**I own nothing you recognize**
Jax freezes, the precious slip of paper containing Tara's contact information fluttering out of his grasp to rest on the desk below as he strains to listen to the approaching bike. Well… bikes; though the sound easily carries throughout the silent clinic, the hammering of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears prevents him from discerning much more than the fact that there's more than one.
Fucking shit.
As the rumbling grows distinctly louder, Jax has only a moment to wonder if the clinic is their destination- and why- before his body acts, jolting into action where his brain would not. Snatching the slip of paper off the top of the open file and shoving it into his pocket, he hurriedly shuffles the papers haphazardly into place. Clumsily, he scoops up the file and its contents, shoves it into the open drawer, and rolls it closed just as the motorcycles come to a halt on the street out front.
Swallowing the dread rising in the back of his throat, Jax slides from behind the desk and past the exam rooms that line the hallway, his steps sure and quick despite the rush of adrenaline and what feels like fucking ice water flooding his veins. Pausing at the door to the scrub room, he has mere milliseconds to glimpse the figure silhouetted in the privacy glass of the front door before crossing the small room and descending the short flight of steps leading to the back exit.
To his horror, the old door stops him dead in his tracks, the knob unyielding in his hand as his body meets the worn wood- the strains of voices now rising ominously outside the front door. Desperately, he tries in vain to twist the ancient knob again before he notices the deadbolt located several inches above. His hands fumble with the lever, precious seconds draining away before he manages to rotate it, sending the bolt sliding free and the door inching open in front of him. Silently, he slips past the jamb, pulling the door shut with a click just as its counterpart at the front entry opens noisily in the distance.
Jesus Christ…
Jax takes all of one millisecond of this brief moment of respite to breathe- thankful, at least, that he knows this yard like the back of his fucking hand. Hell, he'd traipsed through here drunk and in the dead of night on more than one occasion, on his way to see Tara. Now, all he has to do is slip around the edge of the fencing delineating the outdoor dog run, stick close to the shadows of the neighbor's prickly-ass hedges, and cut through the adjoining yard.
Newly confident, he's rounding the back edge of the house, gauging when to make a break for the shelter of the hedges, when a soft, yet unmistakable metallic sound emanates from the side yard, just out of his vision- stopping him short.
"Don't even think about movin', asshole."
Jesus, he knows that voice… and it's worse than he'd thought. Not only has someone discovered him- caught him red fucking handed, actually- that someone is about the second-to-last fucking person he wants to see right now. And judging by the telltale snick of the safety disengaging he'd heard a moment ago, he's got the barrel of a goddamn Jericho trained on him… and Tig's more than ready to open fire if he makes the wrong move.
"Hey, Koz! I got someone back here!" There's a beat. Then- "KOZ!"
Christ… that's the last person he'd wanted to see- though he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if anyone's going to make an appearance at Koz's old lady's vet clinic, it's Kozik himself.
"Step into the light, prick," Tig sneers, edging just within his view. His right shoulder- and the imposing black form of the pistol he carries- are bathed in the patch of streetlight Jax had been preparing to dart across just moments ago.
Out of options- and despite the fact that there's a fucking gun pointed in his general direction- Jax finds himself answering without thinking. He answers as he always does, at least when it comes to Tig- pure fucking sarcasm- and can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the thought.
"Thought you said not to move-"
"I said now, shithead! And get your hands where I can see 'em."
Sighing heavily, Jax pushes away from the siding of the old house, dutifully raising his hands above his shoulders. As he steps into the yellow glow cast by the distant streetlight, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they do, he can't help but take another sick bit of pleasure in the dumbstruck expression that crosses Tig's face.
"What the- aw, shit…" Tig stutters, before calling over his shoulder. "Jesus Christ, it's just Jax!" Shaking his head, Tig drops the arm holding the pistol to his side, clicking the safety back into place before taking a step closer. "...The fuck, man?"
A breathless Kozik is at Tig's side a moment later, echoing Tig's last comment even as he catches his breath.
"What the fuck, Jax?" Kozik's piece, like Tig's, rests in his hand, and he absently clicks the safety back on and shoves it in the back of his jeans. Unlike Tig, though, Kozik isn't flabbergasted- he's not mildly amused or nonchalantly chewing gum either. No, the man's facial expression rests squarely on fucking pissed. Unable to say- or do- anything to excuse himself, Jax tries for remorse. Though with Tara's goddamn address in his pocket, it's admittedly hard to focus on the shit he had to do to get it.
"I'm sorry man… I just-" Jax heaves a sigh, jamming his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. "I got to get my head on straight, get my shit together, right?" He pauses- Tig looks bored and Koz seems to be growing more incensed with every second that passes, so he hurries on. "And to start doin' that, there's some answers I need-"
"Spit it out, Jax. What the fuck are you doing?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I was thinkin' about what you'd said, you know? About how it was time to get off my ass, do what I had to do- 'specially when it comes to findin' Tara. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was there might be some information over here… like in her employee file." Tig snorts.
"This is about Tara? Jesus, she must really be a good-"
He's silenced by a sharp elbow, courtesy of Kozik.
"Christ, Tig." Turning back to Jax, Kozik's expression softens, a bit, though he shakes his head. "And you thought the way to get what you needed would be to fuckin' break in?" Koz clasps his hands behind his head, looks up to the sky like he's begging God himself to show up and strike Jax dead. And what he says next is exactly why Jax himself had feared a similar fate the whole goddamn way over here.
"Jesus Christ, Jax, Ang's been nothin' but good to you. And Tara. But you repay her by breakin' into her goddamn business? Shit, you're lucky we didn't come in shooting when we realized someone was in here." At Jax's frown, Kozik waves his hand. "Tig wouldn't let up about Missy's special dog food- and then we saw the front door cracked open when we pulled up." Koz pins him with a glare. "Why the hell didn't you just ask?" Against his better judgement, Jax responds- though he knows he can't really tell the guy he'd figured it would be easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
"I dunno, Koz. I mean... I finally had a lead, a start to gettin' where I needed to go- and I took it. And I never meant to disrespect you- or Angela."
"Look, I get it, bro- I really do-"
"I don't," interjects Tig, picking dirt from beneath his nails, seemingly bored by the whole thing. "All this over pussy?"
"Shut the fuck up, Tig!"
