**I own nothing you recognize**
"You ever been to Mexico?"
The question breaks into what's been about ten minutes of contented silence, most of which Jax had spent wolfing down greasy fare from the hamburger stand across the way. Apparently, Hap had been obsessed with the joint during his days with SAMTAC- likely because it was the cheapest burger in Tacoma.
Jax pauses- a hulking, half-eaten double cheeseburger slowing on its trajectory towards his mouth- to eye the car's other occupant.
Kozik's slouched low in the driver's seat of the late-model Chevy, somehow managing to be laser-focused on their target while also absentmindedly chewing on a fry, and, apparently, quizzing Jax about fucking travel destinations.
"Nope," Jax replies, resting his burger on the waxed paper on his lap. "Only time anyone in my family ever traveled out of the country was either 'cause of the Army or club business- and Belfast's no Mexico."
Kozik snorts. "Yeah, no shit."
Thankfully, Koz chooses to sidestep the veritable landmine that is the topic of Tellers in fucking Belfast, by way of shoving a few more fries into his mouth. The quiet has once again settled over the interior of the car by the time curiosity gets the best of Jax.
"The hell you askin' about Mexico all of a sudden?" he can't help but ask, well aware by this point that Koz isn't going to volunteer information on his own. For his part, Kozik just shrugs slightly, eyes still trained on the small office trailer on the adjacent construction site.
"Thought about takin' Angie after we get all this shit sorted out up here. She's got some time off comin', enough to make a vacation of it. But instead of askin' her to come up here, I figured maybe we'd wait and just ride down the coast; camp out under the stars or stay at cheap motels 'till we get to Baja. Hap's cousin's got a little place just the other side of the beach." Koz's grin spreads. "And once we're on the sand, I don't plan on seein' another soul but her for a fuckin' week."
Jax can't help but smile himself, even as he chews the remainder of his burger thoughtfully. Christ, what he wouldn't give to ride down across the border with Tara, go where the wind took them. Hell, it didn't even have to be Mexico- he'd be just as content to ride just about anywhere she'd be willing to go. Maybe Big Sur, where they could set up a tent in the sand in one of a hundred little coves, and swim, make love, and maybe never resurface…
Then, he's reminded why he hadn't done just that, and fleeting thoughts of just him and Tara, running nude along the sand, fade as quickly as they'd come.
"Club good with it?"
Koz just shrugs.
"We're good with the Mayans. Don't mean it'll stay that way. But, the way I see it, that's even more reason to go now- before shit goes sideways again."
"Actually-" Jax responds, then pauses, unsure what to say. Shit, they hadn't had beef with the Mayans since Clay had exited the picture years ago. He'd meant-
"Haven't run it by JT yet, but Tacoma's in good shape- 'specially after they're clear of this shit." Kozik glances at him only briefly before focusing, once again, on the portable across the street. "Figured I'd see if Hap or Donut could stick around Charming for a week or so after we get back."
Jax shakes his head skeptically.
"You make it sound so easy."
Instead of responding, Koz just snorts in disbelief. There's a moment of silence- almost like the guy can't believe he's this fucking stupid. Then-
"Ain't I told you a hundred times? You made things way too fuckin' difficult when you were in Charming- for you and for Tara." He shakes his head, crumpling his burger wrapper and shoving it in a bag. "Club'll keep, 'specially during peacetime. Even when we're shorthanded, we find a way to make shit work."
Koz unwraps a piece of gum, gestures between them. "Hell, you and I are living proof of the benefits of the unofficial 'SOA Exchange Program.' We got Tacoma's back and they got ours…and the same goes for any charter. Plus-" Koz pops the gum into his mouth, grinning, "We're fuckin' outlaws. We do what we want- 'specially if that means keepin' our old ladies happy." Jax doesn't smile back, however- his mind's still stuck on what Koz had said earlier.
Club'll keep.
It's the same shit his father had told him…more than once. And Koz's restatement of that point is still echoing in his head even as Jax finds himself responding.
"So why haven't you taken off before?" At Kozik's probing glance, Jax quickly amends, "Uh, you know, on vacation or whatever?" Kozik's silent a moment, chewing his gum thoughtfully- almost like he's not sure how to answer.
"Tell you the truth, I'm new to this shit. New to somebody carin' whether I stay or go, and definitely new to carin' right back… Hell, before her- back in the Corps and after I patched SOA- the only thing any woman wanted me for was the patch on my chest or the goddamn reaper on my back." Koz chuckles, humorlessly. "Tag chasers and club girls, s'far as the eye could see… but not one of 'em ever really saw me, y'know? And Angie… she's different from all of 'em- and I know you know what that's like, bro."
Jax can't help but nod, even though Koz's still focused on the lot across the street.
"Guess I'm still gettin' used to the fact there's this real, successful, beautiful chick that wants me, out of everygoddamnbody. And we can spend our time however the hell we want to, 'cause she ain't gonna be rubbin' up on some guy with more status in the club the next time I turn around." Koz turns to eye Jax, momentarily. "But bein' with a doctor's a whole new fuckin' ballgame, compared to tappin' croweaters and club girls. You remember that."
Jax snorts. "Think I already got that lesson a time or two."
Kozik seems to let that go, just shakes his head and returns his attention to their target across the street, which is still void of activity that Jax can see. Hell, it's beginning to look like they'll be here all damn day. He sighs, trying to get comfortable in his seat, restless despite the good company, the decent burgers, and the easy conversation. Kozik doesn't seem to notice, squinting momentarily before continuing his previous train of thought.
"You ever just, you know, look at your girl, like… in awe of how goddamn smart she is?" Now it's Jax's turn to shake his head, fondly.
"All the fuckin' time, bro." Christ, now you're talking about her in the present tense- like she's just over at the clubhouse waiting for you to finish up this job. "You have no idea."
Except Kozik does, of course. If there's anyone who comes close to Tara's singular determination to know more, to do more, it's Doctor Angela Carlson. At that, the two share a knowing smirk, and Jax is just about to point out that the smartest move Tara ever made was probably to leave his stubborn ass in Charming when Kozik sits up, ramrod straight, grabbing the binoculars from the dash.
"Shit, there he is." Craning his neck to get a better look, Jax watches as, in the distance, a guy matching the description Tacoma had given them that morning rifles through his pockets, then hunches over the padlock on the overhead door. "A'ight. We give him another thirty seconds to open that door, then we head over to the unit across the way once he's distracted. Then we're lookin' through grandma's old furniture until the big fish shows up in the pond, try to catch their conversation."
Koz holds up the small key Lee had handed him this morning, pushing out a quick rush of air and grinning broadly. Christ, the guy apparently fucking loves this shit. Jax has to admit his adrenaline, too, is pumping in a way that's wholly different from the rush he gets on his bike. Hell, it's got him feeling alive, excited, for the first time in a long-ass time.
"You ready?
"Let's do this."
Almost a full hour later, the afternoon's shaping up to be a bust. Not only are Jax and Kozik still half-ass rifling through the mountains of shit someone had abandoned in the storage locker they'd been assigned to, but their oblivious bait is still pacing around in his own locker, growing more irritable by the second. He's cursing under his breath and violently punching numbers into a cellular phone for the umpteenth time, and Jax rolls his eyes in the safety of the dark storage unit.
He and Koz are here as two brothers, preparing to clear out their ailing grandmother's storage unit, but they'd run out of their scripted, purposefully bland back and forth after about ten minutes. And so, Jax finds his mind racing, desperate for something to fill the time and eventually landing where it always does in these moments- on Tara.
He can't help but wonder what she's doing right now, whether she's sitting at the front of a lecture hall, pen poised for note-taking, eagerly awaiting new information. Or maybe she's at the work-study job he now knows she'd secured in the days after she'd left him, helping other people the way he always knew she would.
Or, his mind supplies, maybe she's already found people- fuck, even worse, a person- to take your place.
Either way, she's sure as shit not on a stakeout for a mostly outlaw MC. And Jax finds that the thought fills him at once with a strange mixture of pride and longing. Maybe-
"Yo-"
That's when Koz breaks into his thoughts yet again, jerking his chin up and catching Jax's attention from the other side of a pile of books.
