A/N: Hello. As a writer, I have always struggled with dialogue. It's difficult for me because I never dialogue that I write coming across as natural or in character. So in an effort to challenge myself, I wrote a scene that has some, albeit not a lot, of dialogue. So if this is not your favorite, I won't be offended. But I am proud of it.

He was desperate to get back home. While this run was unexpected and tore apart the plans he and Tara had had for the weekend, she took his leaving in stride. He was not sure if he was proud or afraid of her ability to remain so even keeled in the face of his sudden departure. It was a marked difference in the way she reacted when he first started going on runs. She'd beg him to stay, fight with him before he left, cry as he kissed her goodbye. This time, he'd barely even had time to say goodbye; he'd stopped by her father's house on the way to the garage before the club loaded up and out. A brief kiss, a rushed explanation, and a fervent promise to make it up to her later and he was on the road, pulling up the rear of the long line of bikes with Opie. It wasn't until they were on the highway, heading south, for a solid hour before he felt the road seep into his bones and the blur of passing scenery lull him into a peacefulness he only found on the back of his bike or in Tara's bed. It allowed him to block out the interaction. He didn't want to analyze it right now because he was afraid of the conclusions he might come to.

The run had gone fairly well. There was no charitable cover they could claim; this was all business and there was no time to organize a suitable cover. While the blood feud with the Mayans was certainly winding down in Charming, charters further south were still reeling from the full blown effects of Mayan retaliation. Clay, with the backing of the entirety of SAMCRO, felt a specific responsibility to support their southern brothers due to the escalation SAMCRO caused. Jax and Opie, though already respected but prospects nonetheless, did not have a say in the matter. They were along for the ride, and asked how high when told to jump. Focusing on the run forced him to further delay scrutinizing Tara's reaction. He could not afford the distraction when his brothers were asking him to put his life on the line.

That unfaltering, unquestioning loyalty was how Jax found himself sitting across from Chibs, getting a cut on his eyebrow crudely stitched closed. Chibs was telling him how proud he was, how well Jax handled himself, and how Jax's actions really helped send a message to the Mayans circling SAMTAZ. Barely focused on the older man's words, Jax was formulating a version of the truth to share with Tara. He understood, on a subconscious level, that returning home without the words he needed to justify himself and his actions would rock whatever weird balance Tara seemed to have found. Jax was afraid that the only thing worse than this unrecognizable balance was destroying it. He needed to come up with a plausible explanation for the stitches, busted lip, black eye, and bruised ribs that would ease her worry while not giving away too much information. Sensing his lack of attention, Chibs grabbed his chin and forced him to make eye contact.

"She's smart, Jackie-boy. Don't insult her with a lie. Give her as much as you can," he instructed. Jax nodded but didn't respond, not yet willing to voice his concerns yet. They were 18, young and in love, and everyone around them discounted their relationship. Jax realized very quickly that there were two people he could unquestioningly trust when it came to his connection to Tara; Opie and Chibs. He knew that Chibs would not steer him in the wrong direction. He planned to take his advice to heart.

The ride back north was quick. A majority of the guys had old ladies they wanted to return to and the rest were satiated with ratchet pussy from the night before. Speed limits were pushed, few stops were made. Jax struggled not to push his bike to the limit but instead remained in formation at the back of the club. About 50 miles outside of Charming city limits, they stopped to gas up their bikes and Clay called church at 8 am the next morning. Jax calculated that if they could cover the next 50 miles in a half hour, he could be home in time to surprise Tara with a ride home from her shift at the diner. That would give them 9 hours of time together before he had church. Jax didn't know about Tara, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't need or want to sleep once he was with her again. While he was gone, he tried to check in with her, but every time he called, she was not home. He even left a message for her at the diner and if she returned his call, no one at the SAMTAZ clubhouse had let him know. Four days apart, without any contact, had softened his recollection of their goodbye. It wasn't that he believed it wouldn't or shouldn't be addressed. The prospect of seeing her again so soon had clouded any concern he had over her reaction when he left. He would worry about it after he saw her, held her, and showed her just how much he missed her.

