**I own nothing you recognize**
The breeze rustles the leaves of the graceful old willow, sending spots of moonlight floating around them… but all Jax can see is her, resting her forehead on his and gazing down at him through her thick lashes, those big green eyes darkening as a beautiful smile graces her lips.
"What?" he can't help but ask, grinning back up at her- because he can't not, not when she's looking at him this way. She doesn't answer- at least not right away, just turns her head slightly so she can graze his cheek with those soft pink lips, trailing warm breath along his skin until she reaches her destination. Then, she's whispering in his ear, setting off the chain reaction that had been unavoidable practically ever since her return from San Diego when he was sixteen.
Jax can no more stop himself from succumbing to it than he can the moon from shifting in the heavens above them. He drags his mouth to hers, basking in her soft, swollen heat as he threads his fingers in the warmth of her hair. His tongue finds hers just as her delicate, surgeon's hands find his jaw, stroking the soft edges of his whiskers and pulling him subtly towards her. All mirth slides away- replaced by reverence as he breathes her in and pours his soul into hers, infusing the promises he still hadn't figured out how to keep into every last stroke of his tongue, every last brush of his lips; accepting the ones she still doesn't know how to give with every press of her hips. Somehow, though, as her fingers trail down his chest, it's not enough; everything he knows, everything she makes him feel threatens to burst from within him, as if it's not real until it's there in the tiny amount of space between then… until she knows. Suddenly frantic to tell her, stop himself from making the same mistakes he'd made one too many times before, Jax tears his mouth from hers, pausing momentarily to note the glazed desire and confusion in her eyes but only so he can give her his word.
"I love you, Tara."
Llove he's sure he doesn't deserve glows in her eyes, renewed. Without hesitation, pain, or any of the confliction he'd seen there the last time he'd told her- without him having to ask for a response this time- she's already speaking, her voice a soft whisper in the darkness.
"I love you, Jackson."
Before he has time to dread what might be coming next, she's skimming the gauzy camisole over her head and sending it sailing off into the night, ignoring his hands, which are already trailing up her sides, heading for their ultimate destination at the front clasp of her lacy bra. Instead, she chooses to tilt her mouth toward his, waiting until she's a breath away before whispering again- this time against his lips. "Now, love me-"
Jax jerks awake, eyes flying open only to rest on the empty spot on the clubhouse apartment's bed he still habitually reserves for her, mocking him with its emptiness. Really, it's as if his goddamn dream is what's mocking him- setting up some poor simulation of them, and then yanking it away once again, dragging back the familiar ache in his chest he'd unsuccessfully been chasing away since she'd left. He closes his eyes against the moonlight- so stark compared to the gentle glow that had surrounded them in his dream- desperate to recapture the moment he'd lost, all too willing to sink back into a fantasy world if only it included her. She'd been begging him to love her, only she'd never really had to beg at all. He'd reach up, release the clasp between her breasts, bury himself in the baby-soft skin there, breathing in her scent until-
Groaning, he rolls over, away from the looming empty space- the persistent quivering of his dick reminding him of what else he'd been trying to recapture while simultaneously reassuring him that no matter how vivid, dream Tara doesn't have shit on the real thing. Seizing the unfamiliar bottle on his bedside table next to the alarm clock currently glaring 3:48 AM, he glances at the label- the fuck is Old Crow- before tilting it to his lips and draining the last dregs. Wincing at the burn and willing away the throbbing at the base of his skull in addition to the one between his legs, he reluctantly rolls to the edge of the bed to sit up, having learned all too well these past weeks that neither rest nor his girl would return.
Except… this is the first time she'd come to him in a dream- at least like this. Sure, he'd been plagued with visions of her turning away from him: climbing into the Cutlass and driving away without a second glance, or gazing at him regretfully before turning to rest her head on her new boyfriend's shoulder- the one who'd made time for her and sure as hell didn't have a group of outlaws guiding his future.
Shaking his head as if to rid it of those thoughts- though all that does is intensify the blistering headache he feels coming on, Jax refocuses, intent on figuring out just what's different about this particular dream. She'd been loving him, and happy- fucking blissful if he had to find a word for it-that's the main thing. And they'd been under the willow- under their tree, in their spot. It's the place he'd always been able to find the real Tara, show her the real him without fear of distraction or interruption- without the rest of the world creeping in.
Really, if she ever comes back to him, it's the one place he knows she'd go now that her apartment, the clubhouse- and anywhere Gemma is- are off the table. He tries, without much success, to ignore the seed of light that's just implanted itself into his chest. He doesn't believe in signs- hasn't since the last sign he thought he'd been sent had left nothing but an empty apartment and a goddamn letter behind- but… Christ, that dream…
Suddenly, he's bolting up off the edge of the bed, dizziness from the previous night's revelry draining away as he's filled with…. Well, something. Something is driving him as he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans and plucks a t-shirt off the chest near the bed. Something has him jamming his feet into his Nikes and snatching up the hoodie and smokes he'd dropped onto the dresser top when he'd stumbled in here last night. And something has him rifling through his duffel bag for the familiar, small gift-wrapped box- before he realizes he hasn't seen it since he'd sauntered into Tara's apartment weeks ago intent on smoothing things over.
Whatever it is- a half-crazed attempt to re-enter the dream he'd been unwillingly dragged from, a foolish hope at an infinitesimal shot he's got that somehow this really had been a sign and she's there and dreaming about him- it has him grabbing his bike keys and his journal, and shouldering the door open, locking his misery and his kutte behind him.
Leaving the clubhouse is easier than he'd anticipated, even at going on four on a Sunday morning; apparently, everyone had either crept home to sleep off the booze from Saturday night or simply passed out in place- Jax doesn't know whether to laugh or cringe as he creeps past a half-dressed Bobby, dead to the world on the pool table, his arm around a redhead who's decidedly not Precious… so he does both. Reaching the relative freedom of the lot, he halts only to shove a cigarette between his lips and light it, sucking the poison down like he's been doing it his whole life- which he practically had until she'd returned and he'd found himself an even better vice… one with a pull so strong, he'd had no choice but to sink into its sweet oblivion. Now that she's been ripped away from him, it's like all his other demons have been lining up to take her place.
At first, Jax lets the Dyna go where it wills, seemingly following its whims at random as he prowls the streets of Charming, uncaring that the low rumble of his bike is probably waking the good citizens, unsure still whether he's escaping or chasing his memories. Past the cafe, the school, the clinic and her apartment, unable to avoid her ghost even on the one goddamn road that will take him out this side of town. It ceases to matter once his bike hits the blacktop at the edge of town- the one that turns to gravel at the edge of the Wahewa reservation- and he allows himself once again to focus on the thoughts that the ride hadn't been able to chase away. He can't help it- can't help the sliver of irrational hope that sets itself up somewhere deep inside the thrumming vibrations the Dyna's sending through his body any more than he can help the desperate edge the ride takes once his inevitable destination is in close proximity.
As the bike bumps down the soft dirt path like it had every other time he'd been out here, he can't keep himself from wondering if the twisting tightness in his chest is dreadful anticipation, or simply the family flaw, come to claim him at last. And when he reaches their tree, Jax barely bothers to release the center stand before sliding his leg off the seat and nearly dropping the bike in the dirt in his haste to push through the graceful branches that shelter its heart. Stopping dead, gazing at what he finds there, he's pretty sure that feeling in his heart is the goddamn family flaw.
