Jackson and Rosalie Teller's House - Kitchen

"You know what would be useful, Rat, could you find Abel's other shoe for me?" Rosalie asked the man sat at the kitchen table, flicking through an old newspaper, just for something to do.

Rat's shoulders bunched at actually being addressed by name, and then he nodded a bunch, "sure thing, Mrs Teller. I can do that. Yep."

Rosalie started making a bottle for her daughter, who could be heard fussing and grumbling away in her play pen in the living room. Her cellphone jingled on the counter, a number she didn't recognise was calling. She hit speakerphone and answered the call.

"Oh, hi, is that um, Rosalie?" the young voice asked.

"Speaking."

"You might not remember me. My name is Emily Thomas. You uh, you represented my former...uh, my ex-boyfriend-"

Rosalie put down the bottle, took her cellphone off speakerphone and said, "E.Z. Yeah. I remember you, Emily. How are you doing? How's New York?"

"I'm doing good," Emily said, "and Cornell is everything I dreamed it would be, and so much more."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"The reason I'm calling you is um, well it's two-fold, I guess. I'm, of course, calling you to thank you again for your letter of recommendation-"

"I got your many, many emails-" Rosalie joked, and started packing Abel's lunch with her shoulder pressing the phone to her face.

"Yes, yes, of course-"

"What can I do for you, Emily? What's the second-fold?"

"You told me to um, to call you if I ever needed anything-"

"That I did..."

"So, Professor Carmichael suggested a summer internship to us all, every single year, to stay ahead of the game, ahead of the pack, and I'm really struggling to find somewhere out here that's willing to take me on, given that I'm still only pre-law, I'm not anywhere close to being an actual, helpful, contributory member of any team-" Emily rambled.

"You are really selling this to me," Rosalie laughed, "you really want to fly across the country just to follow me around again?"

"I would be incredibly grateful for the opportunity, and I wouldn't terribly mind coming home for the summer. You let me shadow you before, and it was really interesting, and I was really hoping to do the same."

"I'd have to run it by David, but I don't see it being a problem. What was that professor's name again?" Rosalie asked, taking a shot in the very past distant dark.

"Carmichael."

"Jacob Carmichael?" Rosalie asked. She had heard a rumor that Jake, the high-flying, ultra-ambitious, next generation of lawyer that had dumped her ass right before finals, was teaching pre-law now at Cornell, or Colombia.

"Well, I don't call him that, but I'm pretty sure that's his name. How come? Do you know him?" Emily asked.

I suppose I don't, Rosalie thought, and remembered the Jacob Carmichael she used to know, somewhat fondly, back in their early college days...and the Rosalie Callaghan that went along with that picture; the joint heads of the Law Society, the worst kept secret hook-up that turned into the couple goals of their class. Only two years had passed since they'd graduated and all went their separate ways; standing where she stood in that moment, in the life she was leading now, with law enforcement pulling up in her driveway...it felt like an absolute lifetime ago.

There was a loud pronounced knock at the front door. It turned into a hammering, persistent knock at the hushed voice clearly heard inside.

"I'll uh...speak to David. Call you back," Rosalie said, and hung up before Emily could answer her. She snuck through the house and mouthed to Rat 'who is it?!'. He shrugged his shoulders. She gestured to take the shotgun and stay in the back room. She composed herself, bounced the now crying baby girl on her hip and peered through the peephole before opening the door.

"Sorry about the hour, Mrs Teller," Sheriff Roosevelt said.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We just got a call from your assistant. She's convinced you did receive a death threat," Roosevelt explained and held up a clear evidence bag containing the threat in question, "can I come in?"

"Sure..." Rosalie uttered, and he followed her into the kitchen so that she could finish making up Grace's bottle. She met his steely, silent gaze and explained herself, "I didn't take it seriously. That's why I didn't report it."

"Then, why did the MC post someone here to watch you?" He asked, and explained his very rudimentary line of deduction, "there's a bike outside. I'm assuming he's somewhere in the back – armed."

"The answer to that question will require a warrant," she countered.

"Oh, you really got it down, don't you?" He said, incredulously.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, Sheriff-" she started.

"Well, it's more than concern, it's my legal obligation," he explained, flatly, "so, I'm gonna post a unit outside this house, and I'll coordinate with both the courthouse security and the team at your office building." He smiled down at the cooing baby girl and reminded Rosalie, "it's more than just your safety at stake. But I'm sure you know that. Sorry to disturb you."


Jackson and Rosalie Teller's House - Kitchen

Rosalie tossed her keys in the bowl and slammed the front door shut.

"Whoa, whoa, what's the matter?" Jackson asked, sitting up on the couch, taking in her rattled demeanor.

Rosalie gestured to the kitchen and went through, away from the children; her shaky hands ran through her hair and slid down her neck. Jackson came through, with a look of concern and waited for her to lay it on him.