This time, both Jax and Kozik's voices rise into the night, sending Tig chuckling and raising his hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, I call it like I see it. But I will say one thing, though- at least you're finally sacking up." As Kozik shoots him a withering glare, Tig doubles down. "I mean it- a little B&E's nothin' compared to the shit I did as a prospect. I gotta know, though- what'd ya use? I don't see a crowbar anywhere…" As Tig makes a show of peering around Jax's shoulder- ostensibly to search for a crowbar or some shit- Jax's fingers close around the large brass key in his pocket.
Christ…
"I uh… I didn't break in." As Kozik's brow knits, Jax extends his arm, his fingers uncurling to reveal the key. "Swiped this at the clubhouse earlier, figured it was better than actually breaking in. Guess I didn't figure on-" he nods in Tig and Kozik's general direction "uh, everything else." Silence as the key gleams in the streetlamp. Somehow, Jax finds himself unable to take his eyes off it, even as Koz reaches to take it from him- none too gently.
Of course, if he'd been focused on Kozik's face, he would have noticed the ticking in his jaw, the bright spark of anger in his eyes. Hell, he might've even had time to say something, do something, to let the guy know just how conflicted he is. How his earlier discovery is mingling with outright fucking guilt over actually stealing from his brother not to mention breaking into his old lady's business.
Instead, Jax is still watching the key disappear into Koz's pocket when the first blow lands. Even before the searing pain in his ribs fully sets in, he's flat on his back in the darkness, the starless sky spreading above him for mere milliseconds until Kozik looms over him. And as the fist closes in for a second time, Jax closes his eyes- his consciousness further narrowing until only Tig's distant laughter exists.
Church has only been underway for a matter of minutes before Jax finds his mind wandering. Despite his new resolve to be a better brother, a better Son, he just can't manage to give a shit about the upcoming protection run, friction with some startup club over in Oakland, and especially Bobby's goddamn secretary's report. Instead, his mind is miles away, flooded with images of Tara- pen poised over her notebook in some braniac science class, laughing with friends on the steps of a stately, ivy-covered hall… all snapshots of the life he'd spent the past months hoping she was pursuing, even if it's without him.
Only now, he's got some details to fill in the blanks, the knowledge to do something about a large chunk of what's had him struggling just to keep his head above water. Now, he's got the opportunity to see for himself whether his imagination's been an accurate representation of the real thing.
Hell, he'd been ready to get on his bike and burn up the stretch of highway between them the moment he'd had the address. Getting busted- and especially the dust-up with Kozik- had been an unwelcome stumbling block, to say the least. Still, Jax has to admit he should probably be thanking the powers that be his club brother had settled on a fist to the ribs and a jab to the face… instead of the beatdown he'd rightfully earned.
Thing is, Jax knows he'd deserved that shit- had expected no less from the moment he'd realized who'd found him out. Hell, in retrospect, he'd been feeling shitty about the whole scenario from the moment he swiped Koz's keys- which was definitely why he hadn't bothered to fight back. Taking his licks, not standing up for himself… it's shit that goes against everything in him, but he just couldn't bring himself to actually fucking hit a guy he knew he'd wronged.
So, when Koz had reached his hand out a third time that night, he'd been surprised when it hadn't been to deliver a final, knockout blow. Instead, it had been to heave Jax's sorry ass up off the grass. When he'd started for him yet again, it had been to brush a dead leaf off his kutte and give him a half-playful, half-disgusted shove in the process.
"Church at noon... and your ass better be early."
Jax had been surprised that there was no rancor left in Koz's voice- just a mild note of warning he'd let hang in the air. Still, it had served the message much more effectively than Tig's stream of bullshit ever could. Koz had reminded him- just not in so many words- that no matter what he's found, he's got to be extremely goddamn careful about how he moves forward. And in the end, Koz had probably been the only thing that had saved him from forgetting all about his promise to his father- and himself- and just hitting the road, club be damned.
Now, though, in the harsh light of day and feeling the twinge of his first black eye since he'd fought that douchebag Fresno prospect a couple years ago, it's like a double dose of pure fucking common sense is hitting him in the face once again. A stark reminder that he's got to finish pulling his shit together to have any shot at getting Tara back and keeping the respect of anyone wearing a kutte.
Goddamn black eye…
He'd gone on a long ride last night- both to try to burn out his urge to get to Tara rightfuckingnow and to delay the inevitable shit he was going to get from his brothers the moment they saw the unmistakable imprint Koz's fist had left on his face. Hours later, he had been pleasantly surprised when the clubhouse was relatively empty by the time he came in. He'd been able to slip back to the apartment unnoticed and had waited until the last minute to edge his way into the chapel for church this morning. Currently, he's hoping his reaper ball cap and his position at the corner of the foot of the table will let him fly under the radar a bit longer.
As if the universe is on his side, Happy had apparently turned up last night, and his presence at the table had effectively diverted everyone's attention until JT called church to order.
Still, Jax knows it's only a matter of time before church is over and he's forced to cop to what had caused the fight- especially since Bobby seems to be winding down. God knows hassling Tig about his dues is pretty much the final item of business on every secretary's report since Jax had patched in.
"Aaalright, alright-" JT interjects, grinning as he interrupts Tig's protests. "Tig, get with Bobby after church and figure out how to hit us back next month- if you got child support comin' due, have Gem push some shit around and get you a few extra shifts over at the garage." At Tig's nod, JT clears his throat and is silent for a moment as he lights a cigarette.
"Finally. I'd like to welcome Hap back to Charming and back to the table-" JT has to pause as a chorus of greetings rise from the table- "rode in late last night and asked for a moment of our time." JT turns to address Happy himself, who's in his old spot next to Tig. "I understand you've got a favor to ask?" Hap nods, skimming a hand over his freshly shaven head.
"Lee asked me to come down- thought maybe Charming could help Tacoma out for a change, 'stead of the other way around." Jax finds himself shifting in his chair, invested in club business for the first time today.
"Tacoma's got a local player been seriously fuckin' with our legit business. Intel officer thinks he's got the lowdown on what's up, but we got a problem- can't send nobody in a SAMTAC kutte in to check things out… The locals we got to deal with can see us comin' a mile away, even without the colors." Happy shrugs, assessing them all with dark eyes and shifting a toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "What Lee needs are a couple of new guys- fresh faces."
"Depends how many ya need, Hap- and how long. We're short handed ourselves, what with both Otto and Ope bein' locked up," JT replies evenly, and Jax notices a few of the others nodding in agreement.
