**I own nothing you recognize**
The quad is crowded for a Friday afternoon, full of students of all kinds- from those obviously fresh out of class and loaded down with books to some clearly enjoying the late summer day in the sunshine. So crowded, in fact, that Tara almost misses him amongst the mass of humanity gathered on the largest patch of grass on campus. She's been posted up here, in the shade of the squattest of the valley oaks that dot the area, for hours now- alternately skimming the contents of a thick textbook and watching snippets of the activity that surrounds her.
She's in the midst of watching a stocky fraternity type fruitlessly try to wrest a frisbee from the clutches of an equally sturdy mutt, when someone else catches her eye. He's leaning against a nearby tree and definitely overdressed for the weather. It's hellaciously hot out, as evidenced by the waves of warmth Tara can actually see radiating from the sidewalk, bending and blurring the grass beyond as if it's watercolor. Still, this guy is dressed in what appears to be a black hoodie- though that's not what's caught Tara's eye.
No, that had been his wheat-blonde hair, peeking out from under his black baseball cap and just barely brushing his wide shoulders. His back is to her, but the sight of those golden locks had drawn her eye from halfway across the quad- and is now sending her heart speeding towards its upper limits. As she watches, he slouches against the tree and cranes his neck, seemingly searching the crowd for something- or someone. Jesus, she's not even the one who'd been brought up in constant vigilance over some family flaw, but her heart is practically flailing in an attempt to keep up with the sharp spikes of adrenaline spearing through her chest.
He pauses in his scanning of the crowd before him and rummages through a pocket for something. Tara can't tell from this distance what it is until she watches the unmistakable motions of him withdrawing a cigarette from its pack, then raising it to what she knows to be his lips, though he's still facing away from her. It's a queer feeling, really; the familiar gesture sending up jolts of longing, almost intimacy, while she's still struggling to fucking breathe correctly.
The book slides off her lap, long forgotten, and the sudden, bursting need to move- to take action- that she hasn't felt since the day she left Charming comes roaring back... Except her body's bein controlled by her heart, both are way ahead of her brain, and she's got no earthly idea whether she's moving away from him or towards him. All she knows is that she's pushing up off her blanket before he has the chance to find his lighter and halfway on her feet- when a slender blonde jogs over from a nearby group and flings herself into his arms.
As he bends his head to kiss her, the cigarette now tucked away behind his ear, Tara sinks back into the tree, sliding down its rough length until she's once again hidden away in its shade. Of course it isn't him, her rational mind snarks- finally catching up with her heart, which is still racing irrationally even as all the reasons this man obviously isn't Jackson begin glaring like beacons across the bright square.
The hair's a bit too dark to belong to someone who spends his days on a stretch of blacktop under the California sun. The frame's a little too slight to represent the lean muscle Jax had packed on these past couple years while wrestling his bike into submission on the highway- not to mention manhandling tires, parts, and God knows what else at T-W, plus whatever the hell he does on runs with the club.
Even the way he handles his girl is all wrong, Tara can't help but think as she watches the couple make out beneath their own tree, completely oblivious to her keen observations. He's got his arms looped casually around her waist. Even his hands are wrong- joined at the small of the girl's back instead of buried in her hair, cradling her jaw as if she's what he treasures most in this whole world.
Closing her eyes once again in an attempt to shake off the comparison- not to mention her erratic breathing- Tara fumbles, blindly, for her book and rests the heavy volume on her knees. Even after all these weeks- with school to ground her and without the heavy weight of the what if's and fear hanging over her head, the noise is still here. Still noise- as evidenced by the fact that she's seeing Jackson's face in random blonde haired men- but different… Changed in some immeasurable way that Tara finds she can't put words to.
She's spent most of her days on campus, and so far, it's been almost everything she'd ever hoped it would be – except for the one, secret piece of her heart that's seemingly gone forever. Still, the few classes she'd managed to enroll in despite nearly missing the deadline for the second summer session are fulfilling- challenging her mind in a way she'd sorely missed these past few months while deep in the middle of losing herself in everything that was Charming, SAMCRO and Jax. And in those hours in the ivory halls of her new university, Tara finds that she's content.
She's always loved school, really- had never learned to dread it like most kids, not even as a teenager in San Diego when her friends would lament the upcoming school day over the phone on Sunday evenings, or suggest skipping out on eighth period on Friday afternoons to hit the beach. Not when she returned to Charming, only to earn the ire of half the female student body because Jax had focused his attentions on her. Not when she got suspended for hitting Melissa, not under the influence of her boyfriend- the Charming High truancy record holder- and not even when Jax had graduated early and left her to finish school without him.
No, she'd quickly learned that besides Jax, school was the best way to escape the darker side of her life. As a kid, she'd come to rely on the haven that was Charming Elementary to provide a counterpoint to the quiet chaos she'd come to know at home- as the life slowly drained out of her mother and the very man she knew as Daddy slowly drained out of her father. There, she alone was in control of her choices, her successes, and her failures.
Later, both in San Diego and back in Charming, too, learning, doing... knowing, had saved her from the loneliness and the darkness- almost as much as her eventual relationship with Jax had. The classroom had been a source of challenge, empowerment, and even excitement as far back as she can remember, so it's not really a surprise it's a source of peace for her now.
Peace. It's really the best word Tara can come up with to describe the feeling that settles over her when she readies herself for a lecture, pen poised above a fresh sheet of college-rule, or even in the midst of a debate with an overzealous classmate. The classroom is the one place she's truly felt she belonged these past several months, with the one glaring exception being Jax's arms. And on that note, maybe it's fitting that it's only once class is over and she's walking the sunny campus that the noise in her head begins to stir up again.
Really, it hits her in a different, tiny way each time. She'll be leaving a discussion session, smiling to herself at the thought of the praise she'd just received from the TA, and moments later feel the creeping melancholy begin to set in as she remembers what she'd left behind.
Sometimes, he wriggles into her thoughts in the middle of what should be the most ordinary activities for a college student. She'll be waiting in line at the dining hall and find herself alternately imagining them there together- sharing questionable cafeteria food and surreptitious kisses- and sitting at JT and Gemma's table for one of SAMCRO's family dinners, the only time she'd truly ever felt herself to be among family. The other day, she'd been wandering through a career fair in the student union and found herself suddenly unable to banish the vision of Jax next to her in a University tshirt and his arm around her waist.
But as always, no matter how she spends her days, the nights are still when she misses him the most. Some nights, the darkness seems to zero in on her until she can just about imagine she's back in Charming, in their apartment… And then she's merely waiting for Jax to return from some run, smelling of wind and freedom. She can almost feel him stealing into their bed in the dark to curl around her, slipping his leg between hers and his hand into her panties...
She's never sure, really, when reality is going to set in. Sometimes, it all seems so real- as if she could turn over and press her lips to his, feel him slide into her so she can lose herself in him the way she'd been doing since they were barely sixteen. On the worst nights, she does just that- only to be confronted with an empty space where her love used to be. Those nights are the hardest, nights where she cries until the throbbing in her head outstrips all the other, myriad ways she misses him.