He pulled up to the diner just as she was heading down the sidewalk towards her dad's house. He slowed his bike and rose his voice

"Pretty girls like you shouldn't be walking home late at night by themselves," he teased. He knew she knew that he hated her walking home late and alone, but he also knew it was an argument she would never relent on so he had learned to let it go. A compromise, (though not a happy one if you asked him) was reached when he handed her a can of pepper spray and told her to never not have it on her. Right now, the sight of her, even just from behind, in the dark, made him feel lighter than he had since before he told her had to go on a run and he didn't want that feeling to change. He wasn't going to bring up anything that would upset her until she welcomed him home with open arms and legs.

He watched her turn, her whole body moving in slow motion to face him. At least, he felt like it was slow motion. Maybe that was his brain trying to extend the time in which he had with her. If everything and everyone moved slower when they were together, maybe they could succeed in slowing down time itself to have more of each other. The smile she flashed his way when she recognized him was heartstopping. This. This is what he was missing. This is what made all the available pussy in SAMTAZ seem uninviting. This is what made coming home necessary. Every other thought he had suddenly left his mind, his vision tunneled to her, and he felt the familiar shift inside him that happened every time he came back to her after being gone longer than half a day.

"I didn't know you were back," she said as she approached his bike on the street, hand outstretched in an unspoken request for her helmet. Silently, he handed it to her, careful to mask his face in the shadow cast by the street light above. Between that and his glasses, he was sure she hadn't yet seen the damage to his face. He waited until she had kicked her leg up and over the bike and settled behind him to respond.

"Just pulled into town. Couldn't wait to see you," he took her hands clasped around his waist in one of his and squeezed.

"I missed you too."

The ride to her father's was short and silent. They had perfected the nonverbal communication needed to ride together what seemed like ages ago. Sometimes it amazed her that they were so in sync; she felt as if they'd been riding together for years when she had only taken her first ride with him a year ago. She could not imagine that level of connection, of partnership with any one else. What scared her was that she did not want to experience that with anyone else. The cutlass was parked haphazardly in the driveway so Jax let her off to head through the front door and assess the situation before he followed her in. He saw her shut the porch light off instantly, their signal that he should park the bike and head to her bedroom window instead of sneaking through the front door.

He made it into her bedroom before she did. By the time she walked through the door, he was down to his boxers and laying in her bed. He left the light off, to hide his face as long as possible. The only light was from the hallway, leaking through the open bedroom door.

"Dad was passed out on the couch," she explained, closing the door behind her. He knew that meant she had had to help him to his bedroom. If he woke up from a binge on the couch, he was likely to start in on her. But if he woke up in his bedroom, with the door closed, he was likely to continue to hide from the world until his hangover was bearable enough that he could get back to the bar. She smiled at him and though he could barely make out her features in the moonlight through her window, his heart stopped again. For someone born with a heart defect, whose family had a history of heart problems, he figured the amount of times she stopped his heart was unhealthy. He also figured that if that's what killed him, he'd go happily.

"Presuming a lot there, Teller" she said, nodding at his state of undress and clothes crumpled on the floor. Jax merely opened his arms to her, a silent invitation to join him. They'd barely shared words since he returned, but it did not bother him. Tara had taught him that communication was more than words. He watched as she strode to the dresser across the room and took out an oversize SAMCRO tshirt. He watched as she stripped down to nothing, his heart rate increasing at seeing her naked even if only in the shadows, and pulled the tshirt over her head.

Once she was in bed with him, curled into his side with his arms around her, she finally asked the question he knew she was both longing and dreading to ask. "How was the run?"

"It went well. Everyone's whole," he started. While he took Chibs' advice to heart and had no intentions to lie to her, he wanted to follow her lead on the conversation. That way, he couldn't give away details he may not need to if she didn't ask.

"Anyone hurt?"

"We'll all survive. Takes a lot to knock us down," he tried for cheeky. She was quiet and he could see the unimpressed look on her face, despite the dark of the room. "Tig and Otto took a bullet, Opie's going to be sore tomorrow, and Happy will be adding two more smiley faces," he relented, leaving out the details of his own injuries. She nodded and squeezed his torso, seemingly relieved he hadn't included himself in the breakdown. When he winced and squirmed as she squeezed his ribs, she realized her relief was short lived and misplaced. She immediately sat up and sternly looked down at him.

"What?" she said. He knew her well enough to not need her to expand on her question. Chibs was right. She was smart; she already understood that while he had not lied to her, her left out details that to her, were the most important. Right now, she did not want an explanation of why; that would come later. Right now, she wanted a breakdown of his injuries so she could assess whether or not she needed to play nurse. She would get mad about his deceptiveness later.