"Got that covered, brother," Hap returns, grinning around his toothpick. "Ma's been makin' noise about not seein' me as much- figured Charming's more'n halfway there. An' Lee sent the prospect down with me, guess he was hopin' you'd see things his way."
"So-"
"Two guys," Happy finishes, "Couple months, maybe longer, I dunno. Long as it takes to straighten shit out. 'Till then, you got me'n Donut-"
"Happy Donut… think I rented a cop porno with that title once," Tig interjects, to a rumble of laughter. Happy smirks, flashing him the middle finger before turning back to JT, who's scratching his beard, thoughtfully.
"I think we could handle that long as we got an exchange lined up to keep us flush in the meantime. Lee have anyone in mind?" Happy shrugs, again, settling back in his chair.
"Nah. Just need someone who ain't got visible club ink or is willin' to cover it up." He grins, folding his arms, his own club ink stretching over his formidable forearms. "Little ol' ladies ain't too fond of the reaper."
"Fair enough," JT chuckles, before turning his attention to the table at large. "Since that doesn't really rule out anyone but-"
"I'll do it." Jax blurts out, the urgency that's been building since Happy had started talking finally fighting its way past his lips. Instantly, every pair of eyes at the table is aimed his way- exactly what he'd been trying to avoid for as long as possible. But for the first time since he'd slipped into the room, Jax finds that he really doesn't give a shit.
JT blinks back at him, nonplussed, his eyes traveling over him like they hadn't before the gavel had dropped- mostly because he'd been deep in discussion with Piney. Briefly, his gaze lingers on Jax's eye. Christ, it's like Jax can feel it, heating the bruised skin, making it stand out even more starkly in the dim light of the chapel. Then, he scans the room, and Jax's eyes follow.
Yeah, anyone that hadn't noticed before sure as hell is looking now. Bobby's got a caterpillar-like brow raised, Chibs is looking at him like he's got a second head, Hap's smirking, and Tig is wearing that shit-eating grin he always gets right before he's about to cut loose with something infuriating. Koz shoots Tig a glare as Piney breaks the silence.
"Well look who decided to join the land of the living," Piney muses, reaching for a battered pack of cigarettes. "Hope whoever gave you that shiner knocked a little sense into that thick skull of yours." Jax can't help but chuckle with the rest of the table as Kozik cracks his knuckles.
"Yeah, I think our boy here finally got his head out of his ass," Koz says, leaning back in his chair.
"Anything I should be concerned about?" At JT's questioning look, Koz simply raises his chin in Jax's direction, his grin remaining in place.
"Naw, we're all good, Pres- just a little scuffle between brothers. Ain't that right, Jax?" Jax finds himself nodding his head in return.
"Yup."
"Actually-" Tig begins, but Kozik continues as if he hadn't even spoken.
"Fact, if y'all don't mind, I'll take the other slot on this shit for Jax and I make a good pair of upstanding citizens."
"'Cept Jackie Boy here looks like he's been bareknuckle boxing in fecking Belfast," Chibs snorts, gesturing at Jax's face.
"Maybe his mommy can help him look pretty again." Tig's voice is taunting, syrupy sweet. "I bet Gem's got somethin' the Prince can powder his nose with-"
"Works for me." JT's voice breaks through the din of laughter for the second time that day, nodding towards Jax. "Hap, that leaves you and Donut here, and Jax and Kozy'll make the trip up north. Tacoma good with that?"
"I'll let Lee know."
"Koz, Jax- go ahead and take the afternoon off. Get your shit packed, go see your girl." This is directed at Kozik, who grins sheepishly, but Jax feels that familiar pang of emptiness just the same. "You can take off early tomorrow morning. Puts you in Tacoma by tomorrow night." JT turns his attention to the room at large. "Any opposed?" JT pauses to survey the table, and for a moment, Jax has a fleeting worry someone will speak up. Then the gavel's coming down and Hap's pushing his chair back sharply, mumbling something about finding a croweater.
Club business apparently handled for the day, some of the club linger at the table, finishing cigarettes and chatting, but Jax finds himself just as ready to get the fuck out of there as Happy had been a moment ago. Now that he's got the club's blessing to hit the road and finally drag himself out from under the heavy weight that's seemed to settle over him whenever his bike the chapel's somehow feeling more cramped and dreary than ever. With a last glance at his father, who seems to be settling into conversation with Piney, Jax makes his escape.
He's just outside the chapel doors and setting a bead on Happy, who's already chatting up the blonde behind the bar, when a familiar gasp stops him in his tracks.
Jesus Christ...
"Jesus Christ!"
The irony that his mother's just screeched the very words that he'd grumbled to himself moments before doesn't elude him, especially as she shoulders her giant leather bag and rushes to his side.
"Hey Ma-"
"Don't you hey Ma me, Jackson," Gemma snaps, brows furrowing as she reaches up to rest her fingertips on his cheek, "not when you look like you just went three rounds with Oscar de la Hoya." Jax rolls his eyes, but is spared from making a response when Bobby ambles up, a joint clamped between his teeth.
"That ain't no three rounds," Bobby chortles around the joint, "That's just one solid shot to the face. I should know- got my first black eye from my girlfriend's boyfriend."
"Ain't my first black eye," Jax snorts.
"What he dinna tell ya is tha' it wasn't the boyfriend's fists what gave him the shiner," Chibs divulges, appearing out of nowhere to toss his arm around Bobby's shoulders. He snickers as Bobby shrugs him off. "Packin', that guy was. Huge dick..."
"Who called for a huge dick?" Tig crows, somehow managing to grab himself while sidling up to join what's quickly becoming a goddamn circle of misery. Ignoring them, Gemma allows her hand to slide from Jax's face, placing it on one hip instead.
"Well?"
"Christ, I'll be fine, Ma."
"Tell me you at least put somethin' on it, baby. You know how much you swell-" Jax closes his eyes, willing her to give it a rest- but it's way too fucking late for that.
"Awww, does the widdle Pwince need his mommy to rub some cweam on his diaper rash, too?" Tig chortles with glee. "Maybe she'll-"
"Man, fuck off, Tig." Jax takes a step away from Gemma, one that puts him eye to eye with Tig himself. Christ, it never ends with this guy. More, it's that he's been catching shit from these guys since he was a kid- and in part, that's what Sons do. And normally, he'd be enjoying the banter, laughing at the jabs, adding in his own. But something about the sum total of the night before, the guys' jeers, his mother's hovering, and the beckoning freedom that comes with the opportunity he'd just been given… Well, right now he just doesn't give a fuck.