It must be- that's the only explanation he can find for the painful seizing thing it seems to be doing now as he takes in the deserted haven beneath the tree. Bracing a hand against the trunk, he lowers himself to the earth, all the exhaustion, dizziness, and emptiness he'd pushed away earlier in the clubhouse rushing back until he's not confident his legs will hold him. Closing his eyes, he ignores the pain and tries to grasp at the last bits of her that filter through him from the dream- already not as vivid, but just as devastating. She slips away again, just as she had in his previous visions of her- and although he wants nothing more than to follow her somehow, he slips instead into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
Hours later, the sun breaks over the horizon- cracking, brutally, through the slits of Jax's eyelids and dragging him reluctantly back into consciousness. Pressing back against the willow's trunk in a feeble attempt to stretch his aching muscles, he grimaces- already regretting every last swallow of the whiskey that now taints the back of his throat. Reaching for his cigarettes, he lights one, closing his eyes and sinking into his thoughts again as the smoke seems to clear away everything but the hurt. It's as if his brain can't stop- like the only way to turn it off is the complete oblivion he'd found only in the booze and the road… though, now, it's looking like neither of those are good enough anymore. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he tries once more to rid himself of the lingering effects seeing her so close- so real- had had on him; it's only- what had she said to him once? The noise doesn't matter? His head's been so full of fucking noise these past couple months, he can think of only one other way to get it to stop.
The notebook's almost full, probably owing to the fact that his drunken scrawl is about twice as big as his regular, messy handwriting. Still, he doesn't bother to read what he'd written during those late-night sessions he can't seem to dredge up memories of- doesn't know if he even wants to. Instead, he flips to the first available fresh page, digs a pencil out of his pocket, and waits.
Waits for the familiar urge to strike, for the words to start flowing onto the page- along with all the shit that's had him locked in his head and attempting to drown himself in whiskey. When that doesn't happen, he forces it- does something his Memoirs instructor had cautioned them against doing, warning against writing a journal to an audience instead of from the heart.
Without Tara, I'm
He's…. Fucking what, exactly?
A Brother? A Son?
He's probably been a goddamn shitty excuse for a Brother lately; Piney can't even look at him- which is probably for the best, since Jax doubts he's going to have anything good to say when he finally deigns to speak to him. Kozik and Chibs have settled for sympathetic silence, for the most part, and he'd shut down any attempt to broach anything outside of the necessities. Christ, even Tig's been giving him a wide berth, lately.
God knows he hadn't been much of a brother to Trinity recently, either- a fact that's been niggling since his father had casually mentioned some family dinner Gemma's throwing this week. He'd said Trini would love to see him, they all would… And that's where Jax had cut him off, certain he wasn't in any shape to play big brother, probably wouldn't be any time soon.
As a Son, he likely isn't faring much better; sure, he'd thrown himself into the club when Ope went inside as well as in the weeks after- and he's still doing what he can to make up for his friend's absence. But goddamn, it's hard to lose himself in the club when he's lost in his own fucking head. As it is, he's pretty sure that without the long rides followed up by copious amounts of Jim, Jack or whatever whiskey- Irish, Scotch, bourbon or otherwise- happened to be on hand, he'd have found himself on the club's shit list already… And he's quickly realizing that he can barely bring himself to care.
And as a son? The fact that he's been alternately shutting down his father's attempts to talk about anything beyond the absolutely necessary club shit and dodging his mother altogether, well… he's pretty sure they're ready to stage an a goddamn intervention- Gemma, for sure. He hasn't gone this long without talking to her since before he learned how to talk; not even the days after the truth had come out about her associations with Clay could compare.
Now, he's been attempting to come to grips with everything he feels- for her, without her- for the better part of a month, and staring at this first sober fragment of a sentence for at least fifteen fucking minutes. Mostly because he's still got no goddamn clue what the fuck he is without her.
Jax sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before tossing the notebook onto the grass at his hip. The pencil, he lets dangle from his fingers until it slips away, bouncing off his knee and rolling, slowly; he watches it a moment until it jolts down a notch onto the notebook before disappearing into thick green below. He makes no move to retrieve it.
Jax takes another deep drag, pulls until his lungs burn and his eyes sting- until the ash droops and the cherry flares dangerously close to the filter- then, resisting the urge to stub out the cigarette on the offending page, he flicks the butt away into the lush expanse of grass to join the half a pack that had preceded it. Christ, at this rate, he should probably just raid JT's carton… and while he's at it, find his father's stack of notebooks and get a fresh one- start over.
Just like she did.
The buzzing of the pager at his hip provides a momentary- frankly, welcome- distraction from the frustrated circles he's been turning in his head, and he tilts it up so he can glimpse the digital readout, smiling despite himself at the familiar number that flashes up at him from the screen. It's the first phone number he'd memorized other than his own, one he'd dialed hundreds of times in his lifetime, and one that's still notated in Gemma's bold script on the list above the phone in the Teller kitchen
Winston House
It's time.
Donna's waiting on the front steps when Jax slows to a halt in front of the familiar house, chewing a nail thoughtfully, her denim-covered legs tucked behind her. The corner of his mouth kicks up as she shoots to her feet the moment he gets off the Dyna, and he can't help teasing her just a little as he heads up the driveway, thankful that at least something feels normal.
"Lookin' pretty eager there, Darlin'." Jax tilts his chin up, pastes a smirk on his lips as he watches the same bloom on his friend's. "You waitin' for me?" Donna's never been susceptible to the Teller charm and they've both always known it; in fact, she's always given him even more shit than Opie, ribbing him when he'd give Gemma the trademark grin that usually got him what he wanted, scoffing good-naturedly when he weaseled his way out of assignments and detentions- and into his girl's good graces. And so, she smirks, rolls her eyes for Jax's benefit and punches him in the shoulder for good measure before wrapping her arms around him in greeting. He, too, squeezes tight, sobering momentarily until Donna's words come, muffled against his chest.
"In your dreams, Teller." Jax's laughter rumbles from his chest and across his lips- and even as the thought enters his mind that it sounds strange, almost foreign to his ears, the reason hits him. He hasn't had cause to laugh since she'd left, despite all the people who've tried to jostle him around, joke with him, and drag him back into the land of the living. He's deciding just how he feels about this revelation when, evidently sensing his introspection, Donna draws back- her eyes scanning his appearance quickly before resting on his own, now alight with faintly-held concern.
"Jesus, Jax," Donna whispers, her mouth twisting into an expression he can only label as sympathetic- even though it's the same one he's watched come and go on the face of practically everyone in his life these past weeks. She reaches up and tucks a knuckle under his chin, tilting it up and studying him a moment before smiling, sadly. "You look like shit."
"Thanks a lot Don," Jax replies sardonically, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Guess I figured since there's no sense in lookin' like jailbait in the fuckin' ja-"
"Jax…" Donna's voice is soft, but chiding, and Jax groans inwardly. Apparently, she's not buying his shit any more than anyone else. "You don't have to… do this- not with me." And suddenly, for the first time since everything had happened, the whole chain reaction that had started with Ope's arrest, Jax realizes he's looking at the one person who understands what it's like to lose your everything. He just can't decide whether the thought's a tremendous relief- or fucking terrifying.
Either way, Jax figures he's got the entire ride down to Stockton to figure it out. Suddenly anxious to hurry this along however he can, he tosses an arm over her shoulder and shoots her another smile- a genuine one this time- and she relents, seems to accept his teasing for the momentary reprieve from this fucked up situation that it is.
"C'mon, Darlin'- visiting hours start at ten; let's get on the road. "
Near forty minutes later, they're rattling down old 88 in Ope's ancient pickup, nearing halfway to Dogtown, and settling easily into a companionable silence with that new Foo Fighters song pouring from the cracked speakers. It's always been easy, surface-level friendship between he and Donna, Jax reflects- mostly because they'd always had their other halves around to serve as a distraction- but also partially because Donna's just so… Donna.
Ever since Opie had nervously introduced them to the shy brunette that first night, Donna had turned out to be a complete breath of fresh air where all three of them were concerned. She'd pretty much ignored the way the whole goddamn town, and especially the women, seemed to treat Jax- like he was already some sort of biker King- and made a joke of it instead. She'd taken the news about the shady business the club was involved in, in stride- at least, as much as Ope had wanted to tell her. He knew she'd served as Tara's sounding board throughout his own worst moments, been there to temper the often overwhelming presence that was his mother… and she'd done it all with a sweet smile that warmed those sparkling gray eyes and made you feel better, calmer, in her presence.
