So, a quick clean-up of the timeline is in order.
My two OCs Brianna and Mariah are half-sisters to Opie and lovechildren of Piney and a (currently unknown) lover.
Brianna has just celebrated her high school graduation. Much like Tara, Mariah left Charming at 18 (though Tara left at 19). In the Pilot, Opie and Jax are 31 and Tara has come back after an 11-year absence (at the ripe age of 30).
In my version, the show starts a little earlier, kicking off when Jax and Opie are 27 and Mariah is 25. I needed to tweak their ages a tad because I felt that the age difference between my two OCs needed to be large enough that Mariah could have established herself after college. It wouldn't be in Mariah's character to wait longer than she needed to in order to "rescue" Brianna from SAMCRO and Brianna couldn't very well leave on her own if she was underage.
Opie went to prison for five years, one year after he was patched at the age of twenty and officially reinstated himself into the club a few months prior to Mariah's return.
With that being said, everything else in the show stands. Jax still married Wendy, who is a drug addict and pregnant with Abel. Tara has come back to Charming- though due to the history that took place between Mariah and Jax, their relationship is a bit different. You'll see this later in the story.
My story starts approximately a week before the Pilot- which officially begins in this chapter.
I hope that cleared up any confusion.
If you're looking to set the mood for this chapter, I wrote it to Hellfire by Barns Courtney.
I don't own Sons of Anarchy. I only own my OCs.
"I thought you were just going down to get her, Mariah," Candace pointed out, her voice laced with aggravation. She was muffled through the phone and I could hear the distinct click of a turn signal. Wrinkling my brow, I twirled until my back was to the queen-sized bed, the hotel room spinning in my vision, and collapsed onto it with a grunt.
"Are you driving?" I asked, concerned. Candace, my best friend since sophomore year in university, was notoriously ditzy. Her distracted nature led to more accidents than I could count on one hand. I didn't think there was a single stretch of undented metal on her car. Coupled with a phone call, it wasn't so out of the realm of possibility that she would lose control of the vehicle and send herself careening across traffic like a bat out of Hell.
"Don't change the subject," she scolded and I sighed, throwing my arm over my face. "You've been there for days and I haven't heard a single thing from you. Then you call me, asking me to unlock your door for some movers? You were supposed to be back last weekend- 'in and out' remember?" Hopelessness weighed my shoulders down and, damn if it wasn't possible, I sagged deeper into the mattress.
"She's not going to come, Candace," I whispered, my eyes beginning to ache from the pressure of my arm as stars oozed into existence behind my lids. "I could see it. She was surrounded by everyone and just looking at me like Jesus had just been resurrected. Daddy was there and Ope…"
"What does that have to do with anything, woman?" she demanded and I winced, enveloping my bottom lip into my mouth and sucking like a kid on a teet. "Did you even ask her?" I sat up sharply, releasing my lip with a wet pop.
"No, I didn't fucking ask her," I snapped. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Burna, I know you just graduated and I know you've been surrounded by these people your entire life, but would you like me to haul you out of here forever, never to return?' Be real, I've been gone, Candace! We don't know each other anymore." And that was the crux of the problem. Brianna was happy here. I could see it in her face, the way she belonged to them- with them- so easily. She didn't belong to me anymore. It wasn't us against the world like it used to be. When I left Charming and the Sons, I left Brianna, too. "If I can't… If I can't take her with me, I'll have to stay and watch her the best I can. She'll see, like I did, the damage Charming does to people and I'll be ready to take her then."
"Then just come home and wait for her here," Candace begged softly. "She'll call when she's ready and you can take a flight like a normal human being. You don't have to uproot everything." But I did. Candace could never understand how quickly things went to shit here with what little amount of information she had. I couldn't very well tell her that the dreaded MC I grew up in was really a violent gang. When I first told her about the Sons, she thought it was cool. She'd gotten swept up in the idea of burly men on motorcycles patrolling through the town, the superheroes of Charming. Over time, when my distaste and avoidance of SAMCRO became a regular staple, she read between the lines enough to know nothing about the club was 'cool' or 'sexy'.