"Ribs are bruised, not broken. Busted lip, and Chibs already sewed me up," he listed, turning his face towards her so that she could finally see the damage done. Her fingertips reached out to trace the stitching above his eye, and the bruising flowering along his eye socket. He studied her face, looking for a cue of what he should say next. She was impassive and he panicked about how well she was taking this. What did it mean that she could so willingly accept his sudden departure on a run and the injuries he came back with? He felt the concern in her fingertips, but lamented the loss of it on her face.

"Did he disinfect?" ever the future doctor, she focused first on making sure he was physically okay. He nodded and grabbed at her hand, pulling it down to his chest. Following her hand down, she laid back down though more careful of his ribs this time. He could tell she wanted to say more and waited for her to work through what she wanted to say. This wasn't how he wanted to night to go, but he wasn't dumb. He knew that this was how it was going to be. He knew that it would only get worse each run he went on.

"I don't want to know what happened," she decided, looking at their hands twined together on his chest. "It's only going to make it harder to watch you leave on the next run."

"I'm sorry," he started before she interrupted him, her tone harsh and ripping right through him. He knew she didn't mean it, but he felt it all the same.

"No, you aren't, Jackson. If you were sorry, it wouldn't happen again."

"Babe, I can't make that promise, you know -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I know that it's the club, and that any one of the guys would do the same, and loyalty and all of that." She was getting angrier, once again sitting up to look at him. "I just don't really want to talk about it. We had the same conversation when you got back from the San Bernadino run, and we'll have it after the next run. I'm just not in the mood to deal with it tonight." Instead of deflating, she seemed to be put more on edge. He understood her words, but also knew that letting her fester with unspoken arguments would only end badly. He continued, against her wishes. But she was letting her impassive façade slip, and he could deal with emotion. He did not know how to handle the calm Tara was projecting prior to this moment.

"What do you want me to say? I can't change it."

"Jackson, I'm not having this fight with you right now."

"Tara-"

"I'm tired."

"Tara."

Upon his continued pressing, she got louder. "I'm tired, Jackson. I spent four days thinking up the worst case scenario, trying to convince myself it was okay, and then coming up with an even worse case scenario and trapping myself in this vicious cycle. You're home now, and I just want to pretend all of that didn't happen and be happy that you are safe here in my bed. Just for tonight, I don't want to worry."

"I'm sorry, Tara, I didn't mean-"

"Just." She let out a frustrated sound. " Just stop saying you're sorry. I know what you mean and what you don't mean, and I'm telling you I don't want to hear it tonight. I want to pretend that I am your first choice and that next weekend, or the weekend after that, I will not have to worry about you the same way. I just want to pretend that we are a normal couple, with normal worries, and normal problems for the rest of the night."

He looked up and saw her eyes red-rimmed but tearless. He really looked at her and noticed what he didn't see before when he was looking at her through eyes too happy to see her to see reality. Her eyes were red-rimmed, indicating she hadn't slept much while he was away. He pictured her lying in bed thinking over everything that could be going wrong on the run. He saw the slump in her shoulders and could almost see the physical weight of his absence forcing her down. He saw the tense set to her mouth, and heard all the unspoken fears she refused to share with him right now. He did not know what to do, but he felt his heart breaking. What was hardest to accept was hearing her say she was not his first choice. He wanted to put Tara above anything and everything, because he loved her so much. Because he was selfish, he could not admit, even to himself, that he would never be able to choose her above the club. He hated himself for putting her in the position where she knew that already.

Softly he whispered, "Okay babe," and pulled her back down to him. He knew there was more to it, more she was leaving unsaid. He could tell by how long it took her to relax against him. This was not the reunion he was hoping for. He was hoping for less clothing, less thinking, more feeling. Instead, he lied there silent, wondering just how the hell he could keep putting her through this. What did he need to tell her to keep her from spiraling the way she described each time he had to go on a run? Where was his happy balance between the club and the woman he loved? His responsibility to the club was only going to grow. As her breathing evened out, his thoughts raced. He could feel her pulling away from him. The problem was not that she was pulling away, it was that she was pulling parts of him with her. The bigger problem was that the more she pulled, the longer she pulled, the more momentum she gathered and the easier he was to pull.