That ease, the friendliness- it's here today, too, helped along by the sun streaming in through the windows, the way Donna kicks off her shoes and rests her feet on the dash, and especially the way she hasn't pressed him for details about Tara… and for a moment, it's easy to forget why they're here and who's not here with them. Easy to convince himself they're maybe headed to meet up with Ope on his way back from Mary's, that Tara's following in the Cutlass, that they'll pull off at that same deserted state park they had their junior year and… Unbidden, the aching hollow in his chest returns, despite the relative good mood that had set upon him earlier.
Jesus. Even the good things haunt him these days… The memories of the sunny afternoon and of the four of them lazing beneath the huge oaks and getting pleasantly, fantastically stoned… of Donna shrieking as Ope tossed her into the ice cold lake… of his love resting her head in his lap in the back of the Cutlass after she'd agreed to let Opie drive them home. The way her eyes had slowly fluttered open after she'd dozed off briefly, then alighted on his own, so filled with contentment, love, and just pure fucking happiness. It's the exact moment he'd realized what he'd be willing to do to keep that look there forever.
He may not have been an actual criminal yet, but in that moment it had become suddenly, startlingly clear that his innate capacity for rage- for mayhem and destruction- could just as easily find an outlet in anyone that fucked with Tara as it could in some hypothetical enemy of SAMCRO. It had all been so simple at the time; the men in his life had killed, most of them- some to stay out of prison, others as retaliation for something equally as fucked-up and brutal, still others in self defense. His own father, he knew, in a way had killed for all of these before he'd eventually begun leading his brothers down a path that would hopefully take mayhem off the table for those that came after them. But in that moment, Jax had looked into those soft green eyes, shining in that way they did when she was too high, too exhausted, or too overcome with ecstasy or desire to bring to words what she felt for him, and had been flooded with certainty that he'd be willing to kill for love… for her. If it came down to it, he could take out anyone that would try to separate them- or worse, hurt her. And now, Jax has to close his eyes for a moment against the sharp blade that is the realization that the one to do both those things, in the end, had been himself.
When he opens them an instant later, it's to hone in on the road ahead and blindly reach towards the seat next to him to fish a cigarette out of the pack he'd tossed there when they left the Winston house. It nudges away from his grasp, too light- empty, save for the Zippo he keeps in there when the pack is running low. Shit. He'd been burning through smokes at an alarming rate ever since she'd left, outpacing even his mother, who'd been a pack a day smoker long before he'd picked up his first Marlboro. This, he knows because the only two places on the whole goddamn lot you can't smoke are the T-W office- some rule about not exposing paying customers to a cloud of smoke that he's about a thousand percent sure hadn't been Gemma's idea- and in the bays themselves.
As a result, Gemma usually smokes leaned up against the office door- probably in defiance of whoever had made the rule years ago. Anyone in a T-W workshirt, however, is relegated to the picnic table someone had dragged over to the dead space along the south side of the clubhouse, and he'd spent more of his recent smoke breaks than he can count in some sort of silent confrontation with his mother- loser looks away first. Only, he'd been avoiding her gaze- hell, her comfort, her anger, her everything else- and is more than happy to give his mother the win if it means she'll leave him the hell alone.
There's a nudge against Jax's hand, still resting on the middle portion of the bench seat; Donna, proffering her own near-empty pack of cigarettes- Opie's brand. She's eyeing him cautiously- Christ, he's got to get out of his head. Today can't be easy for her even though they both seem to have found a rare bit of comfort in their easy friendship. He cranks the window down a crack and lights up, stealing a glance at the passenger side of Ope's truck.
The glove box is hanging open, its contents threatening to spill onto the floorboards below, and Donna's still shooting him that look, almost like she had in the driveway nearly an hour ago now- the one that has him wondering how much he's letting on that he's dangerously close to losing his shit even in the best of times. Regardless, it's clear she's got something on her mind and Jax asks the powers that be for forgiveness in advance, because he's about to launch a preemptive strike and press one of those issues… the one that doesn't lead them down the road towards his own fucking problems.
"So, uh… Piney said you heard from Ope Sunday…" Jax cringes inwardly at the lame-ass question, so obviously an attempt at avoidance since he already knows the answer. Donna rolls her eyes and returns her gaze to the highway.
"No shit, Sherlock- it's why we're headed to Stockton." Her mouth twists into a smirk a moment later and by the time she's snickering at him, Jax is rolling his eyes himself and tossing an empty styrofoam cup her way. She dodges it and flips him the middle finger, an actual, real smile gracing her lips.
"I know that… ass," Jax snarks, "But…" he pauses, hating the way the air in the cab changes as they both sober, the smile sliding from her face, momentary reprieve gone all too quickly. "How- how'd he sound? He doin' okay?" And it's a fair question, even though they are- theoretically, at least- about to see for themselves. The reality is, though, that Ope had kept most of his inner turmoil at losing his sponsor, what he perceived as failing one of the First Nine, and especially the whole scheme cooked up by Otto and Luann, close to the vest- at least as far as Jax is concerned. That stoic motherfucker sure as hell isn't going to reveal much during the hour Jax has to visit with him in a goddamn room full of guards and felons that he already hadn't in the months preceding his arrest. Distractedly, Donna shrugs, picking at the hem of her jeans and shifting her feet closer to the window.
"I don't know, Jax…" she murmurs, finally. "I mean- he sounded just like- like, Opie, you know?
Like he always did when you guys were on a run and he'd call to say goodnight and I love you. It was so easy to fool myself that that's what was happening- that he was up in some SAMCRO clubhouse in Tacoma or Arizona… Except-" Donna pauses, briefly, clears her throat, and Jax knows all too well from experience how fucking hard it is to talk when you feel like you've got a goddamn bowling ball lodged in your throat. "Except when he had to get off the phone, I just couldn't fool myself anymore, you know? Instead of you or Koz coming to tell him it's time to go, or Tig giving him shit about being in the back and on the phone instead of out at the party…" Donna's voice hardens, "It's a fucking recorded voice, telling us we've got one minute left."
Jax nods, shooting Donna a sympathetic look; like it or not, he's got some experience with having a loved one in prison, and he knows firsthand just how shitty it is to have anyone telling you just how long you could talk, how closely you could stand, how much you could touch.
"Most of the times my dad was inside, I was just a kid," Jax muses, "so all I remember is the guards standin' there during our contact visits, just waitin' for him to put one finger outta line. His second or third bid that I remember, he missed Tommy's birth. Christ, he didn't even get a contact visit until a month before he got out- I think shit kept goin' down behind the scenes-" Glancing at Donna, he breaks off, noting the horrified look creeping up on his friend's face and cursing his big fucking mouth, knowing the thoughts flooding her mind as well as he knows his own. "Shit, Don- I didn't mean it like that. That ain't gonna happen to Ope."
"You can't be sure though, Jax." Donna's clutching her arms close to herself and actually fucking shivering in the 85 degree heat. Christ, why did you say that shit? "He already got himself arrested- who knows what's gonna happen now that he's in there with God knows who. The Mayans-"
"-haven't beefed with us since Clay died and we got out of gu- uh, some of the riskier shit we were in." Jax finishes, firmly, awkwardly avoiding some shit he frankly has no idea if Ope had ever told Donna. "The club's different now than it was when JT went inside- shit, Ope's different. My dad… he was the club President, a convicted felon already. Ope doesn't have that cloud hangin' over his head, you know?"
"The club is…the club, Jax. That's what's hanging over Opie's head." Donna turns to him, eyes suddenly liquid, and the effect is astounding- just another anvil to add to the weight already pressing down on his shoulders. "What if the club needs him to do something on the inside? Or… or what if someone else wants to use that to their advantage?" And all Jax can do is reach across the bench seat of Opie's truck, find Donna's hand, and squeeze it while he makes yet another promise he isn't sure he can keep.