"Hey, look, bro." Triumphantly, Koz lifts something out of a box; it gleams, almost a bit menacingly, in the darkness of the storage unit. Upon closer inspection, Jax is able to work out the black leather, the various straps and buckles- and the purple, latex attachment it sports. Koz is grinning as he dangles the getup from one finger- and when it suddenly starts fucking vibrating, both of them nearly lose it altogether. Somehow, though, Koz manages to keep his voice nothing but serious. "Grandma left us some of her jewelry."
Jax stifles another snort. Jesus. From the looks of it, whoever owned this storage unit wasn't likely anyone's goddamn grandmother. On second thought, who knows- maybe Luann was originally from Washington.
"What do you mean he's not fucking showing? We went over this and over this shit. I told y- Goddamnit!"
This outburst- louder than the previous cursing and coupled this time with a vicious kick to what Jax can only assume is a metal door- has both Kozik and Jax sobering, and quickly. Hell, Kozik's shoulders literally fall, and Jax can almost hear what he's thinking- mostly because he's thinking it himself.
Most of a day, sitting in a goddamn car and picking through some useless junk, for nothing. Christ.
For Jax, though, even worse is the unexpended energy, the adrenaline that's still zinging through his veins in anticipation of finally making headway in their mission. Now, it's got nowhere to go. Pushing out a measured breath, he rifles through a stack of Playboys for probably the hundredth time, absently tapping his thumb and pinky in a steady rhythm that does little to ease the itch to do… something. Anything.
Hell, it's not all that different from the feeling he'd had not long ago when he'd been bent on pressing Rick Knowles and Koz's old lady for details about Tara. Then, of course, he'd actually had something to do, rightfuckingnow, to move towards fixing the issue. Now, he's feeling like he needs to-
Something soft and frilly- it's either a stuffed animal or a piece of lingerie and Jax isn't altogether certain which is worse- hits him square in the face. From Koz's smirk, it's clear where it had come from, but it's his exaggerated mouthing of shut the fuck up that momentarily causes Jax's tapping fingers to stop their agitated rhythm. However, it had also simultaneously brought his train of thought to a screeching halt, which made him that much more restless to put his energy somewhere.
"Can't we-"
"Shut up, bro." Koz interrupts. "We promised Grandma… Remember?" Despite his gently chiding tone, Kozik is now full-on glaring. It's reminder enough that their so-called promise had actually been to the Tacoma president earlier that morning. They're here to get information and get out. End of story. No confrontations, no mess, and whatever you do, don't let on that you're a fucking Son.
Not that that's going to be a problem, since their real target was supposed to meet the guy they're currently tailing- and he's apparently a goddamn no-show. Unfortunately, whatever information Lee had hoped to gain from his presence is not going to fucking happen, either.
They're forced to wait another fifteen-odd minutes as the guy paces around in his unit and takes his sweet time locking up. Then, another ten or so- long enough to make sure he's safely in his own car and headed back to the 705. Only then do Jax and Kozik roll down the door on their own unit and begin the trek back to the waiting Chevy.
"Jesus Christ, it's cold up here," Kozik says, by way of conversation, shivering as they make their way down an alleyway and towards the sidewalk.
Despite the fact that it is actually pretty goddamn cold for barely fall- especially compared to northern Cali- Jax says nothing in return. Instead, he's extracting his pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket, hoping to catch a few drags and calm his ever-increasing jitters before they reach the car. Shaking his head at the non-response, Koz reaches for his own pocket. Instead of his customary stick of gum, however, he fishes out the cell phone SAMTAC had given him, slows his steps to squint at the screen and punch in a few numbers before holding it up to his ear.
"Hey." There's a pause as they jog across the street and Kozik waits for a response.
"Unit was mostly empty- at least, for now. First guy showed up right on time, but-" Reaching the Chevy, and clearly listening to whoever's on the other end, Kozik slouches against the driver's side door, gesturing at Jax to finish his smoke.
"Yeah, he never showed. Guy got a call about it, was pretty pissed off. Locked everything up and left." Another pause.
"Nah, he was too busy kickin' shit to notice us. Then we watched him roll out, waited 'til he headed towards that 705 on-ramp down the block to make sure." Then, Koz's head comes up, craning around to grin at Jax.
"Kid did fine. We're just a little bent out of shape we couldn't help more." That's the goddamn truth.
"Yeah, we got time- it's only…" Koz frowns a bit, checks his watch, "...about four o'clock. Why, what's up?"
At this, Jax's brows raise in interest, and Koz waves him off to get the details. Shit, maybe he really will get to burn up some of this pent-up energy. After a series of mmhmms and okays, Kozik finishes with a "Yep. Got it." and jams the phone back into his pocket.
He unlocks the door, and it takes Jax until they're about to back out of the parking space to realize Koz hasn't said anything since the call ended. It takes him until they're headed toward the 705 themselves to take the leap and ask him about it.
"What's the word from the club?"
"Uh…" Uncomfortably, Koz scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. "They got one more thing needs done. But, uh-"
"Lee doesn't want me along," Jax says, flatly, already knowing where this is going. It isn't the first time this shit's happened, but it's arguably the most frustrating. Actually, with that news, it's like his nervous energy's reached a damn boiling point.
Sure, he'd known even as he'd volunteered to come up here, he'd mostly done so for his own reasons. Still, it's just as important to Jax to contribute- help Tacoma when they need it, make a difference, for both himself and the club. Yeah, nobody had been operating under the delusion that Jax's experience would see him through, but as a Teller, there were definitely certain expectations. And despite all of that shit, he's yet to pull his goddamn weight as a patched member. At least as far as he's concerned.
Kozik only shrugs, chomping on his gum for a few beats, then nodding in the general direction of Jax's face.
"Says it's a meet with some banker," his expression turns just that last bit mocking, "and the last bits of that shiner ain't really the, uh, image they need to project. Guess the guy's real jumpy."
Jax scowls.
"Jesus Christ, my eye's the goddamn problem?" he gripes, rolling the eye in question. Koz just smirks.
"If you'd quit jumpin' into the ring every time Lee calls a fight night-"
"Yeah? And who gave me the goddamn black eye in the first place?" Jax can't help retorting, despite himself. "Ain't no way this should still be a problem." And all Kozik can do is laugh.
"Don't even try to act like you didn't earn it, brother."
On the way back to the SAMTAC clubhouse, Koz fills Jax's ear with idle chatter about how he's beat- practically fuckin' dying to kick back and have a few beers with the crew, who'll have already started the usual weekend festivities. He piles on with a healthy dose of good-humored shit-talking, too, about how Jax is a lucky son of a bitch who's getting out of yet another club errand. But they both know all too fucking well that Jax would trade Kozik places in a goddamn heartbeat.
It's a fact Jax is having a hard time keeping off his face as they roll onto the lot. That and this restless, uneasy energy that's been building up all day has him itching for another smoke- and the way he barely lets the cage stop rolling forward before he's fumbling for the handle and his cigarettes at the same time must have clued Kozik in.
"Relax, bro," Kozik says, leaning across the now-empty passenger seat and dipping his head to squint out the open window. "Everyone knows you'd do whatever they asked if you could." Jax shrugs and lights his cigarette as Kozik chuckles. "Shit, like you said, it's partly my fault for cold-clockin' you."
Thought you said I earned that shit, Jax doesn't say. And apparently, Kozik's a fucking mind reader, because he's chomping on his gum and grinning broadly as he adds, "Not that you didn't deserve every bit of that shiner."
Jax shakes his head, wryly.
"I got that. I just… Shit, man. I dunno. I guess I was lookin' forward to doin' somethin' that mattered, you know?" Kozik snorts.
"Meetin' with this banker's a minor cog in the wheel, brother. We did exactly what the club brought us up here to do, and we'll get our shot at it again on Monday. 'Sides, ain't I told you before? Club'll keep." Kozik nods toward the clubhouse door in the distance. "Go grab a beer or six and take a fuckin' nap. Or go burn up some road, I don't care- just do what you got to do to get your head clear. Rest of the club'll be back in a couple hours and then we got nothin' but time." At Jax's shrug, Kozik chuckles, shaking his head, and extends his middle finger in Jax's general direction. "Now get the fuck outta here."