"I can't," I said. "I have to be here, just in case. Look, I already put in my notice at the college and the movers will be there tomorrow. It's happening, babes."
"Jesus, did you even think this through?" Candace asked and I could hear her frustration. "Where are you going to work? Where are you going to live?"
"I found a job at City Hall handling their archives," I sighed. "I have the interview next week. It doesn't pay as well as LoneStar, but it'll hold me over until I can meet with the dean at Charming's community college. And there's a lady renting out a house just around the corner from the high school. She didn't even ask for a down payment. I just hand over first month's rent and I'm set." There was silence for a beat or two and I knew that Candace was grasping for anything that might change my mind.
"Just... just be careful, Mariah," she said after a moment. "I don't have a good feeling about any of this."
"I know," I replied, letting my head drop into my free hand. "Hopefully this will be over quick and all I'll have to complain about is how much money I spent moving my shit twice." We spoke a little longer about nothing before we said our goodbyes.
When I crawled into bed that night, it was to the sound of firetrucks.
It turned out moving back to Charming was a lot harder than leaving. When I had packed up on my way out, I had nothing but a box and a suitcase loaded up in my old beat-up truck. I had peeled out of town, leaving every dirty secret and emotional goodbye behind me. I remember that I felt the worry slide off of me the further I got from that little town. Coming back settled over me like a heavy fog, weighing down each breath the longer I remained.
When I pressed the cashier's check into Mrs. Sutter's hands and she, in turn, tucked the keys into my own palm, I could have collapsed with the consequence of what I had done. It was easy to fight the permanence of my return when I had holed up in the bed and breakfast, keeping contact with Daddy and Brianna through texts and brief phone calls. Now that I stood on the porch of my new house, the floorboards creaking under my shifting weight as I battled the urge to turn tail and run, the reality of my situation was smacking me in the face. I was home. The irony that the thought should have been warm but was instead poisoned with fear and rage was not lost on me. I wanted so much to say "fuck all." What was I doing? The significance of that question left me exhausted.
Brianna found me on the bottom step, my arms hanging between my knees and my head bent low in frustration. I didn't look up when she plopped herself beside me but instead kept my attention on the keys dangling from my index finger. With a heavy sigh, she wrapped her thin arm around my shoulders, our skin sticking together uncomfortably from the heat.
"You remember Mary's old sewing machine?" she asked after a moment, her voice light. I shifted, lifting my hands and head to cradle my forehead as I straightened, before dropping my hands again. I sandwiched the keys between my palms as if that would be enough to make them disappear forever.
"The one we melted?" I asked tiredly, not ready to look at her face. Instead, I watched the road, noting the little boy who rode his bike in circles across the pavement and ignoring Daddy perched up in his big black van watching us. Brianna giggled.
"Yeah," she said, tucking her head against my shoulder. "We didn't know that holding the foot pedal down so long would heat it up. You remember what she said?" I glanced at her with a mixture of amusement and bitterness.
"Which part?" I asked, returning my attention to the boy. His helmet wasn't buckled and he could go tumbling at any moment. Someone should really have been watching him. "That we were ungrateful little bitches or that our asses were tanned when Daddy got home?"
"Neither," Brianna chirped, her arm tightening around me despite her chipper voice. "After that, when you told her the only ass being tanned was hers if she didn't get out of my face. Do you remember?" I shook my head, so she went on. "She said that if you were trying to act like Gemma, you were doing a hell of a job. Said you were just as nasty and if you weren't careful you'd wake up one day just as much a heartless whore."
"I'm loving these happy memories, Burna," I said sarcastically, turning to look down at her, but her attention was on the boy as well, her sweet face serene.
"I remember feeling so proud of you in that moment- proud that you were my big sister," she said, ignoring me. "I mean, there you were, scrawny and about as heavy as a leaf. But you were red-faced and squared up so fast when she yelled at me, I thought for sure you were going to hit her right then. And you would have too because she was right; you were just like Gemma." I winced, grinding my teeth but my sister pressed closer to my side, her other hand sliding down to wedge between my clenched hands.
"That's not a good thing, Brianna," I whispered hoarsely, my throat tight, but Brianna was already shaking her head.
