**I own nothing you recognize**
With mere minutes to go before the scheduled end to the fair, the small square is still abuzz with students milling about, chatting and laughing. Sighing, Tara pastes a cheerful smile on her face, thankful after the long afternoon to be handing out the last two mini medical kits to a pair of stragglers who'd walked up to the Student Health tent.
She hadn't minded the extra shift really- even though there's a chemistry exam coming up on Monday she really could have used some extra study time to prepare for. In fact, the event had turned out to be an unexpectedly welcome change of scenery; as the semester wore on, she'd spent more and more of her non-working hours holed up in either her small apartment or one of the study rooms at the library. So, today, with its fresh air, sunshine, and good company, had turned out to be exactly what she didn't know she needed.
As Tara drops a stack of clipboards back into a box, she can't help but smile, for real this time, as her friends banter back and forth on the other side of the tent. Chris is reaching down to tweak Sarah's ponytail, and Sara rolls her eyes before launching into a response. God, there's always some sort of debate going on between those two- and even back when she assumed they were dating, Tara had been called upon to moderate the snark.
Not that she minds that, either. They actually sort of remind her of Jax and Opie, with their near-constant, mostly friendly, bickering- and their unwavering support of one another, despite all the shit talking.
And so, though Tara's smile wavers just a bit, thinking of Ope still locked away in Stockton and Jax (the persistent ache in her chest tugs as it always does) still roaming the streets of Charming… It's a smile just the same.
Friends- and all those tricky emotional hurdles that come with them, like trust, openness, even feeling comfortable in their presence- had never come all that easily for Tara. In the days after she'd left Charming, she'd been forced to encounter new people despite feeling the familiar need to keep her circle small. God, she'd gone years revealing herself in bits and pieces only to the few people who were truly willing to put in the effort to connect them. And while nobody will ever know her like Jax had- or even Opie and Donna- she's equal parts thankful, relieved, and happy both Chris and Sarah have pressed in and stayed the course. Especially considering the absolute wreck she'd been her first few weeks here.
"Hey Tare-" Sarah's voice interrupts Tara's thoughts, confirming her suspicions about the direction of their conversation. "Tell Chris there's absolutely no way he can possibly blame me for his dumb ass leaving the front door unlocked last night." She giggles as Chris shakes his head, vigorously.
"Hey Tare-" Chris mocks, a hand on a hip. "Tell Sarah she's insane, because not once in over a year have I ever forgotten to lock up." He shoots her a withering look. "AKA, you were too busy trying to talk pretty-boy over there-" he nods at Matt "-into working this fair with us to pay attention. You must've unlocked the door and then immediately forgot about it twelve seconds later…like you always do." As Sarah reddens, Chris folds his arms triumphantly- and Tara rolls her eyes.
She's opening her mouth to say something- anything- to shift the topic off what's shaping up to be Sarah's perpetual mission to set her up with Matt and onto practically any goddamn thing else, when she hears it.
It's faint at first- especially amidst the low hum of the remaining crowd, but growing steadily louder. That distinctive sound she'd spent the past few years unknowingly committing to memory, and the last few months both consciously and subconsciously longing to hear.
A motorcycle.
Not just a motorcycle. Jax's motorcycle.
Tara doesn't know much about bikes beyond what it feels like to ride on the back of Jax's and hold him tight- doesn't know jack about why each sounds a little different, the physics that go into the deep, rich sound of a Harley Davidson, or, frankly, anything but what she'd learned from up-close, intimate experience. But she'd had years of practice straining to listen for the welcome sound of Jax rolling up to pick her up from school, cruising onto the lot after a run, and idling outside her father's house or the apartment they'd shared. And the past months' experience had taught her a hell of a lot about what it sounds like when he's pushing the throttle to its limits- just like he's doing right now.
Oh God, he's here.
The realization hits Tara with the force of a tidal wave, sending her mind in motion well before she can will her feet to start moving.
She can't breathe. Not when her heart's in her throat and her stomach's somewhere by her feet. Not when the tears spring to her eyes and everything around her, including the crowd, her friends- hell, everything that's not the slowly fading sound of Jax's bike- falls away. Especially not when that invisible thread she'd always envisioned, linking her heart to his, is once again tugging, pulling, then yanking her into motion towards Jax.
Blindly, Tara stumbles to the opening of the tent and pushes past the figures blocking her way and into the main avenue of the fair. Only a few people remain, but they're suddenly faceless, meaningless like mannequins, simply because they're not him. Suddenly desperate, she scans the thinning crowd for messy blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and black leather, wanting- needing- to see for herself that he'd really done it, he'd really come for her. She doesn't give a shit why he's here, if he's wearing a reaper on his back, if he's alone or with a group of his club brothers… She just needs to see him.
She just needs him.
Slowly at first, then picking up speed until she's half-jogging in the general direction of the sound, Tara covers the distance of the square from corner to corner until she reaches the sidewalk, then the slight hill and the line of cars parked along the street beyond. The street itself is mostly void of traffic- students are still leaving the fair on foot and trickling across to the far sidewalk… But none of them are Jax.
Lurching past the parked cars and into the street, Tara stumbles to a halt, suddenly no longer able to hear the distant sound of his bike. Turning, slowly, her eyes desperately scan the scattered humanity around her for some sign of the face that will forever be carved upon her heart. The pit in her stomach seems to open ever wider with every second that goes by without some sign he's nearby..
But instead of the sight of his Dyna, prowling the streets of Tacoma, she sees nothing but parked cars as far as the eye can see. Instead of Jax before her, breathless, pulling her into his arms before slamming his mouth onto hers and murmuring the words she'd been longing to hear for months- how he loved her, how he'd never give her up…
Instead, Tara's alone.
Until an unseen force yanks her back toward the curb, sending her careening into a parked car. A shiny new VW Bug zips by the spot she'd just occupied, horn blaring.
"Jesus, Tara- what the hell?"
Tara doesn't respond, still breathless- speechless. Still half-expecting Jax to appear at her side, his impish smirk reassuring her that somehow, they'd be together, whole once again…
"Tara!"
Dazed, Tara blinks once, twice, until the face a few inches from her own slowly comes into focus.
Well, faces.
Her friends stare back at her, Sarah vacillating between dumbfounded and practically hyperventilating, herself. Chris hovers behind her, his brow furrowed with concern.
"One minute you're standing there talking to us and the next, you're taking the fuck off… Then we find you standing in traffic like a goddamn mental patient," Chris is saying, agitated. But it's Sarah who cups Tara's face, bringing her fully crashing back to reality. And suddenly, the past months of scraping herself together before work and school, doing her best to move on in what small ways she could, are in jeopardy. Shit.
"What the hell happened?"
Tara releases a shuddering breath, just as much to gather her thoughts and delay answering the question as anything. Jesus, how the hell is she supposed to answer that question?
I thought I heard my ex-boyfriend's motorcycle from a mile away, so I went tearing through a crowd to find him?
I'm slowly losing my grip on reality?
God, had she imagined it? Had the sound of his bike just finally hammered its way into her brain? Had she somehow inserted the ghost of Jax's presence into this very real life she'd created for herself here in Tacoma?
Hell, maybe she's finally, truly, losing it. Maybe Jax had simply burrowed his way so deeply into her heart and soul that she's hearing things, and conjuring up shit she only wished were true.
C'mon Knowles… You may have done some crazy shit in the past few years, and packing up and driving to Tacoma with only a few duffel bags is a top candidate. But you're not insane.
In that case, maybe she's fooling herself in a totally different way. Is it really possible to recognize Jax's bike by sound alone- especially a couple months after she'd last heard it? Christ, it could have been anybody…
Couldn't it?
But that doesn't explain how you feel right now, that pull you've always felt when it comes to him…
"Tara!"
Shoving aside the battle between her own heart and brain, Tara manages a weak smile and fumbles, desperately, for something to say.
"I uh… I thought I saw someone I used to know," she croaks. There. That's close enough to the truth that-
"What?"
"Who-"
As Chris and Sarah simultaneously interrupt her rationale to herself, once again, Tara's heart sinks a little further.