The Dyna sits alongside Kozik's bike at the back of the lot- more or less untouched in the time since the two of them had cruised into Tacoma and onto the SAMTAC lot. Sure, they'd taken a few short rides with the SAMTAC crew- mostly to get a feel for Tacoma, the streets, the bridges, the people… It's all supposed to be helping him acclimate, he supposes, but its the air- the fucking energy, really- that's different up here.
So, for the first time since Jax had laid eyes on his very own bike four years ago, he'd found himself content, mostly, just to cruise around in a cage. Relieved, even, to rely on Koz to guide them, happy to just slide into the passenger seat like he'd been able to slide into SAMTAC life so far.
But now, standing on the empty lot and an expanse of several days stretching between Jax and his last ride- somehow, the last thing he feels like doing is downing a few beers with the Tacoma hangarounds. Maybe it's the time away that now has him itching to get back on the bike. Maybe it's the jarring loss of momentum he'd felt when he'd suddenly no longer had somewhere to put his energy.
Or maybe it's the reason you volunteered to come up here in the first place.
And the possibility lingers the longer he stands there, the strangely potent tension that had been rising all day seems to loom, ominous and exciting at the same time. In the end, Jax barely has time to register that he's on the bike until he's passing the gate and turning onto the street beyond.
The breeze seems to cut straight through Jax's hoodie- especially without the layer of protection his kutte usually offers. The shadows of the warehouses and factories that flank the street serve to make the ride even cooler, but Jax can't bring himself to care. Instead, he just flexes his fingers around the throttle, needing, suddenly, to reacquaint himself with the piece of machinery that's become no less than an extension of his body over the past few years.
Back in Charming, he'd have found the closest hard-surface highway and opened her up, pushing the bike, and himself, to its limits. Unfortunately, his method of stemming the rising disquiet he's felt in his bones off and on his whole life had stopped working sometime around the time Tara left him- and it's next to an impossibility here in this densely-packed district, anyway. So, Jax has to settle for picking his way through the streets of Tacoma and letting the road take him where it may.
He loops near the massive expanse of the waterfront and back before heading away from the docks, neither observing nor ignoring the fact that the massive metal shipping containers and warehouses had given way to homes and shops. The road widens, giving way to a series of feeder streets and ballooning from one narrow lane to several, crawling with vehicles. Picking up speed and skirting past the first few blocks of steadily building traffic, Jax finds himself swept up in the stream of other drivers. Cars of all sizes, crotch rockets, pickups, semis, box trucks- all surrounding him until he feels like he's bobbing on the rippling tide of traffic, a single rider caught up in a sea of many others. Like them, seemingly drawn somewhere near to the city's center; unlike them, somehow both impatient to reach his destination and altogether uncertain of where, exactly, that might be.
Somewhere ahead, Jax knows the harbor curves back until it looms in his path, so he finds himself drifting left instead. Almost thirty minutes he rides, the road bumping somewhere beneath him, and for the first time, the road doesn't really matter, either. The streets twist and turn, and he simply travels along with them, until he's not a part of the road (as he'd always found himself becoming on these long rides) but above it. Until the rumbling of the bike itself seems to fall away. And, without that essential anchor to the present, his mind sails clear.
Jax turns his face to the sun- now on its downward trajectory, but still cutting through the chill of the afternoon air- and enjoys the warmth for a long moment. He breathes, deep, as if to will away the remaining tension in his shoulders. When that's successful, he finds himself addressing the ache that had taken up residence in his chest the moment he'd stepped into the garage apartment back in Charming to find it empty.
In. Out. In, until the air itself seems to change, filling his lungs differently than it had before and setting his every sense on high alert. Startled, Jax is nudged out of the slight daze he's been riding in, his surroundings suddenly becoming sharp, bright, and almost surreal. He doesn't recognize the neighborhood- has never driven past these particular structures or haunted these streets before- but somehow, his heart knows exactly where he is. Here, amidst rows of red brick buildings and neatly trimmed greenery, it's like the objective he'd been meandering toward for the past hour- hell, the past several fucking months- slowly comes into focus.
The moment of realization's an assault on the senses, despite the unobtrusive appearance of his surroundings. So much so, that Jax's grip on the throttle goes lax, his palm nearly slipping from the handle altogether as he realizes where he is and why he's here. He's somehow both acutely aware of the bike quieting and oblivious to the fact that he's losing speed, the bike rolling slower and slower until he's forced to tuck to the right, a last-second maneuver to avoid tipping the fuck over. Though a few cyclists whiz by him and shout choice words, he barely hears them, just guides the Dyna into what he's not even sure is an actual parking space, coming to a gentle halt in the shadow of an imposing-looking building.
Pushing out a shuddering breath, Jax runs a hand down his face, closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to regain his bearings. When he opens them, it's as if the doors of each of the cluster of buildings laid out before him have been triggered to open as well. People are suddenly pouring past steel-framed doors, down concrete steps and cement walks, and converging in the expanse of grass beyond to mill about, talking, laughing. And somehow, Jax finds that it's just as he'd been picturing it all along. What he'd been envisioning in his mind's eye these past weeks and the scene before him are, inexplicably, nearly identical- like all the pieces are finally coming together.
It's a fucking rush, actually, feeling as if things are clicking into place. Yet, it's something completely different from the physical swoop in his gut he gets every time he's pushing the limits on the road. His next move, whatever it is, will make this all become real.
The people on the sidewalks pay Jax no mind, funneling around him like a stream around a rock, their destination more important than his presence on the journey. So he sits, tries to focus amidst the commotion that surrounds him; then, he's trying not to focus because the thought of what's ahead is what scares the shit out of him. The weight of why he's here and what it all means,swamps him, threatening to drown him right here as he stands astride his bike.
Absently, Jax slips his hand into his jeans pocket, where the reassuring heft of the gift he'd never given to Tara still resides- the metal warm and smooth to the touch. And he can't help but squeeze it tightly, imprinting the curve into his skin, as if the lines it created would somehow guide him in the right direction. So maybe it's no coincidence that the stream of humanity slows to a trickle a matter of minutes later, and Jax finds himself sliding off the bike and moving along with them.
As before, he's got no real plan, just that same driving force that's finally begun propelling him forward into the unknown. And as he passes a group of people lounging on a blanket in one of the last remaining triangles of sun that's managed to reach this lush, grassy space, he's struck with the realization of just how new to him that really is- moving without a plan.
Christ, his whole life has been planned out for him- probably ever since he was in diapers. Charming itself, along with the bike, the kutte, the prospect patch and the top rocker…Even Ope, as true a best friend as he is, had been put into his life by strict design; the VP to Jax's President, just like their fathers before them. All the shit that had happened over the past several years- the shit that had had JT second-guessing whether he (and, by extension, Jax) really belonged in club life- everything that had happened to rip apart his club and his family and put it back together again… Thinking back, it's all been a part of some plan greater than himself.
Jax snorts, remembering something he'd overheard Bobby tell JT once, way back when they'd been dealing with the fallout from Cameron Hayes: Your solution to a problem is always gonna be a club solution. Now, he realizes his father had learned somewhere along the way, that that shit was only true when the problem was a club problem.
So, why didn't you?
It's only recently, after he'd left his father's table in the middle of the first dinner he'd eaten there in months, that Jax realizes he's truly followed his own instincts instead of finding a club solution. Questioning Rick Knowles, breaking into the vet clinic, hell, even volunteering for this temporary transfer and riding up here with Koz… None of it had been planned out in advance- least of all by Gemma or SAMCRO. And it's clear now what- well, who- was the trigger for each of those decisions.
With that discovery in his rearview, Jax continues to wander the streets of Tacoma- although not aimlessly. There might not have been a plan in place when he left the SAMTAC clubhouse, but he'd had a goddamn purpose even when he hadn't been aware of it, yet. And now, he finds himself walking more briskly, suddenly ready to reach it.