"You would have hurt her just because she was making me cry- just to protect me- and if that's a bad thing, I don't want anything good." I swallowed thickly, preparing to point out just why she shouldn't want that bad thing. That it would kill her eventually, kill them all, but she wasn't done. "I don't know why you left, you never told me, but you know what you did say?"
"That I'd come back," I whispered immediately.
"That you'd come back for me," she corrected, finally pulling away from me, her caramel eyes serious as she stared at my face. "That you'd come back for me and you'd protect me. But you left, Mar, and I was sure I had to figure out how to protect myself while you were gone. Only I didn't have to. I had Gemma, Clay, Daddy, and Jax. I had Donna and Tig and Bobby and Chibs and when Opie got out, I had him too. And all I could think while you were gone was who did you have?"
"What's your point?" I asked, beating back my frustration. I felt her return her head to my shoulder, squeezing her hand around the keys and my fingers.
"When you came back, you were just the same," she said and I watched as the boy rode his bike up his driveway, parking it by his porch. "You were ready to come in kicking and screaming and hitting- you had that same Gemma look you wore when you were twelve years old ready to lay Mary on her ass. But I don't need you to come back to protect me, Mariah. I just need you to come back. You belong here because nowhere knows you like Charming knows you. No one else knows you like we know you."
What could I say to that? She'd confirmed everything I already knew: that she didn't want to leave and she wanted me to stay. Molding my life around her, even when she wasn't there to see it, what could I do except exactly what she asked of me? I was ashamed that part of me wanted to scream at her, to shake her silly and tell her that Charming would chew up her love and spit it back in her face. That nothing good that came from Charming stayed that way and if she didn't get out now, she'd be bitter and hateful like her sister. The women in SAMCRO never made it out unscathed. They bit their tongues and suffered in silence until there was nothing left to suffer for.
Disgustingly, I felt jealous, too. I spent the last seven years of my life working toward a singular goal with only her in mind. Sure, I dated and made friends. I went out on the weekends and drank until I couldn't see straight, but I worked as well. I spent long hours shelving canned foods, wrote papers well into the morning light, and lived on practically nothing to make sure that when she came home with me, there was something worth giving her. I sculpted everything with her in mind. There was no serious relationships, no spontaneous decisions. Something innately selfish within me resented she didn't need to do the same; her life here was fulfilling for her. She was happy and, like some creature that lived off the suffering of others, I wanted her to grow to hate Charming as much as I did.
Or maybe you just hate what it reminds you of. I jerked away from that thought immediately. No. It was Charming and SAMCRO.
I didn't say any of that, though. Instead, I settled my cheek against the top of her head and clenched my eyes closed. Even when my warring emotions ran through me, I couldn't deny the relief that came with having her in reach.
"Hey," Daddy called from the van and when I looked to him, his head was out of the open window and his expression made my heart jump in my chest. Brianna moved to attention, straightening from her relaxed position against me. "We gotta go to the hospital." I wanted to say all I saw was Ope, but I couldn't hide the sinking dread it was someone else. We both jumped to our feet and I was running to my car, throwing the door open. I snatched my purse and slammed the door shut. I made it to the van just as Brianna was rolling the door open for me. Daddy squealed off the curb before I slid it shut.
"Is it Opie, Daddy?!" I asked, the panic making my voice shake. I was perched on the edge of the seat, my knee bouncing as I watched him drive. I had braced my hands on the front seat. Before he could answer, Brianna's cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and answered with a no-nonsense, clipped tone.
"Hey." If I had a moment where I wasn't imagining the absolute worst, I would have been amazed at the way her entire demeanor changed- like a girl who had done this a hundred times before. Looking at the state of my father, I wouldn't have been surprised.
"Yeah, we're on our way there." A pause. "Oh God, was no one watching her?!" Her? Gemma? I couldn't wonder for long because Brianna was snapping into the phone. "I'm not her freaking keeper, Tig. Is the baby okay?" There were a few more snippets exchanged, but I was at a loss. What I did know was that it wasn't Jax- Opie. It wasn't Opie. And it probably wasn't Gemma. Donna? Brianna hung up her phone and growled loudly.