"Sweetie, you look like you've seen a ghost," Sarah protests, biting her lip. "This isn't- uh…" She looks pointedly at Chris, who steps in to wrap an arm around Tara's shoulders.
"Tare, you don't run out into the street over someone that's just somebody you used to know," he says, concern tinting his voice. "What the hell's going on?"
Tara sighs, again, as they all move back toward the outskirts of the fair. Shakily, she nods toward a nearby bench, and without waiting for a response, gingerly lowers herself onto the weathered wood. Soundlessly, both Chris and Sarah follow suit. God…
"Listen, I just- I can't talk about him right now, and I need you to understand that." She looks up at Chris, who merely nods in response- and then beyond him at Sarah, who's staring back at her, a flash of recognition sparking in her eyes.
"Him? You mean the guy from the tattoo?" Tara nods, even as Chris's voice sounds, incredulous, from somewhere above her head.
"The guy from the tattoo?" There's a pause. Then, "Wait- Tara has a tattoo?"
Sarah waves her hand, casually dismissing Chris's question in favor of asking one of her own.
"And you're saying you think he's here? Now? Like, you saw him at the fair?" Sarah's head cranes in all directions, evidently searching the square, fruitlessly, for evidence of someone Tara had never described to her. Miserably, Tara shakes her head.
"No, I didn't see him, exactly. I just-" She sighs, softly. "Look, he rides a motorcycle- has since he was sixteen. I… spent a lot of time on the back of that thing, and I'd know the sound anywhere. So when I heard his bike…" Tara's voice trails off, as she shrugs, helplessly. Sarah's face twists in sympathy.
"Oh, sweetie. I know you must miss… whoever he was to you. So much. But, can you really be sure it was him?" She gestures around them. "I mean, there were a lot of people- and a lot of noise- here earlier. And I don't know anything about motorcycles, but they all- well, they all sorta sound the same, don't they?"
Tara shakes her head again, this time in frustration. But, the frustration is with herself, and not her friends. They'd all gotten close over the past few months- especially she and Sarah- but she just hadn't been able to bring herself to reveal much about Jax. God, how fucked up is that?
But how the hell do you explain someone like Jax, the kind of connection they'd had, and especially the hole she'd carved out in her life when she'd left him, without sounding like a total headcase? And even if she could find a way to do that much, she'd then have had to explain what it's like when your soulmate is an MC legacy with too much club loyalty. How every bit of them becomes engrained in your soul- their laughter, their dreams, their grief and tears…right down to the sound of their fucking motorcycle.
And especially how a part of your heart feels like it just…dies off when you leave them behind.
"I… I don't know how to explain it to you right now. I'm sorry. But…" Tears fill Tara's eyes. "I loved him. So much. But I had to leave hi-" she stumbles, corrects herself. "I had to leave my hometown behind- and he chose not to follow me." She shrugs, sadly. "That's just the way it is. I haven't seen or heard from him since I left that day. So, no- I don't know what I heard, and I can't really go into how I know, but all of a sudden, I just knew he was here."
Sarah and Chris share a look, and again start talking at the same time.
"So why's he here…now?"
"Honey, it was probably some college kid on a moped."
Christ, she can't talk about this anymore. Not right now. Maybe not ever. So, she focuses on what's rational- what her brain has been telling her all along- and begs her heart to shut the fuck up.
"It's been a long day. And you're right- it was probably some yuppie on his daddy's Yamaha." Wrong. "I was probably just daydreaming, a little." Wrong again.
Gritting her teeth, Tara shoves away the incessant, nagging voice playing devil's advocate, wipes her tears, and straightens her shoulders. Her friends exchange another look.
"So can we just… I don't know. Pretend this never happened, for now? I promise, I'll tell you more about him some other time, when we're not supposed to be packing up a tent and half a clinic's worth of supplies." Reluctantly, Chris and Sarah both nod and don sympathetic- if uncertain- smiles. Tara pushes out a forceful breath and pastes a weak smile on her own lips.
Get it together, Knowles.
"I guess we should help Pretty-Boy get packed up," Chris sighs, hoisting himself into a standing position. Then, his face briefly twists into a smirk, "And let him know you haven't run off with another man." Rolling her eyes, Tara swats him in the chest, grateful for the change of topic, even if it's this one. Then, Chris lowers his voice in mock sternness. "But you owe me the full story about this mystery man- and your mystery tattoo. And I mean ASAP."
"Same here," Sarah agrees, linking her fingers through Tara's and pulling her to her feet. Her face is again marred with concern, but she simply guides them in the general direction of the booth. "Any boy that has you running into traffic just because you thought you heard his motorcycle must be one hell of a story."
Jesus, if you only knew.
Then, Sara's reaching into her back pocket to retrieve a small, pink compact, and shoving it into Tara's free hand.
"Here, kid- you need to fix your face."
By the time they arrive back at the Student Health Services tent, Matt has all the leftover supplies packed into plastic tubs and is working on dismantling the tent. He raises his head, his expression silently communicating his concern. As Chris makes some jovial excuse Tara barely hears, her cheeks begin to burn- partially out of guilt for leaving him here to handle pretty much all the teardown by himself…but mostly out of sheer embarrassment. Christ, what were you thinking? How the hell did you lose control like that?
Tara's still furiously chastising herself a few minutes later, even as her friends talk quietly in the background. But, although her surroundings are quiet, her mind sure as hell isn't. She's silently cursing and struggling to untie a nylon cord attaching the tent canopy to the metal post of the frame when Matt joins her. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything right away- just shoots her a quick smile, then ducks his head to focus on the other cord. Together, they work silently, pulling the ties free before moving around the edge of the tent to loosen the others.
They're starting on a third post before Matt finally speaks.
"You ok?"
That's a loaded fucking question.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Tara replies, instantly grateful she'd had a few minutes to compose herself before facing him. He's a bit older than them all- and an intern instead of lowly front desk staff- so their interactions over the past couple months have been limited. As little as she'd told Sarah and Chris about Jax and Charming, Matt knows even less- in fact, he knows practically zero about her, unless it involves her duties within the clinic itself. Still, despite Sarah's insistence that he's nurturing some sort of crush on Tara, he's never been anything but cheerfully friendly.
Thank God. Because there's no way she's up to explaining all of this- even what little she'd been able to reveal- again this afternoon.
Matt's responding before she can start to overthink, once again.
"That's good. Chris and Sarah were worried when you just sorta… took off out of nowhere." Tara laughs, nervously, but it sounds high and false in her ear.
"Oh, I… I thought I saw someone I used to know. So I followed them, that's all," she says, feebly. Might as well stick to the simplest version of the truth.
"Makes sense. I'm glad they, uh, found you."
"Mmhmm," is all Tara can find to say. But she returns Matt's smile, and he nods, re-focusing on his work.
"Listen, Chris said you might need a ride home. I know he picked you up, but he's got some student government meeting that starts like five minutes from now. I told him I'd pack this stuff in the back of my Jeep and bring it into work Monday morning. That way, he can get moving." What?
Immediately, Tara's eyes fly to Chris, who does seem to be rooting around for his keys and shooting her a sympathetic grin.
"Sorry, Tare. I forgot about this stupid meeting when I told you I'd pick you up." Suspicious, Tara searches his face- and Sarah's- for any sign they're yet again trying, unsuccessfully, to set her up with Matt. He just blinks back at her, innocently, and checks his watch. Christ. Why the hell didn't she just insist on driving the Cutlass here when he'd offered?
"Thanks, but I can walk, really. Sarah, you walked here today, didn't you?" Sarah nods, slowly, as if she's about to chastise a slightly stubborn child.
"I did. But I live two blocks away, and you're over a mile from campus- that's why you're always driving that giant-ass car of yours everywhere," she points out, and Tara reluctantly nods. Dammit, she's right. "You can just walk over to my place if you want- but I have a date tonight, and I'm not sure you want to tag along." Sarah's voice is teasing, but as much as Tara doesn't want to be a third wheel on a date with her friend and some guy she's never met, she's even less excited about spending a few hours alone with her before the date, avoiding more questions about Jax.