Other nights, the realization that she and Jax hadn't truly been them since Opie had gone inside hits her full force somewhere in the midst of the ghost of his hands sliding over her hip, or the imagined whisper of his breath on her neck… and utter humiliation slams into her as the noise is winnowed down to one, cruel, voice of reason.
How pathetic are you?
It sneers, always in a familiar tone that Tara can't quite bring herself to identify in the moment.
You chose to leave him- and your family- behind. And still, here you are, in your fancy little college town, fantasizing about your high school boyfriend.
And oh, Jax had been so much more than her boyfriend- he'd been her best friend, her safe place, and so many of the pieces that made her who she was… which was why she'd crumbled so badly when he'd started to take them all back.
Jax made his priorities clear...
The rational self somewhere in the recesses of Tara's brain reminds her, and she's long since given up arguing with herself until her mind's spinning in circles- it's part of what's been keeping her from falling down the proverbial rabbit hole every time she misses him. So she doesn't point out that Jax's intentions when it came to her had been clear as mud for weeks following Opie's arrest, much less when they'd finally talked about the situation the afternoon of his sentencing.
After all, what does that matter when all he'd had to do to make his message abundantly plain, was to simply stay away? He'd promised they'd talk about what had been bubbling under the surface, what had briefly reared its ugly head… tomorrow. And when tomorrow had come- not to mention the next day, the next day, and several after that- he'd been conspicuously absent, driving home the inevitable point she's now sure he'd been reluctant to make in person:
When push comes to blood, Jax Teller has SAMCRO in his veins, and anything else will forever come in a distant second.
A point that had, in fact, become crystal clear over the intervening weeks, when she'd heard nothing from the man that had once claimed to love her more than anything else in the whole world. Sure, she'd told only one living soul about her plans, choosing to leave the rest of Charming in the dark. She'd known what his intentions would have been had he come tearing into town with SAMCRO at his heels. The only thing she'd been altogether uncertain of was her willpower to refuse Jax- especially if he'd turned up on her doorstep her first night alone in her new apartment and asked her to return with him.
Except… Jax hadn't done any of that. Hadn't come looking for her in the place she'd partially chosen for its proximity to one of the best Universities in the area, yes, but also because she knew it was one of the first places he'd likely try if he truly wanted to find her. Which, he apparently didn't- a fact that had been further punctuated by his similar refusal to reach out in any way whatsoever.
She hadn't been hiding, so to speak; her name is all over the student rolls plus the roster to the work-study job she'd procured upon her arrival. Hell, even the lease to her apartment is in her name- plus, she'd been forced to list a reference and had used the only person she could think of from her former life.
And why would he? You moved on and left him to rot in fucking Charming- why wouldn't he move on, too? After all, it isn't like he doesn't have plenty of willing options...
Tara sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, and slams the thick Statistics book closed once again without a further look, focusing instead on the couple under the next tree. The poor substitute for the person she'd loved more than anything in the world is now nuzzling his girl's neck and suddenly, she can't watch them be happy for one more moment- not when she's smarting all over again at the fact that he'd let her go so easily.
"Stats got the best of ya, huh?"
Tara practically jumps out of her skin, jolting upwards as the speaker- a petite brunette sporting an enviable late summer tan and a set of pale green scrubs - plops down next to her.
"Jesus, Sarah…" Tara breathes as the other girl stretches out in the comfort of the shade and closes her wide-set brown eyes, contentedly. She doesn't respond for a moment, doesn't even open her eyes when she finally speaks again.
"Oh, don't tell me you were that lost in the fascinating world of statistics," Sarah teases, a smile curling her lips. "In fact, I'd swear you were spaced the hell out when I walked up just now. You didn't even hear me call your name, did you?" Tara reddens, slightly, grateful the other girl can't see her as she dutifully slides the book onto her lap once again, opening it to a page at random as Sarah continues. "You almost looked like you'd seen a ghost." This time, Tara can't help but snicker. Jesus, if she only knew…
"I guess I sort of did," Tara returns, evenly, settling back into the tree and searching, desperately, for something to distract her friend from this line of questioning. Not one to be deterred, Sarah twists her upper body- a bit awkwardly, yet gracefully all at the same time- in order to train a skeptical eye on Tara, sitting slightly behind her current position spread across the blanket.
"You're a goddamn mystery, Knowles, you know that?" Again, Tara finds herself blushing under her friend's scrutiny, fidgeting slightly with the edges of the book and more anxious than ever to change the subject.
"Far from it, trust me-"
"No, I mean it," insists Sarah, sitting up abruptly and tucking her stick-straight caramel highlights behind her ears before leaning forward to rest her chin on her knees, her eyes earnest. "First, you show up from God knows where-"
"I told you, it's in northern-"
"Then…" Sarah pauses for effect- "the work study committee magically decides to fill the front desk position that's been empty ever since that bitch Debbie graduated last spring-" Tara rolls her eyes.
"Yeah, because my old boss-"
"And then…" Tara sighs in defeat, choosing instead to raise an eyebrow and let her finish, "You're studious, a bit quiet- a lot melancholic but still sweet- and already a bit mysterious because you just showed up in the middle of the summer term like you belonged here already. Until... " Sarah shakes her head in wonder, remembering. "Matt, the cutest intern on the staff - the one that looks like fuckin' Mark Wahlberg for Christ's sake and may as well be a goddamn Calvin Klein model himself… Matt asks who the new girl is and why she looks so familiar, and you say…"
Oh, Jesus Christ. Tara's cheeks pinken further, remembering exactly which smartass comment she'd lobbed back at him. She'd become so accustomed to flirtatiously bantering with Jax over the preceding years- and so unaccustomed to male attention, since the majority of the guys in Charming were hesitant about meeting her eyes directly when Jax was around- that she'd spoken without thinking.
"Well? What did you say?" challenges Sarah, like Tara's a reluctant six year old. Tara rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, stubbornly- it had been embarrassing enough the first time. "Riiiight," goads Sarah snickering. "Something like- Why, you been dreaming about me? Wasn't that it?"
Groaning, Tara lets her head loll back on the tree trunk once again. It had been exactly the sort of shit she'd heard Jax use on the flocks of girls that had attempted to make their way into his pants her first few weeks in Charming. Exactly the sort of smart remarks the two of them had exchanged with each other once they'd grown comfortable in their relationship.
And… exactly the sort of shit the Tara Knowles she'd been in Charming would never have said out loud to anyone else, let alone a stranger she actually works with.
"So not only are you some sort of tragically beautiful mystery girl that spends all her time alone, you're also a closet smartass who flirted with the hottest intern at the clinic-"
"Don't remind me," Tara groans, but Sarah's on a roll, now.
"But ever since that day you barely look his way- and you're right back to being the quiet little front desk girl we've come to to know. Well, as well as anyone actually knows you, I guess… Except now…" Sarah drops her head back dramatically, "Now, you're quiet, sexy little Tara, and all the men of the Student Health Clinic are obsessed."