Briefly, he considers stopping someone to ask for directions, speed along the process- but the fading evidence of the bruise on his eye has him hesitating. Not to mention, he'd had a couple years worth of strangers reacting to the kutte on his back, had gotten used to people clamming up when he approached them. Worse, the crowd's thinned out significantly, leaving only a few people to enjoy the last dregs of warmth from the setting sun. As stray passers-by brush past him and disappear into the buildings lining the courtyard or the alleyways between, this search he hadn't even known he'd been on an hour ago begins to take a desperate tint.
Somehow, he can't seem to swallow the feeling that if he doesn't find it now, he never will. Like he's dangerously close to being too late before he's even begun. Sighing in frustration, Jax halts, stands stock-still on the sidewalk in this unfamiliar part of Tacoma, and waits. For what, he's not even close to fucking sure.
Then, without the masses of humanity on the sidewalks to block his view, Jax sees what could be his saving grace. There, overlooking the green space he'd been walking along like some giant's podium, is exactly what he needs- and he has to make a conscious effort to slow his steps so he doesn't look like an eager asshole sprinting across the grass to reach it.
Jax can't remember the last time he read a map- Charming, Lodi, Stockton, and every road in between, he knows like the back of his goddamn hand. Even on the long ride up here, which he'd made only a few times with the rest of the club, he'd had Koz to show him the way. So maybe that's why it takes more time than he cares to admit to find what he's looking for- or maybe it's because his hand is fucking shaking as he traces it along the map. Either way, he allows himself only a moment to touch the embossed outline of the building he's looking for with a finger. Then, he's dragging it away in favor of stuffing his hands in his pockets and letting his feet carry him once again towards his destination.
The closer he gets, the thinner the air seems to become- Christ, it's like Tacoma's suddenly on the summit of Mount Everest. The months, weeks, days, hours- all come rushing on him at once, spiraling around him like a Himalayan blizzard, stealing his breath and his nerve at the same time. But somehow, he keeps moving for nearly ten minutes, closer to absolution than he's ever been. Until his destination is spread out before him like the gates of heaven themselves- like he needs only to walk up the path, knock on the door, and ask for admission.
Even so, Jax finds that in that final moment where his hand rests on the cool metal of the entry door, it's all gone. The nerves, the bluster of emotion- hell, even the unseen force that's been propelling him all afternoon- all of it disappears. In its place is nothing but the knowledge of what's awaiting him on the other side, and his utter resolve to meet it head-on.
He closes his eyes for a half-second.
Christ, you've already waited too goddamn long…
And then, he pushes through.
The place is cheery for a clinic, brightly-lit and, once again, somehow everything he'd imagined it would be. The neatly arranged chairs in the waiting area, the magazines fanned out on the table- hell, even the gleaming tile floor- it all could have come directly out of some TV drama. Maybe that doctor show she'd somehow coerced him into watching religiously before everything in his world had gone to shit….
Shaking off the strange sense of deja vu, Jax scans the room, finding it free of either patients or staff. Or, thankfully, security- since he's still not sure what the hell his actual plan is. Still, he finds himself unable to stop his gaze from traveling over every corner, searching for something other than his gut that might indicate he's in the right place. He finds it when his eyes finally rest on a small bulletin board, hanging near the door he'd just entered.
Tara Knowles
Hometown: Charming, CA
Major: Biology (Pre-med)
The information is scant, and it's all shit Jax already knows anyway, but he finds himself squinting to pore over every word. Then, that all ceases to matter once he zeroes in on the photo tacked above it. It's a headshot, obviously professionally done, and he's simultaneously mourning the lost opportunity to catch a glimpse of the rest of her and focusing on the delicate features he'd once traced with his fingers, his lips…
Christ, he has to physically stop himself from reaching up to do so once again. In fact, when the hell had he even stepped close enough to touch? Ignoring the way he'd once again been drawn to her like a goddamn moth to a flame, Jax studies his girl.
Is she still your girl?
She's outside somewhere- maybe even right outside this very building- and the ample sunlight is sending pinpricks of copper glancing off her hair, which she'd evidently cut since she'd left him. The dark, thick mass he'd once loved to bury his hands in is resting just below her shoulders, now, instead of well down her back. Her generous, pink lips are curved in a gorgeous smile, the one he'd learned long ago she gives to the general public, reserving her genuine warmth for those she loves the most. Her eyes are green as ever, but the warmth is absent there, too- almost like she'd been in deep thought a moment before being interrupted to take the photo.
Or maybe she was still fucking hurting from leaving Charming- and you- behind…
Jax clamps down on that thought immediately, only to then be forced to stifle the quickly erupting internal debate about whether the note of hope he'd felt along with it makes him an even bigger asshole than he'd already figured. Returning to the photo, he can't find any other clues- just a whole shitload of questions. When had it been taken? Logically, shortly after this place had hired her- but when, exactly, had that been?
"Can I help you?"
Jax practically jumps out of his skin, his train of thought screeching to a halt as he whirls away from the bulletin board like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. The speaker, a guy who almost matches him in height, is clean cut, sporting a white lab coat and a friendly smile- and decidedly not Tara. Shit. He's behind the reception desk, clearly having come from the area beyond the still-moving swinging door- but alone.
Masking his disappointment, Jax pastes on his best approximation of a matching smile.
"Uh…" I'm looking for the love of my life, who left me after our best friend got arrested and I fucking drowned myself in my MC and pushed her away, he doesn't say.
Is Tara here? he doesn't say, either. Jesus.
It's just that, somehow, it seems like less than a stellar idea for Tara to know someone matching his description is asking after her- at her job, no less. Logically, he knows he'd pushed her way too fucking far before she left, so maybe the element of surprise is the only chance he's got at getting her to actually listen to what he has to say before she's running yet again- or landing a solid right hook to his already bruised eye.
The guy- Chris, according to the nameplate situated on the desk- raises an eyebrow expectantly. Suddenly conscious of the silence that's quickly becoming awkward- and maybe even a little suspicious- Jax clears his throat.
"I was, uh, wondering if I could maybe get seen today?" Chris nods, waiting for him to go on. Goddamn it. "I uh… I got like a… a rash. I guess?" Jax finishes, feebly.
A fucking rash? Jesus, why is this so hard? You've just spent the day running a stakeout on a local criminal bigwig, and you can't even manage to smooth-talk some info out of some frat boy?
Chris winces and shakes his head.
"We close in about…" he checks his watch "three minutes. Since I'm the only one here, I already shut down our computer system- and I need that to look at the schedule. It'll take a while to get back up and running, but I can-"
"Naw, it's alright," Jax interrupts, relief at not having to fabricate a backstory warring with the remnants of his utter disappointment that Tara doesn't seem to be here, not even in the back. "I'll just, uh… come back tomorrow."
Now there's a thought…
Seemingly oblivious to the wheels already turning frantically in Jax's mind- or the way his eyes begin scanning the room for obvious signs of cameras or an alarm system- Chris nods. His own relief at not having to fire up his computer system is evident as he indicates the schedule posted behind him.
"Thanks, bro. We open at 8 every day, but we close at noon on Saturdays. You can't make it here by then, you'll have to try the actual hospital- but that's gonna mean an insurance claim. Just so you know." Chris smiles again, though the percentage of his comment that had actually fucking registered in Jax's brain was barely hovering above zero. And Jax finds himself smiling back for real this time- mostly because there's not a security camera to be found.
"Oh, I'll be back."
The trek back to his bike is a surprisingly short one- especially since it had seemed like it took him a goddamn hour to get up here, to get to her. Except, instead of stopping to grab his helmet, Jax finds himself barely glancing at it as he walks right by, choosing to focus, instead, on the campus surrounding him. The stately brick buildings, the lush green spaces, even the remaining groups of students, laughing and talking among them…they all seem to take on a slightly different light than they had before, now that he knows for absolute certain Tara's somewhere among them. He's- Christ, he's practically walking in her goddamn footsteps. Seeing what she saw, feeling what she felt.