"Seriously, I don't mind," Matt is saying behind her, "As long as you two don't mind helping carry the rest of this stuff to the car." And all of a sudden, he's the best option.
Great.
Twenty minutes later, Matt's Jeep is loaded with the tent bag and several boxes of miscellany, and Chris is off to his meeting. Sarah, for her part, is grinning over her shoulder and waving as she leaves Tara standing next to the Jeep's back hatch. Tara rolls her eyes in return. Bitch.
She'd lost her shit earlier- really and truly- so it's not like she really blames her friends for taking what they undoubtedly saw as an opportunity to help her move on. If that's even possible. She also guesses it's not Matt's fault they just can't leave well enough alone. He's always been nice enough, and any other time, she'd have played along, taken the ride and laughed off their clumsy attempts at matchmaking.
But right now, she's got this desperate need to be alone so she can think through what's just happened and decide what to do next. And here, around even the few people she's welcomed into her life, it's like the noise is suddenly unbearable, distracting her from sifting through what her brain knows and what her heart wants to be true. Because as much as she'd tried to convince her friends- and herself- that she'd simply jumped to conclusions and gotten herself worked up over the negligible possibility that Jax was in Tacoma, she also can't seem to quiet the incessant voice inside, insisting he's here.
"You ready?" Matt's voice breaks into her thoughts, and Tara is quick to smile up at him as he closes the back hatch door- because who knows how the hell long she'd been standing there, arguing with herself. God, can you try not to be a weirdo for once?
"Sure. Thanks for the lift."
The ride home is pleasant, actually, despite the heavy traffic that has Pacific at nearly a standstill, because Matt is as friendly and warm as he's ever been. He glances at her, smiling, as they chat about trivial things- classes, work, apartments. Tara's surprised to find that the conversation isn't stilted or awkward at all, despite her earlier brush with a complete mental breakdown. As he tells her how he'd picked up the internship at the clinic, his smile spreads into a broad grin- it's clear he loves this stuff, loves the field- and he's truly excited about the potential his work at the clinic might have for his career.
Watching Matt light up a bit, talking about something he loves, Tara can't help but compare him to Jax, who used to respond in the exact same way whenever given the opportunity to discuss the club, bikes, and his own plans for his future. She brushes aside a brief pang that slices through her at the memory of how Jax used to light up that way whenever she was in the room before moving on to safer ground- the physical differences between the two. While both Jax and Matt are blonde, Matt's hair is a much darker shade, almost brown, and his eyes are a hazel that almost match her own instead of Jax's intense blue. Like Jax, though, he's tall, his head approaching the canvas roof of the Jeep.
But through it all, she can't help but feel disconnected, as if she's assessing the person across from her as a part of some class assignment instead of as a person in his own right. She doesn't know him well, but he seems thoughtful, kind, funny- everything she'd anticipated herself looking for in a boyfriend long before she'd returned to Charming and re-discovered the soul-deep connection she and Jax shared. The type of connection she's almost certain she's never experienced with anyone before, or since.
Tara can't help but laugh, a bit derisively, to herself. Like that connection is doing her any good right now. Christ- what had it brought her these past few months except heartache? Sleepless nights? The inclination to run through a crowd of people after a sound that may just as well have been in her head? The inability to trust anyone, including Jax, or open herself up enough to let people in?
"What about you?" Shit. Matt's asking her a question, and she's sitting here like a stone in his passenger seat, zoning out yet again. Thankfully, he repeats his question, oblivious to her wandering mind. "Did any of your classmates come up here to Tacoma?"
"Um…" Still on-edge from her internal frustration with Jax- and herself- from a moment ago, Tara replies automatically. "I was planning on going to a Cal system school, actually- I wanted to stay closer to home and they offered me a good scholarship. But then.." She swallows, with some difficulty. "Then, my relationship sort of ended, and I came up here because I needed distance. I guess." But, the voice in her head reminds her, you just couldn't give up on him. Not all the way. Which is why you're here, in a town that has a SAMCRO charter instead of off in San Diego or Chicago like you should be.
Matt smiles, and there's more than a hint of understanding in his eyes before he returns his attention to the road, where the traffic is finally clearing ahead of them.
"I get it, actually. I dated the same girl all through high school," he muses. "We'd planned to go to school up here, together. Then, we were gonna transfer to the main UDub campus once both of us got into med school." He shrugs. "She wound up finding something she liked better, went pre-law instead. I guess we just sort of… grew apart, after that, you know?"
Tara nods- though she doesn't know, not really..
"After we broke up, she transferred early and that was it," Matt continues. "Her parents are still good friends with mine and I see her sometimes over breaks, but we've never really managed to become friends again, really."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Tara returns, honestly.
"Nah, don't be. It was weird for a while- being without her. But I think we both just realized we'd turned into two people who were better apart than together." Not knowing what else to say, Tara just hums in affirmation. His words seem to echo in her head.
We just grew apart…two people who were better apart than together.
God, is that what will happen to her and Jax? One day, he'll just be someone she'd once felt connected with- and someone she'd be a better person without?
Worse, even, is the fear that nothing will ever happen to sever that bond. Jesus, the fact that just hearing a damn motorcycle had been enough to send her running through a crowd of people and into a street is probably a pretty good sign that their relationship- at least the beginning of their ending- hadn't exactly been a healthy one. And what the hell would have happened if she'd found him? More of the same shit they'd endured in the weeks before she'd left Charming? The arguments, the guilt, the frustration- or worse, that gut-wrenching silence?
Christ, even miles away, he's got her all twisted up with nothing more than a sound that would be commonplace to nearly everyone else in Charming. Tara rolls her eyes. For all she knows, that bike probably had been manned by some asshole frat boy, complete with a God complex and a wanna-be harem of brainless blondes. God, it's infuriating- even when she's pissed at him, he still manages to insert himself into not only her dreams, but her daydreams and waking moments, as well.
"This it?"
Oh, Christ, they're at the apartment already… Trying not to wonder exactly how long they'd been sitting in silence, Tara shoots Matt an apologetic smile before nodding. Reddening, she gathers her things.
"Right- sorry. It's uh… been a strange day. I'm- I'm sorry." God, why are you babbling? Thankfully, Matt doesn't seem to notice the slight awkwardness, just grins and pops his door open before sliding out of the driver's seat. His intent becomes clear the moment he rounds the hood.
Opening Tara's door, Matt smiles, genuinely, and she takes him in once again. Strangely, though, her focus isn't on the dimples Sarah used to rave about every time she tried to make this situation a reality. Hell, it's not even on the relatively firm body Chris had not-so-subtly expressed his envy over, more than once. Instead, Tara's focused on his hand, outstretched to help her out of his Jeep…and her own, hesitantly accepting it.
The simplicity of the gesture is quickly encompassed by the sheer…wrongness of it all. And Tara can't help but wonder if this is what Jimmy Stewart's character felt like in that old movie her mom used to watch at Christmastime. Like she's watching her life play out without her, all because of the bevy of mistakes and choices that have brought her here, to this moment- the moment where someone who isn't Jax is taking her hand.
And that's exactly it, her brain insists. He isn't Jax, this isn't Charming, and there's no angel that's going to wake you up and make everything right again.
"Thanks for the lift," Tara murmurs- mostly to fill the silence as she lets her hand slip from his- and Matt's smile widens. God, he's just so nice.
"No problem." Matt stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels- something she can't say she'd ever seen him do before. Christ, is he…nervous? "Look, I, uh…" He clears his throat, and seems to find his confidence while doing so. "I know it's been sort of a messed up day for you- so don't answer me now, okay?" Tara nods, perplexed. "But sometime, when you're up for it, could I uh, call you? To get a cup of coffee? Or something?"
Oh, God.
Seemingly frozen in place, Tara doesn't answer as a long second ticks by. Then another. And another. And another, until her stupefied brain finally whirs into action.
"Um…sure," she manages, feebly, for lack of a more appropriate response. "Sometime..."