"Fucking Wendy," she hissed, shoving her phone back in her pocket.
"Hey, language," Daddy said, but he didn't look genuinely bothered. It came off more a habit than anything else. However, I wasn't paying much attention. Wendy. Wendy Case? Wendy fucking Case. A familiar rage bubbled in my stomach, but I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep it from spewing out.
"Gemma found her unconscious at the house," Brianna continued, ignoring the halfhearted reprimand. "Apparently she was laying in her own sick. They think she OD'd. They have to do an emergency c-section."
"Now?" my dad asked. "It's too early."
"Yep," she replied, her voice tight, but she didn't say anything else. I didn't miss the way Daddy glanced at me through the rearview mirror. It didn't matter. I sat back in the seat hard, my hands no longer shaking with panic, but with something else. Something sore and vile. So Wendy was on drugs and pregnant no less and while that was a terrible thing, it didn't escape my notice we were rushing to the hospital for her. Tig was calling my sister over Wendy Case and we were rushing to the hospital for her. The implications were almost too much to bear.
When we pulled up at the hospital, I could barely make myself get out of the van. Stubbornly, I wanted to cling to the idea that Wendy had latched onto someone else- became another man's old lady- but Gemma found her, which meant Gemma went looking for her. I knew from experience that Gemma hated Wendy almost as much as I did far before I did. Daddy pulled me out of my internal thoughts by stepping in front of me when I pushed out of the van. When Brianna stopped walking, he shook his head.
"Go ahead, Sugar, we'll follow you," he assured her, his gravelly voice reassuring as he gave her a crooked smile. She watched us a moment more before she obeyed, turning on her heel to rush toward the sliding doors. I swallowed thickly as I watched her go, not quite ready to meet my dad's eyes when I knew my fury was written for all to see.
"Wendy Case?" I asked, hoping he'd say no, hoping he'd tell me it was another Wendy in that hospital- one I never met. One I didn't grow up with and paint my nails with and attend homecoming with. One that hadn't been my best friend.
"Yeah," he admitted. I brought my eyes to his and inhaled deeply, controlling the shake in my hands by clenching my fists around the strap of my purse. It was fucking rich. Daddy snapped his fingers in my face when I looked away, jaw tight, bringing my attention back to him and not the rolling in my stomach. "Hey, listen to me. Whatever it is, whatever's going through your head, you need to shove it down deep. Let it lie. That's Jax's baby in there and that's Gemma's grandkid. The last thing anyone needs right now is you going in there to raise Hell, you hear me?" He stared at me sternly, his pointer finger still in my face and, had it been anyone else, the temptation to bite that bitch right off would have been overpowering. Instead, I forced my teeth to unclench and I felt the moment my face shuttered.
"Nothings going through my head, Daddy," I said, meeting his gaze with my own steely look. He studied me quietly, his eyes roaming my face for any sign otherwise. When he was satisfied, he wrapped his arms around my head and tucked me against his chest quickly.
"Don't let 'em see nothing, Baby," he muttered into my hair and I closed my eyes. I could do that. I was good at that, wasn't I? He released me just as quickly and we were off, going at his limping pace.
It was like it happened in slow motion. As we approached, the doors slid open, and there was Jax, his expression so black that I pitied whoever met it. Chibs and Bobby flanked him as he moved, a man on a mission, toward the parking lot. We stepped to the side, Daddy throwing his hand out to stop me from moving and getting bowled over. He called out to Jax, but Jackson didn't acknowledge him. We watched as all three of them threw their legs over their bikes like synchronized dancers. When Jax fitted his helmet over his head, buckling the clip under his chin, our eyes met for a moment and I could swear his rage grew in that single look.
And then they were gone, their roaring engines ripping down the road like beasts on the prowl.
"Shit," Daddy hissed, but he didn't go after them. Instead, he ushered me to the doors. "Come on."
