Walnut Grove Park

It was a perfect day; so perfect, it could have been a dream. They took the long way there. Abel ran through a redwood forest; he spun around and around and almost tumbled over his dizzy feet. Jackson caught him, just in time. Another stop, to marvel at a waterfall, to let tiny hands reach out and feel the spraying mist. A quick pit stop for gas, pick any candy bar you want, one for everyone, for after lunch. It wouldn't be long, and they'd be at their spot, watching Abel, his cheeky face smeared with peanut butter, swinging from the monkey bars.

The air they breathed in, sprawled out on their blanket on the grass, it felt lighter, fresher. It didn't make sense to worry that day. No troubles. No deals. Nothing changing hands. No internal beefs to navigate through. The Conference at the end of their trip was promising, and exciting. If the interview went well, Rosalie was going to take the job. Jackson supported her decision. He had one more loose end to tie up and then he was good. He'd be ready to leave before her notice ran out with Rosen.

"Daddy!" Abel called out, and waved from the top of the slide. His parents chuckled at his manic little wave.

"You better be at the bottom to catch him," Rosalie said.

"Alright, alright," Jackson said, hauling himself up from his comfortable position, dozing in her lap, and insisted, "I'll be right back. Don't you finish that Nutty Bar without me."

"Nu-uh," she scorned, "ain't my fault you scoffed yours."

"It's half mine, babe. Joys of being married, right?" Jackson scoffed.

"Mommy!" Abel called out, readying himself to go.

"I see you, baby!" Rosalie called back, and told Jax, "he's gonna go without you, in three, two-"

"This ain't over!" Jackson grinned and ran over to the slide.

"Pffft. Will be before you get back," Rosalie scoffed, and started unwrapping the candy bar. She asked her giggling daughter, "can you believe him? Your daddy's such a chancer, ain't he?"


"There you go, baby," Rosalie whispered as she tucked in a tuckered-out Abel into his car seat. Grace was snoozing right beside him. The drive up to their hotel was bound to be peaceful. Jackson was a few yards away, getting rid of the last of the picnic trash; he'd be back any second now. She heard the dark, tinted van pull up behind her, but she didn't think anything of it. She was beside a play park, in broad daylight, with her husband mere yards away. She was trying to untangle a shoelace Abel had made a right mess of. She was laughing to herself, marveling at his impressive work, joking that he was definitely gonna grow up to be a sailor or he'd be an awesome boy scout at the very least. The side of the van opened, and two sets of hands ripped Rosalie back out of the car. Abel's eyes pinged open and he started screaming. Grace started crying.

"OH MY GOD!" Rosalie screamed out, and flailed around in shock, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! LET ME GO! JAX!"

She heard him scream out her name. A hood was shoved over her head. She was dragged, kicking and screaming like a woman possessed into the back of the van. It skidded out of there. She fought against their best efforts to subdue her. She elbowed one in the face, and ripped her hood off. She headbutted the other. He instinctively hit her back. She heard gun shots. Lots of them. Shouting. Spanish? An arm locked around her neck. She bit down on his hand, hard, and he hollered out, in agony. She reached for the opened door, primed to jump out of the moving van. The door slid back and crushed her hand.

"AHHHH!" she roared out.

The assailants hollered and screamed at each other as the van screeched to a halt. They all hit the deck. The door was yanked open.

"JAX!" Rosalie screamed and hauled her battered body out into the daylight.

Jackson punched the kidnapper grasping for Rosalie, hard, square in the face, and lined up to deliver a whole lot more until he clocked the assault rifle pointing his way.

"NO!" Jackson roared out and shielded Rosalie with his own body.

The van skidded away. Rosalie was held upright inside Jackson's arms, gasping and crying, her hand dripping with bright red blood; the shock was starting to wear off, and her hand became excruciating; she couldn't look down at it.

"Okay. Okay. You're okay," Jackson kept on telling her, as he dialled 911.


St. Thomas Hospital - Emergency Room

Rosalie was flying high on morphine. She could tell that her right arm was bandaged up, heavily, but other than that, she was none-the-wiser to anything else. She remembered warbled words falling from Jackson's terrified face; she was gonna be fine. The kids were fine. Everything was fine. Prime. Time for an X-Ray. Her dad might have been there. And Gemma. Asking questions. What did she remember? She told as much...much ouch. Jackson insisted that Gemma wait until the drugs wore off, to let her rest before her surgery. Rat and Phil were set up as sentries outside Rosalie's door. The rest of the Sons dispersed to find Laroy for he knew how to get in touch with Lobo Sonora, the prime suspect in the attack.