As Jax walks deeper into the main portion of campus, he can't help but search every face for hers, no matter how minimal the resemblance. He can't stop himself from examining each structure – the library, the performing arts center, hell especially, the science building– and imagining her inside. Fuck, what he wouldn't give for her to walk out of the science building right now. He closes his eyes, allows himself a brief moment to imagine her spotting him- walking, jogging, picking up speed until she's running down the narrow pathway towards him, jumping into his arms and kissing him breathless-
"Hey, bro-"
It takes Jax a moment to shake off the fantasy, reorient himself- and a moment more to realize that the guy jogging up to him is, in fact, talking to him.
"Yo, you mind?" The guy's holding something in his hand- something black and rectangular- and Jax's heart is already jumping, fingers reaching for his kutte pocket…before he realizes he's not wearing his kutte. When his heart resumes its normal rhythm, he's left, once again, thankful he hadn't borne the brunt of the family flaw. Hell, it still takes him a long moment to realize the black object isn't a 1911 or a Glock, but a camera. It's several more before it truly sinks in that to this kid- to everyone around him, actually- he's really just another guy. Christ, has he ever really been anything other than a Son to the general public? When has he truly been just some guy on the street?
Jax takes the picture of the kid and his girl, a giggling blonde, in front of some fountain he hadn't even noticed a moment ago. He hands the camera back, smiling a bit to himself as they thank him and then proceed to get so lost in one another they barely give him a second glance as they walk away, hands in one another's back pockets. He follows them as far as the fountain itself, now lit a light purple in the rapidly descending dusk, and sits, heavily, on its thick, concrete rim. Lighting a cigarette, Jax watches as they fade, giggling and kissing, into the night.
The people, the campus, the fucking possibility here- it's all so much like Tara he can practically feel her, wherever she is out there. But as he looks at it all- at the life she'd chosen laid out in front of him- Jax realizes that despite the occasional groups and students strolling by, hardly any of them are looking back.
The guy earlier hadn't hesitated to call out to him, or hand over what Jax is sure is a couple hundred dollar camera. His girl hadn't warily eyed the kutte, or sent him a seductive smile after checking out his bike. It was like, for the first time in a long time, he's…fucking nobody. In that way, he actually sort of fits, here, just like they do. Just like Tara does.
And he doesn't know how the fuck to feel about it.
Jax doesn't know how long he's sat there, how long he needs to wait… but he's been in one place long enough for his ass to get numb and to accumulate a healthy pile of cigarette butts next to his hip. Long enough for the streetlights and walkway lights to come on, and for most of the windows in the largest of the buildings surrounding him to go dark. Long enough, he suspects, for Koz and SAMTAC to start wondering where the fuck he is.
Well, they'll have to wait a little while longer, because there's some shit he's gotta do.
This time, the street's practically deserted and the going is much quicker- especially since the path's a familiar one. Back past the Dyna- briefly, Jax considers mounting up and cruising down the now-semi-familiar streets- but then figures he'd be faster on foot. That and the blessed anonymity he'd found here on campus have him stepping briskly by the bike in favor of remaining inconspicuous.
Past the science building a second time, then the library, the student union, and some tall, broad, buildings whose purpose remains a mystery to him. He passes a parking garage and some familiar row houses before hoofing it back up the hill. Back to the one place on campus he knows for sure Tara's been, and the one place he knows could harbor the information he needs to track her down.
Crossing the deserted lot and traversing the pathway leading to the door, Jax furtively glances around him for any sign of activity- nada. Gently resting his hand on the outer door, he allows himself only a moment to consider the fact that this is the second fucking clinic he's broken into in as many months. Then, he needs a moment more to process the fact that just as much as he'd felt like a student, some anonymous part of the crowd an hour ago, he's now feeling like a goddamn outlaw all over again.
Jax presses his shoulder into the metal, the chill seeping through his hoodie. Then, he gives a bit of a shove, hoping the exterior door to the clinic is flimsier than it looks. No joy. Shaking his head, he puts the full force of his body weight into the task, heels digging into the pavement beneath, thighs straining against the solid mass. Shit. It's just not budging- and he can't risk exposure by staying out here too long, even if the street is relatively free of both cars and pedestrians.
Redoubling his efforts, Jax lowers his shoulder and makes a bit of a run at it. It would have been a solid blow, except in the process, he inadvertently trips the latch mechanism, sending the door careening open- and himself tumbling into the small entryway. Dazed, he watches as the exterior door slowly closes behind him before gently clicking shut.
Christ.
Now safely hidden from view of whoever might be bored enough to keep a watch on a student health clinic after hours, Jax studies the interior door. Gently, he pushes on the latch, tests it just in case he's the luckiest motherfucker on the planet. Nope- it looks like this door has the same frame as the exterior door, only this one's dominated by an expanse of thick glass. Briefly, he contemplates driving his elbow into the pane, making a mad dash in to get what he wants and get the fuck out before someone shows up (like the last time he'd gone searching for info about Tara's whereabouts).
Unlike last time, though, he's got a feeling that whoever shows up isn't going to settle for a few shots to the face. Worse, he can't waste time rotting in some local jail cell for small-time B&E. Not when he's almost close enough to taste her.
Shoving away the delicious side track his thoughts had begun traveling down the moment the words "taste" and "Tara" entered his head, Jax racks his brain instead for anything anyone had ever told him about picking a lock. Christ, he'd seen Tig jimmy a lock or two, Bobby's a goddamn master with a kit and everything, and even JT had found occasion to shoot the padlock off an equipment shed or two… But with no kutte, no gun, and sure as hell no lockpicking kit, Jax is left with whatever he can find in his pockets.
Which, unfortunately, isn't much. Digging through the assorted items clanking around in his pockets, Jax bypasses Tara's gift, a few coins, several empty gum wrappers, and God knows what else, before his fingers close around the only thing that might be remotely useful- the pocket knife Grandpa Nate had given him for his 12th birthday. Squinting at the lock- which provides him with no more insight than it had a moment before- Jax scours his memory for what to do next. Poking at the latch proves fruitless, as does prying at the edge, and there's not near enough space between the door and the frame to allow him to jiggle the mechanism enough to get it to open. So, it's mainly in pure frustration that he jams the body of the knife into the keyhole and twists…only to hear the deadbolt slide free with a hollow click.
Yanking the knife from its place, Jax barely registers its condition- rippled at the edges and bent all to hell- before he pockets it once again and slowly, gingerly, pushes the clinic door open.
It's dark, except for the glow of the exit sign behind him, which illuminates a good portion of the waiting room with an eerie, red glow. The door behind the reception area is lit, too, and as Jax approaches it, he can see a dimly lit hallway that he assumes must lead to the larger hospital beyond. Skirting around the edge of the reception counter, he tests the door's lever- locked. Hopefully, that means there's no risk of anyone walking in unannounced from the adjoining hospital.
Briefly, his eyes travel over every inch of the shallow desk space behind the counter, skimming over stacks of paper, file trays, and a computer keyboard before zeroing in on a stack of items about halfway down. It's clearly Tara's area- the neat pile is topped by a sleek metal nameplate engraved Tara Knowles.
Her name alone practically punches him in the chest, sending his heart thumping and his pulse quickening. Gently setting the nameplate aside, Jax briefly examines a generic-looking binder- UWT Student Healthcare Protocol- before moving it aside, as well. A blank notepad and an official-looking folder meet the same fate before he reaches paydirt at the bottom of the stack- a large, desktop day planner covered with what he instantly recognizes as Tara's neat script.
He leans closer, squinting to decipher its meaning in the dim light. Her work schedule, he guesses, noting the emptiness of the square representing today's date. Then, he spies a small note that half-fills tomorrow's square:
Student Fair: Library Plaza, 12-6.
Skimming over the rest of the month, Jax's heart jolts once again as he notices a small heart around a date next week- his birthday- with a J inscribed over it in heavy ink pen. It's thick, almost embossed into the paper as if it had been traced and retraced, over and over again. Gently, he brushes his fingers over it, imagining her in this very spot, thinking of him and guiding the pen across the curved lines of the cursive J.