"Oh please," Tara scoffs, snorting. "There are exactly two men that work over there, and of the two, only Chris has even talked to me more than once." She chuckles, picturing the way her slightly overzealous coworker had all-too-casually leaned across the front desk on his way out yesterday. He'd asked her what she was up to on Friday- even did his best to eye her from head to toe- and they both knew full well there wasn't one shred of attraction there. "But I'm pretty sure that was only because he wanted my Friday hours."
"Obsessed." Sarah returns, firmly, "Even though it's possible Chris is only obsessed with wondering what's caught Matt's eye." Her expression turns thoughtful for a moment as she considers the possibilities, then shrugs. "Face it, Tara- you're a... " she pauses, momentarily, before her face lights up as she lands on the right word- "an enigma. You've been working at the clinic for weeks now, and none of us really know you at all. And trust me- we've compared notes. Hell, you and I have eaten lunch together at least twice a week since you started and even I don't really know who you are outside of your welcome bio that's hanging on the bulletin board in the entryway."
Sarah sits up, primly- quoting: "Tara Knowles, eighteen years old-"
"Nineteen-"
"Nineteen years old," Sarah continues as if she hadn't even spoken. "Hometown- bumfuck California. Major- biology and pre-med. Favorite color- flannel or black, can't decide which-"
"It does not say all that," Tara chides, finally giving in and dissolving into giggles as the other girl continues. Christ, it feels good to laugh...
"Relationship status- unknown. General demeanor- forlorn-"
"Jesus Christ, do you have one of those word-a-day calendars, or-"
"Weekend plans…" Sarah's voice rises, insistently drowning out Tara's protests- "End of the summer block party at Sigma Chi." She waits, expectantly, sipping water from a plastic bottle and eyeing Tara as she tilts her head in confusion, her nose wrinkling slightly as the strange words seem to echo a bit in her head.
"Sigma Chi- like, a fraternity?" Now it's Sarah's turn to roll her eyes.
"Nope. See, we're actually taking a weekend trip to Greece and- hey, ow!" She's half laughing, half indignant as Tara reaches across and tilts the bottle of water abruptly, knocking it into Sarah's mouth and sloshing its contents all over her green scrub top. "Okay, okay. Yes, it's a frat. And yes, they're having a party- it's like the last big event of the summer before the freshmen start showing up for rush week and orientation. Pool party, barbecue, and either five bucks or a good word at the door gets you all the lukewarm keg beer you can handle."
"You have no idea how appealing that sounds… really," Tara responds drily. "But… I can't. I have this stats test on Monday, and it's my hardest class, and-"
"Ohmygod, tell me you're not going to start piling on with the excuses," Sara groans. "Listen, I know you have some shit going on- with your parents or your family, with a friend, with an ex, I don't know, but…"
Try all of the above.
"You're a nineteen year old woman at one of the best schools in the state, and you've been acting like a thirty-something divorcee with a couple kids at home the way you rush out the moment your shift is over. Face it Tara- you can't just sit around waiting for your Prince Charming to come and sweep you off your feet, and if you aren't-"
The words slam into her like a freight train, innocent as they are… Prince Charming. How many times had she heard someone refer to Jax by that very title? How many times had she herself used it to tease him, knowing just how much he hated it. Hell, even she'd hated it just as much at other times, when they weren't teasing. She'd despised how the bolder croweaters treated it as a term of endearment, how the simpering girls at school would rest a hand on his arm, flutter their lashes and call him the Prince- as if he didn't have to hide a grimace every time he heard the name aloud.
Christ, now she's grimacing- remembering the teenagers, the college girls… the fully grown women who'd all but ignored her in their quest to get an 'in' with the club and its heir apparent. As much as she misses Jax- so much it physically hurts, if she's being honest with herself- she's not sad she'd left his groupies far in her rearview mirror.
Betcha he hasn't-
That inner voice supplies, nastily, and just like that, Tara can't listen to the nagging, the obsessing, the fucking speculation for one more moment… even if it's within her own goddamn head.
"Fine, I'll go-" she blurts out, halting Sarah's chatter mid-stream. Sarah's mouth hangs open a moment as her eyes narrow, searching Tara's for any sign of sarcasm or bullshit, then-
"Jesus Christ, Knowles, you didn't even let me get started on my sales pitch." Tara shrugs, unwilling- unable- to explain Jax, SAMCRO, and all the rest. Sarah rolls her eyes, pushing off the blanket so she can stand and toss her backpack over a shoulder. "I won't even ask what's got you changing your mind-" her eyes narrow slightly "-or why you suddenly look like you just lost your best friend. I'm just happy you're doing something for yourself for a change."
"And what time will I be doing this for myself tonight, anyway?" Tara doesn't attempt to keep the sarcasm from putting an edge on her words, suddenly realizing she sounds for all the world like- God help me- Gemma.
"We'll pick you up at nine! Wear a swimsuit!" Sarah practically sings over her shoulder, making a hasty retreat down the sidewalk before Tara can respond.
Who the hell is "we"?
And what the hell did I just get myself into?
Arriving at a pool party- particularly at a fraternity house- is nothing like arriving at a SAMCRO party, Tara discovers quickly. For one, the street outside is filled, not with a slew of black and chrome, but with an array of cages that would have any of the patched members shaking their heads. Briefly, she pictures Chibs, Kozik or even Tig sauntering with distaste past the row of Thunderbirds and Monte Carlos- all in prerequisite, "Daddy's money", shades of red and yellow. The result is a brief bout of homesickness she figures she's better off not investigating.
"Jesus Christ, this place is a fucking palace." The observation- more cynical than awestruck- comes as Chris leans halfway across the passenger seat of his run-down Chevy, craning his neck at the scene just across the lawn from his passenger window. Tara, too, gazes out her own rear window at the stately Georgian that houses the Sigma Chi fraternity. It's a far cry from the fairly modest lot back at Teller-Winston, and not a reaper or circle-A within sight. She watches as throngs of people pour in and out of the imposing front entrance, some milling about on the brick patio while others are circling around a well-worn path along the side of the house- ostensibly, towards the pool area that must be in the back.
"Yeah, well, I hate to disappoint you, but it's been full of nothing but guys for about the last forty or fifty years- I'm sure the interior doesn't measure up to the exterior," Sarah replies, pulling down the visor mirror and aiming a tube of lip gloss at her lips, only to jump and drop the gloss entirely as a blurry figure practically takes off the passenger side mirror while bolting past them on the asphalt and up onto the curb.
"I'm thinking nothing here has an interior that matches the exterior," Tara intones, drily, watching the blur- who turns out to be a heavily tanned blonde girl in a minidress and heels- slow considerably as she reaches the grass. She can't help but snicker as the blonde's heels sink into the lush greenery until she reaches her destination- a similarly dressed redhead who jumps up and down in excitement before practically strangling her friend in an embrace. Self consciously, Tara tugs at the hem of the denim skirt she'd thrown on- along with a simple black tank and flip flops- over her swimsuit. Evidently, her idea of pool party attire had been way, way off the mark, here.
