks he's a threat. If you didn't believe he was capable of that you wouldn't have done what he asked to do in the first place."

"He didn't ask me anything," Lowell snapped. "He threatened me. He threatened my kid."

"And if you don't fix it right now he'll make good on his threat anyway," Gemma declared. "You gotta make sure your son stops asking questions. Any doubts Clay has about what you might say to your wife or kid need to be put to rest. That's the only way you can protect them, baby."

"What are you trying to pull Gemma?" Lowell exclaimed. "What is this about? What are you—"

Leaning over his bed, Gemma pulled the table on the opposite side towards him, the empty surface hanging over his legs. Reaching inside of her bag, she pulled a large, black book from inside, placing it on the table in front of him.

"I think you should pray on it," Gemma said, reaching for one of his hands—placing it on top of the bible in front of him. "The answer will come to you….and you'll know exactly what you need to do." Leaning towards his face, she pressed a kiss to his temple before whispering, "Don't worry about Lowell. I'll make sure nothing ever happens to your son. I promise."

And with that she walked away, pulling the hospital room door shut behind her as soon as she heard the thin papers of the bible ruffle—as soon as she saw him through the corner of her eye, pulling the ten millimeter syringe from between the pages.

Heading towards the elevator, the triangle above it blinked orange—the metal doors sliding open seconds after the distinct ding of the cars arrival.

Gemma was in deep thought as she stepped inside—so preoccupied with how she was going to fix thing with her own son when he came home that she didn't notice the Nurse standing at the opposite end of the hall, watching her.

Barbara Harland's eyes flitted back and forth between her husband's room and the woman who had just walked out of it until Gemma Teller disappeared behind the elevator's closing doors.

Then she swiftly headed towards his room, pulling the door shut behind her—scaring Lowell Harland Senior for the second time that morning as he dropped what was in his hand, eyes widening in horror as it rolled across the shiny linoleum floor, stopping in front of her foot.


The next chapter is the same day continuing.

Hope you enjoyed what I've laid out so far.

And I just wanted to give a heads up to those of you who haven't followed me as an author. Before I post the next chapter of Uncharming I'll be posting the first of a 4-5 part short story called "BEST POLICY". It's Opie Winston centric, covering some back story and behind the scene events that are relevant to this story in upcoming chapters, even starting with some events that may have confused you in this one. So be on the look out for that.

[11,000 plus words]... I was working on this every spare moment I had between daily "to do's"

How about some feedback?

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