Almost at once, the tiny kernel of hope he'd been nurturing sprouts a bit more. He'd barely allowed himself to consider the likelihood Tara had chosen Tacoma over UCLA, Berkeley, or any one of the other California system schools she'd gotten offers from because of him… Or because she'd held out her own hope that if he ever got his head out of his ass, they could still be together without him leaving his club behind. Jesus, it had physically hurt to stomp down on that notion, over and over again.
Still, it would have been so much worse to let himself believe she'd thought about him when she made her escape…And then get crushed by the realization that she just needed an out- a way to get away from him. But somehow, this little heart, filled with his initial- it's like it's given him the okay to hope that she still cares…Hope that she is still his.
Resolutely, Jax pages through the rest of the calendar and is disappointed to find that there's not much there past this month. Then, with little else to go by, he moves to the file cabinet at the end of the desk. Christ, you're a fuckin' pro at this now, he thinks, grimly, as he slides the drawer open in search of the employee file he knows without a doubt awaits him there. With deft fingers this time, he thumbs past patient information and what seems like thousands upon thousands of forms. The second drawer reveals what he needs- employee files, hers marked only Tara K. Inside, he finds a copy of the exact same letter he'd unearthed in Dr. Carlson's file, a couple employee agreements, a copy of Tara's driver's license… and a personal contact sheet.
Heart pounding, Jax manages to push aside his momentary disappointment that Tara hadn't listed a phone number and studies the street address written on the form- again, in Tara's own handwriting. And though the street name triggers a faint hint of recognition, the otherwise unfamiliar letters and numbers seem to jump right off the page, burning phrases like Pacific Avenue and #105 into his brain until he's certain he'll remember them until his dying day. So, it's almost unnecessary that he carefully folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket- but the silliness of the gesture doesn't really register. Nothing else matters, in this moment, except that he knows for the first time exactly where to find his girl.
He's still standing there, grinning like an idiot and practically fucking hyperventilating, a good thirty seconds later. Then the fact that he's been here, in a building he broke into, for a good ten minutes truly registers.
Shit. You need to get the fuck out.
Now, all of a sudden, it's like everything in him is clamoring to get out- like goddamn alarm bells are going off in his head, even as the clinic remains silent. But it's not self-preservation that's got him hurriedly replacing shit where he'd found it, closing the door he'd jimmied to get into the place, and disappearing into the darkness that envelops the side of the building. The clinic, the cops- everything else ceases to matter except the urge to sprint to his bike and cruise the streets surrounding UW Tacoma until he finds Tara, finds himself again.
When Jax hits the street, he picks up speed; retracing his steps back to the Dyna seems to take no time at all. But as he nears his parking spot, and now that her address is practically burning fucking hole in his pocket- and his mind- his brief bout of hope and self-assurance is gone. In its place are nothing but nerves and uncertainty. For the first time, it truly sinks in that not only has he got no idea what the hell he's going to do when he does find her… but he's scared shitless.
What if she slams the door in your face? What if- he has to swallow the nausea that quickly accompanies this thought- what if she's found someone who'll treat her the way you should've treated her? What if you waited too long, and she's given up on you? On us?
Exhausted, Jax pushes those thoughts away. After all, that's the kind of thinking that got him here, without his girl, and without his club to boot.
Man the fuck up, Teller.
With that, he secures the chinstrap and almost reluctantly kicks the bike into gear.
The night air is even chillier than before, but he's not sure if he's shivering because he's chilled to the bone, or out of dread, anticipation…or fucking fear. Still, he rides on, opening up the throttle a bit and cruising away from the heart of the campus towards a cross street he'd encountered on the way down here. Her street.
Pacific Avenue is dotted with businesses- dry cleaners, laundromats, restaurants… But, the further he gets from the almost-pristine campus, the more the neighborhood starts to remind Jax of Tara's old neighborhood in Charming. The streetlights are flickering, the houses have seen their better days, and even the few weathered apartment buildings here are a far cry from the brand-new lofts and condos he'd noticed near the campus center.
Still, Jax finds himself smiling a bit as he spots the sign and turns down the drive; this fits, too. He's not surprised in the least that she'd picked this tidy cluster of small apartment homes- quiet, unassuming, with a grass courtyard and hedges a bit in need of a trimming- yet clean, homey and freshly painted. She'd always been the brightest spot in the often-murky twists and turns his life had taken up until now- his swan in a sea of crows.
There are brass numbers mounted on posts in front of each of several small buildings- he'd figure four or five apartments each. The numbers- 101, 103, 105- lead him to the right one, and Jax slows the bike to a halt at the end of the path leading up to its door. But, to his- Christ, he doesn't know what the fuck he feels… disappointment? Relief?- all the windows are dark.
Hell, he's not even sure exactly which windows are hers, whether her Cutlass is normally parked right here where he sits. And that means he's got no clue whether she's off poring over some thick book in the library he'd passed on his way off campus, out with friends, flashing that brilliant smile…or even home and in bed. As his mind conjures up the image of her as he'd seen her a hundred times before- warm and soft, sleepy, sweet, and all his- Jax realizes he wants nothing more than to climb through her window, slip into bed behind her, and set everything in his world right again.
But this isn't Charming. He's not sitting on his bike outside her father's house, and he's not sixteen anymore. They're here, in Tacoma – and only because she's given up practically everything she's ever known because he couldn't pull his head out of his ass and make a decision that included her. So much shit has passed between them since then- so much that he doesn't know where the fuck to start. What he does know is that she deserves better than whatever the hell he'll come up with if he were to walk up and knock on her door.
Jax checks his watch, anything to distract himself from the fact that Tara- or at least, her place- could be on the other side of one of those doors. Shit, better ride back up to SAMTAC and make an appearance, maybe catch some sleep and figure out the next move. If nothing else, he's got a fail-safe opportunity to find her tomorrow afternoon at that fair thing. Christ, maybe catching her in public will mean she won't haul off and give him a black right eye to match his left. At least, a guy can hope.
Sighing, shakily, Jax sits back on his bike and reaches in to clutch the weight in his pocket, as if it's the only thing grounding him, tethering him to the bike as his senses war with one another. The visceral urge to leap off the bike and beat down the doors until she answers one almost drowns out the near-paralyzing fear of what will happen if he does. He still hasn't decided which part of him is screaming louder when, by sheer will, he forces his other hand to grip the throttle. Though it's a poor substitute for Tara's soft lips, Jax touches his own to the object in his palm before raising it to the night sky.
Until tomorrow.
It had been a shitty night of sleep, though Jax had expected as much- he hadn't had a decent night of sleep since she'd left him. Actually, it had been something akin to pure fucking torture to know Tara was sleeping somewhere across town and he was just a short ride away from heaven. Christ, he'd barely made it inside without sprinting back to his bike and racing through the dark streets of Tacoma. Still, he'd known somewhere in the rational part of his brain that he'd been right to leave at that particular moment- right for him, right for them. Tara really did deserve more than some asshole- especially him- showing up at her apartment at all hours of the night with no idea what the fuck to say or where to begin making it up to her.
Not that he'd had some sort of glorious epiphany last night, staring at the ceiling in SAMTAC's guest room. Or in the half hour or so before that while he'd forced himself to throw some back with the club- in part to take his mind off where he wanted so fucking badly to be. He'd humored both the ribbing he was getting for pulling a disappearing act and the occasional odd look from Kozik because he was the low man on the totem pole. Also, because Lee tended to get out the good whiskey when he was in a good mood (apparently Kozik's errand had gone well).
Unfortunately, even Lee's top-shelf whiskey hadn't done shit- neither to knock him the fuck out nor to help him formulate some booze-fueled, half-baked plan to win Tara back. Instead, it had just made his bed feel all that much emptier when he finally collapsed into it, then set the ceiling spinning as he tried to focus his wayward brain cells on the issue at hand.
Tara.
Thoughts of her had sent his mind drifting, as it always does when it comes to her, to stolen moments, soft kisses, hard fucks…and everything he'd ever envisioned for their future. But by the time dawn was sending light creeping in through the slats in the cheap shutters, he'd been no closer to cementing his plan than he had when he left her apartment. All he'd had to go by was her partial itinerary for the day- and that shit didn't even start until noon.