Thankfully, Matt's relief at her answer apparently overshadows the general lack of enthusiasm with which it was given, because he actually winks at her before leaning in and squeezing her hand once again. "Just give me your number sometime. You know, when you're ready." He hesitates- and for a full, dread-filled moment, she's sure he's going to lean in closer. "Goodnight, Tara." And then he's gone, heading back around the front of his Jeep to climb back in the driver's seat. He gives her a small wave before he puts the vehicle in gear and drives away.
The short trip up the front walk takes seconds, but right now it seems to take hours to get to her front door. Then, it takes ages more as she fumbles for her key, and another eon to get the damn thing unlocked. Probably, it's because her mind is swimming with thoughts of Jax alongside the strange concept of coffee with Matt, memories of sun-warmed leather and bright blonde hair, medical school, the wind in her hair, the nights she's spent alone in her bed, and on… and on… and on…
She's so lost in thought that she almost misses it- would have, had she not actually tripped over it on her way in her front door. It is a small, white box that's sent skittering across the old wood floor in her apartment as her shoe skimmed its top, leaving a dirty, gray scuff on its otherwise pristine surface. Closing the door behind her, Tara absently drops her keys on the small table by the entry and zeroes in on the mystery box.
What the hell…Actually, who the hell, has left whatever this is on her doorstep? And why didn't they just drop it in her mail slot? It's small enough. More likely, though, she concedes, it's something that hadn't been meant for her at all.
Intrigued, still, Tara bends to retrieve the box, then drops her purse on the bed, sinking down onto the mattress next to it to examine it more closely. Slowly, deliberately- it seems, somehow, like she needs to take her time just now- she slides the top half of the box free, her breath catching when her eyes finally rest on its contents.
Softly shining back up at her from its position, nestled in satin inside the mystery box, is what looks like a rather large, round, burnished gold locket on an unexpectedly delicate chain. Thoughts of the box being meant for someone else vanish as Tara notices the letter T engraved on its surface in elegant script. Her fingers brush over the initial, briefly, finding the metal mysteriously warm to the touch. The small seam created by what appears to be two separate gold pieces subtly prods her to run her finger along its edge. What's inside?
Carefully, she works a thumbnail under the lid, gently prying it open and lifting it away from the rest. Her heart practically stops when her eyes finally focus on the interior. It's not a locket after all, but a small gold compass, the arrow wobbling a bit in tune with her own trembling until it steadily points, dead on at true north. And inside the lid is engraved, simply-
Always
Hands shaking, she lifts the compass out of the box and everything falls away except for the way the ink on her back seems to burn beneath her very skin. She folds it into her palm, gripping it tightly and drawing it to her chest, breathless and frozen in this moment as all the lies she'd told herself today fall away. Then, the truth jolts her into action, much as it had hours before.
And for a second time today, she's rushing outward, toward what she now knows for certain was there all along. Toward him. Heart racing, she fairly bursts through her front door, leaving it to gape open behind her as she reaches the front walk beyond. Suddenly desperate, she searches for the soft black of his kutte and the sharp blue of his eyes; strains to hear the rumble of his bike and the all-too-welcome sound of his voice.
But the lot is empty, just as it had been mere minutes ago when she'd walked up here, the scant parking spaces reserved for guests barren. There's nobody here- least of all Jax.
That means…
That means she's not losing her damn mind- at least not yet. Now more certain than ever she had, in fact, heard Jax's bike, it's clear why she'd felt the all-too-familiar pull toward the person she'd loved since well before she knew what it meant. If he hadn't been in the square earlier, he'd been somewhere near it- and the thought of just how close she'd been to seeing his beloved face once again has her dizzy for a second time today.
But then, for some reason unknown to Tara, he'd gone roaring past instead of seeking her out; he'd evidently come here, to her apartment, to leave this gift on her doorstep. For whatever reason, he isn't here now to watch her open it. He's not here pull her into his arms and make the rest of the world go away. Somehow, he'd found her without her knowledge- to the point where he'd not only tracked her down at work today, but somehow managed to find her apartment, as well- and then chosen to leave again, instead.
"Why?"
After a day of constant, internal quarreling between her heart and her head, Tara's neither surprised that both of them are now asking the same question. She's also not surprised that she's said it out loud.
What does surprise her is the stinging in her eyes that comes quickly on its heels.
Shit, shit, shit… Run, Tara.
Hurriedly retreating into her small studio apartment once again and closing the door behind her before the barren parking lot can bear witness to her tears, Tara stumbles to the bed and curls onto the quilt, clutching the compass to her chest. She'd imagined this moment, and Jax's presence in Tacoma, in a thousand different ways by now- but never once had it been like this.
In some of the brief daydreams she'd allowed herself, she'd answered the door to find him there, a rueful smile on his face. In others, he'd been outside her chemistry class or the clinic, eager to pull her to his chest the moment she stepped out into the sunshine. They'd met by the waterfront, or the fountain; sometimes, he'd picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, and sometimes, she'd taken his hand and led him to this very bed. They'd slowly, deliberately undressed each other- or she'd torn at his clothes, desperate to feel her one true love inside her again…
But she'd never anticipated she'd be alone with the realization that he knew where to find her and had instead chosen not to stay.
And now, in the face of the most heartbreaking scenario she could have imagined, a tear rolls from Tara's eye, down the bridge of her nose, and drops onto the quilt below. It's quickly followed by another. And another. And another- until she can't tell where one ends and the next begins. She cries until the quilt is damp and the pain gathering behind her eyes almost, almost, matches the pain in her heart- until she can't cry any more. And by the time the tears stop and her shoulders finally cease shaking with silent sobs, Tara slips into an exhausted sleep.
Tara wakes to a pitch-dark apartment and nothing but silence- oppressive, deafening, silence. She cracks open her other eye and peers at the alarm clock- it seems like days have passed, though it's barely approaching midnight. Somehow, she feels even worse than before- like the dreams she'd had, haunted as they were by Jax's image, had sapped her of her energy. But mostly, she just feels the steadily percolating anger- at him, at the ridiculous situation they've found themselves in- threatening to bubble up to the surface once again.
Tara sits up, pinches the bridge of her nose to ward off the rapidly descending headache before remembering its source could be a hundred miles away by now. Christ, she can't think about this any more…
Nope. You need to do something. But what is there to do, really, other than what she'd been steadfastly preventing herself from doing since the day she drove past the Charming sign on her way out of town? And even if she knew where to find Jax, where the hell would it get her, anyway?
So, it's a bit of self-preservation- and a healthy dose of pride- that has Tara yanking open the drawer of the small table that serves as both a nightstand and a desk. She rifles through its scattered contents until she finds what she's after- the small, leather-bound address book she's kept since about the eighth grade.
Blinking back a fresh wave of tears that serves only to frustrate her further, Tara thumbs, blindly, through the dog-eared pages. She flips past Sarah, Chris, Jess from Chemistry, old friends from San Diego, even Donna and Gemma (she can't help but cringe) before halting, finally, at the number she needs. Then, with a shaking hand, she dials the ten digits that might just be able to answer her questions.
Dr. Angela Carlson answers on the first ring- almost as if she'd been waiting by the phone.
"Hey…" Her voice sounds warm, familiar- like maybe she'd been expecting someone else on the line.
"Yeah, um… Angela?"
"Oh-" Angela sounds flustered, and it takes a moment for her to speak again. Then- "Tara, is that you?"
"It is." God, she doesn't trust herself to say much more quite yet. Thankfully, Angela's already replying.
"Oh, it's so good to hear from you! You caught me at the perfect time- I've been at a conference over in Reno, and then I had to log my continuing ed hours, but they wanted me to travel to UCSF to do it-" Angela's voice stops, abruptly, and her laugh comes over the line. "But listen to me, going on about boring vet stuff. How are you? How's school? Are you loving Tacoma?"
"I like it here, I really do. It's just-" Despite her best efforts, Tara's voice breaks, and she's forced into silence as she smothers a sob. Jesus Christ, Knowles, get it together. She tries, for a long minute, to force her heart back down into her chest from its current position in her throat- to answer Angela's questions and have some semblance of a normal conversation…But Angela's way ahead of her.