"Piney and JT… they won't let that happen. We won't let that happen, sweetheart. I promise."
She doesn't call him on it, though he probably deserves it- and doubly so if she's aware of the promises he'd made her best friend, then failed to keep- just squeezes his hand in return before releasing it to watch as the orchards give way to the familiar industrial buildings that signify the outskirts of Stockton.
The reception area's packed, something that makes it even more vaguely resemble the last time Jax had been in here. Then, as now, the bleak, chair-lined room is nearly half kids, and the remaining third their frazzled mothers- all here to take advantage of Sunday visitation before school and work begins all over again. As he scans the room, doing his best to settle the sudden onslaught of nerves currently percolating in his gut, one family in particular catches his eye.
In a cramped corner, a petite woman with raven hair and a beautifully angled face gently shifts a tiny baby barely bigger than his hand from one arm to the other, lovingly grazing a plump cheek with her finger. She looks tired- fucking exhausted, really- but she has a soft smile for the chubby little towheaded boy at her knee, who is practically vibrating with excitement. Watching them, Jax can't help but make his comparisons, welcoming the brief, irrational, hint of nostalgia that comes along with them.
Like he'd told Donna, Gemma had brought first Jax, then both boys to visit JT during his semi-frequent sentences here years ago. At one point, she'd had to contend with hauling both a sickly infant and a school-aged boy- oft described, albeit affectionately, as a little shithead- all the way down here to wait in this very room. Gemma, too, had been forced to experience childbirth alone, just as this woman probably had. A fuzzy memory surfaces- of his father gingerly holding his wriggling baby son, leaning across the table to kiss his mother, and the sharp reprimands of the guards. Had it been the first time his father had met Tommy? Maybe, especially since JT hadn't been granted visitation right away, and Tommy had remained in the hospital for weeks after his birth, thanks to the heart condition that plagued him his entire life.
Was this mother taking her sons to meet their absentee felon of a father for the first time? Would he apologize for missing one of the most important days in these three lives so far? And whenever he's finally released- be it weeks, months, or years in the future- would he ever really feel like this baby's father? Would the son ever truly feel like this man is his?
Of course he will, Jax's rational brain replies. After all, even though Tommy had been young when he died, there's no questioning how much he'd loved JT despite the fact that his first year's worth of interactions with him had been spent two hours at a time in a place just like this one. JT was also devoted to his sons. For the most part, Jax has a slew of good memories- some from the clubhouse, from family dinners, from weekends spent at the cabin… all up until the trips to and from Belfast had become more and more frequent. Then, Tommy had died and shit had taken a severe turn south.
He pushes thoughts of Belfast, Maureen, Clay, and the others from his mind, with the fleeting thought that a lack of proximity didn't disqualify anyone from being a father, any more than geographical closeness made them a good one. It's the other decisions made, the external forces allowed in, that really matter.
This dark-haired woman could just as easily be Donna, who had had a pregnancy scare of her own. Or- and the hollow part of his chest expands a little more as he notes the green eyes, the soft smile, the almost uncanny resemblance that had likely been the reason he'd noticed her to begin with- she could be his girl. After all, the fear of his own imprisonment had been one thing that had cut through her sorrow for Opie, for Donna, and for herself. The irrational glimpse that bombards him next- Tara, waiting with the baby he'd briefly been sure they'd made together, to see a husband and a father that had left them alone in favor of his loyalty to someone else... it's just another rallying cry for one of the two factions that had been at war within him since Ope had gotten locked up. Above all else, Tara had been terrified at what would have happened to him- to them- if he'd been with Opie that night. And he'd dismissed her worries, countered them with promises and reassurances that the club had changed- just like he had Donna an hour ago.
And it did change, the other half of his mind counters fiercely as Jax turns away from the mother and children finally- as if to shield them from the raging argument developing within his own head. The club's no longer in guns, no longer associated with the goddamn IRA, and with the removal of Cameron Hayes- that last tie, the one that had killed Trinity's mother and stepfather and threatened the same fate to other women and children associated with the Sons of Anarchy- the truly dangerous business had ended. Sure, the club's still involved in plenty of shit that's on the wrong side of the law, there's still the risk that the alliances they'd built could crumble… but the club's as safe as it has been in Jax's lifetime.
She knew the commitment you made- to your club and your best friend- way back when you started making plans for the future. It's a risk she was willing to take, the second voice continues, the angry one that keeps him sane around his Brothers, drives him through his longest days.
And still, you broke your promises, and pushed her away while you did it, argues the first- the desolate, heartbroken part of him that accepts his part in this… before trying to drown itself in whiskey.
She's better off without you, away from all of this. And it's this new, third voice- neither asserting that the other two are wrong, nor agreeing- that seems to control his body from within, turning him back towards the dark-haired mother and her children, now huddled together on the same chair as she gently murmurs them a soft lullaby that somehow cuts through the din of the crowded room. For this woman- just as for his own girl, for Donna, maybe even for Gemma- it doesn't much matter whose decisions and which circumstances had brought her here any more than the reason, the fault, or the blame behind it all. All that matters is that she's here, and she and her children would likely be different, better, practically anywhere else.
Jax is so lost in thought- caught up in the new truth slowly creeping in and the way it's already beginning to drown out the others- that he isn't sure how many times the brusque voice had called-
"Visitors for Winston, Harry" before he felt the cool pressure of Donna's hand within his own. In fact, she's squeezing the hell out of it, her grip bordering on painful as the uniformed officer steps further into the room.
"Winston, Harry?" And suddenly, Donna's rounding on him, her eyes frantic, sleek brown hair falling into her face, and an ever-deepening red further tinting her cheeks.
"Jax… I- I can't. I just need- I need a minute, before I see him like that… I-" As she scans his face, searching for understanding, for a solution, Jax shakes his head.
"Donna, it's Ope, you've got to, for him." Spotting the flurry of movement the officer- a heavyset balding man who looks supremely unaffected by Donna's last-minute panic- approaches, coming to a full stop before them.
"Last call, kids. You seein' Winston today or not?"
"Uh… can we visit at different times? Like, go in separately? Or-" The officer rolls his eyes.
"Doesn't matter. You get an hour, according to Winston's file, more when he's become acclimated, earned the additional time. Up to three adults in the visitation room at once, less if there's kids. Once his time starts, counting from when my colleagues bring him into the visiting room, you can visit in shifts, together, or not at all." He shrugs, scratching his chin as the situation becomes apparent. "If you're stayin' out here for the time being, just go up and let Gina over there know-" he points to a similarly unenthusiastic looking woman behind a desk- "and you can switch out. Or not, it's up to you. But one of you's gotta come now." Sniffing, the guard turns and jerks his head at the door, expectantly.
"You go in, Jax," Donna whispers, looking slightly more calm than she had moments ago and ignoring the protests bubbling up in Jax's throat, shaking her head. "No- it's better that way- you two can talk, and when I've got my shit together, I'll come in."
"Donna, I know Ope- all he wants is to see you." She smiles a bit, takes a deep, shuddering breath before answering.
"He wants to see you too, Jax- you're his best friend. But I can't go in there like this, it isn't fair to Ope." And, as Jax takes in her tear-filled eyes, her shaking hands, and the white line around the lips she's worried into a tight knot, he knows she's got a point.
"A'ight, fine," he relents, quickly rising in an attempt to appease the officer shuffling papers at the door once again. "But you gotta make it quick, Don- we only got an hour." Again, she smiles, wiping under her eyes with a tissue before nodding and squeezing his hand one final time.
"Go, Jax, I'll be in soon."
When the moment comes and the door buzzes, signifying the entrance of a prisoner, Jax finds he isn't ready for it- at least not any more than Donna had been a minute ago. He'd watched two similar comings and goings while waiting, but still, he's somehow altogether unprepared for the sight of his best friend since childhood dressed in an orange jumpsuit just like his father had been years ago. He doesn't tear up, like Donna had, but as he watches the guards remove his friend's shackles and cuffs just inside the door, what Jax wants to do more than anything is grab the guard's gun and his Brother and shoot his way out- come what may.