So, in retrospect, maybe it wasn't a bad thing Koz and Lorca had tabbed him for some bullshit ride along. He'd definitely have gone fucking insane in the meantime. Plus, God knows what stream of idiotic bullshit he'd have come up with had he finally given in to temptation and showed up at her apartment at 8 AM.
Still, one thing led to another, as it always seemed to with club business, and it had taken well into the afternoon until they'd finally arrived back at the clubhouse. Then, he'd had to sit through church, a torturous hour in which the secretary had droned on about club dues (apparently every club has a Bobby). By the time Lee finally lowered the gavel, Jax was fucking vibrating with tension, and had skipped the customary shot and a smoke to head back to his room to beat it out of the chapel before anyone could waylay him. Unfortunately, Koz had cornered him heading back to his room.
"The fuck is up with you, Jax? You've been on edge all goddamn day. Hell- all week-"
"I'm sorry, bro. I… I just got a lot of shit on my mind. But I'm handling it." Kozik shook his head, frustrated.
"Yeah, well, you better get it the fuck together or some of these guys who don't know you as well as I do are gonna start noticing when you're zoning out at church. And if they see it, they're sure as hell gonna start askin' questions."
"Look, I said I'm handling it, a'ight?" Jax barked. Apparently, though, he couldn't quite keep his emotions off his face or his heart off his sleeve, because it was only a millisecond before Kozik's face softened. And not for the first time, Jax wondered if maybe Koz knew exactly why he'd volunteered to come up here. The suspicion was further validated when Kozik changed his whole demeanor,
"Errands are done for the day, so we won't need ya- and there's no church tomorrow. But keep that pager on you…" his expression grew stern. "And your ass better be in my goddamn car come 8:00 Monday morning." Kozik paused, expectantly, until Jax nodded in affirmation. And with what Jax could only interpret as the beginnings of a smile, Kozik turned back toward the bar- effectively dismissing him for the remainder of the weekend.
And so, it's quickly approaching early evening once again by the time Jax rolls back onto the now-familiar campus. This time, though, his eager anticipation is spiked with panic that he'd missed her, yet again. And although he's had a shitload of time to think about what he's going to do- and say- when he finally sees his girl, the best his whirling mind had been able to put together is pretty much bullshit. Hell, he'd had more fucking fantasies featuring their reunion than any actual, solid plans to win her back.
And, as he guides the Dyna into a parking lot he guesses is somewhat near where he remembers seeing the library yesterday, Jax is assaulted once again with visions of what he's determined will be.
They start with himself, spotting Tara from across a crowded field, drinking her in for a long moment before her gaze finally finds him. Her eyes widen in disbelief, then she's smiling that gorgeous smile she saves just for him- before she becomes a blur of limbs sprinting across the field, her usual ponytail sailing behind her. She jumps into his arms and before he knows it, he's kissing her, holding her- but most importantly, making sure she knows how goddamn much he loves her and vowing he'll never give her reason to leave him again.
Sure, the location of this vision has changed a bit since he'd procured these most recent tidbits of information regarding her life here in Tacoma, it draws to a close as it always does- with Tara gazing up at him with those beautiful green eyes, once again alight with trust and love. And in its final moment, she's telling him how much she loves him, too.
Though it's not exactly a how-to manual, what Jax can see in his mind's eye is a reminder of how strong their connection once was. Hell, still is- at least as far as he's concerned. He's just got to hope it's the same for Tara.
Unclipping his helmet, jamming a black ball cap on his head, and taking a bracing breath, Jax sets off in the general direction of the library. Fortunately, despite his scattered thoughts- which only become more frenetic with each block he walks- he finds the student fair pretty quickly. It fills the green space in front of what's one of the campus' largest buildings, spilling over onto the sidewalks and pathways beyond. There are a couple dozen tents set up to house the various student organizations, along with tables, displays, and even a pair of inflatable climbing walls, posted up in the middle and serving to create a sort of circular path around the outer border of the space.
Christ, there must be a couple hundred people here.
Thankfully however, as Jax approaches, the large Student Health Services tent at the adjacent corner is immediately apparent. His heartbeat quickens as he scans its occupants. He notices the guy from last night, Chris or something, chatting with students as they wander up to the table, and next to him is a blonde Jax doesn't recognize. He doesn't give a shit about either one of them, his heart sinking as he realizes Tara's nowhere to be seen.
The closer he gets to the tent, the more Tara's absence from it has him reeling, his feet slow and his head spins at the possibility she's not even here at all. Christ, he doesn't know why (its not logical, but when the fuck has logic ever really applied to them) but he can't help feeling like this is his one chance to make things right with her. Like it's his only shot at getting her back. What if he's missed it entirely?
Exhaling forcefully, Jax forces his feet to keep moving, walking closer and closer to the crowd until he's slipping into the throng of students circling the fair. Just as before, he's hit with a rush of heady anonymity, especially after he flips up the hood of his navy hoodie against the cool autumn day. The absence of his kutte and club symbols again serve as a sort of camouflage, allowing him to blend in with the hundred or so other 19 and 20 year olds, to look like he belongs there, with them. With her.
Jax's eyes scan the crowd around him, searching for any sign of the beloved silhouette he'd committed to memory long ago. He spots a half-dozen girls someone else could easily mistake for her- but they've got nothing on Tara's familiar curves, the long lines of her legs, the almost luminous glow of her green eyes, the dark, glossy strands of her hair contrasting with all that smooth, pale skin…
Jax wanders around the first corner, then the second, sticking close to the booths, tables, and tents, watching carefully for any telltale glimpse of his girl. And as the sea of nameless, faceless humanity continues to stream around him, brushing past him as if he doesn't exist, he can't help but doubt, once again, that she's really here. God, it's like he can feel his stomach sinking lower and lower every time he shuffles by a girl that isn't her.
Christ, he'd been so sure he could pick out her beloved face from a million others. Positive he'd recognize her from a thousand yards away. Convinced the very same force that had once drawn them back together after seven years apart would make her stand out among the hordes of other girls that could never measure up- not in a gazillion years.
And as if the universe was determined to prove him right, for once, Jax rounds the third corner and finally sees the sight he's been longing to see for months.
Tara.
Once she'd entered his field of vision, not even wild horses could drag his eyes away from her. God, she takes his breath away.
Jax is rendered motionless, breathless, his field of vision seeming to narrow until Tara's the only thing that truly matters. She's slowly moving towards him, wearing the hell out of a pair of snug-fit jeans and what looks like a clinic-issued lab coat, engaged in conversation with some faceless girl in a lab coat Jax couldn't give two shits about.
Except, he hadn't really planned on his first encounter with her in months being in the presence of one of her friends or coworkers. Obviously, that's something he probably should have considered before he'd thrown together this plot to approach her in a crowd of people. Still, the thought triggers something in him, gets both his brain and his feet moving again. Instinctively, he ducks behind one of the tents before she sees him- before he's forced to have this conversation with her when he's not good and fucking ready.
From the relative safety of the sidelines, though, Jax drinks her in just like he'd dreamed of doing a hundred times before. Her dark hair is in loose waves framing her face, and he itches to bury his hands in the thick masses and tilt his mouth over those soft, pink lips. Her eyes are alight with interest, cheeks pinkening as she discusses whatever-it-is with Lab Coat- they're not quite close enough for him to catch wind. Better- or worse- yet, she's flashing that gorgeous smile that even now makes his fucking heart pound.
Christ, she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
As Tara nears his vantage point, Jax skirts along the edges of the booths and tents, staying just ahead of her, watching as talks and smiles with her friend. She's definitely in her element here- that much is clear. The boisterous atmosphere, the lively crowd, even the presence of the rest of the fucking brainiacs she'd never had the chance to mingle with back in Charming… As much as he'd felt he was invisible among the students here at UW, happy he could blend in with the crowd, Tara just… fits. And the difference, he's finding, is astronomical.
When the hell was the last time he made her smile like this- that genuine, carefree smile she used to save just for him? And, unbidden, the memory of the last time he'd talked to her swamps him, momentarily, and Jax has to close his eyes. Jesus, he'd marched into their shared apartment, caught her unaware in her own fucking bathroom. Then, he'd watched that very smile slide off her face and the light go out of her eyes as he'd basically informed her he was putting his club ahead of their shared future.