"Oh, don't be such a cynic, Tara-" Sarah snarks, retrieving her lip gloss and completely ignoring her own cynical comments regarding the interior of the Sigma Chi house. "Everyone goes to their end of season parties- you're just as likely to find a fellow science nerd as you are a sorority type."
"I'm-"
"Whatever you're about to say… don't," snorts Chris, peering around the back of the driver's seat to narrow his eyes at Tara. "I may not know you very well- yet- and you may be just the front desk girl over at the clinic… but I've seen you studying when you think the rest of us aren't paying attention, and you got some big, science-y dreams floating around in that pretty little head of yours." Sarah sticks her tongue out even as Tara rolls her eyes at the both of them.
"That's not what I was going to say. My point-" she gestures towards the two girls, who are now in the process of trotting across the grass like newborn foals, occasionally stumbling over an embedded heel. "My point is that regardless of major or social group, some people are willing to completely change who they appear to be to impress people."
Including you- her inner voice snarks, apparently desperate to remind her of her own gradual- though reluctant- acceptance of some of the more biker-friendly styles and attitudes Gemma had-
Her mind stops short on the one realization- Gemma.
And all at once, the origins of the inner voice that had been tormenting her since weeks before she'd finally made her escape from Charming, emerge from the haze that is her bruised ego. Well, it's the superego, actually- the very thing she'd studied the week before in psych class. It's that negative source of self-criticism and inhibiting censorship that remained her primary source of self-doubt.
Of course her inner critic sounds like Gemma- the one person who'd always known just what to say, just which buttons to push to have her questioning her own motives and desires. The one person besides Jax himself she'd found herself unable to face before leaving town.
Pussy.
Pushing away the internal conversation between herself and Gemma- yet again- Tara focuses, instead, on the conversation drifting from the front seat.
" -nothing wrong with dressing up and doing something fun every once in a while. Everyone deserves a good time- right, Chris?"
"Everyone but me, apparently," He aims a withering glare at Sarah. "Of course the night you finally get Miss Cynic here to ride along, I miss all the fun."
"And who told you to take Organic Chem, of all things, over the summer?" At his answering growl, Sarah giggles, lightly "I don't suppose now is a good time to ask what time you'll be here to pick us up?"
"Library closes at 11:30, so I'll be here at 11:45, latest." He glares after Sarah as she gathers her things and jerks her head at Tara. "And I don't care what or who you're doing – when the clock strikes midnight, you better be in this goddamn carriage, Cinderella."
They're still laughing as Chris pulls away from the curb with a honk. And somehow, something about the night air, the thumping music emanating from the backyard, and the way Sarah links arms with her as they start up the long front walk toward the gorgeous old Georgian has Tara feeling more lighthearted than she has in a long time.
"So are- were- you and Chris a… thing?" she can't help musing as they reach the edge of the patio and pause at the front entrance. Sarah snorts, chuckling under her breath and fishing through her purse.
"Christ, no. I mean, he asked me out once, way back when we first started at the clinic- we started on the same day, you know. But our date ended with the world's most platonic kiss, if you know what I mean."
"Um-" but Sarah's continuing, thankfully, before Tara's forced to admit she'd spent pretty much her entire dating life kissing Jackson Teller- and even when they'd been trying to fool themselves that they were just childhood friends, the kissing had always been anything but platonic.
"It was like…" Sarah frowns, remembering, "well, I won't say kissing my brother, because I have three of 'em and trust me, that's fuckin' disgusting. But it was like, uh, kissing an old friend, it just felt… wrong. When it was over, he looked at me, I looked at him- and we both just started laughing." She shrugs, pressing the doorbell and speaking over the loud bonging that drowns out even the music inside for a moment. "It was pretty much the weirdest start to a friendship ever, but I love the guy, you know?" Tara smiles; she does know- she's loved Jax and Opie since she can remember, and they'd all welcomed Donna into their circle years later. She'd do anything for them-
Except stay in Charming, Gemma's voice snarks, wryly.
And now, the massive expanse of white oak Sigma Chi calls a door is creaking open, drowning out her thoughts once again and revealing a slightly bored-looking blonde guy with a Leo-as-Romeo haircut and a Sigma Chi Bash '96 t-shirt.
"'Kay, so if you want a cup, that'll be ten bucks," he recites for what's clearly the thousandth time tonight, gesturing towards a towering stack of red plastic cups on the table next to him. "Or if y'all just wanna stay and party, it's five." Finishing his spiel, the Leo wannabe folds his arms expectantly, ignoring the group of girls that push past him out the door and around the side of the house.
"Wait, we have to pay even if we're not gonna-" Tara begins, but even before the doorman's eyes can roll back in their sockets, Sarah's slapping a twenty into his hand with a grin and somehow simultaneously directing a withering glare in her direction.
"You're gonna. Now let's go."
Minutes later, they've picked their way mostly through the crowded house, shouldering past nearly every subset of the university's population just as Sarah had predicted. In fact, it seems like everyone's here- from sorority girls and obvious members of the football team to kids still clinging to the grunge look and and the occasional, usually-studious faces Tara recognizes from her classes. There are people seated on the massive staircase, spilling off tufted leather sofas, grinding against one another to the thump of the music pouring out of the many speakers, loudly chattering, laughing, wrestling, arguing, hugging – and the mass of humanity inside the tightly-packed Sigma Chi house is doing it all while clutching the ubiquitous red plastic cup.
"Beer's out here!" Sarah seems to be calling as the music changes, eliciting a raucous cheer from the house – though Tara can only guess at what she's saying as the din succeeds in fully drowning out the actual words coming from her friend's mouth. Still, she allows Sarah to drag her towards a set of French doors, spread wide open to allow the constant throngs of people to spill out into the backyard- and together, they tumble into the night beyond.
Sarah's angling her head toward the cluster of people surrounding the keg, and Tara dutifully follows. It's cooler out here, despite the muggy summer night, and definitely much less stifling, less crowded than the confines of the house itself. The music, too, is still loud, but seems to float away into the night air instead of reverberating inside her very body. There are just as many people milling about on the cool grass and the cement pool deck, but somehow, the vibe out here is different, more relaxed, and Tara breathes a sigh of relief.
Maybe it's no mistake that the times she'd escaped the packed clubhouse- and Gemma's watchful eye- in a very similar way are on her mind as Sarah's voice drifts into her consciousness.
"Holy shit. This party is insane, and it's still early!" she shouts- just a little too loudly for her surroundings, handing Tara one of the cups. Tara can barely contain her snort as she surveys the scene before her- sure, there are more people here than you could ever fit into SAMCRO's makeshift boys' club, but despite the noise and the people, it's really pretty damn tame.