They square up for a few tense moments as Jax sets his jaw and Tig flexes his fingers, his smirk quickly morphing into a sneer...until Koz steps between them, clapping Tig on the shoulder.
"Come on, Tiggy. Let's go get a drink." Tig snorts, jerking his head towards Jax, but allows himself to be herded away and toward the bar, griping as he goes.
"I don't get it, man. You shoulda kicked his ass last night when you had the chance." Jax is sure Koz responds, even as he practically drags Tig to the other end of the room, but he doesn't hear a word of it. Gemma's right back in his space, backing him through the doorway of the chapel and hissing like a fucking cobra- somehow, even more worked up than she was before.
"Jesus Christ, Jackson- are you tellin' me you got in a fight with a member of this club? I swear to God, if you're still this twisted up about Tara that you'd actually-" Laughing in disbelief, Jax wrenches away from his mother yet again.
"Goddamnit, Ma, why can't you ever just back the fuck off? I told you when she left and I'm only gonna say it one more time... It's not your business. So, leave. It. Alone."
Chuckling humorlessly, Gemma just shakes her head.
"Somebody hurtin' my baby is always my business, sweetheart- whether it's some wishy washy bitch breakin' your heart or some man breakin' your face with his fists. But you got to stop puttin' your heartache before your responsibility to this club-"
"Christ, you don't think I know that?" Jax spits. "Besides her, the goddamn club's all I think about, every day-"
"Then why are you brawling with other patches when you should be-"
"Easy, Gem. Relax…" And just like that, JT's there, pulling Gemma into his side and dropping a kiss to her hairline.
With a bit of space between them and a second's reprieve from the war of words with his mother, Jax has a brief moment to take in his surroundings. He's in the now-empty chapel, the double doors that had been closed at some point- ostensibly by his father- serving to give them a fair bit of privacy. However, Gemma hesitates only briefly before setting her jaw and folding her arms- though she doesn't move to release herself from JT's touch.
"How can I relax when your son-" the emphasis sets JT smirking, though only Jax can see him "-is burnin' his bridges with his brothers?"
"It's fine, darlin'. He's fine. Just a scuffle that was easily solved almost the moment it happened. Hell, Koz and Jax are even workin' together on this next job."
"But…" JT shakes his head, and Jax can almost see the moment he decides to play his trump card.
"It's club business Gem. Just one of those things, but it stays between patches. You know that." At that, slowly- but almost like magic- Gemma deflates… though Jax can tell she resents the hell out of it. She purses her lips a moment before nodding, reluctantly. With his mother growing more compliant by the minute, though, Jax finds himself on the opposite fucking trajectory.
"Why is it, Ma," he seethes, his voice low, "that even though I've asked you over and over again to just leave well enough alone, the only time you ever really back off is when it's club business? Jesus Christ, I'm not a goddamn kid anymore."
"You've been acting like one- and over some lost pussy," Gemma returns, quietly. And inexplicably- though his mother's comment is almost identical to one Tig had made last night- Jax's rapidly building anger is suddenly gone. In its place is nothing but blessed fucking clarity.
Despite her worry over him, his mother's too goddamn stubborn to reconcile what he needs with what she wants for him… And he's not going to waste a minute more in some futile attempt to convince her of a goddamn thing.
"You know what, Ma? You're right, in a fucked up way. I have been actin' like a child... and I'm workin' on that, too. But in this clubhouse- in my life- I don't need your input to do it." Jax pauses, ducks his head a little so he can level with his mother for maybe the first time since he'd surpassed her in height years ago. "I love you, Mom. But I don't need you… Not anymore." Gemma flinches, visibly, and Jax has only a moment to file it away before JT's subtle nod and the tightening of his arm around Gemma's shoulders forces the last few words across Jax's lips. "That's one reason I volunteered for a temporary transfer to Tacoma."
Gemma recoils as if he'd slapped her for the second time in as many moments. But as the shock spreads across her face, Jax can't help but feel a sick bit of satisfaction mingling with the guilt that's already welling up in his gut. He doesn't know what the fuck to do with either emotion- and he realizes, all at once, that he doesn't have figure that out. She's JT's problem, now.
So, as the silence sinks heavily in the SAMCRO chapel, Jax says the only thing that's left to say.
"See you later, Mom."
Jax's been in the apartment a good thirty minutes before he stops listening for the click of Gemma's bootheels outside his door, and in the shower a good twenty before he finally cranks the knob to the left. Christ, he can only imagine what it had taken his father to prevent her from marching down the hallway in his wake and beating down the apartment door...but hell if he isn't grateful just the same.
Releasing a deep, shaky breath, Jax rubs the steam off the mirror and takes in the man on the other side- something he'd been avoiding, consciously or subconsciously, since well before Koz had pummeled his face. He's come a long way since last night, Jax realizes suddenly, when he'd somehow been both anxious and relieved to be back at his mother's table. Then- despite the appraising looks, the probing questions, the expertly sharpened comments- he'd found himself enjoying her concern, a bit. But she'd made it painfully clear that he can't be who he needs to be with his mommy in the clubhouse. Christ, whether he's pissed at her, tolerating her concern, or avoiding her scrutiny, Gemma's at his work, his club, his home… She's fucking everywhere he is, looming almost as large as the legacy he's expected to fill one day.
And that's another thing. As much as he loves his father- loves both his parents, really, despite their flaws-s how the hell is he supposed to gain the respect of Tig, or anyone for that matter, when they assume he's only at the table because his last name is Teller? Hell, if he'd been born a Delaney, a Munson, or even a Winston, Jax can't help but think he'd have burned all his bridges months ago.
The thought seems to reignite the throbbing in his head, along with the newfound awareness that had been assaulting him since his encounter with his mother began. Maybe the only shot he's got at becoming a Son, rather than just the club founder's son, is somewhere other than Charming.
Jax hangs his head over the sink for a moment before seizing his towel and scrubbing furiously at his face. Swiping the towel over himself carelessly, he pads, naked, into the adjoining apartment, his gaze resting on the tattered duffel he'd dug out of the closet earlier. Crossing the room and jerking open the top drawer of the built-in, he slips on a pair of boxers before dumping the rest onto the bed. He repeats the same action with t-shirts, snags a couple pairs of jeans, a pile of hoodies and flannels, then sinks down amidst the wreckage to get dressed and force it into some semblance of order so he can stuff it all into the bag.