Pushing that thought away- Christ, Teller, concentrate- Jax opens his eyes to find that Tara's about even with him once again. Hastily, he edges around a few tables and ducks behind one of the tents, smiling a bit despite himself because she just seems so goddamn happy. He studies her from afar like he used to cuddled up next to her in bed or reclined underneath their tree, wearing nothing but sunlight. Watches until she nears him once again, almost close enough to reach out and touch.
And just as he thinks he might fuckin' die if he doesn't man up and do it, stretch out his arm to graze her fingertips with his own, she's joined by a few other people that seem to come out of nowhere. One of them- a guy- throws his arm around her briefly, and she laughs, something she'd done far too little of her last few weeks in Charming. That realization, too, is like a goddamn buzzsaw slicing right into his chest.
She's definitely happy here, without him- maybe because she's without him.
Jax is desperately trying to figure out whether his chest aches because of the painful, painful question he's just stumbled upon, because she's so goddamn beautiful, or because he wants so badly to rush up to her and apologize a thousand different ways. Hell, it's looking like it's all three.
It's just dawning on him that Tara's everything she used to be- and more- when he's not around, when she throws him for another loop and actually enters one of the tents.
To his surprise, they'd come full-circle- back at the Student Health tent where he can only assume she'd started her day. Tara seems to be resuming her position behind the table, replacing what he now knows for sure are her coworkers. As all but three- the Chris guy, the guy who'd found her in the crowd earlier, and the small brunette- wave their goodbyes, Jax can't help but breathe a small sigh of relief that none of them seem to be her boyfriend.
From his position behind a rack of pamphlets, Jax watches as she smiles and interacts with students who walk up, his momentary fear Tara had found someone else replaced by another wave of fondness- and a tint of envy- at just how at ease, confident, and fucking happy she looks. So she's in her element here, too, chatting with interested students, handing out mini medical kits, getting the opportunity to really experience what her life should be like… far from California, Charming, SAMCRO, and especially all Jax's bullshit.
But, once again, it's Tara's smile that's both a knife to his heart and a balm to the pain he'd caused when he'd pushed her away, put her last. That breathtaking, heart-stopping smile he used to bring out in her with a touch, a word, now has nothing to do with him; instead, it's got everything to do with helping other people, doing the one thing she truly loves- the thing she'd finally given up on him to pursue.
He's not sure how long he watches her- seconds, minutes, hell, even hours could have passed. After a long while, a little kid, not more than four or five, sprints toward the tent and the selection of brightly colored frisbees they're handing out along with the first aid kits. Tara's grin widens, and Jax finds himself smiling right back- until the kid trips over seemingly nothing and goes down, hard.
He watches as Tara glances around, evidently searching for parents in the vicinity; finding none, she steps around the table to help the sniffling kid into a sitting position. She ruffles his blonde hair, just like Jax had seen her do with Tommy years and years ago. Like magic, she produces a bandage and a sucker, gesturing to the kid with a gentle question in her eyes. The kid's clearly not stupid, as he nods, slowly, and lets Tara tend to his scraped knees. She's smiling and speaking softly all the while, efficiently working to stop the bleeding and patch him up. By the time it's all over, the kid is beaming at her and practically eating out of the palm of her hand.
As he skips away, better now that Tara's touched his life (just like everything else), Jax can feel his heart breaking all over again. This is where Tara needs to be, he's more sure than ever. But this job at SAMTAC's only temporary; worse, she's one of the most selfless people he knows. She sure as shit doesn't deserve whatever turmoil he'd bring if he shows up in this life she's created for herself. How can he ask her to choose, risk taking her away from this?
She needs this, his brain drones, miserably, maybe even more than you need her. (Even though that's fuckin' impossible). Either way, though, what neither of them needs is for him to fuck it all up.
And in that split second, Jax's decision is made.
He'll have to sack up and find a way to live here in Tacoma- so near to Tara, and still so fucking far away- until the job is up. Then, whether he goes back to Charming to face Gemma, goes fuckin' Nomad, or drops off the face of the goddamn earth… he doesn't give a shit.
For once, his mind chides, you're making a decision that isn't what's best for Jax fucking Teller. Time to stop being selfish.
And then a bell's clanging, practically jolting him out of his skin. Tara's looking up from her work, and someone with a megaphone is addressing the rapidly-thinning crowd, notifying them all that the fair is ten minutes from closing. Christ, it's almost 8: 00 and Jax knows he needs to get the fuck out of here. Before she sees him- and before he gives in to temptation and pushes past stragglers and workers alike just to get to her. With one last look, he commits her beautiful face to memory once again. Then, he strangles the voice that's screaming at him to stop, turns, and walks away.
Slipping along the edges of the fair, much like he did before he broke his own fucking heart…again, Jax quickly puts distance between himself and the one person he still wants more than anything in the entire world. Time seems to move at lightning speed, and he barely notices his surroundings until he's back at his bike- almost before he knows it. He throws a leg over the seat, clips on his helmet, and again tamps down the cacophony inside him begging him to do the selfish thing instead of the right thing.
As if to throw up a middle finger at his baser instincts, Jax revs the engine, opens the throttle, and lurches forward into whatever the fuck his future is without her. Still, it's the right thing, he tells himself, even as he pushes the Dyna to its limits, racing away from the campus, away from Tara.
He's not altogether sure where he's going until he gets there-something that's been happening a hell of a lot lately. But maybe that can be attributed to the stinging in his eyes, the freshly-opened black hole in his chest, and the way everything- traffic, scenery, fucking cops- blur until they're relegated to nothing more than cardboard cutouts he's blowing by as he passes. What's left of his consciousness screams at him to pull over before he goes down, gets claimed by the pavement- the only way a man can really ever be one with the road.
Something else, some other force he hasn't yet reckoned with, has him actually taking a hand off the handlebars, ignoring the way he's hurtling through the blur to reach into his pocket and palm the gift he'd never been able to watch her open.
And now you never will.
Goddamnit, she needs to know it was all real, for you.
The two sides seem to be battling in his very soul, even as Jax subconsciously backs off the throttle and makes the now-familiar turn into the small parking lot. Just like last night, he slows to a halt in front of the cluster of apartments- only this time, he shuts the bike off and slowly, mechanically, dismounts. He takes a moment to rifle through his saddlebag to find what he needs, then makes his way up the walk.
Somehow, knowing Tara's definitely not here this time makes this easier. (Pussy, his mind supplies, nastily.)
Sucking fresh air deep into his lungs until he marginally clears the fog from his head, Jax blinks, once, twice, re-orienting himself within his memory of what he'd seen last night. There's a bank of mailboxes near the bottom of each stairwell, and he wearily shuffles up to the one in front of Building 105, feeling as if he's aged a hundred years since he'd last been here.
A. Warner… J. Ortiz… K. Bowen…
T. Knowles- #4
It doesn't take much to find the right door, and Jax pauses for a long beat outside of it, suppressing the urge to pull an overt stalker move and peer in her window. Instead, he just breathes, simultaneously wishing he were on the other side of that door and already somewhere a thousand miles away. Tries to accept the fact that the pain he's feeling right now would just have to… be.
Maybe someday, he'll be able to cut out that part of him that feels like it's currently cracking into a million pieces, dying from the inside out. Or maybe, like Chibs had told him once, the pain would one day start to feel like an old friend, cold comfort that would accompany him wherever he goes. But today is not that day.
Slipping the warm metal out of his pocket for the last time, Jax folds it in his palm for a brief moment before touching it to his lips and placing it in its box. Stooping, he gently nestles the box between her doormat and the threshold, safe from the view of passers-by. Swallowing, thickly, he gives the box a final pat and walks away, leaving his heart behind.
**A/N- I can only apologize for how long these updates are taking me, but know that I'm still dedicated to finishing this A/U for my favorite couple. Thanks for sticking with me, and quadruple thanks to Ang R for her tireless support and help. I'd love to hear your thoughts, predictions, opinions, etc- let me know!