"What's wrong?" Angela asks, almost immediately, her voice tinted with concern. "I know you're killing it in all your classes- you're too…neurotic to let your grades slip. And I got the letter from the clinic that they'd accepted your work study application…" She trails off, and despite the silence over the line, that's when Tara knows the cogs in her brain have clicked into place.
"It's Jackson, isn't it?" Angela says, carefully- and somehow, Tara's sniffles seem to answer that question for her. "Tara-"
"When's the last time you saw him?"
"Saw him? I- it must have been a week or so before the conference, why?" When Tara doesn't immediately answer, Angela continues. "He hasn't been around much- hasn't been talking to anyone when he has, except maybe Kozik and his dad. And I'm sure he wouldn't pick me, of all people, if he decided he wanted to start. Is everything OK?"
"I just need to know," is all Tara can think to say. Then, haltingly- "Angela…did you tell anyone where I was? Jax, Donna, JT- even Opie, somehow? Because the day I went to see Ope at Stockton, he was concerned about me up here, alone. But I told him I'd already told you, that I was OK and he didn't need to worry about me- especially if it meant having to keep it from Jax. You didn't-"
"No!" Angela sounds affronted. "Tara, you asked me for two things- a letter of recommendation, and my silence. And I gave you both of those, because I knew how much you needed to do this. For you. I wouldn't-"
"Not even Kozik?" There's a pause before Angela sighs.
"I'm not sure Herm even knows I've been in contact with you, though I don't know that I'd lie to him if he asked-"
"But-"
"But he hasn't asked, Tara. And as far as I know, Jax hasn't thought to ask him for details- or if he did, Herm didn't bring it up to me."
The ensuing silence has Tara's mind racing. It's slipping wildly between creeping guilt at practically accusing Angela of telling Jax her location, the confliction she'd felt at not leaving word with someone close to the club in the first place, and the still-fresh revelation that he'd somehow found her despite all of it.
"You know I supported you leaving, even though I knew how much you loved him, Tara. You needed to get a start on your life, away from Charming. And he needed to get his head on straight, decide what was really important to him. You were right, sweetheart- there's no way either of you would have done that if he'd taken off up there after you a few months ago."
"I know, it's just-" A sharp sob Tara hadn't expected breaks through her reply, and suddenly, she doesn't give a shit whether Angela knows she's upset. In fact, as she cries, mostly silently, it's like all the anger and frustration she'd felt since the day she left comes pouring out of her. Jax knows where she is. Christ, he knows where she lives. But he's not here when it counts. Again.
"Are you okay, Tara?"
She waits a beat. "Listen, I didn't want to mention it earlier because I didn't want you to feel pressured to say yes. but… Herm's in Tacoma, on some run." And somewhere, a spark of truth ignites itself in Tara's mind. If Jax- like Kozik- is in town on a run, then he'd likely had this planned all along. "Seriously, sweetheart, just say the word, and he'll be there to check in on you. I know if I call him and tell him the address, he-"
"Jax is here," Tara blurts."He's probably with the club on that same run, and somehow, he found me-"
"Wait- he's there? Like, in Tacoma? Tara, I don't know how he found you, I really don't, but isn't that a good sign? I mean… isn't that why you picked Tacoma over UCSD, Fresno State, and the rest? So if he ever got his head out of his ass and took some initiative to be with you, he wouldn't have to leave the club?" Tara laughs, but it's a humorless sound that seems to strike Angela's brief enthusiasm dead.
"Oh, he's here. But he's not… here, Angela. Not when it really matters. Again."
"What do you mean?"
Frustrated, Tara pushes out a harsh breath. In her experience, the club's got a matter of a few days here in town- just enough for Jax to track her down, make sure those age-old feelings are still there between them, and take off again. But Angela seems to be operating under the illusion that he's up here because he's made some sort of change.
"I heard his bike today, and I knew… I knew it was him. Jesus, Angela, I left my job to chase after him, but he was already gone. He had me thinking I was crazy, like I was missing him so much I was hearing things- and I'd almost convinced myself I was. But when I got back to my apartment, lying on my doorstep was the most beautiful gift." Tara laughs again, bitterly. "Did I ever tell you we had a poem? Some couples have a song… Jax and I have a poem. Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden- do you know it?"
She barely waits for Angela's affirmation before reciting. "He was my North, my South, my East, my West. My working week and my Sunday rest… It fits us so well, because I've always felt like no matter what happens, something will draw us back together- it always has. It happened when I came back from San Diego after my aunt died, and after every crazy thing we've been through since. Somehow, I knew- I knew it was starting again today. Something, somewhere was leading us back together. And then I got home and sitting there on my doormat, like it's no more significant than the fucking Yellow Pages, is the perfect gift- this compass. Like it's…it's-"
Tara gestures, frustrated, with her free hand, even though nobody's there to see. "He just left it there, like it's supposed to lead me back to Charming or something. Like as long as Jax reminds me he's got my heart, I need to do the hard part and give up myself to be with him."
"Tara-"
"And you know what? All along, I've known where he is- where he's always been. I could've called him a hundred times, do you know that? I could've written to him, paged him, or even gone to him at any time… But I didn't. I couldn't. Because he's the one who broke the promise- the one we made to each other! And he needs to be the one to take the first step, like you said! But where the fuck is he?"
She's yelling, now, frustrated tears streaming down her face even as the guilt wells up. Guilt that she's taking this out on the one person she'd trusted to help her stop herself from repeating old behaviors, and chasing after someone who would always put his club first.
"You're right, sweetheart- you are. And nobody knows that more than I do. But he's there, in Tacoma, and that's a start. There's a lot of hurt between you two, and it's going to take time-"
"That's just it, isn't it? He's in Tacoma, but he's not here! And when this run's over, he'll be right back in Charming, and we'll be right back in the same fucking mess we were in before I left! Only now, I know for sure what his choice really is."
"Just give him a minute, Tara-" Angela begins, but suddenly, Tara just can't argue about it any more. She's too tired- and too defeated- to bother.
"Will you just do me a favor?"
Silence. Then-
"You know I will."
Tara takes a shaky breath, wills herself to calm the fuck down. This isn't Angela's fault, and the only person who needs to hear all of this is absent, yet again.
"Just… If you talk to Kozik, don't tell him I called, okay? At least not tonight."
And it's a long moment before Angela finally agrees.
They say their goodbyes quickly. After Angela hangs up quietly, Tara's left with her guilt in the roaring silence of the apartment. Still, the guilt is quickly engulfed by the creeping sensation of hopelessness that had been building ever since she'd awoken.
It had been hours since she'd found the compass- and more still since she'd first entertained the idea that Jax was here in Tacoma. Long enough, and then some, for her to arrive once agai, at the painful conclusion that the compass is going to be the only piece of Jax she'll have with her tonight.
The shitty part, Tara thinks as she rolls to her back to examine the compass once again, is that it's dangerously close to working. Almost against her will, she lifts the lid open, brushes her fingers over the engraved "Always," and closes her eyes. She steadies her breath and tries to ignore the pathetic, pathetic urge to get behind the wheel of the Cutlass and tear up the road between here and wherever the SAMTAC clubhouse is-
A knock at the door jolts Tara out of her fugue state, and almost instantly into another. Gone are the anger, the guilt, and the self-doubt, replaced by nothing but her heart, thumping increasingly faster beneath the hand that had flown to her chest. The blood rushes in her ears as she crosses the room, somehow- she doesn't know how, really. For a second time today, it's like her feet aren't connected to her body. A hand she's certain must belong to somebody else reaches out, slowly, to expose the person waiting for her on the other side.
"Hey. Uh, sorry."
The guy at her door is decidedly not Jax. Tara's not sure she's kept the resulting disappointment off her face- especially when the first words out of his mouth are an apology. He's baby-faced and not much taller than Tara herself- but attractive, in that clean-shaven, boyishly handsome kind of way that often went overlooked. Well, at least she'd think it would be easy to overlook guys like him- especially when you were dating your high school's resident MC legacy.
"Can I help you?" Cringing, inwardly, at sounding like a fucking waitress, Tara sends the guy a weak smile. Grinning awkwardly in return, he juts out his hand swiftly, making her jump.