The stark white tees Jax favors under heavier shirts are still mostly rolled neatly into barrels- something, he realizes with a snort, Gemma's been doing for him since well before he was out of diapers. A various assortment of club tees- most with SONS, circle-As, reapers, and SAMCRO emblazoned across the fronts, comes next. He's finishing up a white reaper tee when the next one- the last in the pile- stops him in his tracks.
After Tara had left and it had become clear he was a goddamn wreck without her, Gemma had managed to lure him back to his childhood home briefly in order to launch a scorched-earth campaign on the clubhouse apartment. Every photo, every memento, every sign Tara had ever existed- down to the smattering of bobby pins on the nightstand- had fallen victim to the siege. The night he'd returned, the sheer shock- coupled with a fifth of whiskey and some furious self-loathing- had been enough to trigger the smashed mirror that still sits barren, waiting for a new pane. Of course, he'd since returned to the apartment, but he'd thought every piece of Tara had been stripped from the room- all but the photo of her he kept in his wallet and the memento he never hit the road without dropping into his pocket. Apparently, however, Gemma hadn't thought to sift through his clothing.
Smiling, sadly, Jax reaches to run his fingers across the faded lettering of one of the first club shirts he'd ever owned. It had also been one of the first that had taken up permanent residence in Tara's closet instead of his own. The shirt had been the subject of a good-natured battle Jax had never really intended on winning, since he'd have given just about anything at sixteen (and now) to watch her slip it on over her panties before snuggling up in bed beside him.
Jax sighs; the memory now is just as faded, soft, comfortable, as the shirt- and a thousand times more bittersweet. Irrationally, he realizes that it hurts a little she hadn't taken it with her, packed it carefully in her bag- maybe slipped it on when she was missing him the most or inhaled their shared fragrance like he's itching to do right now.
Actually, it's a little irrational and a lot unfair. If he knows Tara, she'd been singular in her mission to leave once she'd made the decision- and it wasn't like her to risk encountering Gemma here at the clubhouse to spend time rooting around in his drawers for an old tshirt. Instead, he figures she was undoubtedly operating much as he is now- on some fucked up sort of autopilot, taking advantage of a shining beacon of clarity to lead her out of the circling darkness that surrounded Charming.
And it's this realization, somehow, that brings Jax full circle. Tara had told him, once, that she could feel the weight of living in this town pressing down, growing heavier and heavier as each day passed. Now that he feels it too- coupled with the knowledge that he just might have to leave Charming to truly find his own way, even within the club- he finally understands, fully, why Tara had left.
This town had offered her so little- a father that cared more about numbing his own pain with bourbon than his daughter, a community college that was very quickly running out of opportunities, and a goddamn pile of memories, both pleasant and unpleasant. She'd had friends, Gemma and JT, the club family, sure. But at the end of the day, Jax knows that together, they'd both done a hell of a job of shutting out everyone else.
Tara was his world, and he was hers, until he'd shut her out, too. And now, he's got a pretty damn good idea of what it feels like to have all that nothing rushing in to fill in the cracks, to feel like he's suffocating in his own skin. For her part, she'd run, gone somewhere she'd evidently felt she could breathe again, and grow outside the boundaries Charming- and Jax- had imposed on her. And while he'd known instantly that he'd been mostly to blame, what he hadn't realized until now is that just like Tara, he's got to grow, too.
And that's looking less and less possible here in Charming.
In some fucked up way, it's like this trip coming the day after he'd learned her whereabouts is like a sign of some sort- the universe's way of shoving his ass onto the right path so he can start living again. Do the shit he's got to do so that, someday, he can stand a chance of getting her back.
A knock at the door interrupts this latest revelation-and his packing- and Jax jumps as the sound breaks the silence in the apartment. Actually, knocking is putting it rather mildly- the door's vibrating with each thud, the knob rattling in its housing.
"Hey Jackie, open up." Relieved to hear Chibs' voice, as opposed to his mother's, Jax moves quickly, unlocking and opening the door.
Chibs makes no move to enter, just leans against the doorframe and gets straight to business.
"Got a call from SAMTAC- local weather's been trackin' some storm rollin' in off the sound, was s'posed to hit tomorrow night. Now they're thinkin' it could be as early as tomorrow afternoon." Shit. Riding in the rain, while sometimes inevitable, can be straight up miserable- especially if it gets chilly. Worse, when you add wind to the mix of poor traction, shit visibility, and the constant spray of water from the road, things can get dangerous- and quick.
"Shit, okay. They think we should wait?"
"Guy says if ya can make Medford before dark and then cut out first thing tomorrow mornin', you're lookin' clear all the way up the five through Portland- longer if ya get a head start. Your Da's tryin' to reach Koz an' tell him the same thing. Koz'll be over at Angie's, I'm guessin'-"
"Naw," Jax finds himself responding. "She's outta town at some conference." Chibs grins, squeezing Jax's shoulder and nodding at the heap on the bed behind him.
"Well he'll be rarin' to go, then- and it looks like ya got your work cut out for ya. Better get that arse movin'." Laughing, Chibs moves to turn back up the hallway.
"Hey, Chibs-" Pausing, Chibs raises a brow in askance. "What's your hit on me takin' this job up in Tacoma for a couple months?" Frowning, Chibs seems to consider this a moment before responding.
"I know things ain't been right with ya for a while, Jackie. And I canna say I don't understand- the shit that went down with my family, the Cause… Even though Jimmy O forced my hand, I needed to get out, get away, before I got myself or them killed. And it's what brought me here, to this family." Chibs pauses, hand lingering at his scars for a brief moment, before finishing decisively. "It's a good move, kid- somethin' that'll get ya away from the shit that's been holdin' ya back. Just remember that runnin' from your problems doesn't mean they won't be there waitin' for ya when ya get back."
As Chibs shoots him a kind smile and makes his way into the hallway- and as Jax resumes shoving his shit into the bag- he can't help but feel strangely satisfied in a way he hadn't expected an hour ago. And it's this feeling- this almost irrational optimism slowly building in his chest- that has him seizing Tara's reaper tee, a shirt that hasn't fit him in close to a decade, and shoving it in his bag.
