The Law Office of David Rosen - Rosalie's Office

Rosalie's mind was full and her thoughts were muddled; her mid-morning coffee run had turned into an hour of wandering down Main Street, idly window-shopping and people-watching until her cup had turned ice-cold. Jax had told her he was off to a 'bike show' for a few days. He asked her if she wanted to know more. She told him no, not today. She told him to have fun. Have fun, huh? Doing whatever bike show was code for. She thought about telling Angel about the photographs. She thought about Gemma telling Jax about the photographs. She thought about the voicemail sat on her cellphone from the Seattle DA's office. They wanted to meet with her, soon, show her around. Instead, she wandered around aimlessly waiting for a lightning bolt moment to tell her what to do. She came back to her office and Halle's stroppy face.

"Messages received in your lengthy absence," Halle informed her, passing over notes, "another from Seattle DA, don't miss that. Also, um, you surely noticed that the entire building is shaking? Yeah. A random old man is snoring away in your office. I assumed by his attire that you knew him. He must've slipped in while I was out getting my own coffee. We seriously need to start locking down this entire floor anytime we step out."

Rosalie peered through the glass, as Halle ranted, and saw Piney Winston on her couch, his head slumped back, in a deep rumbling slumber. She stepped inside her office and closed the door, loudly. Piney snorted and came to.

"Piney," Rosalie asked, flatly, "you okay?"

"Sorry, I just let myself in," Piney grumbled and rubbed his eyes groggily.

"Yeah. No worries. What's going on?" Rosalie asked and sat in a chair opposite him.

Piney cleared his throat and leant forward. He asked her, "remember those questions you were asking, a few months back, about John? You said you'd read something. What was it?"

Rosalie stared back at him, blankly, and then reminded the man, "well...you shut me down when I tried to tell you. So, why do you want to know now?"

"Because the club is headed into troubled waters and maybe there's something in what you read...helps me to keep the boat from, you know, rocking too much," Piney explained, poorly.

"Those are some really vague metaphors for a guy as direct as you," Rosalie hit back.

"I want to read whatever it is. John was my friend. I have a right," Piney insisted, grumpily.

"Bullshit," Rosalie scoffed, and was met with an incredulous expression, like the word had hit him physically. She asked him, plainly, "what do you need it for?"

"I can't tell you," Piney said.

"Then neither can I," Rosalie replied, flatly.

"Hey," Piney grumbled, "I need some goddamn leverage. And that pointed history you read may be-"

Gemma Morrow abruptly stumbled into the office, despite Halle's persistent refusal to let her through, and her gaze slinked back and forth between the odd pairing she found inside. She feigned looking apologetic, and uttered, "oh...sorry."

"You know most civil people would knock before entering a room!" Halle scorned, heatedly.

"I'm not most people," Gemma smirked back at the girl.

"And she's definitely not civil!" Chucky declared from behind her.

He peered over Gemma's shoulder and waved happily at Rosalie. Rosalie gave him a small smile, and then it was back to complete bemusement at what the hell all of these people were doing here.

"What are we, George and Gracie now?" Gemma scorned back at Chucky, and he retracted back inside his shell.

Rosalie dismissed Halle with a pointed look, signalling that it was fine to leave her to deal with them. Gemma apologised again to the room for her interruption.

"That's okay. We're done," Piney grumbled, and rose from his seat.

Rosalie gestured to hang back, and she insisted, "no. We should finish. I'll be right back."

She led Gemma out into the hallway, back towards the waiting room she'd just barged right through and she asked her, "what do you need?"

Gemma stuffed down her look of indignation at being relegated below Piney Winston in importance, and she informed her daughter-in-law, "I want to sign you up for a committee: Charming Central Gardens. Need to raise money to save it."

"I can't. I'm already on three committees, and I have pro bono cases coming out my ears," Rosalie hit back, "and you needed to ask me right this second? I'm busy. I have clients. I have an assistant that makes appointments-"

"You have Piney, and an empty waiting room. You got time. Anyway, I just need your name, that's all," Gemma countered, sternly, "means a lot to get the high-powered working mom involved. Attracts a different league of donors."

"I can't," Rosalie said, firmly.

"It's a chance to help this town," Gemma noted, almost accusative in her remark.

"What's your angle on this?" Rosalie asked her, halfheartedly, "why do you give a shit about an overgrown park?"

"Nate taught me how to plant seed in that overgrown park," Gemma scorned and insisted, "I'm not gonna let them gut it and put up a goddamn Starbucks. It would be great to get our entire family on board with this, a united show of support."