She guesses it's probably wild by Sarah's standards- students of all persuasions are talking, laughing, dancing, and lounging on deck chairs- still sipping from the ever-present red cups. There's a guy on the diving board dumping a pitcher of beer into a funnel- which seems to be attached to a hose that snakes down and into the waiting mouth of what Tara assumes is one of the Brothers, diligently treading water and sputtering beneath the board. And as they round the edge of the pool and find an open spot near the ladder, Sarah's eyes widen and she looks appropriately scandalized at the sight of a couple writhing together on the nearest deck chair.
But a SAMCRO party, this isn't. For one, the only women without clothing on are actually in or near the pool itself. For another, the couple on the lounger have a long way to go to top the shit Tara's witnessed from Tig and his croweaters alone. And third, well… she'd long stopped considering it a party until she and Jax had stumbled into the apartment with a half-full bottle of Jack, laughing and kissing until they were breathless for an entirely different reason. Christ, they'd been a lot like that couple, really- barely able to keep their hands off each other regardless of the occasion. And as the two on the lounger finally come up for air and catch her eye briefly, Tara can't help but raise her cup a bit in tribute.
"Someone you know?" Sarah asks, her eyebrows arching as she bumps Tara's shoulder and takes a sip of her beer, and they watch for a moment as the guy fills one hand with his girl's ass and curves the other around the back of her neck, dragging her down to take her mouth again. Tara can only shake her head slightly – both in response to Sarah's question and at the fact that this is now the second couple she's watched in the midst of a passionate moment today- and take a sip of her own beer.
"Jesus, you weren't kidding when you said lukewarm," she complains, grimacing and changing the subject- not any more eager to begin discussing the shit constantly swirling around in her mind here at a fucking frat party than she's been since she arrived in this town. Sarah bites the inside of her cheek a moment- clearly filing something away for a later time- then shrugs, plastering a knowing grin on her face before agreeing.
"Yeah, yeah. As much as these boys like their status as the self-professed experts of throwing these ragers, they're pretty lazy about the execution when it comes right down to it. Not near enough ice to last much past the first two kegs. Actually-"
Whatever Sarah had been fixing her mouth to say is interrupted by a loud chorus of shouts from the cabana area, and to Tara's surprise, her friend perks up and cranes her neck at the group before waving at someone over her shoulder. Actually, upon closer inspection, she's not altogether sure who her friend had been greeting; there are maybe ten guys crammed into the small area, and all seem to be huddled around a long table that takes up most of its space.
"C'mon"
The "table" turns out to be not a table at all, but what appears to be an actual closet door that had likely been removed from somewhere in the depths of the frat house itself and pressed into service atop two collapsible sawhorses. The boys have arranged several of the red plastic cups in some sort of formation on its top, and a brother appears out of nowhere with a plastic pitcher of beer and commences pouring.
Tara watches as he fills each with the amber liquid, sipping her own while Sarah talks animatedly with the guy that had apparently waved her over in the first place. And as the frothy liquid hits her belly, warming her from within- as the whoops and hollers, the music, and the revelry float into the night air, she relaxes a bit, basking in the anonymity of this place. This feeling of being nobody in particular, just another college student at just another party, is at once foreign and comforting. Until now, after leaving Charming she'd only felt it- felt normal- while in her classes here at the U.
Actually, she realizes vaguely, tipping her cup and draining the rest of her beer, she's always been the one who sticks out, practically since her mother had taken sick to begin with. She'd been the one with the sick mom, subject of many a whisper by her classmates and a hushed- though sympathetic- conversation by their parents. It had gotten worse when Grace had actually died. Then the town had talk of her drunk daddy to occupy them, not to mention his ever-quickening spiral into someone none of them recognized anymore.
In San Diego, she'd been the new girl all of her seven years there. Worse, she'd been the quiet girl, the one who had never really felt at ease with the carefree, SoCal way of life. And once back in Charming, well…
She'd had Opie- and especially Jax- to temper her reintroduction to small-town life, to dull the sting of her father's distance, the girls' mistrust. Eventually, she'd had Donna, Angela, and even Gemma to act as the voice of feminine reason she'd never thought she needed.
The men of SAMCRO had all eventually embraced her, especially JT- Christ, he'd been as close to a father as she'd had for a few years, there. Piney, too, had stepped up, stepped in where Rick Knowles hadn't. Hell, since she was a kid, she'd been tagging along wth Jackson and Harry, and none of them had batted an eye when she reappeared years later, a constant fixture under Jax's arm and in his bed at Club Reaper.
But as wonderful as her time with all of them had been- as much as she ached nearly every hour of every day with the knowledge that she'd given up the best things in her life… As much as she'd had to deal with the knowledge that she had burned all those bridges to the point where she didn't know if any of them would ever willingly put their hearts in her hands and cross the gorge she'd left behind ever again… She has to admit she'd stuck out around SAMCRO, too.
And that had nothing to do with the love she'd felt from all of them, but with the undercurrent of realization that she, Tara Knowles, was different. Different from the club kids, different from the croweaters and hangaround women who wanted to become them. Different from the members and the other Old Ladies- because she would one day leave them to fulfill her own destiny. Some had been accepting- JT, Angela, maybe even Donna. Others had evidently assumed that she'd eventually do what they'd been doing all along and ignore the pull towards more, in favor of immersing herself into the world of SAMCRO. Gemma, for starters… and as it turned out, Jax himself.
"Your first time?"
It takes her a moment to realize the guy who'd been carefully filling the cups is now standing in front of her, holding the remains of the last pitcher. It takes a moment longer to realize he's actually talking to her, and yet another to decipher his meaning as he angles his head towards the table.
"You could say that," Tara murmurs vaguely, not wanting to let on that she has absolutely no clue what she's actually witnessing for the first time, aside from the frat party iself. Grinning, the guy nods towards her cup and raises his pitcher, a question in his eyes. She smiles back gratefully and tilts her cup towards him, allows him to fill it with the dregs of the pitcher as the game- whatever it is- kicks up again behind him.
He disappears with his pitcher and- her cup dangerously full- Tara finds herself having to take more than a few swallows before she trusts herself to focus on the pack of whooping boys before her. From what she can tell, the game involves tossing a pair of ping pong balls towards the assembly of filled cups on the opposite side of the table.
"We play in twos."
The voice comes from beside her, this time. The guy is back, now- sans-pitcher and clutching a cup of his own. He's attractive, she realizes, all wavy brown hair and subtly muscular, tanned body. His hazel eyes are friendly, and in that moment she realizes he appears to be assessing her, too. Then, there's an appreciative flicker as he raises the cup to his lips, grinning even as he does so. It's an odd feeling- yet another sensation that feels foreign but comforting all at the same time.
One of the things that had set her apart in Charming was her relationship with Jax; his reputation- the club's reputation- had preceded him and as a result, there was hardly a man in Charming that would dare flirt with Tara Knowles. Not that she minded- he was hers and she was his… a hundred percent, body and soul, Jackson Teller's girl. But this guy, making small talk and grinning with promise- he treats her as if she were any other college girl… and again the anonymity of it all rushes through her so fast it's almost dizzying.