"I got pulled out of court today, Jax," she informed him, angrily, "the powers that be...they feel my mere presence there is a security threat. I'm not allowed to try any more cases personally until there is more tangible progress in my own. I'm benched. I can't do shit."

"Shit," Jackson exhaled sharply, and leant against the counter.

"There is not one aspect of my life this shit hasn't touched!" She rattled back, and paced around as she whined, "am I completely crazy, Jax? Why do I believe you every time you say it will get better?"

"I mean it," he asserted and closed the gap between them, "babe, I didn't see this coming."

"I am trying this your way. I really am," she insisted, "I have tried, Jackson!"

"I know," he said, and pulled her into his arms, "hey, come here, I know."

Rosalie looked into his desperate eyes and she wished more than anything she'd find that one look, the one from the altar at Opie's wedding, the one in the reflection of Maureen Ashby's kitchen window, the one from the night Grace was born, the one from that very first night in the bar; mind eased. Doubts silenced. It wasn't there. She found love, a whole lot of love, but it wasn't enough.

"It's just a matter of time before it hurts our kids," she whispered.

"I'd never let that happen," he said, with a small shake of his head.

She steadied her breathing, and she shook her own, and said, "I'm sorry. I have to go. I have to get them out of here."

Jackson knew that she was right; it didn't make it any less painful. He pulled her into his chest and embraced her tightly, and eventually told her, "I thought I knew what we were getting into. We're in over our head."

Rosalie pulled away and she told him her plan, "there's a…a conference up in Providence, day after tomorrow. There's a firm...interested in me."

Jackson bit the inside of his cheek and then nodded. He said, "you should go. Take Elyda, bring the kids with you. Just stay there until things calm down here. Then, we'll figure it out."


Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair - Office

Gemma walked into the office and found Rosalie sat in her chair, arms folded, vacant expression. She was more than a little confused to find her in there, and asked, "you waiting on Jax?"

"No," Rosalie said, plainly, and rose from the chair, "you took the letters from my office." She fought against her instinct to add 'you duplicitous bitch'. She attempted to hand over the envelope containing the copies of the Teller/Ashby letters to Halle this morning, as a contingency, in case anything were to ever happen to her. She couldn't risk carrying on this way, reacting to everything that happened to her, she needed to start covering her bases. Lo and behold, the packet hidden at the very back of her desk drawer was filled with nothing more than blank printer paper.

Gemma sighed and closed the office door, sealing them away from the world for a moment, and she admitted, "I had Unser take them. He burned them before I could read any of it. Also told me they were copies which means you still have the originals. You have no idea what you just stirred up."

"I haven't done anything with them," Rosalie seethed back.

"You let Piney read them!" Gemma scorned.

"No, I didn't," Rosalie assured her, "I-I asked him about John, told him I read some things. Did he say that he read them?"

"You want out of here?" Gemma asked, after momentarily fumbling over that harrowing revelation.

"Don't you?" Rosalie cried, "look at the last three weeks, Gemma. We are all in danger. How could you want your grandchildren to be raised in this chaos?"

"Then, why didn't you let Jax read those letters?" Gemma asked.

"Because...you were right. Things John wrote about would be very painful for Jax to read. The truth about Clay."

"You're afraid Jax would kill him," Gemma articulated for her.

"Yeah," Rosalie admitted, "finding out how John really felt at the end-it would break Jax's heart knowing how he had been hating his father so…deeply. The guilt would push him deeper into the club and...I'd lose him. Everything...it would've been for nothing."

"What about me?" Gemma asked, "what would he feel about me if he read them?"

Rosalie took a subtle intake of breath, and marveled for a second at Gemma's 180 turn away from her daughter-in-law's pain, right back to her own agenda. She admitted, "he'd learn some hurtful truth. You being with Clay before John died."

"I made mistakes."

"Did you know that Clay tried to kill J.T.?" Rosalie outright asked her.

"I know what everyone else does," Gemma shot back, "John went out the way they should all go out: on two wheels at high speed. I don't know if Clay killed J.T. All I know is...he brought me back to life. What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna drive up to Oregon tomorrow. Legal conference. Give me some time to think," Rosalie said, and left.


Jackson and Rosalie Teller's House - Bedroom

"Got any more room in there?" Jackson asked, and got a little scoff in response, so he told her, flat out, "I'm coming with you."

She dropped the tiny pair of baby leggings in her hands, and she looked at him, looked at his lighter, happier expression and she needed to hear it again, "are you serious?"

"Yeah," he said, relishing the look on her face, and he explained, "I'm gonna drive you up, have someone from Rogue River bring me home. I'm out, babe. Just got a few things to tie up when I get back-"

He barely got to finish his sentence, and she had launched herself at him. He picked her up, holding on so tight. She laughed in delight, and caressed the back of his neck. She pulled away and kissed him. Rosalie could look back on keg parties, and raising trophies with Jacob Carmichael, fondly, now that enough time had passed, and her broken heart had long since healed. Maybe one day she would be able to look back at this moment...fondly.