Since it's a weekday, the garage is full and the clubhouse is near-barren, leaving the back half of the lot relatively clear. So it's in amiable silence that Jax and Kozik set about tightening straps and securing loose ends for the nearly 12 hour ride ahead.
Gemma's conspicuously absent-which is a blessed reprieve from what Jax had been expecting, especially after the scene earlier. He's got no doubt that's likely thanks to JT running distraction rather than some change of heart she'd had over the past couple hours, but he's thankful just the same. It's probably more than a little fucked up to feel relieved at the absence of his own goddamn mother. Still, he's quickly realizing that the less time he spends dwelling on all the shit that seems to be pushing him out of Charming- and the more he spends focusing on what's ahead- the better.
As if he's just read Jax's mind, Koz gives a ratchet strap a final hard yank and steps back to survey his work for only a brief moment before squinting in his general direction.
"Alright, bro- it's time to get on the road."
Finishing his own preparations, Jax has time to nod and don his gloves before he spots his father and Piney heading across the lot in their direction. JT's expression is carefully guarded and Piney looks as irritable as ever- but somehow, he knows both President and VP have his back on this one, even if it means leaving Charming for the foreseeable future. Hell, Piney hadn't spoken to him for weeks after Tara had left, but he'd broken his silence in church today. And JT… well, his father had been the one to toss him an empty journal, wordlessly encouraging him to turn a new page.
"All set?"
"Good to go, Pres," Kozik returns, easily, just as Jax answers with his own
"Yup."
Nodding briskly, JT is exchanging a brief, back-slapping hug with Koz just as Jax finds himself engulfed in the massive arms of Piney Winston. That hug is punctuated by a brief nod of what Jax can only surmise is approval, when Piney grunts somewhere in the vicinity of his right ear.
"'Bout time you started carrying your own water, boy."
Then Piney's moving away to shake hands with Kozik, and JT's approaching, grasping Jax's shoulders and nodding in the general direction of the office.
"Your ma had to take off, Trini's school is gettin' out an hour early today." JT shrugs. "Wasn't here when we got the news about the weather comin' in, and it looks like she'll miss when you and Koz roll out." He winks, a conspiratorial grin just touching the edge of his lips. "But I'll be sure to give her your love." Jax snorts, finds himself chuckling with his father even as he pulls him into a brief hug.
"Tell Trin I love her, though...and I'm sorry I missed her. It's just-"
"She'll understand, Son. And it ain't like there's no phones between here and Tacoma- you keep in touch when you can."
And maybe it's fitting that as JT backs away, as Jax and Koz mount up, gear up, and prepare to leave Charming for the foreseeable future, there's no heart-to-heart, no well-intentioned advice- and certainly no fanfare, despite his mother's best intentions. Just a begrudging nod from Piney, a shout across the lot from Chibs, a giddy middle finger from Tig- and his father's parting words, ringing in his ears.
"I'm proud of you, Jackson."
Much like the day before, when he'd had Trinity on the back of his bike, Jax finds that he's actually enjoying the ride for what it is, rather than as a tool to blunt the edges of his memories. He and Kozik cruise past the clinic, past St. Thomas, the back side of the "Welcome to Charming" sign that's graced the city limits as long as Jax can remember- and finally the circle A his father had emblazoned on the rock alongside old 88. All are host to their own particular ghosts- but somehow, today, they're companions rather than demons.
The old Food N' Fuel on the outskirts of Lodi- the last-chance for gas before the 99 and eventually the 5 take them all the way up to the Oregon border- is no exception. He'd made many a stop here, on long rides with Opie at his side, with Tara warming his back… Still, Jax finds himself with a faint smile instead of an ache in his chest as Koz leads the way into the familiar turn- and that's got to be fucking progress.
They pull side by side next to the first available pump, and Jax peels his gloves off as Kozik swings a leg over his bike.
"Fill us up, will ya? I gotta piss, so I'll pay before I come back out." Koz says, fishing through his kutte pocket before extracting a wad of cash and his ever-present pack of gum."SAMTAC's run fund's covering us all the way up to Tacoma and Hap made sure Lee wasn't a stingy bastard this time." He waves the cash at Jax, grinning. "Want anything?"
"Pack of smokes, I guess-"
Koz shakes his head, shoving a stick of gum into his mouth.
"Don't you know that shit'll kill ya?"
"Just what I need… advice from mom," Jax snorts, and Koz smirks before turning toward the convenience store. tossing a final jab over his shoulder in a terrible impersonation of Gemma.
"Love you, Jacksonnn!"
Kozik's cracking falsetto earns him a middle finger in return, but Jax is chuckling as he sets about filling up the bikes, any remaining tension between he and Koz officially broken. Despite his earlier run-in with Tig and his utter frustration at the situation with his mother and the shit he'd taken as the result of her hovering, everything hits differently here, away from Charming. Hell, they're under forty miles outside of town, and he can already feel the weight lifting.
He's just shoving the nozzle into Koz's tank when a SanJua County squad car slows on the adjacent highway and signals before turning onto the lot. Despite the fact that he and Koz are both legal to carry and aren't traveling with any club contraband- he doesn't have so much as a joint rolled up in his saddlebag- Jax finds himself on edge, eying the car closely as it creeps towards the pumps.
SAMCRO's never had a great relationship with the SanJua dicks- never had to with Unser in JT's back pocket. As a result, even since the club started earning (mostly) straight, a few of the county guys who roam the highways closer to Charming seem to get their jollies by hassling anyone wearing a kutte.
As the car slows further, to Jax's dismay, he realizes the only open pump is directly across from his own. Christ… Tucking his hair behind his ears, he half-turns, squeezing the pump's trigger to begin filling Koz's bike and displaying his still-pristine three piece patch. Might as well let the reaper do the talking, let this officer know he's dealing with SAMCRO from the jump. Somewhere behind him, the squad car door opens- and seconds tick by as Jax waits for the inevitable stream of shit he knows is headed his way. Except, it never comes.
"Jax?"
Instead of sneering derision, the voice is tentative- friendly, even… and familiar. Jax turns to find none other than David Hale leaning against the pump situated between them, clad in a SanJua County Sheriff's Department uniform and a hesitant smile. He looks mostly the same as he ever has, Jax thinks, fleetingly- the same clean-shaven face and Boy Scout haircut, the same awkward confidence that came with serving as the neighborhood paperboy for practically his entire childhood. Today, though, aside from the pristine jeans giving way to a cop suit and the red bicycle being replaced by the shiny Crown Vic behind him, there's something else different about his old nemesis Jax can't quite put his finger on. So, he settles for what's familiar- giving his childhood friend turned high school rival a healthy dose of shit.