The united, perfect, supportive family, singing kumbaya at the local park; charming, really; a rosy image indeed. Rosalie glared back at Gemma, waiting for her to come right out and play the damn trump card. Why wouldn't Jackson's faithful, family-oriented wife want to help her out? Was this the beginning? Rosalie thought. Was this my life now? Doing Gemma's bidding without question, out of fear of the truth getting back to Jax?

"HEY! OH! It's Piney! Piney! Something's wrong!" Chucky bellowed from down the hall.


St. Thomas Hospital

Rosalie scribbled through a contract and answered a few emails on her phone at Piney's bedside. He was unconscious, and had been ever since they got there, but she needed answers so she wasn't going anywhere. He eventually stirred awake.

"I'm sorry I was so hard on you, kid," Piney muttered, without looking over at her.

She smiled anyway, put her work to the side, and she said, "it's okay. How're you feeling?"

"Don't matter. We got a conversation to finish," he replied.

Rosalie appreciated the return of his candor, and she asked him, "tell me about John Teller. What was he like?"

"He was a complicated guy," Piney reflected, fondly, "angry. Impulsive. Righteous as hell. Hated being wrong. Not much of an education. Book smart. He used to uh...devour three and four of them at a time. He was loyal. Too loyal."

"Sounds familiar," Rosalie uttered, quietly.

"Yeah, they're cut from the same cloth," Piney scoffed and then he asked her, honestly, "you know what I want to know? Why my best friend was afraid when he died."

Rosalie bit her lip, concerned she was going to overstep, or her words would further hurt this unwell man; but keeping everything to herself thus far hadn't done her any favours, so she opted for a different approach, and she confided what she knew in a club member, "I found some of J.T.'s old letters. He was trying to get the club out of the gun business. He knew it was a risk. Clay and the others were invested."

"Trying to get them out how?" Piney asked.

"From what I read, he'd set up a meeting in Belfast with some IRA members and...a certain priest," she said, in a low voice.

"Kellan Ashby."

"Yes," she said, "John wanted to end the relationship with the Irish. Stop the club from selling guns. He was killed before that meeting happened."

Piney mused on that revelation, but before he could reply, someone knocked on the door lightly. Rosalie knew that it couldn't be Gemma by that simple display of manners; she assumed that it was a doctor coming to check on Piney, and she wasn't wrong.

"Hey, Piney," Tara greeted him with a warm smile, and then noticed who was sitting at his bedside. She jerked a little, and then uttered a polite, "hi."

Rosalie froze, but she forced a grimace back. The two women hadn't seen each other in over a year, closer to two; Jackson's childhood sweetheart, and the mother of his child both visibly struggled to rustle up anything resembling small talk; there was a lot of distance between them.

"I didn't know you were back," Rosalie said, just as something to say.

"Yes," Tara replied, plainly, "not long back."

"You're looking well, doc," Piney said, interrupting the awkward exchange before him, and asked her, "gonna do an old friend a favour, and bust me outta here?"

Tara turned back to Piney and informed him, "afraid not. Dr Geller wants to keep you in for 24 hours. Just observation."

"It's my oxygen levels. It happens once in a while," Piney said, with a shrug.

"The alcohol isn't helping, Piney," Tara reminded him.

"I know that," Piney grumbled back.

The hospital room door opened abruptly, and Rosalie's day continued on its current trajectory; this one was no surprise.

"Hey, how are we all doing in here?" Gemma asked, and smirked, "I keep opening doors on the most unlikely people today." She turned her attention squarely to Tara and embraced her like a long lost friend and she cooed, "hello, baby. How are you doing? How is the old man holding up?"

"I'm fine, Gemma. And Piney will be too," Tara assured her, "they're gonna run some more tests. Make sure he's stable."

"Just give him some tequila. That'll do it," Gemma chuckled, and rubbed Piney's arm affectionately.

"I'll check in on you later, Piney," Rosalie whispered, and gathered her things together.

"Oh, you sure you're finished? Don't leave on my account," Gemma told her, in a low tone.

Rosalie smiled back as she slipped into her coat and she kissed Gemma goodbye on the cheek before leaving the room. Gemma waited for Tara to finish exchanging her pleasantries and then disappear back to work. The second that she left them alone, Gemma snapped back to Piney and implored, "what are you doing, old man? What do you want with her?"

"Doc's just helping me grow old gracefully," Piney replied, sarcastically.

"Not the doc. I know you're bumping up against Clay. That bullshit you fed me the other day," Gemma scorned.