Tamping down that irrational fantasy- as well as the guilt that's currently choking him- Jax takes Opie in. He looks… different, older somehow, and leaner- as if the shit he's seen in here has been chipping away at him piece by piece, revealing parts of someone new he's about to become. And goddamn, his best friend's always been difficult to read, but now that the customary beanie plus a month's worth of beard growth hides his brow, the easy set of his jaw, and the quick smile Jax is so accustomed to, when Ope's gaze finally lands on him, sitting alone at the table, his face is nearly inscrutable. Jax has a brief moment to wonder if prison time is what had contributed to Piney's unreadable expressions and gruff exterior, and then Ope's striding across the room towards him and all thoughts leave his mind except how good it still is to see him after two fucking months.
Ope fairly crushes him in a bear hug as he always does- and if Jax tried, it would likely be all too easy to imagine they were on the lot, meeting up after a pair of long runs spent apart. Only the rumble of other prisoners and their visitors, the aroma of sweat, bleach, and stale smoke, and the sharp bite of the guard's voice breaks the illusion, washing them both in a stream of bleak reality.
"Move it along, Winston." Ope doesn't acknowledge the guard, just draws back and runs a hand over his face and down his substantial beard, once again looking as road-weary as Jax had ever seen him- despite the fact that the only road he's seen lately has been from the back of a prison transport van. As he settles into his seat on one side of the table, Jax does so on the opposite, his ass barely touching the seat before he's blurting out the answer to a question Ope hasn't even asked yet.
"Donna's comin' in later- we figured you'd want some time alone, y'know, at the uh… end." Jax shifts uncomfortably; for his part, Ope angles his chin upward, eyes narrowing.
"Alone, huh? Like we're actually gonna be alone... " Jax twists the slip of paper that had signified his arrival time between four fingers, unsure what to do with his hands- his goddamn mouth- around his best friend for possibly the first time ever. Christ.
"Shit, man, I'm..." he falters, noticing the smirk curving Ope's lips a moment too late.
"Shut the fuck up, Jax," Ope chuckles affectionately, and Jax can't help but grin- and holy shit does it feel good to be sharing a laugh with his friend after a couple months apart. Ope settles back into his seat, his large frame setting the table creaking as he shrugs. "You lose your shit in here, start gettin' sensitive, you're in for a long ride, brother." His mirth draining away, Jax shakes his head- maybe against the thoughts and the guilt creeping in, maybe against his own goddamn selfishness, especially after what Opie's just said- but he's got to say it.
"Listen, Ope-"
"Y'know," Opie muses, as if Jax hadn't spoken, a trace of the smirk still crinkling the corners of his eyes, "people have been tellin' me to listen ever since I first wound up in this fuckin' mess. The DA, Rosen, fuckin' Pop… and it always ends up bein' some shit I don't wanna hear. So if you're about to tell me how I should've taken this to the table, or considered some bullshit deal… well, I only got an hour so make it quick." Despite himself, Jax snorts, and Ope raises an eyebrow, nonplussed.
"No, dick- I'm not tryin' to play Daddy here, and I'm sure as hell not a lawyer. But what I am is your best friend, so while I ain't about to tell you what you should've done, I do want to know why. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me-"
"Jesus, Jax," Ope sighs, cutting off a line of questioning Jax hadn't really determined how he'd end. "Let you what? Talk me out of it? Help me, so you could get busted and wind up in here?" Jax looks away, briefly, as Opie snorts, this time. "First of all, you coulda talked until you were blue in the face and I wouldn't've listened; I was so caught up in what I thought were my responsibilities I don't think I could see anything else, not even you." Ope pauses a moment, sobers, and Jax returns his gaze to his best friend, who's stroking his beard, focusing on some distant point past Jax's shoulder. "Piney told me the shit he said to you- about how you shoulda been there to back me up-"
"And he was right, Ope." Jesus, why can't anyone else see that? Opie just shakes his head, smiling sadly.
"And then we'd both be in here, 'cause I don't know if anyone's told you, but you ain't the King yet. That shit woulda gone south no matter what- I know that now. And I also know there ain't no way you coulda stopped it. Pop was wrong; you gotta trust me brother- it's better this way."
"Better?" Jax scoffs, tightening his jaw in an attempt to prevent himself from saying the wrong shit yet again, making this worse.
"Yeah, better. The club's better with one of us on the outside- not to mention Donna, Tara, your folks… Christ, even Piney's stubborn ass. You get stuck in here with me, what happens to them?" Ope shakes his head. "I already got enough guilt about this shit, about leavin' Donna behind. Best place you could be is right where you are, bro." Opie leans back further, folds long arms across his chest, his very air nearly daring Jax to argue with him. And most days, I well fucking would.
But Ope's right- they don't have much time, so as much as Jax wants to keep pushing, draw out the who, the where, and most importantly the why of the whole goddamn mess… he doesn't. Instead, he shoots Opie what he hopes is a cocky smirk of his own.
"Right. And I guess where I am... is bringin' your girl up to visit your ugly ass." Ope chuckles, the corner of his mouth hitching up his beard.
"Who you callin' ugly? You're the one looks like someone dragged you behind Pop's truck all the way from Charming." His laughter fades away, and he takes a moment to eye Jax guiltily before adding, "Seriously, bro, you look like shit- JT and my old man ridin' you that hard now that they're short a guy?"
It's the second time in so many hours someone's mentioned it- the visual effect caused by his recent fucked up combination of booze, practically killing himself pulling double duty at the garage and with the club, and a severe lack of sleep. Not to mention the constant cycle of bullshit his brain and his goddamn heart have been going though. No more anxious to have this conversation with Ope than he had been with Donna, Jax manages to crack a weak smile and deflect, just like he's been doing with practically everyone else in his life.
"Somethin' like that…" It's all he can really say and although the crease between Opie's brows deepens just a bit, he moves on.
"Thanks for bringin' her up here, anyway, man; I-" Opie averts his eyes, reddening slightly, "I didn't want her to have to… you know- deal with this alone. Not the first time." Jax waves a hand.
"You don't have to thank me, you know that." Ope just nods, and Jax waits, then, for him to say something else, to press him for the details he knows he'd want if their positions were reversed and it was him in the orange jumpsuit, locked away from his girl. But Opie's silent, focused on his hands, so Jax presses on, filling the silence. "She took it rough, man- we all did. Those first few days when we didn't know shit…" Ope closes his eyes, the familiar trappings of pain and guilt all too evident to Jax, who's been living them himself for weeks. "She's a strong chick, though, and Gemma and the girls are there for her."
"She doesn't deserve this shit, Jax," Opie says, roughly, pressing his palms to his eyes before straightening once more and finally turning his gaze back to Jax. "Her parents warned her- told her what would happen if she stayed with me. She shoulda listened."
"She loves you, Ope." He lets that statement, simple though it is, hang in the air a moment, watches as Opie nods and acknowledges what he's said before continuing. "Donna's hangin' in, and she needs to know that you'll do the same." At this, Opie chuckles, brokenly, and if Jax didn't know any better, hadn't been carefully watching his friend's reaction, he'd swear it sounded more like a sob.
"What the fuck else am I supposed to do?"
It's a true enough statement- and one Jax doesn't have a fitting response to. So, he doesn't bother, just continues where they'd left off minutes earlier.
"She's been doin' okay, man, really- been goin' to work, helpin' over at the garage, comin' to my mom's family dinners, all of that. We're movin' the rest of her shit this weekend, and then Koz and I are gonna make sure she knows we've got her back even though she ain't over at the clubhouse anymore. She needs anything, we're there, brother, " Jax finishes, hoping to hell he sounds reassuring. Ope nods, running a palm down his face.