The results of the x-ray came back: three broken metacarpals, median nerve completely severed. There was extensive damage to Rosalie's hand; the surgical team needed to get in there right away; they were going to do everything they could to restore full function to her hand. Rosalie heard none of this but she nodded her head every now and then.

"We know, and we appreciate that," Gemma eventually answered for her stunned daughter-in-law, "thank you, doctor."

"We'll schedule the surgery for later on this afternoon," the doctor said, and hesitated to deliver the final blow to an already battered woman, "um...I'm sorry, Mrs Teller. OB have determined the pregnancy...is not viable. They will be down soon to discuss your options. I'm very sorry."

"What...?" Gemma huffed out.

She looked back and forth between Rosalie and the doctor, until the broken hearted woman looked up, for the first time, and nodded once, in acknowledgement, and dismissed the doctor from her room with a raspy, "okay."


Her broken bones were set, relatively easily, but the nerve damage was severe. She most likely wasn't going to have full use of her right hand again. It could be permanent. It would require more surgeries to fix it; the doctor was going to consult with a few different specialists to determine their next course of action. Dr Bailey also informed Rosalie that the miscarriage was taken care of...while she was out, as requested.

"Hey. Do you want to say goodnight to Abel?" Jackson whispered, pressing the phone to his chest. Rosalie didn't move. Jackson told Elyda on the phone, "just um…tell him mommy's sleeping. Thank you, Elyda." He made his way over to the chair beside her bed and he asked her, "tell me what I can do for you."

"Nothing," Rosalie asked, shaking her head, weakly.

"Please, get mad at me, Ro. Scream at me, or something," Jackson implored, "I know this is all my fault."

"No. It's not, Jax," she said, monotonously, and definitively, "this had to happen."

He surveyed her expressionless face, and asked, "what are you talking about?"

"Fate," she rasped, emotionally, "it's what I get...wanting it all. Too much. We're supposed to be together, right? But you can't leave here."

"I am leaving here. With you," he asserted.

"No," Rosalie sighed, lightly, "the club won't let you. Gemma won't let you. Charming won't let you."

"Come on. Babe, that's just the drugs talking," Jackson insisted, and stroked her hair, "you should get some sleep."

"You can't go. You just can't...and the only way that I can be with you is if I stop fighting, and I lose my fight...I lost that today, baby."

"No," Jackson said, tearfully.

"No. No. It's okay, Jax. I'm not gonna fight anymore. Now...it'll be easy like it supposed to be, and we can be together – you, me, Gemma – here in beautiful Charming. Happy family. Just what I always wanted. Right? I can just stay at home. Be a mom. Raise babies-" the last word got caught in Rosalie's throat, and the realization smacked her right in the chest; it wasn't an inch easier being asleep for the whole thing.

"Rosie. Stop. Don't...don't do that," Jackson begged.

"You should leave now," Rosalie trembled.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't need sorry," Rosalie cried, "I can't see you. Anyone. Please. Just go!"

"Baby, come on," Jackson pleaded.

"GO! GO! GO!"


I…I kind of lost it last night. I'm sorry.

It's okay. You love me. That's where it takes you.

It's not you, Jax. I'm here...because I'm here. My choice. I just...I have no idea what to do now.

We stick to the plan.

There is no plan. No one is going to want me. Nowhere local. I was kidnapped, Jax. I can't spin that another way.

You're still a lawyer though-

I can't go just anywhere. Those jobs were federal, and total gold dust. It has to be California.

We go south, set up shop somewhere no one knows us.

I have to establish myself before I set up my own firm, and that takes a lot of time.

We're gonna have plenty of time. And I'm gonna have enough cash to keep us afloat until you get on your feet. Ro, babe, listen to me. Your hand is gonna get better. We're getting out of Charming and I am leaving SAMCRO...I need you to believe I can do this.

I do...I do believe you, Jax.


St. Thomas Hospital - Hallway

Rosalie coaxed the crumpled dollar bill into the slot one more time. She breathed out very slowly as the machine wheezed and spat it back out. She looked up at the flickering light above her head, and urged the tears to stay put. Her subconscious goaded her: really? This is the tipping point? You can't get your Nutty Bar, and the floodgates burst open? You have enough to cry about. This is just embarrassing. A sharply-dressed man in a midnight-blue suit produced a clean, crisp twenty-dollar bill, and inserted it into the machine. He looked at the woman, and waited for her request.