"It was not bullshit," he asserted, "it was the truth. You all just refuse to look at it."

"Well, whatever truth you think Rosalie can tell you, it's only gonna make things worse," she insisted.

"It can't get any worse," Piney scorned back.

"Back off it, Piney. Leave it alone before it kills you."

"That's half the reason I'm doing it."


Jackson and Rosalie Teller's House

Rosalie was down on the living room carpet after a long day of work, playing with her 16-month old daughter and her two-year-old son. She froze at the sound of someone approaching the front door, but she settled at the sound of the key turning in the lock. She looked back at her kids and gasped, playfully, "who's that?"

"Daddy!" Abel called out and pushed himself up, running as fast as his little feet would carry him, smack bang into Jackson's embrace.

He dropped his bag and embraced his little man tightly. Rosalie's heart melted into a gooey puddle at the sight. Abel pulled his dad's hand and led him back around to the tower of blocks they'd been building.

"I missed you guys!" Jackson said, and bent down to kiss Rosalie, "I missed you too, Mama." Grace stirred and grumbled at the commotion, and patted her daddy's arm, pulling them apart. They laughed, and he added, "yes, and you, baby girl."

"How was your trip?" Rosalie asked.

"Good!" he said, and wandered back over to his duffel bag, "brought you a souvenir."

Rosalie settled the kids back into their game and walked over to join Jackson in the kitchen.

"Wow. From the motorcycle show...I can't wait-" she said sarcastically, but froze at the bundles of money in his hands. She huffed out, "wow."

"Got to put it in the safety deposit box in your name," he instructed her, and handed it over, "there's going to be a lot more."

"All in cash?" she uttered, trying to hazard a guess at how much she was holding.

Jackson pulled her in to his arms and told her, "no strings, no tax. This is real, babe. Just like I promised you. Talk to my mom. She knows the drill."

"Okay," she said, nodding a little.

He kissed her, happily, and then wandered back through to get a really good look at this mighty tower he'd heard so much about. Rosalie looked down at the bundles of cash in her hands, their weighted ticket out of here, and she waited and waited for the relief to come.


Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair Shop - Office

Clay burst into the office, where his wife was working away, and closed the door sharply; he leant against it with a tired fist and exhaled deeply, composing himself. Gemma watched the show, dropped her pen, and asked him, concerned, "what?"

Clay turned to face her and said, "Piney says he knows I killed J.T. Threatened to tell the club."

"Are you serious?" Gemma sighed, out of pure annoyance more than shock, and shook her head, "he's just had a mortal jolt."

"He knew shit only me and J.T. knew," Clay asserted and then grumbled, monotonously, "says he found some old letters. Guess maybe Rosalie did tell somebody."

"We don't know that," she hit back, sternly.

"I'm sure John wrote about how Piney was the only one he trusted...and that weird little crush she had on Opie?" Clay reminded her, "makes perfect sense she'd turn to him."

"Rosalie would not hurt this family," Gemma insisted.

"Old man's protecting himself. He says he's got contingencies," Clay informed her, plainly, "there's only one other person who can blow the whistle on us."

"What you're thinking-"

"The history that Rosalie and Piney know...very dangerous," Clay insisted.

"You're talking about the co-founder of this club and the mother of our grandchild," Gemma reminded him, sternly.

"I had John Teller killed while I was bedding his wife. It doesn't matter what the reason was. Jax finds that out, he cuts off my goddamn head, he sticks it on the reaper pole," Clay scorned, "now we got to stop this in its tracks, you and me. Otherwise, we lose everything."

"You told me not to go setting fires. That's exactly what you're doing here," Gemma implored, "we don't know if there's anything threatening in those letters. This could be Piney just digging up old suspicions. And all this shit going on with the cartel. He is just clawing at you. We need to find those letters. Without them, it doesn't matter what anyone knows. They'll have no proof."

"Yeah," Clay conceded, scratching his brow in deep thought.

"Besides, I got ample dirt on Rosalie. She is not gonna step a toe out of line. She is handled," Gemma added, to fully pull him back from the precipice.

Clay perked up and he asked, "what you got?"

"A break in the prison clause. With proof," Gemma said, "her lips are sealed. Now, the letters are not in Jax's house. I looked. They got to be at her office. I'll go find them right now."

"Alright."

Gemma marched right up to her husband and she implored, "until I do, Clay, nothing happens. You understand? Not to Piney. Not to Rosalie. You hurt them, you hurt Jax."

"I know."

"Promise me."

"I promise," he said, and pulled her into a tired embrace.