"So when the other team makes a shot, you gotta drink," he says, motioning towards the table, where one of the brothers is, in fact, fishing out a ball. He tosses it good-naturedly at his opponent and drains the contents of a cup.
"And then?"
"Game goes until one team knocks out all the other team's cups- and then they have to drink whatever's left and pay a penalty decided on by the other team. Most parties, and most coed games, it's one article of clothing per cup left on the table- but that don't make a lot of sense at a pool party." He winks, conspiratorially. "I happen to like those games better- 'specially when the girls're as pretty as you."
Flushing, Tara manages to smile and takes a long draught of her beer for lack of a better response. The guy doesn't seem to mind, just winks again and turns his attention back to the game- thankfully. All at once, Tara realizes that it's nice, feeling normal- even if that means the attention of a pleasant, nameless boy for a few minutes. And she doesn't know what to do with the realization, so she focuses on the game, too- until it reaches its inevitable conclusion and the losing team is playfully forced to down a beer using the funnel she'd noticed in the pool earlier.
Game after game, she watches- alternately the target of heated whispers from Sarah (who'd evidently had an on-again-off-again relationship with the guy who'd beckoned them over here in the first place) and friendly conversation from the still-nameless guy who's remained at her side for over an hour now. He's been keeping her cup full and her thoughts blissfully in the present for the first time since… Jesus, she can't even begin to name the last time she'd truly closed off the portion of her mind that seemed to work tirelessly to keep dragging the rest of it back to the borders of Charming.
If the first cup had been lukewarm, her second, third and fourth rapidly approached the temperature of the tepid air surrounding them, but she hadn't much cared- all that seemed to matter is the pleasant fuzz that insulated her from it all. So by the time cup number- how many is this again- is placed on the table itself instead of in her hand, she's far more focused on the hand on the small of her back that's gently propelling her forward than the actual words coming out of Sarah's mouth to care.
Oh, we're expected to play, Tara realizes, as Nameless Guy's hand leaves her back once she's situated at the end of the table with Sarah. And then he's positioning himself at the other end with Sarah's… whoever he is- eyes twinkling mischievously as he picks up a ball.
"You ready to lose, Gorgeous?"
She ignores Sarah's elbow digging into her side as she rolls her eyes, grinning and aiming her own ball dead center at the triangle of cups- set up just like a set of pool balls, ready for the break. And she'd played a hell of a lot of pool.
"Are you?"
Either she'd drastically overestimated the extent to which this game was like pool, or drastically underestimated her alcohol consumption and way it always completely obliterates her hand-eye coordination… because it's no time at all before they're losing. Badly. Tara groans as the fourth straight ball drops neatly into one of their cups, ignoring the good-natured ribbing coming from the boys across the way in favor of sliding the cup closer to the edge of the table so she can sip at the newest in her steadily-growing arsenal of drinks.
And so it goes- a miss by Sarah, who giggles haplessly as their opponents have to chase down the ball after it sails off the table altogether. A miss by Tara, gritting her teeth in frustration as the ball rims around the cup and bounces right into the boy's hand. And on their opponent's turns- make after make, until there's a single cup left on the table, and not a goddamn hope in the world left of winning.
As Sarah's friend lines up his shot, grinning cockily at them both, what the nameless boy had outlined minutes earlier floats back, unbidden. They'll be expected to pay a penalty- a forfeit of God knows what; and as her mind whirls rapidly from one wild possibility to the other, the ball plinks into the cup and it's all over, just like that. Instantly, the gathered crowd erupts, effectively drowning out Tara's groan. The boys across from them are slapping victorious high fives and tossing friendly barbs in their direction, but Sarah waves off all of them and tilts the cup back, draining the liquid within in one go.
"It's penalty time, boys!" one of the brothers in the crowd howls, jolting Nameless out of his celebrations, his attention focusing once again on Tara. His gaze is appreciative, and as the suggestions start popping up from the crowd, turns more calculating by the second.
"Beer bong! Two each!"
"Shots!"
"Streaking!"
"Yeah, let's see 'em!"
Jesus Christ…
But before Tara can dwell too much on the horror that is the thought of actually running, nude, in front of everyone here- even tipsy as she is- his eyes light up, seemingly landing on a decision.
"So I can't help but notice-" he pauses, waiting for the shouting to die down a moment before continuing, "-that you two are pretty much the only chicks here not in your swimsuits." Self-consciously, Tara manages a weary glance down her body, as if to confirm that, yes, she's still sporting the tank and jean skirt she'd arrived in. "I think that it's time we fix that, don't you?"
A bit dazed, the alcohol from the past hour or so finally beginning to take its toll, she misses the point completely until he points at the pool itself, where the diving board seems to gleam under the soft light of the lanterns strung above it.
"Time to go for a swim, sweetheart."
And just like that, they're herded to the pool area where the rest of the party awaits, suddenly well aware something interesting is about to happen. Now, however, the feeling of blissful anonymity is long gone as the eyes of practically everyone at the party are trained on them. For a moment, Tara's thoughts are dragged back to those fateful nights on the Teller-Morrow/Teller-Winston lot- the moments she'd thought would shape her future…
Swinging a leg over the back of Jackson's bike on his sixteenth birthday… Standing before the entirety of SAMCRO to tell them of their President's betrayal… Kissing her love as he became a patched member of his father's club- as she became an Old Lady… Then- as now- a crowd's eyes had been on her. Waiting. Watching- to see if she'd measure up. And now- as then- her brain can't seem to fucking stop, even as she reluctantly steps out of the skirt, pulls the tank top over her head.
What drags her out of her momentary daze isn't the catcalls and whistles of the crowd- a reaction that had begun the moment she'd clutched the hem of the shirt. It isn't even the low voice of the brother playing DJ, vibrating through the speakers and egging them on above the closing strains of whatever song is playing.
Surprisingly, it's Sarah's fierce whisper, hissed hotly into her ear even as she grasps the metal rails of the ladder-
"That's some serious fucking ink, Knowles, what the-"
It's the surprise in the eyes of the still-Nameless boy, the light graze of the fingertips that skim briefly over the still-raised skin of that tattoo on her back- the realization that she'd been keeping a part of herself a secret. The fact that somehow, to some extent, now that secret's on full display- that has her snapping back to the present, pushes her, to move, as if by some unseen force, away from the hand that has no right to touch what she'd come to see as one of the only things of him she has left.
And then the moment's lost, once again, as the music changes, the crowd's cheers drowning out even the opening guitar strains of the song. The song Tara actually knows, since SAMCRO- and by extension, Jax, who pretty much had an undying devotion to the music of his father's generation- may as well have its own radio station… all classic rock, all the time. Except this one is apparently some sort of Sigma Chi anthem, judging by the way practically everyone in the crowded pool area raises a cup and sings along.
"She's a fast machine, she kept her motor clean…
She's the best damn woman that I've ever seen..."