"When I called the office about the visitation, I was sure I'd get Gemma- maybe even Pop. When it was Donna, I damn near cried-" he chuckles, bitterly "-'cause it turns out, when the DA's holdin' a case over your club's head, they're not in a big hurry to give you privileges… so I hadn't talked to her in weeks- since I called from County. After that, all my contact was with Pop and the goddamn lawyer. Shit, man- just hearin' her voice…" Ope trails off, unable to put what he'd felt into words, but Jax knows exactly what he isn't saying- and his chest aches once again at the thought of just how many days it's been since he's heard Tara's clear, sweet voice. Jesus, what he'd give just to talk to her…
"-said somethin' about an apartment, but that's when the goddamn recording came on." Ope was saying, as Jax jolts back to his bleak reality. "They gave me five minutes, and it took me about four of those to get my shit together and tell her I loved her." He chuckles to himself briefly before angling his chin up at Jax in question. "She get in at that place over by CCC?"
It's in that moment Jax feels his stomach drop; clearly Donna hadn't had time to fill Ope in on the finer details of her move, but it's really territory he wasn't looking forward to covering. Inwardly, he curses himself for not getting a read on the situation on the way up here.
"Nah, man," Jax responds, trying for casual. "She's takin' over the garage apartment over at the clinic." There. He hadn't said her name aloud- something he still doesn't think he can do without his fucking voice cracking. He hadn't even mentioned it being Tara's old place, in the hopes that Ope would be able to read his avoidance as well as he tends to read everything else about him, and leave well enough alone.
"Tara's place?" No dice. In fact, Opie looks confused, even suspicious as he presses for more information. "Shit, bro, you were practically livin' there. Much as I appreciate y'all lookin' out for Donna like that, you didn't need to move out or nothin'."
Now it's Jax's turn to look confused. Does Ope really think he'd continue living over at the apartment without her there, alone with his memories? Brows knit, Opie leans closer, studying him. "I mean… are things OK with you and Tara? Or…"
As Opie's expression changes, putting some of the missing pieces together, a flood of realizations swamp Jax at once. Piney and Donna must not have told Opie about Tara taking off. Christ, he hadn't ever really been aware of their eventual plan to leave, together, while she finished school- at least not the extent of it. And now, after successfully avoiding the subject for weeks, Jax is left without an escape, without a distraction. There's no half bottle of booze to drown out the pain, no open stretch of road or apartment door to block out the questions- it's just him and one of the few people who have ever challenged him about her, known the two of them well enough to expect Jax's brand of bullshit and call him on it, because he's cared for her almost as long as he's been Jax's brother.
"The fuck is going on, Jax? What did you do?"
Jax shifts uncomfortably in the hard chair, attempting, at least, to interpret Opie's expression as he shakes his head. Finding no hard and fast answers, he responds, reluctantly, as simply as he can.
"Shi-" he clears his throat, hoping to diminish the choking feeling he always gets when he talks about her- the majority of the reason he's outright fucking refused until now. He waits a moment for it to subside, Ope's gaze never leaving him. "Shit was rough after you went inside, like I said, and we all dealt with it in our own way. I had the club. Donna- she had Gemma and the girls, and T- Tara…" Opie's head snaps up at the way his voice cracks, and Jesus Christ, he's realizing all over again why he'd made this sort of half-conscious effort to avoid talking about her since his one and only blowout with his mother. "She had a hard time man. You know how she felt about some of the club shit- not to mention my mother…" he snorts, remembering.
Ope narrows his eyes, suspicion clouding his features as he shakes his head slightly, and Jax's heart sinks further.
"Tell me you didn't go off all half-cocked like you always do-"
"No, Ope!" Jax counters, running his fingers through his hair, frenetically. "It was like everything was fallin' apart at once, though- all of a sudden, I had more of a responsibility to the club than ever, but at the same time, it was like every single day she got further and further away from me. We-"
"So, what- she just left? Moved back in with her dad or some shit?" If Opie's expression hadn't been what it was- a mixture of confusion, hurt, anger, and Jesus, who knows what else- Jax thinks he might have laughed out loud at the thought of his girl actually being willing to go crawling back to her father's house. But then, Ope doesn't know… fuckin' anything, about what had triggered all of this. Sighing, Jax shakes his head once again, willing Opie to shut up so he can get through this.
"Back when we first wanted to start prospecting- when I took early graduation and JT and Piney wouldn't let you drop outta high school?" Opie nods, carefully, clearly unsure where this is going. "Her and I… we were strugglin', too, with what we both wanted- from life, from each other. About the same time you and I made a plan, to put off prospecting until we could do it together, to patch SAMCRO together, I made a promise to Tara, too. Told her if she needed to leave Charming, go somewhere else to finish her education that I'd support her… but she did me one better. She said she'd stay, through prospecting, through our first year in the club, and take classes over at CCC."
"I know all this shit Jax-"
"No. You don't. The day before you got locked up, we were in her apartment and I found letters, Ope. Scholarship letters, from all over the goddamn state and good for this upcoming semester. I lost it, man. I thought she was leavin' me- breakin' her promises, givin' up on us… and then she reminded me that I'd made promises too. See, back when we decided she'd stay here for a couple years, I gave her my word that when it was time for her to leave that I'd stick it out with her. We didn't know what that looked like, yet, but I promised we'd figure it out."
"I told Donna the same thing, brother. If she'd have gone up to Sacramento or over to Lodi or whatever, we'd have made it work on the weekends and holidays, and-" Jax is already shaking his head.
"She's gonna be a doctor, Ope- that's like five more years of school, and there ain't a medical school anywhere in the SanJua valley. If she left, there wouldn't be no goddamn evenings and weekends and we both knew it- not between the club, her classwork, and a six or eight hour drive between us. So I told her…" Jax swallows, with nearly as much difficulty as he had the first time he'd said her name in weeks, "...I told her I'd transfer if I had to, that I'd do anything to keep us together, no matter what."
Jax isn't sure what, exactly, he'd thought Opie's reaction would be upon hearing Jax's plans to leave Redwood Original behind- leave him behind- for a matter of years, but it hadn't been the rueful smile that's spreading on Ope's face right now.
"Shit, Jax… I knew you two were in deep. You and I both know I'd have had to kick your ass years ago if I didn't have an idea about how strong it is between you- but I didn't think anything would ever make you leave SAMCRO." Opie sighs then, reaching up to pull the knit beanie off his head, tossing it on the table so he can push both hands through his mop of hair. "I s'pose I should be pissed at you for not tellin' me, but I get it, man. I mean- I acted like a little bitch when you thought about prospecting without me." Ope laughs, sadly, "And then I wasn't a hundred percent honest with you either- Christ, look where we are now."
And Jax looks, though reluctantly, takes in the prisoners shuffling to and from the metal tables and the families waiting, faithfully- notes how everyone, no matter which side of the table they're on, is wearing a variation of the same melancholy expression.
"So what the hell happened?" Opie asks, breaking into Jax's thoughts and steering the conversation back on track. Jax shrugs, brokenly.
"That's the night we got the call that you were in county, and all of a sudden, it's like all my choices, my promises, my responsibilities… my fuckin' legacy, came callin' all at once. I'd given my word to my club that I'd have their backs when shit went south, and I knew I owed it to them to keep it when it meant the most- especially after everything that went down with Otto and with Happy doin' half-time. And I did exactly that- kept my head down, kept myself busy… fuckin' buried myself in club business 'cause if I stopped, I'd have to think about how you weren't gonna be here with me. Tara… she went to work, put her all into helping Donna those first few days, did what Ma asked her to over at the club- but she was even more lost than I was, and I couldn't see it. Christ, maybe it's more like I wouldn't see it, didn't want to know she was drowning."
"Jesus Christ, Jax- what the fuck did you do?" Opie repeats, growing angry once again- almost twitching in his seat, his palms flexing against the metal table as if in anticipation of what Jax is about to say. Jax just shakes his head, his eyes falling closed in a halfhearted, last-ditch attempt to drown all this out.