"Name's Juan. I uh, live upstairs. Apartment 6A?" Nodding, she takes his hand briefly and shakes it before he nervously shoves both his hands in his back pockets. He seems to be looking at her expectantly- but he's not saying anything, so she presses on to fill the silence.
"I'm Tara. Nice to meet you Juan. But um…" Her confused hesitation seems to jolt him into action, and suddenly, Juan's bobbing his head vigorously and pulling an envelope out of his back pocket.
"Right, yeah. So, I'm sorry to bother you and everything, but I, uh- I got some of your mail, I think. And I wanted to make sure you, you know…got it," he finishes, slowly- a bit unsure of himself.
"...at 12:30 AM?" Tara questions, mystified. Juan blinks a few times in rapid succession- then manages to look extremely apologetic and askward all at the same time.
"Shit, sorry. I- well, I just found it, I guess. Uh, sorry." he says again. Tara stifles a small smile as he shifts from one foot to another and reaches up to scratch his head. He's jumpy as hell, actually- but somehow, he's so adorably awkward that she can't help but trust him.
"Um… so can I see it?" she asks, finally, when it's clear he has no intention of handing over her mail. Juan's brow wrinkles, and the words see what? are practically written across his forehead. Tara chuckles out loud this time, indicating the envelope in his hand, and watches as her meaning finally dawns on him.
"Y'yeah- sorry. Uh, here-" Juan flashes the envelope at her, then flips it back over so quickly, she almost doesn't catch the name on the address line. Except, she does.
"Juan Ortiz…" Tara recites, slowly, her brow furrowing. "Uh, isn't that yours?"
"Huh?" Flustered, Juan takes a moment to glance at the envelope himself, only to flush crimson when his name is prominently displayed at the top of a Publisher's Clearing House envelope. "Uh, I…" Uncomfortably, he rubs the back of his head- something Tara's quickly learning is a nervous habit. Then- seemingly resigned, he shrugs, sheepishly. "Look, I'm a shitty liar, mostly 'cause I hate doin' it- and my ma taught me lies will always get you into trouble. But, I didn't wanna like…intrude. You know?" Bewildered, Tara shakes her head- she doesn't have a clue what he's doing here. Juan sighs.
"I'm here 'cause I heard yelling. Like, a lot of it. But I was pretty sure you lived alone, so I just wanted to, you know…. Check. Make sure you're good." At this, Tara can't help but smile at him- even though she's now quickly approaching mortified she'd yelled into the phone to the point where the neighbors are getting concerned. God…
"Thanks, Juan… I appreciate that. So much." In fact, she's genuinely touched. It's nice to know when someone gives a shit, especially since she still hadn't made time to get to know him, months after they'd both moved in. And though he has a ready smile in return, a brief shadow flickers across his face.
"Ma didn't just teach me not to lie. She, uh, dealt with some shitty things when I was little, and our landlady was the only reason we got out. After that, she taught me to always say something if I didn't think things were right. S'why I made up the mail thing- so I could check without uh, makin' things worse…" He trails off, fidgeting with the envelope before furtively glancing past Tara into the dark apartment. "So… are you? Okay, I mean."
"I'm the only one here," Tara reassures him, correctly reading the question in his eyes and making the quick decision to take his concern at face value. "I'm okay. I was on the phone just now, and it got a little loud is all." She winces, remembering, which he seems to notice, his brow furrowing.
"Don't look okay," Juan counters, nodding at her appearance, and Tara winces again as she witnesses the effects of the past few hours in his eyes. God, she probably looks terrible- what little makeup she wears is probably all over her face and she can feel how puffy her eyes are, now that she's thinking clearly. She manages a wan smile, if only to reassure him that she's not in any immediate danger- at least not physically.
"I'm okay, really. I promise. I'm just… going through some shit." She shrugs, and he narrows his eyes, studies her for a moment, seemingly assessing her level of bullshit. Then, apparently accepting her reassurances, Juan smiles- for real this time. It's broad and goofy, without his earlier inhibitions, lighting up his entire face- and Tara can almost feel her heart mending itself the tiniest bit at his genuine concern.
"'Kay. Well, I'll let you, uh, get on with your night. But you can, you know, come and get me if you ever need to."
"I appreciate that," Tara murmurs, then amends- "Sorry about… all of this." Juan just scoffs in return.
"It was nothin'. I was just messin' with some computer stuff is all." Clumsily, he shoves his hands back into his pockets, ducks his head a bit before grinning up at her. "Like I said, if you ever need anything…" He shrugs, letting his shoulders finish his thoughts for him.
"Thanks, Juan."
Nodding, he turns away- ostensibly to head around the edge of the building and up the staircase leading to his apartment- before calling over his shoulder.
"Night, Tara."
Despite his best intentions to ride back to the SAMTAC clubhouse when he'd left Tara's apartment earlier, Jax found himself reverting, once again, to old habits. He'd ridden around town, aimlessly, for nearly an hour before finding himself exiting the outskirts of Tacoma and heading towards the looming shadow of Mount Rainier. There, in the darkness much more befitting his rapidly darkening mood, he'd put the bike through its paces, screaming towards a destination he couldn't see- mostly because it didn't fucking exist.
The worst part, as usual, is that it didn't even work. After another hour- maybe two, even three, he didn't know- of trying to ride until his broken heart was left in the dust behind him, he still felt like he was fucking dying inside. Just like many other instances in the past few months, he'd been reminded, once again, that this- Tara- wasn't a problem that could be fixed at ninety miles an hour.
Hell, it's clear now that living without her in his life is going to be like a goddamn knife to the heart, every fucking day- maybe for the rest of his life. He isn't going to even approach fixing that shit- not to mention stand a chance at maintaining some semblance of a normal life with his club- by fucking killing himself on his bike. So, resigned to whatever fate the world had in mind for him- not that he gave a shit, really- he'd guided the bike along the edge of a roundabout before opening the throttle once more, roaring away from the night and back in the direction he'd come.
The SAMTAC lot lies in stark contrast to the way Jax had left it several hours earlier. Then, it had been sunshine-bright, but relatively barren- most of the crew having either gone home to appease their old ladies after the morning's run or already holed up at the bar inside. Now, it's full to bursting with bikes and someone had lit a bonfire in each of three metal fire pits. Patches, hangarounds, old ladies, and club girls buzz around them like bees, sipping beers, talking, and laughing.
As Jax backs his bike into its spot, he can't help but think that he, too, is now a stark contrast to who he'd been just hours before. He'd left the lot on a mission to find and reclaim the love of his life, practically bursting with the nerves and anticipation that came with the chance to see her once again. And, for a moment, he'd had her in his line of vision. God, it had been the high point of the last few months. But instead of pulling Tara into his arms and kissing her- finally turning his world back upright- he's returning a broken man, his dwindling hopes of ever recovering who he once was crushed to dust.
And despite what it had cost him- will cost him, probably for the rest of his life- he'd done the right thing. Hadn't he? Because if there's one thing Tara deserves, it's the life she's worked so hard for.
Sighing, Jax removes his helmet, letting it dangle carelessly from a handlebar before scrubbing his hands over his face. Much like before, he's got close to zero desire to cut loose with the SAMTAC crew. Unfortunately, this time, it's not because he's about to go lose himself in his girl. Instead, he's just fucking tired, wants nothing more than to drown himself in whiskey. maybe never re-emerge.
Jax peels off his gloves and shoves them in a back pocket, working his way toward the clubhouse entrance and only half-heartedly responding to the shouts and greetings that assail him along the way. He's almost there- mere steps from the front door, the bar, his bunkroom, and the sweet nothing that awaits- when someone throws an arm over his shoulder. Jesus Christ...
It's Kozik, who is, as always, a friendly- usually sober- face among the revelry. Though, for him, sober doesn't necessarily mean somber, as evidenced by the wide grin he shoots at Jax; the grin that seems to slide off his face the moment he takes a closer look at Jax. Eyes narrowing, he takes a measured look at Jax's face, seeming to search for the source of his foul mood. For a split second, Jax wonders, wildly, whether he'd missed removing the evidence of the fucking tears he'd almost ubdoubtedly shed over the past couple hours- not that it matters, because he's more than certain he must look like he feels- fucking wrecked.