"Jeeesus Christ, Hale- almost thought you were a real cop," Jax drawls, smirking.
"Lot of people make that mistake," Hale returns, shrugging. "Still just a sheriff's deputy." He nods at the Redwood Original patch on the front of Jax's kutte. "I see you're moving up in the world- though I can't say I'm shocked you joined your daddy's group of motorcycle enthusiasts."
Jax snorts, but it's with none of the animosity he used to feel where Hale's involved.
"Figured you'd have landed in Charming instead of SanJua- you always did say you looked forward to the day when you had the power to lock up SAMCRO."
Hale's smile falters, and once it does, it occurs to Jax what's so different about him; he looks tired, almost careworn, the fading smile giving way to newly sprouted worry lines at his brow.
"Actually…" Hale averts his eyes. "I just put in my notice over at the Department, I have to serve out the rest of this year's provisional contract and then I can make the move. After Dad died last month, it didn't take me long to realize driving over to Charming several times a week to look in on Mom just wasn't practical." His expression darkens. "Not like Jake's selfish ass has made the trip over from Stanford."
"Shit… I'm sorry about your old man."
And, as Hale thanks him, Jax finds that he truly is sorry- he'd come close as hell to losing his own father, and it isn't shit he'd wish on anyone...maybe not even the kid of the judge who had risked his career to put JT away for the better part of Jax's early childhood. Now that he thinks about it, he'd heard mention of Judge Hale's sudden passing when it had occurred, but he'd been too mired in his own grief to think about what it might mean for Hale- or Charming PD, for that matter.
"You got somethin' lined up with Unser? Maybe give him a run for his money." Hale's shaking his head already, looking dubious at the thought.
"I haven't even heard from the guy. I just heard there was an opening in Charming- Candy Eglee convinced me to make the move, take the shorter drive, and that was it."
"I dunno," Jax muses, slowly. "Seems like it could be good-" At this, Hale actually snorts.
"I just quit my first job out of the Academy less than a year in to move back to my backwoods hometown. Uh, no offense." Jax holds up his hands- none taken, believe me… "I guess I just want it all to mean something, you know? Everything happens for a reason- my dad, Jake being a dick, all of it. I just have to figure out what that is."
Hale looks like he wants to say more but the pump handle clicks and jolts behind him, signifying that the patrol car is full, and the moment passes. He scratches his neck, a bit uncomfortably, before jerking his head in the car's general direction.
"Well, uh… I should get back on the road. Guess I'll be seeing you around?"
It's easier for Jax to simply nod and return his attention to his bike rather than explain Tacoma, Charming- hell, the club- to someone like David Hale, no matter how long he'd known the guy.
Instead, they work alongside one another for a moment, almost as if they'd come to some mutual realization about the animosity they used to have and the friendship that had preceded it. Before Jax can get too lost in his thoughts, however, Hale finishes and breaks the silence- much as he had when he'd first arrived.
"I uh… I'm glad things worked out for you, Jax."
Jax finds himself grinning, despite himself.
"You too… Davey."
Hale's answering smirk is short-lived, and he's nothing but earnest by the time he delivers his parting request-
"Tell Tara hi for me, okay?"
Jax still hasn't managed a reply a full thirty seconds later, as Hale guides the patrol car back onto 99.
Apparently, like Opie before him, Hale wasn't aware of all that had passed between Jax and Tara during his absence. Instead, he'd naturally assumed- despite his high school-era smug confidence that she'd eventually see Jax and SAMCRO for what they truly were- that they were still together, stronger than ever. Christ, the cruel irony of it all is fucking painful.
In hindsight, one of the reasons Hale had managed to grind Jax's gears the way he did probably wasn't as much Hale himself as who he represented. Someone wholesome, law-abiding, successful- everything Jax had always worried Tara wanted, knew she fucking deserved. And Hale had eventually found that success outside Charming's borders, a thought that had all but terrified Jax at the time.
Now, though, the tables are turned- Hale's returning to Charming just as he himself is leaving it- though only for a few months. It all sounds a hell of a lot like some sort of sign- and they've been piling up all goddamn week. Christ, it brings him back to something else the guy had said- about everything happening for a reason- and Jax can't help but wonder what it all means.
"Smokes!" Koz calls out, jolting Jax out of his reverie and tossing a familiar pack his way before ambling past to throw a leg over his bike.
And just like the night before, Kozik serves, in his own way, as a less-than-subtle reminder of why Jax is here, what he needs to do for himself before he can have a hope of going after Tara. As if he senses his thoughts, Kozik twists in his seat and raises his chin at Jax.
"Was that Judge Hale's kid?" Much like he had with Hale himself, Jax finds it far simpler to nod and busy himself with the task at hand- a move Kozik answers with a thoughtful look and more than a few beats of silence. Then, he shrugs, firing up his bike and donning his helmet with his signature broad grin. "Let's roll."
It's well past dusk by the time they reach Medford, and despite how enjoyable the ride up had truly been, Jax is more than ready to stop for the night. In fact, he's fucking tired- tired of the pavement, tired of the wind whipping against his face, tired of the sight of the back of Koz's head… just bone fucking tired, if you get right down to it. But for the first time since before Ope's arrest, he feels like the exhaustion creeping in is just a symptom of the long ride, not the result of some existential crisis that's bound to end at the bottom of a bottle. In any case, the sight of the motel, seedy as it is, is a welcome one, and Jax breathes a sigh of relief when Koz slows to turn into the lot.
Ten minutes and an encounter with an annoyingly perky teenage night desk attendant later, Jax is unlocking the door to their home for the night. The room key safely placed on the side table- and the hotel stationary with the phone number Jennifer had not-so-discreetly slipped him settling in the trash- they drop their shit onto two slightly suspect double beds. Jax immediately flops facedown next to his worn duffel with a groan. Christ, it's been a hell of a day. Kozik begins rifling through his bag, ignoring his own identical bed and even the cracked TV.
"Goddammit… Where the fuck..."
As the stream of mumbled curses grows steadily more emphatic, Jax rolls over, squinting at the dim light of the lamp that's suddenly assaulting his vision.