And suddenly, despite the familiarity of the song, the fact that the last time she'd heard it she'd undoubtedly been singing and dancing along with Jax, Opie, and Donna, Tara's caught up in the energy that surrounds her.
"She had the sightless eyes, tellin' me no lies…
Knockin' me out with those American thighs…"
She takes a deep breath and practically struts down the length of the board like it's a goddamn catwalk.
"Takin' more than her share, had me fightin' for air…
She told me to come, but I was already there,
'Cause the walls start shakin', the earth was quakin'...
My mind was achin' and we were makin' it
And you… shook me all night long!"
It's a late summer night, she's nineteen, a college student, at a frat party... and in simultaneous love, lust and pure fucking heartbreak- but all that matters is the end of the board, the swoop in her stomach as her feet leave its surface, and the rush of the cool, clear water below.
The ride home is dark- blissful and quiet except for the soft murmurs of Sarah and Chris in the front seat and the soft strains of some old Elton John song drifting from the radio. Tara presses her forehead to the cool glass of the window, watching the streetlights melt into one another as they pass. Even as the party recedes further and further into the rearview mirror, it's almost as if the person she'd been there settles inside her, somehow.
Times like these, Tara can almost understand why her father had taken to drinking heavily after her mom had succumbed to cancer. Her limbs feel lax, liquid, her head pleasantly fuzzy- like all the sharp edges of the world had dulled, become somehow less threatening. For the first time since she'd left Charming, it's as if the knot that town and the people in it had tied around her heart had loosened, momentarily- eased by the pleasant buzz she'd managed to achieve in just a few hours at her first real college party.
They're still there- he's still there- deep within her heart; she couldn't cut him out if she tried. But somehow, as yet more memories surface- Jax kissing her hand and pulling her through the crowded clubhouse to meet up with their best friends, idly playing his fingers in her hair as she rests her head on his lap in the back seat of the Cutlass- she's enveloped in warmth instead of grief. Feels like she can take a full breath for the first time in weeks… and she's got absolutely no idea how she feels about that.
"Tara?" Sarah's voice seems to float from the front seat, gently breaking into her train of thought. "We're here, kiddo." A bit dazed, Tara struggles for a moment to focus before confirming that they are, in fact, pulled up in front of her apartment complex. She's preparing herself to grasp the door handle- more, psyching herself up to leave the relative peace she'd found in the confines of the backseat- when Chris appears like magic outside her window. Opening the door himself, he waits, patiently, as she gathers the sandals, tank and skirt she'd dropped on the floorboards practically the instant she'd tumbled into his backseat.
"C'mon, party girl" Chris snickers, grasping her elbow gently and leading her up the walk. She lets him guide her away from the curb, swaying subtly in the right direction at each turn through the veritable maze that is the sidewalk leading past the overgrown courtyard and the other doors within. He releases her only when she needs to stoop, stumbling only slightly, to retrieve the key she's hidden under the mat. She thinks he frowns briefly at her as she tries, unsuccessfully, to thread the key into the deadbolt lock.
"This ain't a great neighborhood, Knowles," Chris says, concern at the edge of his voice; and it's so nice to have someone care that she's almost, almost, able to ignore the fact that he sounds- at least in her alcohol-soaked mind- so much like Opie that she can't help but smile. Waving off his suggestions that she find somewhere a bit less obvious to leave her key, she manages, finally, to slide the key in question into the lock. She's still giggling softly when he rolls his eyes as she sags against the door.
"Thanks for caring," is all she can manage, patting his cheek like she'd done to Ope so many times, grinning lazily as Chris's brows knit.
"Of course I- Christ, you really are drunk aren't you?" When her only answer is another giggle, he rolls his eyes yet again and pats her cheek right back, affectionately. "Go the hell to bed, kid- I am so not covering for your ass tomorrow morning." And he's off, sauntering back down her walkway, alternately grumbling and chuckling to himself, leaving Tara to enter the cool, dark apartment alone.
She doesn't flip the light switch after she turns the deadbolt- preferring, instead, the way the dark itself seems to blanket the space, makes everything seem less empty. Doesn't even bother to change out of her bathing suit- though it's dry by now, thankfully. She just crosses the space in the blackness, picking her way around its sparse furniture by memory and flops directly onto the small bed, burrowing under the blankets as if somehow, they'd weight her down, slow the spinning of the room to a pleasant rocking by their presence alone.
She settles easily onto her left side- the way she had since she was a toddler- noticing at once the reading of the alarm clock on the small stool that serves as a makeshift nightstand. 12:30 AM- Jesus, she's got to be at the clinic in just over seven hours and should really get to sleep… But then the red glow illuminates the photo propped up against the lamp- her favorite photo- and all at once it's like the peaceful darkness shifts, gives way to a sudden, bursting need to talk to the one person who'll understand it all. Everything from the hole in her heart that's marked the lowest points of her day to the true release of the easy, almost carefree fun she'd had tonight… and every moment in between where she'd struggled to reconcile the two.
More, she just aches to hear a familiar voice as she drifts off to sleep.
She's out of bed and dialing the number almost before she realizes what she's doing- hell, she's pretty sure the beer had more to do that than she'd like to admit. She's even more certain there's no way she'd have been able to recall the number itself had it not once been her own- but it all ceases to matter the moment the voice crackles through the earpiece.
"H'llo?"
"Jesus, did I wake you up? I'm sorry, I just… well, I just got home and I-"
"T-Tara?" Her own name serves to stop her rambling for a moment, even as her brain briefly struggles to catch up. "Is it really you?"
"Hey, Donna" is all she can reply, weakly, setting off a barrage of questions from her friend.
"Where the hell are you? Why the hell haven't you called? How- Christ, all you have to say is 'hey?' Hey!?" Closing her eyes against the torrent emanating from the earpiece almost as much as the way the room's once again commenced its spinning, Tara drops back down onto the bed, cradling the phone against her ear.
"I'm sorry, Don. I am. I just…I'm just a little drunk and I… just needed to hear your voice. I can, uh, l can let you go if-"
"Don't you fucking dare hang up. Not when you've been gone for almost two months. Two months, Tara, and this is the first time I'm hearing from you. Not to mention, I don't even know how the hell to get ahold of you if you do hang up-" As Donna pauses- probably to catch her breath- Tara once again manages to get a word in edgewise.
"I'm sorry, I really am. I had to go, Donna, I couldn't… couldn't wait on him anymore."
"Tare…" Donna breathes, her voice at once softer, gentler. "I know you did, sweetie. I've known it since I saw your face that day you left. This isn't about that, it's-" The line goes silent a moment, and Tara can almost hear Donna swallowing, sorting out in her mind what it is she has to say. "I just never thought you'd cut us all off completely, you know?"