Then, as if coming to the same conclusion, Koz's arm reappears around Jax's shoulder, guiding him away from the door and towards an empty picnic table at the far end of the cement patio..
When they get there, Koz unearths a beer and a pack of gum from his kutte, tossing both onto the table before easing himself onto one of the benches. A bit dazed, Jax watches as he twists off his beer cap, removes a stick of gum, and places gum and beer side by side. Then, he reaches into his kutte once again to produce a mid-sized pocket knife and a small, oilcloth bag. Koz overturns the bag, revealing a small bottle of oil, a rag, a length of cord, and a sharpener, before glancing up and gesturing to the knife.
"You gonna sit, or what?"
Reluctantly, Jax sinks into the opposite bench, watching in silence as Koz arranges all the shit that was in the bag. After a few moments, his supplies now in order, Koz focuses on Jax once again, raising an eyebrow. When it's clear the guy's not going to say shit until he does, Jax nods at the carefully arranged supplies.
"What, you gonna whittle in the dark?"
Chuckling soundlessly, Koz flips him the middle finger, then uses it to indicate the lights in the awning above them, then the floods illuminating the side of the clubhouse- and their table.
"Does this look dark to you, mother fucker?" When Jax only shrugs in return, Kozik sighs, shifting his focus to his knife. Flipping the blade open, he gently sets the knife on the surface of the table and peels back the frayed edge of a cord wrapped around the handle. Jax watches as he works, carefully unwinding the cord before releasing the final loop and sliding it off the end. Kozik's tilting the bottle and dabbing a bit of oil onto the rag by the time he finally breaks the silence.
"So, what's eatin' ya?"
Jax closes his eyes, briefly- hell, the last thing he wants to do is relive the last several hours. He contemplates brushing the question off and escaping to the refuge that is his room, or even leaving to grab a beer. Anything but sitting here and admitting how badly he'd fucked everything up, and how stupid his non-plan to fix it had turned out to be. But somehow, the words begin pouring out of his mouth, despite his best intentions.
He tells Kozik all about the plans he and Tara had made to stay together, their dreams of spending a year or two in Charming before continuing their lives- he with the club, she in school- somewhere, together. Haltingly, he describes those last few weeks before Tara had left- the silence, his inability to admit he planned on reneging on their deal, even the debt he'd felt he owed to Ope, the club. He details the way he'd simply pushed forward and made those decisions without her, and the way he'd arrived home to find an empty apartment.
He skips the absolute fucking mess he'd made of his life those first few weeks after she left- Koz knows that shit all too fucking well. But when he mentions the way his father had told him to get his head out of his ass, Kozik's head bobs in agreement, pausing only to re-apply oil to the rag in his hand.
He doesn't look up as Jax admits he'd found Tara's paperwork the night he'd broken into the clinic. Doesn't flinch when Jax hesitantly reveals that Tara had been a primary factor in his taking this temporary assignment in Tacoma- confirming that he'd had at least some idea of what Jax had headed off to do today. But as Jax recounts his wanderings on campus, his second clinic break-in, and his trip to her apartment, Kozik snickers, squinting at his knife. Amused, he scrapes at an invisible bit of residue on the handle before holding it up to the light above to check for flaws.
No, it's not until Jax recounts his experience at the street fair earlier today that Kozik pauses, furrows his brow. His frown deepens as Jax relives how he'd kept to the shadows, watching her revel in her new life, without him. He looks almost pissed off as Jax miserably describes making the choice to let her go. Still, he doesn't stop working- maybe even picks up the pace, rubbing oil into the handle and blade until it gleams.
As Jax finishes, his voice trails off until it disappears into the night. He's somehow simultaneously itching to follow it- to drift away on the breeze and away from the utter shit he's created in his life- and fucking relieved to have finally unloaded the burden he'd been carrying for weeks. For his part, though, Kozik's again expressionless, wiping the excess oil off his blade before switching to a dry area of the cloth. It's almost soothing, watching him, and Jax barely notices he hasn't responded until he does so, breaking a minutes-long silence.
"Y'know… You're not the only one with some big goddamn shoes to fill." Jax can't hide his surprise at his friend's change of subject, but Koz just continues, laser-focused on his knife. "My Dad was a lifer in the Navy, had a goddamn sub under his command. My older brother commissioned in when I was fifteen- followed in my dad's footsteps. Dad made it clear that's what I was expected to do, too. But by the time I was seventeen, Joe had passed flight school- and all I'd managed to do was graduate from weed to heroin and nearly flunk out of the eleventh grade." He sighs, shaking his head and retrieving the sharpener from the table.
"It was the pressure, man- everybody expected me to go be some ace pilot, command a sub, be some big shot leader makin' decisions about Russia or Somalia or some goddamn place. Instead, I wasted almost two years gettin' high and runnin' from my problems… Until nobody expected a goddamn thing of me anymore but to fail. Eventually, all I wanted to do was give in to the darkness, accept that a failure was who I was meant to be all along. Thought about endin' it all, but I failed at that too." Kozik chuckles, humorlessly. "Woke up on the bathroom floor with my ma standin' over me, cryin.' But what finally booted me in the ass to sober up was just how goddamn unsure I was at first whether she was cryin' because I'd tried to OD or because I was still here, the source of their constant disappointment." Kozik clears his throat, pauses a moment before he continues.
"To this day, I don't know how he did it without killin' me, but my brother drove up that night, helped me pack my shit, and drove me right back down to his duty station. He put me through Kozik family rehab in his tiny-ass apartment, helped me through the withdrawals and made sure I had what I needed to get by. Pushed me into gettin' my GED to keep my mind off things, and then into the community college. Before I knew it, I had my degree and not a soul I knew was there on graduation day, except for Joe. And maybe I did it because I'd always thought bein' a Marine was more badass than sittin' on my ass on some ship or flyin' a fuckin' plane…But I know the only goddamn reason I was alive long enough to go to boot camp and OCS was my brother." He scoffs, smiling slightly.
"Shit, I only lasted five years as a Marine- so I guess I didn't ever really fill my father's boots. But those were five years where I had my shit together, 'cause I had somethin' to keep me movin' through every day. When I got out, though…" Koz shrugs, looking Jax in the eye for the first time since he'd started. "What nobody ever told me is that addiction never leaves you- not really. Even though I was clean, all I thought about all goddamn day, was gettin' a fix. Every minute, every hour, when my brain was racin' one way and my body was draggin' the other- I had to fight to avoid givin' in. Shit, stayin' clean after I got out was harder'n anything I did in the Corps." Koz holds up the knife and sharpener.
"Eventually, I learned that workin' with my hands was the only way I was gonna get through the worst of it without losin' my goddamn mind. So, I got me this knife and a couple blocks of wood, started carvin'. Hell, it was the only thing that kept me sane the first year or so after I got out. Still does, if you want the truth. And over time, it got easier, but I still gotta work at it, every goddamn day."
Kozik looks down the fine blade of the knife. Evidently satisfied with its edge, he puts down the sharpener in favor of the cord. "I learned a long damn time ago that a restless mind is a dangerous goddamn thing. S'why I'm sittin' over here sharpenin' this knife, 'stead of kickin' back and lettin' my mind wander." He smirks at Jax ``It sure as hell ain't 'cause you're such great company."
Jax can't help but smile in return, though it's really more of a grimace than anything.
"My point is, anything worth havin'- whether it's sobriety, your club, your girl, hell, even your bike- is gonna take some goddamn work. So, what do you want Jax?"
Jax sighs, pressing his palms to his eyes in an attempt to relieve the fucking throbbing setting up behind them. Then, tenting his fingers, he rests his forehead against his hands.
"I told you man…" he says, slowly, miserably. "I just want her to be happy." Kozik snorts in disbelief, lowering his head until he's looking Jax dead in the eye.
"Did you ever think that maybe- just maybe- what would make Tara happy is you?"
Kozik words seem to hang in the air like smoke minutes after he's said them, and he's long since returned to his knife by the time Jax manages to shut his mouth. Swallowing the lump that's risen in his throat, he shakes his head in a futile attempt to jar loose the truth quickly burrowing its way into his brain.