Gemma was sitting in the waiting room of the ICU, her hand wrapped tightly around my sister's, who was whispering rapidly in her ear. Gemma's lips were pursed so tight, her lipstick was creasing. When she saw me, both of us stared. I was hesitant, swaying on my feet as I tried to figure out what to do. It was only when she lifted her hand out to me did I move. I lifted my own hand as I walked, sliding my palm into hers when I was close enough. I sat my purse at my feet when I settled on her other side. It didn't matter that I had been gone for so long that new wrinkles had formed on her face. It didn't matter that it was Wendy and it didn't matter that it was Jax. It didn't matter that my anger and my hurt threatened to consume me whole. All that mattered at that moment was that I could feel the shake in Gemma's hand and I could hear Brianna's hushed words of reassurance, so reminiscent of the comfort Gemma had offered us a million times as little girls. I pressed my forehead into Gemma's temple, swallowing against the empathy that threatened to close my throat. Brianna's own head fell forward, sandwiching Gemma's skull, and she pulled her hands from ours to press them into the back of our heads.
It felt like it had been hours by the time Daddy and Brianna dropped me off at my empty, yet-to-be-explored house. I was too tired to stutter over going inside, already so emotionally drained that it felt juvenile to be indecisive over opening a damn door. The monotony of pulling my suitcase from the car (along with a bag that held a brand new comforter set) was a welcome change to the charged atmosphere at the hospital. I had just stepped out of the shower, using a sleep shirt to dry my skin, when someone knocked on the door.
"Just a minute," I called loudly, hoping it would carry, and rushed to toss the damp shirt over my head. I hopped toward the door, shoving my feet through a pair of latex shorts. I didn't stop to think who could be banging on my door at this hour before I pulled it open and froze. Jax was leaning against the door, his wrist just above his head and pressing into the frame. He held a bottle of Jack Daniels loosely in his hand, a sad little smile on his face. In his other was a plastic white bag. His face was red and bruised, little cuts standing prominently against the curve of his high cheekbone.
"Christ, what happened to you?" I asked before I remembered that he shouldn't be here, at my door with a bottle of Jack. He shrugged and wiggled the bottle.
"Drink?" he asked, his voice low. He sounded as tired as I felt and I pushed my wet hair away from my face with a weary sigh. I didn't have it in me at the moment to throw a fit, but I also didn't have it in me to fight with him. If his face was anything to go by, neither did he so I didn't understand why he was here at all.
"I don't have any cups," I said.
"Do we need 'em?" he asked, arching his brow and I wanted to demand to know how he was anything less than a wreck right now considering his lady was in a coma and his baby was up for heart surgery, but I didn't. I had a feeling bringing that up wouldn't go too well.
"I don't have a couch," I said instead and he shrugged again, his broad shoulders lifting and falling in such sluggish way, I couldn't help the pity that bubbled in my chest. Sighing again, I pushed my door wide, stepping aside to let him in. I shut the door and turned around, leaning heavily against it as I watched him peruse the empty space.
"Shit isn't here yet?" he asked, setting his bag and booze on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. He didn't turn to face me, but preoccupied himself with unloading his grocery bag- it was more alcohol.
"It'll be here Friday," I answered, unnerved that we filled the silence with small-talk rather than our usual spitting and howling. I wasn't willing to break this tentative peace, however, and opted to satisfy a different curiosity. "How'd you know where I was?"
"Asked your sister," he said, finally turning to rest the small of his back against the counter, bracing his hands at his sides in a way that flared his cut like wings around his waist. I crossed my arms over my chest, tucking my fists against my ribs when he looked at me. He worked his tongue in his mouth, pressing it against the flesh of his cheek so I could see it bulge through the skin before he tilted his head back, blinking rapidly. "I don't know what I'm doing here."
"That makes two of us," I said quietly, eyeing him with trepidation. Whatever it was, I knew I wouldn't like it, whiskey be damned. Jackson sighed, pushing his calloused fingers through the length of his hair, the strands clumping together in a way that hinted it would turn oily soon if he didn't get his ass in a shower. Then he hung his head.
"She took up crank about two years after… about five years ago," he said finally, keeping his eyes on my carpet. I was silent. I wanted to say I didn't want to talk about Wendy, but that was a lie, so I said nothing at all. "Started with a hit here and there, from what I understand, but one thing led to another and she couldn't go through her day without it. Then she couldn't make it a few hours." He lifted his head, refusing to meet my gaze, and turned around, putting his back to me. Jax picked up the bottle, unscrewing the top and tossing it onto the counter with a light clatter. He took a swig and I tried to fight my impatience at his procrastination, at this situation in its entirety. When he spoke again, his voice was tight.