"The hell are you lookin' for?" Kozik doesn't answer, so focused is he on whatever it is he's searching for that's apparently wound up near the bottom of his overloaded duffel. A few moments pass before Koz is finally holding a small white card aloft and grinning in triumph. "A calling card?" Jax observes, raising an eyebrow.
"Yup. Promised Ang I'd call when we stopped for the night."
"How's she feel about you fucking off up to Tacoma for a couple months?" For the first time today, Jax is hit with the realization that while he'd been more than eager to leave Charming, there's no way he'd have felt the same if Tara was still there waiting on him. And even after yesterday's late night ride over to the clinic- and the subsequent, well-earned black eye on Angela's behalf- he'd failed to consider what might have been at stake for Kozik when he'd volunteered to go with him.
"Not thrilled about it," Kozik admits, grinning ruefully and sitting on the edge of his bed. "We make things work though- now that the busy season's over, she's got some vacation coming. Thought we might hit up Seattle, go do some normal people shit if Lee can spare me for a couple days." He shrugs, "plus, she's been an old lady for a while- she's used to runs and the long distance thing by now. So long as I remember to call her when we got some free time." Jax smirks, shaking his head.
"Never thought you'd be the one of us who's always got to check in with his old lady."
"That's the thing, Jax- I don't need to," Kozik responds, slowly. "She ain't gonna get pissed at me if we get tied up somewhere, or if I forget to let her know we rolled in. But she'll worry- and that's somethin' I've never had before… At least not in a long-ass time." Kozik swipes a hand down his face, looks away before he continues. "There were years of my life- 'specially when I was a junkie- where there was nobody to give a shit whether I came or went… not even my dealer. Wasn't until I found the club that anyone had my back. But Ang- she's the first chick that ever really got me. She accepts me for who I am, former junkie, half-legit MC and all. Ain't no way I'm losin' that in favor of skippin' out on a few long distance phone calls."
"Now who's in the bowl covered in pussy whip?" Jax jokes, and Kozik responds with an eye roll and a middle finger.
"Fuck off…" But as the moment passes, Kozik sobers, studying Jax a moment before continuing. "So you gonna be straight with me about your old lady? Maybe about the shit that happened that's got you so tore up? Or maybe about why you finally eased up on workin' your fingers to the bone over at the garage only to volunteer to come all the way up here?"
"Think you already know the answer to all those questions," Jax grunts, rolling off the bed and ignoring Kozik's reproachful look. He shrugs off his kutte, fishing hurriedly inside it for his pack of smokes. Finding it- along with the ever-increasing need to put off this inevitable conversation until some time, any time but rightfuckingnow- he claps Koz on the shoulder and jerks his head toward the miniscule cement patio he knows graces every room in this shithole.
"I'm gonna go burn one- or five- give you some privacy." As Koz's expression shifts from cynical to bald-faced gratitude, Jax can't help but grin, "I'd ask you to keep it short, but from what I hear, you don't have a problem in that departm-"
He's cut short as Kozik makes a half-serious lunge in his direction. Laughing, Jax makes his escape- barely manages to dodge Kozik's fist on the way past- but he stops short just inside the patio door.
"Hey, uh, Koz?"
"Yeah?" Distracted, Kozik continues punching numbers into the yellowed plastic phone on the nightstand.
"Tell her I'm sorry, okay?" At this, Kozik pauses, looking up from the phone to send Jax a genuine smile.
"You can tell her yourself someday. Till then, consider it locked in the vault, bro."
All Jax can manage to do in return is nod, gratefully, before ducking out the door into the darkening night. As the door closes behind him, he can't help but hear the opening strains of Koz's end of the conversation.
"Hey baby… yeah, I miss you too."
Sighing, Jax takes in his surroundings. The patio's about the size of a goddamn postage stamp and features a gray metal folding chair topped with a rather weary looking plant of some sort. Hell, the plant looks like he feels- and he'd usually be resenting parking his ass out here instead of stretching out on the bed inside and passing the fuck out… Except he knows what it's like to have a girl on the other end of the line. Knows exactly why Kozik's so different with Angela in his life- still the same guy, just… better. Happier. Knows how it is- though he'd never admit that shit to anyone- to feel that tightening in his chest, that lump in his throat that's suddenly, inexplicably, gone the moment he hears his girl's voice.
Christ, what I wouldn't give to hear her voice right now- even for just a moment…
Shaking his head at himself, Jax sets the plant aside, settles into the folding chair and lights a cigarette. That's a lie and a half- he knows good and goddamn well just a moment with Tara would never cut it- not even now. He's said it for years: when it comes to her, he'll never get enough.
As the smoke curls into the darkness and floats away into the night, Jax feels the melancholy he'd escaped earlier in the day return.
Some teacher or other had given his class a quick-drill writing assignment once, way back in fifth or sixth grade. Funny, but he can't remember the teacher; just that he'd been tasked with describing someone he'd trade places with- what he'd do, who he'd talk to… And as much as he'd have given his left arm at the time just to be a part of the club, wear his father's patch, have his own real bike- he hadn't been able to write a single word. At least not one that felt true.
Nothing- not even being Otto, Chibs, or any of the others- would have been better on that particular day than being Jackson Teller. He had a family, a best friend, and a stable of dream bikes over at his father's garage (he'd been eagerly counting down the days, months, and years until he could call one his very own). And best of all, he had a seat practically reserved for him at the reaper table. Who the hell could compete with that?
And for the next several years, even with all the family tragedy, betrayal, and loss- and sure as shit after Tara had returned to Charming- he would have answered that question the same fucking way.
But tonight…
Now, he sits alone on a rusted folding chair outside a shit motel, trying to ignore the ominous sky and the first raindrops pattering against the cement. God knows he's trying even harder not to focus on the hushed tones of Koz speaking softly to the girl he's got waiting on him at home.
Because tonight, for the first time since he can remember, Jax finds himself wishing he were someone else.
**A/N- I say this every time, but thank you so much for sticking with me through a cross country move, a new job, a crazy schedule, and so much more I won't even go into here. I'm excited for what's coming up, but there's still a lot of story left to tell, so I'm asking you to stick with me for a while longer. Much love to all of you, but especially Ang R, who is, as always, half the reason I get anything on the page at all. I'd love to know what you think, so please leave me a few words if you have time.**