"It's been a long goddamn time since I made her happy. Way too fucking long. And when I saw her today, I just knew I couldn't drag her into my shit again." Jax sighs, repeating the truth that had been haunting him these past few hours. "She needs this, man- probably even more than I need her-" Koz chuckles, incredulously.
"'Course she does. She deserves all the shit her dad, Charming never gave her. You forget- I've known her almost as long as I've known you, and I knowhow driven and kick-ass she is. That's why I also know what it must have meant for her to come up here, where she knows we got a charter. And that's why it's on you to grow a dick and make a change." Kozik shrugs and begins wrapping the handle of his knife, continuing, matter-of-factly.
"Listen, man- I get it. I do. I told you about my family, the legacy I never really managed to live up to. But I also got my own Doc- a real one, actually. And I've never been sure I deserve her, but I'm willin' to try, every goddamn day. Because she's what I want more than anything- and for some fuckin' reason, I'm what she wants. You get me?"
Jax nods, numbly. Then, his worst fear is spilling out of his mouth, and with it, he's finally free of the chains that had accompanied it.
"But what if what we want… isn't what she needs?" At this, Koz looks up from his knife, regards him silently for a long moment. Then, seeming to come to some sort of decision, he ties off the cord and sets the knife down.
"Then shouldn't she decide that for herself?"
The words are a near-literal kick to the gut, and Jax can't help but feel like the wind's been knocked out of him with that one, simple sentence. He hardly has time to recover, though, before Kozik's questioning him earnestly.
"You ever think about what happens if they ever leave us? If Tara really does give up on your stubborn ass, if Angie ever decides the life is too much to handle?" Without waiting for Jax's response, Koz continues. "All those secret little parts of her only you know- the way she laughs, the way you feel when she kisses you- hell, the way she'll smile at you on your wedding day or how she's gonna look carryin' your baby… Those'll belong to someone else." Koz leans back, watches as the wave of sheer fucking nausea washes over Jax. Keeps watching as he struggles to breathe at the thought of his Tara sharing any of those things with someone else.
"That feelin' you've got right now? It'll only get worse. So don't take the easy way out." Jax begins a halfhearted protest, and Koz holds up a hand to shut him up. "I know it don't seem easy right now, 'cause I know walkin' away seemed like the hardest thing you've ever done. But it won't even come close to how you're gonna feel some day ten years from now when you see her on the street and she's moved on with some other guy. And don't get me wrong- this ain't just about you, and it ain't just about what you think is best for her, either. It's about puttin' in the work and doin' what's best for both of you." Kozik leans forward, points a ringed finger in his face. Christ, coupled with his intense gaze, it might as well be jabbing directly into Jax's throat. "Don't be a fuckin' coward."
Jax is silent, his mind whirling and his gut churning as he turns the words over in his head- so similar to ones Opie had tossed at him in disgust a couple months ago.
Fuckin' coward.
Christ, they're right. He needs her like he needs his next breath, and though she's proven she can survive on her own- even thrive- without him, what if she feels the same way? It's got to be why she'd come up here, settled in Tacoma instead of Stanford or San Diego. And he'd nearly thrown it all away and left her here without a word, like a fucking coward. He'd never given her the chance to tell him what she wants, what she needs- out of the fear it would be some shit he'd rather not hear.
If she doesn't want you anymore, she can goddamn well tell you so.
Swallowing his conflicting emotions- the nerves, the anticipation, the fucking fear- before he can change his goddamn mind, again… Jax stands up from the table, once again meeting Kozik's gaze. And this time, Koz raises his chin smirking, blue eyes glittering knowingly.
"So what are you doing?"
And Jax can only smile, the gesture- genuine, at long last- revealing the decision he'd made almost as clearly as his next words.
"I got to go see about a girl."
"I love you, babe." She'd always loved the way he said those words- so honest, so sincere, despite the fact that they'd wiggled their way through a fog of sleep and into her half-conscious brain. And, as Jax slid into bed behind her and wrapped his arms around her before burrowing in to kiss her neck, she just had to return them to him- like they were inscribed on her very bones, private to only her until she said them aloud.
"Mm, I love you too…" Tara could feel his smile against her neck, and it triggered one of her own, even before he responded.
"Show me…"
Turning in his arms, Tara lifts her face, her lips seeking his-
Only, there's no one there. No one and nothing but the expanse of quilt and the second pillow she'd never really admitted to herself she'd reserved for him. Hell, her bed's almost as empty as he'd left her goddamn heart- despite the fact that the small, gold compass now rests directly above it.
Rolling to her back, Tara grips the compass in a fist, half-tempted to rip the damn thing off and chuck it across the room. Putting it on last night- along with one of Jax's broken-in and frayed flannel shirts- just so she could wallow, hadn't been one of her more mature moves. Hell, it probably contributed to the vivid lineup of dreams she'd had about him, now quickly fading just as the night fades to the tentative greens and blues of the early morning.
She'd had dreams where he'd ridden into town, vowing to stay there with her forever. Dreams where he'd tracked her down just to drop his angst and indecision on her doorstep. Dreams where he'd thrown her over his shoulder, carried her to his bike, and they'd ridden into the night together with nothing but the clothes on their back.
All of them, dreams where Jax had told her how much he loved her- and actually showed up to prove it.
Blearily, Tara shakes her head. Yeah, that's the one thing that differentiates her dreams from the bright, cruel, reality she'd just woken up to… And also the reason her incessant clusterfuck of thoughts and feelings about the situation always seems to cycle right back to pissed off.
Tamping down the rising anger once again, Tara squints at the bright square of the window across from the bed. Usually, on mornings when she needs to roll out of bed and get ready for class- mornings when she hasn't cried herself to sleep twice in the past 12 hours- she appreciates the natural wakeup call.
Today is not that day.
Today, she wants nothing more than to yank the quilt back over her head and retreat into the darkness. God, if she could shut the world out, shut her brain off, and just… sleep, until it all stops hurting so goddamn much, she'd do it in a heartbeat. Like she'd told him right before he left on that last run- if she could just stop loving him, she would.
Fat chance of that happening.
Swiping a hand against her eyes for the umpteenth time since she'd made a fool of herself yesterday, Tara sits up, sighing heavily. Knowing herself, her constantly-churning brain, and her talent for turning something over, and over, and over until the point of madness, it's clear sleep isn't going to be a possibility any time soon. No matter how much she longs for it.
After shuffling to the bathroom and back with no more clarity on what the fuck- if anything- she can do to begin mending the fresh new hole in her heart, Tara practically trips over the half-full basket of laundry at the foot of the bed. Right, her brain reminds her- laundry was in your Sunday plans, long before Jax blew into town and out again… And provoked a complete and utter mental breakdown.
Fuck it. Might as well do something to keep your mind occupied… As if that's even possible.
Wearily, Tara gathers yesterday's clothes- still scattered across the bottom of the bed- and unceremoniously dumps them into the basket. Then, sliding on a pair of soft shorts that had undoubtedly seen better days, plus a spare pair of flip flops, Tara hoists the laundry basket onto her hip- and promptly catches sight of her reflection in the dresser mirror.
God, she looks like hell; sleep-mussed hair, red-rimmed eyes, and a ratty flannel shirt might as well be a goddamn neon sign, advertising how she'd spent last night. And yet, she just can't bring herself to give a shit. Hell, it's not like anyone else does.
Rolling her eyes, mouth twisted into a wry smile, Tara releases the deadbolt and yanks open the front door, ready to start putting last night behind her-
Only to stop short, to avoid crashing into a very familiar chest. As the basket goes thumping to the floor, the air leaves her lungs, and the rushing in her ears grows to a deafening roar, only one voice can cut through the noise.
"Hey, babe."
**A/N- So, we're making progress! This span of chapters, and the next few, are some I've been looking forward to getting out to you for a long time. Thanks so much to those of you that are still following along- I hope it's worth your while. Finally, huge thanks to Ang. R, without whom I would have nobody to text with urgent Jax/Tara issues at 1 AM. 3 **