"Nothin', Ope. I did nothing." When his friend says nothing further, just waits, Jax buries his head in his hands, his voice muffled, but steady. "When I told her you'd been sentenced, that you wouldn't be coming back to us for five years or more, she reminded me what I'd promised her; told me, in her way, that she might not be there waiting when I finally unfucked the shitstorm I'd dedicated my life to. And still, I left- went on some goddamn run that was supposed to take a couple days. Only, it turned into a week- some stupid shit went down between Tacoma and Rogue River and the whole goddamn club got held up. And when I got back, she was gone."
"Holy shit... " Ope breathes, sounding nearer than he had before- but Jax keeps his head in his hands, unwilling to let Opie- or anyone else in the room for that matter- see the tears gathering and threatening to spill over. He'll be goddamned if he's going to fucking cry in Stockton State Prison. "So what'd she say when you caught up with her?" The silence that stretches between them now is just as much a result of Jax's surprise that Ope assumes he went after her as it is the fact that once again, he's got nothing to say that'll make Opie happy. "Jax?" Ope's voice is suspicious, foreboding even. "Jax, tell me you went after her."
"I couldn't, man, even if I'd been here when she left- she didn't say where she went, didn't leave word with Donna, Trini, Gemma- nobody. But even if I could've gone after her- brought her back with me… I ain't what she needs- not anymo-"
The slam of Ope's open palm against the table serves to send Jax bolting halfway upright, and in his half-startled, half-agonized state, Jax finds he no longer gives a fuck about the moisture rimming his eyes- not now that his best friend is staring at him with something he can only describe as incredulous rage. Not now that the nearest guard is starting towards the table, his hand easing toward the belt where his taser rests, ready to strike.
"Cut the shit, Winston!" the guard snaps, his voice low in warning. Ope doesn't spare a glance at him, choosing instead to keep his glare trained on Jax- though he raises both palms, slightly, in a gesture of surrender. Appeased, the guard settles back into his post, a watchful eye fixed on the two patched SAMCRO members as if to remind them who, exactly, is in charge now that they're in here- especially since neither is wearing a kutte.
"You're tellin' me," Ope continues, his voice unnervingly soft, as if the whole interruption had never happened, as if it's just the two of them, "that you told Tara you loved her, promised her you'd go along with her to follow her dream if she stuck it out while you did the same- and then you bailed."
"Christ, Ope- we didn't even discuss it when it came right down to it. She never asked me to come with her, or set up some sort of schedule so we could make things work- none of it. But it's like I said- every goddamn person I ever gave my word to just showed up at the same time, askin' to cash in a marker. And no matter what I did, someone was gonna come up short- whether it was you and Donna, the club, or her. I had to make a choice." At mention of Donna, Ope flinches, closes his eyes briefly in what Jax recognizes fully as a wave of guilt- since he's been hit with them over and over in the past few weeks like he's standing on the beach in a goddamn hurricane. When Opie opens his eyes, though, they're tinted with something Jax doesn't quite recognize.
"Brother… I've only been locked up a couple months, but I got at least five years to go- time I gotta spend away from my girl, half-sick with the thought of losin' her, and half knowin' it'd be the decent thing to do to set her free. But at the end of the day- whether she stays in Charming or whether she goes, I already lost her for five goddamn years, and I didn't get the chance to make that choice. But you… You had the chance- and you made the wrong choice."
Regret, Jax thinks, wildly, although he's desperate for something, anything, to say to make Ope understand. Regret and utter goddamn defeat is what Ope is swimming in right now, and whether its regret for helping Otto and Luann, for asking Jax to watch out for Donna, or for showing up here in the first place, Jax isn't sure- though it's probably the whole goddamn lot of it. But choice… she hadn't given him a choice; she hadn't told him she was leaving, hadn't told him shit. If she had, well-
"So you're just not gonna say anything?" Opie snarls, breaking into Jax's thoughts. "Makes sense- when the shit hits the fan, when push comes to blood, Jax Teller shuts the fuck down."
"Jesus, I fucked up- you don't think I know that? But I gotta say, that's pretty fuckin' rich, comin' from a guy who's locked up because of his own stubborn ass." Jax's rage finally boils over, spilling out over the both of them and drawing the eye of the guard once again.
"Yeah, there's the Jax I know," Ope goads, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let the temper take over, Brother- that'll bring her back."
'I goddamn know I never should've let us get to that place, and I know that's my fault. Everything that's happened between us over the past year is on me, and I feel like shit- lower than shit- about it. I can't eat, I can't fucking sleep, and… Christ, Ope, I don't know who I am without her. I don't-" Jax's voice cracks one final time before he just gives up completely, hanging his head once again in an effort to rid himself of the tears that come calling as he reaches the point of utter defeat. Then, Opie's voice comes again- kinder, softer, but no less reproachful.
"It doesn't have to be like this, Jax. It ain't an all or nothing-'
'It is, Ope- it's gotta be. This club is our legacy and sh- she deserves to go and make somethin' of herself, just like she's always dreamed. And it's better for us both if I let her." At this, Opie laughs, humorlessly, shaking his head in frustration.
"You don't really believe that- I know you don't. All… all this-" Ope gestures at Jax as if to indicate all of him, this fucking mess he's created for himself- "this is you, manufacturin' a heap of shit that don't need to be. She needs you, just as much as you need her- you gotta-"
"No, Ope. I don't." Jax sighs, shrugging in defeat. "It's simple." Shaking his head, Opie's mouth twists into a sardonic smirk.
"Guess so, Brother. And I guess I can always count on you for a lot of things- to have my back when it really matters, to try to take all my shit on yourself, even when you don't have to. But… " he pauses, lets the rest of what he'd been about to say hang, until Jax can't stand it anymore.
"What, Ope?" Jax can't help but ask, though hes about a thousand percent sure he isn't going to like the answer.
"You're a fuckin' coward… and that's some shit I never counted on."
Jax opens his mouth, but even if he'd had half a goddamn idea what to say back to the kick in the gut his friend had just delivered, he's fairly sure it wouldn't have come out anyway. Ope meets his gaze- unflinching, unwavering in his convictions- letting Jax marinate in the knowledge of what his best friend truly thinks of him… until his eyes shift- actually fucking light up- and his whole demeanor changes.
Gone is the Opie that had sat before him with his shoulders slumped in defeat. The man that practically leaps out of his seat- a genuine smile curving his lips instead of that wry shitty excuse for a grin he'd worn earlier- is someone entirely different than the man that had sat here before him seconds ago. And then Donna's flying into his arms and Opie's leaning down to squeeze her tight- and Jax looks away, unsure whether it's because he feels like he's intruding on what's somehow a private moment in the middle of a room full of people… or because for the first time, he's suddenly, irrationally, jealous of a man facing a five year prison sentence.
Because even with the growing mountain of bullshit Ope's currently dealing with- up to and including the vast disappointment that had turned out to be his best friend- Jax had just watched it all drain away in an instant, the moment he'd laid eyes on Donna. Here, in the world's shittiest excuse for a place to connect with someone else, and even when plagued with his thoughts of how she'd be better off without him, Ope had found peace with his love. And that, Jax realizes as he pushes off his chair- just as the guard sends a low warning to Opie and Donna, and Opie pulls back, reluctantly, still gazing at the girl who's his entire world- is something he doesn't know if he'll ever find again, no matter what his best friend says.
Jax doesn't say goodbye as he sets a bead on the exit, suddenly desperate to get out to the parking lot and smoke a cigarette or five while he waits for Donna, but somehow he can feel Opie's eyes on his back, sending barbs of disappointment into him the whole way.
"Thanks again, Jax- I… we really appreciate it."
The smile she has for him is shaky, but genuine- the first true Donna smile he's seen since Stockton. Not that he blames her; since the moment she'd come out the visitor's door of the prison- curled in on herself, her shoulders shaking with sobs- he'd been kicking himself for once again being a selfish asshole. True, he'd been desperate to get the fuck out of there- partially to escape his best friend's contempt and give him and Donnal at least the illusion of privacy, and partially desperate for a smoke- but he should've known how difficult it would be for Donna to leave Opie behind bars for the first time.