"Nutty Bar," she rasped.

He obliged, cordially. Two Nutty Bars plopped down into the tray. He smirked and remarked, "I guess your luck's finally turning."

Rosalie hummed and accepted only one bar from the tall, dark, handsome stranger, insisting he keep the other, "they're really good."

"Thank you, Rosalie," he said, and noted the tension in her body rise sharply. Her eyes didn't leave the candy bar at first, her mind ticked over the possibility...no, the certainty, she must have misheard him. He declared, "consider this just the beginning of my reparations. I have also taken the liberty of settling your medical expenses. If there's anything else that you need-"

She stared him down, and hissed, "who the fuck are you?"

He thought for a moment, and then simply told her, "sorry," like that was the best answer to who he was, and he bid her a good day. She watched him leave; a man perusing a bulletin board and one with his face buried in a newspaper stopped what they were doing and peeled off after him. One touched his ear, secret service style. And then they were gone and it were as though the hospital's volume dial was turned back up, like that interaction never even happened. The Nutty Bar was warped and melted in her hand.


St. Thomas Hospital - Rosalie's Room

"Um, Mrs Rosalie?" Phil the Prospect said, tentatively and revealed her visitor, "uh, she said she was family."

Wendy Case, quite possibly the last person she ever expected, walked into Rosalie's hospital room, clutching a big beautiful vase of flowers.

"It's...okay," Rosalie said, and Phil left them to it with a smile, not picking up on an ounce of her hesitation.

"He's a big one," Wendy chuckled, and put the vase down beside her bed.

"Yeah," Rosalie said, "um, thank you. They're beautiful. You shouldn't have."

"It's not a problem," Wendy said, kindly, "sorry to barge in, I wasn't sure if you were going to be awake."

"Right. It's okay. What, uh...what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm running a program in the HR department here," she explained, "...and I heard that Rosalie Teller was up here."

She over-enunciated the last name they'd both worn at very different times. Rosalie's eyes darted away, and she said, "yep, here I am." The room went quiet again, and she wished more than anything for literally anyone to bust through that door; a nurse, a porter, Filthy Phil choking on a peanut, the queen of well-timed intrusions herself. But...nope...the one goddamn time she needed Gemma Morrow to make an appearance...even Tara popping by would have made things less painful at this point. She muttered, "I thought you were in Seattle?"

"I was. Sober living. I just moved back two weeks ago. I got a job at a recovery centre in Lathrop. We do a lot of hospital and corporate stuff so…"

"Oh," Rosalie said, "good for you."

"Can I ask what happened to you?" Wendy asked, addressing the heavily bandaged, metal-rod stuffed elephant in the room.

"I slammed my hand in a car door," Rosalie answered, without missing a beat.

"Oh, shit. Sorry," Wendy said, with a wince, and then perked right back up again to declare, "I heard about your daughter. That's really great. I'm happy for you and Jax."

"Thanks," Rosalie sighed, and told her, honestly, "I'm really not quite sure what to say here."

"I don't know what to say either," Wendy said, "I've just been waiting for the right time to reach out."

"...and you thought now would be that time?"

"I don't want to cause any trouble."

"What is it that you do want, Wendy?" Rosalie asked, tersely.

Wendy pursed her lips and swished her mouth around and finally she spat it out, "I want to see my son."

Rosalie glared back at her, unmoved, unimpressed. She told her, in no uncertain terms, "I'm his mother. I'm the one who raised him when you walked away."

"I know. And I am grateful that you were here to do that, but legally, I am still his mother."

"You gave up your rights."

"Custody, yes. Not the right for him to know the truth," Wendy said, and gestured back to the vase, "my numbers on the card. Just tell Jax I'll be in touch. I'm going to get to know my son."

Wendy left Rosalie behind one more tight, pitying smile, and then disappeared out of the room. She had unknowingly timed her visit perfectly. Rosalie would not have reacted the way she did, but there stood one more unwelcome woman crawling out the woodwork, in the wake of the loss of her early pregnancy, threatening to take her son away from her, and shatter whatever tiny shreds of hope remained of keeping her family whole and together. The vase was in pieces. Water and petals everywhere. Her cast embedded with glass. Her IV ripped out. Psych intervened. Rosalie was sedated for her own well-being, and the incident was documented, to be uncovered in a timely manner further down the line.