"She was in and out of rehab," he said, letting the bottle hang at his side and I was mesmerized because, suddenly, he sounded so sad. "She needed the help, didn't have anyone else- not anymore. Felt like it was my fault, you know? Her being alone like that. So I stuck around. I tried to help her kick the habit. And it was good, you know, when she was clean. It wasn't mind-blowing or anything, but it was good and I needed a little good in my life." He scoffed and I hugged my middle tighter like I could keep the words I wanted to say inside of me where they couldn't snap the already fragile ambiance. It didn't work.
"So you married her," I stated, surprising myself that it came out less bitter than how it felt inside. Jax stiffened, relaxing only enough to take another draw from the bottle's lip. Then he turned again to lock in his stare on my face.
"Yeah," he agreed. "I married her." The words hung between us for a moment like a challenge before he continued. "But she kept going back to it and things got… less good. Got downright ugly. We tried again after I found out about-" he stopped, drawing in a deep breath and my chest twinged. "-about the baby, but we knew it wasn't going to work. So I had the papers drawn up and… I don't know, maybe it made her…" I clenched my jaw and pushed off from the door, taking a single step toward him.
"No one made Wendy do anything she didn't want to do, Jackson," I said sharply, my lip lifting in disdain when I said her name.
"Yeah, but how would you know that, Mariah?" he returned, just as pointed, and I pressed my lips together as his voice rose. "How would you know that when you weren't even here to see it play out?"
"Tell me what I was supposed to do then," I challenged, forgetting to let it lie like Daddy said. I knew Jackson was lashing out and he didn't need this. I didn't need it either, but I couldn't curb my desire to rise against the accusation. "Was I supposed to turn a blind eye? Pretend it hadn't happened? Or was I supposed to stay here and watch? Maybe I could have been Maid of Honor at what should have been my wedding." My voice turned mocking. "We could have spent her bachelorette party getting my tattoo blacked out."
"It wouldn't have happened like this at all if you hadn't left," he threw back at me, marching up so vehemently that whiskey sloshed over the tip of the bottle and splattered against the carpet.
"Oh, because my leaving was such a pivotal moment for you, Jackson-" I cut myself off, dropping my fists to my sides and inhaling deeply. My voice was rigid when I resumed, but it was a far cry from the venom I knew I had been close to spewing. "This isn't my fault, Jax, and you know that." His shoulders sagged, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came and his chin dropped to his chest as he took a shuddering breath.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted quietly. It was the sight of his rapid breaths, so distressed, that broke me. I closed the distance between us, laying my hand against his arm.
"I don't think anyone knows how to do what you're going through, Jax," I murmured gently. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat to the room as he looked to the ceiling, avoiding my eyes- or maybe he was praying. I didn't know. "But you have help and you don't have to do it by yourself." Clenching his jaw, he straightened his neck out to look down at me, his eyes moving over my face like he was looking for something. He must have found it, because he gave a miniscule nod and lifted his hand to cup my face. It was immediate, the way his touch lit my skin on fire. Anger, sadness, sympathy, all of it blanked out like white noise as I watched his face descend towards mine. When his lips touched my cheek in a slow, gentle kiss, my eyes slid shut and I inhaled, drawing in the smell of his shampoo and something distinctly masculine.
I didn't open my eyes when he pulled away. I didn't open them until I heard my front door open and I whipped around, my wet hair falling over my shoulder with my momentum, just in time to see the skull on the back of his cut strike an intimidating picture in the faint light of my front porch. He shut the door behind him with a soft click.
When the roar of his bike sounded outside, I released the breath I had been holding and sank down to the floor, pressing my forehead into my knees.
Tada! I know, another 5k words, can you believe it?
Please keep in mind that all my stories have no beta, so if this is riddled with mistakes despite my religious proofreading, I apologize. It's all my fault.
Remember to review, favorite, and follow. It gives me life.
Xoxo El.