Christ, it's a feeling he knows all too well- even though it's been years since anyone he's close to has gotten locked up. He remembers how most of his visits to JT had ended, at least in the early days- with himself (and on that last, short bid, Tommy) pressed up against the window, wondering if his dad was really okay on his own in there, locked up in that massive concrete mountain. Away from them, where anything could happen.
He'd flicked his cigarette away quickly and rushed to Donna's side, ignoring her when she tried to wave him off and looping his arm around her shoulder until they reached Opie's truck. Opening the door for her, he'd waited until she crawled into the passenger seat and scooted just far enough inside, then gingerly shut the door behind her.
And that was it, really- although it had felt like he'd had one eye trained on his friend and one on the road ahead the entire way back from Stockton, they hadn't said a word. Hell, they hadn't really needed to- it was enough to know the other person was there, feeling at least some of the same shit at the prospect of losing a love, a friend. Occasionally, she'd reach out and squeeze his hand, or he hers- though he wasn't sure who was comforting who at this point. And so, Jax is almost surprised to hear Donna's voice as he turns down the familiar block to take her home.
Home.
He's still not completely worked out just how he feels about it- Donna taking over the garage apartment over at the vet clinic. Since the first time he'd darkened its doorway, it's been Tara's place and it had soon become his as well. It had seen some of their best times; that night right after she'd moved in quickly comes to mind- the night he'd surprised her with a bed to call her own which they'd spent sipping champagne from each other and so in love he could still literally fucking taste it. It had also seen some of their worst; Jax cringes as he remembers his reaction to the pregnancy test mixup… to her scholarship letters… Christ, even the last time they'd been together here had been marred by everything currently piling up on them.
Still, it had been their place, had quickly prompted Jax to envision them starting a family in a home of their own one day down the road. And every goddamn time he cruises past it, its like every last feeling he'd ever had there rushes through him once again – and it's just another thing to add to the rapidly growing list of bullshit he doesn't know how to deal with.
And yet, Jax can't imagine someone else- some stranger- occupying the place Tara once had. In fact, the thought fills him with an ire he wouldn't even begin to be able to explain to anyone who asked- something that only subsides slightly with the knowledge that Donna's going to be here instead of some other asshole, that this was Tara's way of taking care of her friend from wherever the hell she is and that it helps him fulfill his promise to Opie, however slightly. And he knows goddamn good and well he'd never have been able to stay in the place without her- the ghost of her haunts him enough as it is…
"Jax?" A cool hand on his arm serves to bring Jax back to the present- Donna's sitting in the passenger seat, legs folded underneath her and eyeing him carefully. Christ, she'd just finished thanking him for being there for her, at which time he'd promptly spaced the fuck out. Nice job, Teller, you're really on a roll today.
"Shit, sorry- I…" Jax lets his voice trail off, no longer willing- or able- to either maintain the vibe they'd had earlier in the day or explain himself. Donna shoots him a sympathetic smile, then pats his arm, leaving her hand where it lay.
"Opie, uh… well, I heard what he said to you."
"I'm sorry about that too- I didn't mean to let that bleed over into your visit-"
"Oh, Ope wouldn't talk about it with me," Donna interjects, quickly, "I mean, we just sort of... spent time together." Tears well up for a brief moment, before she looks away, pushing past them and refocusing on Jax. "But I know Opie, and I know he'll come around eventually-" Jax snorts, interrupting her reassurances.
"I know him too- and the only way he's gonna listen is if I find Ta- find her and drag her to goddamn Stockton with me."
"Well, then… why won't you?" Donna says, softly, raising her hands and letting them drop, helplessly, in her lap. Christ, which reason does she want? Defeated, Jax goes with the simplest.
"I don't even know where she is, Don- no one does… unless she told you."
"I already told you what she said that day, Jax- I'm sorry."
"And that's just the problem- I don't know how I'm supposed to ride off and go hunt her down if I don't even know where to start lookin'." Silently, Donna studies him a moment as her eyes narrow, and he can just about fucking tell he's not going to like what she says next.
"It sounds like a lot of excuses, Jax. I'm sorry, but it does." He opens his mouth to protest, but Donna's glare- now at full strength- shuts him down. "I think you have to start asking yourself if you really love her-" quickly, she holds up a hand, again nipping his indignant protests in the bud, "-and I know you do- I can tell. You're fucking miserable without her- Jesus, you won't even say her name out loud, its like she's a dead Aboriginal warrior and you're paying your respects…" Donna ignores the confused stare this prompts in favor of continuing, insistently. "And Tara- she was miserable without you the day she stopped to say goodbye... and all the days before it. This wasn't easy for her, Jax- I know, 'cause I was there. Now, I don't know if you're a coward, like Opie said… but I do know you've got your pride. What you have to decide now is whether that's what's keeping you here, away from her, whether it really is the stupid club, and whether you love her enough to put it aside no matter what you think she did to you. Fuck what all these other assholes say- including Opie." Jax can't help but smile, brokenly- she's made it all sound so simple, but the problem is, it's just… not.
"And then what?"
"Then you gotta decide what's more important to you, and so does Tara." His smile slides away, forgotten, as the pain of the decision Tara had made without him comes rearing back.
"She already did that, Donna, the day she left." Nodding, Donna shrugs in defeat, her hand finally slipping from his arm.
"Then I guess there's nothing left to talk about." She's out of the truck, the door slamming behind her, before Jax can muster up the will to say anything in response. Desolately, he watches her climb the stairs, waits until her back disappears behind the familiar wooden door. Then, reluctantly, he puts the truck in gear, dreading the rest of the afternoon and evening to come- one he'll undoubtedly spend at the clubhouse, forced to fend off questions about Opie now, in addition to croweaters, JT, and Gemma.
Jax is about halfway down the gravel drive, rocks popping beneath the threadbare truck tires, when something catches his eye. He looks up to find Donna, jogging down the drive towards him and clutching something in her hand.
"Sorry…" she gasps, out of breath even as he cranks down the ancient window, "...but I found this under the bed when we were moving my stuff in… and I kept meaning to give it to you… but I thought… it might be important."
She shoves the small, white box at his chest and is gone with a small wave before Jax can begin to get his bearings back. As such, it takes him a moment to realize what she'd handed him, and what's inside; then, the flood of what it had meant to him at the time- what he had hoped it would mean to Tara- rushes over him, drowning him once again in his own personal pool of misery. And suddenly, the pull to have some part of her he can reach out and touch- even something he hadn't had the chance to give her, yet, is too strong. Blindly, he rips open the paper, barely glancing at the box's contents before folding it in his palm, the cool metal instantly warming to his touch. There's a brief, wild moment where he seriously considers taking a drive out to the reservation and flinging it at the willow through the still-open window, or maybe even dropping it right there, behind the front wheel, throwing the truck into reverse and jamming the pedal to the floor.
Instead, Jax sits a moment, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface as if it may hold a clue to exactly where she'd gone, and exactly what- if anything, he's supposed to do, here. Then, he simply drops Tara's gift into his pocket… and drives on.
If, every time he slips his hand into his pocket on the way to the Winston house to pick up his bike- a tally he loses count of over the relatively short, ten minute drive- the warm metal feels like its burning his fingertips, as if to remind him of its significance, well… it's probably just his imagination.
**A/N- So, we're picking up a few weeks after Tara left town- though as I've said, the timeline of this story may move at a different pace than the previous two. Opie's not happy with Jax, Donna's not all that happy with Jax... Hell, JAX isn't happy with Jax. As for Tara… we'll find out a little more about what she's dealing with next chapter. Let me know what you think, if you have any predictions, suggestions, etc. Many, many thanks to Ang R for helping me rework the beginning of this chapter. You definitely wouldn't be reading this story without her encouragement, patience, and advice.**