"I didn't- it wasn't about cutting you off… any of you," Tara adds, hoping the implication is clear. "I had to make a clean break at first, otherwise I didn't know if I'd be able to do this- leave, and not turn back the moment I started missing you… which was the moment I passed the Welcome to Charming sign." She sighs, then, hating the tears welling up in her eyes and the lump growing in her throat even as she fights to keep them at bay. "Plus, I figured everyone… hated me by now anyway-"
"Oh, sweetie…" Donna interrupts, though her voice immediately trails off, fondly. "Nobody hates you." Another pause. "Well… Gemma might-" And they both shift into stilted giggles that quickly become familiar, easier, as the silences between them grow more comfortable. "So tell me- how's college life?"
And just like that, they slide into an easy back and forth- simple, like every other conversation they've shared since they'd become friends at the Winston kitchen table. Tara tells Donna about her classes, about her job at the student health clinic, about the party she'd just left. And in return, Donna talks about her responsibilities at the vet clinic, how the guys had just brought her last boxes of stuff over to the apartment from the clubhouse, how Kozik and Angela had stopped by with a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift and stayed to crack it open and fill her in on the latest drama over at the clubhouse. Tara laughs at the mental picture Kozik sipping wine had provided, Donna chuckles and asks her just how tipsy she really is... and together, they slip right back into the friendship they'd both sorely missed.
It's only when Donna mentions that Kozik had also brought by Opie's kutte- and the note of sadness that creeps into her voice even though she glosses over it and forces a stiff chuckle and a comment about how it seems to take up half her goddamn closet- when the elephant in the room makes its presence known once again.
"Donna… how is he- Opie?" Tara asks softly, instead of laughing at her friend's forced joke. And the sigh that comes over the line says everything, really.
"I… I don't know, Tare. He's okay, I think. We- Jax and I- went to see him on the last visitor's day and he seemed… together. Ready. I was the one who had trouble getting my shit together after we left, but I think Sunday when we go back, I'll be a lot better. It's just…" Donna's voice wavers, and Tara can hear her clear her throat before she returns, steadier. "It's just so hard to leave him there, you know? We sat and talked like nothing was different- Christ, it was like nothing had changed at all. But then time was up and I had to go- I had to leave him behind, and it was like the day he got arrested all over again…"
Silence. And there's nothing Tara can say, really, to make things better for her friend- nothing but how she feels, what she needs Donna to know.
"Don, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry I'm not there for you."
"I'm okay- I really am. I have to be, because I have to be there for him, you know? And I'll keep being okay- I'll go see him every visitor's day I can because this is the only way we get through this. But can I ask you a favor?"
"Anything," Tara agrees, readily, the guilt zeroing in on her heart once again, pressing on that most tender spot until she knows she'd do practically anything Donna asks, short of moving back to Charming itself.
"Go see him. Please? You're one of his oldest friends- practically since you were babies- and he needs us, all of us, right now." There's a moment of hesitation, one that draws out a beat longer than is comfortable in the moment, before Donna continues. "Plus Jax, uh… well, he told him you'd picked up and left town when we visited, and Ope really seemed to lose his shit on him. I uh… I think he'd want to know you're okay."
"Okay…" Tara's voice trails off, uncertainly, and Donna seems to sense her unease.
"Call Stockton and request to be put on his visitor's list- you don't have a record, so it shouldn't take long. Then let me know when you want to go and if you'd rather be alone, I guess. I don't know how far the drive is for you, but… we'll make it work."
"Okay," she repeats, closing her eyes. She can do that- at least that- for the boy who's been nothing short of a big brother for most of her life. Donna doesn't respond, the silence between them building-awkward for the first time- until Tara sighs, shakily, suddenly sensing the impending need to end the conversation before it goes somewhere she can't handle. "Well, I better let you get some sleep- I have to-"
"He's not doing so well, Tare." Donna's words come out in a rush, leaving Tara short of breath for some reason, but altogether certain who he is. "Jax, I mean," she adds, uselessly. She waits a moment- a moment in which all the air seems to be draining out of Tara's lungs, leaving her speechless and almost dizzy- before pressing on. "He's been half killing himself trying to pull Ope's shifts and his own, but none of us ever see him unless he's in the garage, headed out on a run, or coming back from one. I… he picked me up to go visit Ope and Jesus, Tara- it looked like he hadn't slept in weeks."
"Don, you know that's part of the reason I-"
"Left him- uh, left Charming. I know." Tara cringes, Donna's choice of words awakening once again that interior monologue she's been trying to drown out since God knows when. "But it's more than the shit he was dealing with before. It's more than the club, more than just Ope... Ever since you left, it's like… Like he's given up, Tara. To hear Gemma tell it, he's surviving on whiskey and weed, but even Gemma doesn't know for sure because he's been sleeping over at the clubhouse and refusing to talk to her. Christ, he's not talking to anyone according to Kozik. Just goes on club runs, goes through the motions, and disappears with a bottle until they need him again."
"Shit." She doesn't know what else to say, really- what the hell can she say when it feels like her heart's being broken all over again?
"Tara-"
"I can't-" Tara blurts out, frantically- the first tears finally escaping and rolling, hot, down her cheeks as she sits up, as if to make Donna understand. "I can't… fix him. I can't help someone that makes me into their world, but then shuts me completely out of it. He's got my whole heart, Donna- I can't remember a time anymore when I didn't love him- but I can't keep letting him be my everything. Not when I can't trust..."
She leaves her thought unfinished- dangling between them, gesturing frantically as if Donna can see her.
"I know, sweetie- I do. Christ, I don't know how you dealt with him shutting you out as long as you did. I'm not saying you can fix him- only Jax can do that, and until he gets his head out of his ass, you have to do this for you. All I'm saying is- maybe you should tell him that. You know how he is- he bottles things up, lets himself stew and drives himself half crazy before he finally unloads. It's just that this time… I dunno. Talk to him, Tara- for both of you."
She'd long since hung up the phone- broken the connection between herself and Charming once again- but it's like she can feel the current still there, buzzing through her veins, leaving her open and vulnerable, exposing all the places she'd been sure the alcohol had closed off earlier tonight. And while she's more sure than ever that leaving had been the right decision- for her-, Tara finds herself suddenly unsure about everything goddamn else. She's torn, between the relief that he doesn't seem to have moved on without her, and the absolute, utter frustration and guilt that he hasn't moved on in any other way, either.
Before she can stop herself- arrive at the same conclusion, make the same decision she'd made dozens of nights before this one- Tara's dialing a number she'd once known better than her own. Waiting as the ringing connects her to the one place in the world she can count on to answer in the middle of the night. She just hopes she's not making a huge mistake.
**A/N – I know, I'm terrible- it's been a long time. I also know that this chapter doesn't bring with it a lot of answers, but it's important to me to show a bit of what life apart is like for them. They're both struggling to move forward- Tara currently a bit more successfully than Jax. However, I think it's usually easier to be the one moving on and experiencing new things than being the one left behind- but that only comes once you work up the courage to make the move in the first place. We'll have to wait until next chapter to see more of how that's going to work out for Jax. It's my hope, with so much more down time, that these will start coming along a bit more quickly- especially as the real juicy stuff starts happening. As always, thanks to Ang R for all her help, and thanks for reading me- please leave a few words and let me know your thoughts.**
