Disclaimer: All characters taken from Sons of Anarchy were created by Kurt Sutter/FX. I do not claim ownership over those characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Quoted song is bold and italicized, "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. This chapter contains direct quotes from Season 1, episode 13: The Revelator, Season 2, episode 1: Ablification, Season 3, episode 1: So, and Season 5, episode 5: Orca Shrugged. And we are disclaimed.

So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you've made

Don't wanna let you down
But I am hell bound
Though this is all for you
Don't wanna hide the truth

No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come…

Her eyes flicked up to quickly glance in the rearview mirror: a single headlight followed behind her car. She cursed herself silently as the memory of her younger self, hands gripping the wheel as her knuckles turned white, a single headlight following her car home, came flooding back to her. She was 16, barely legal to drive, and had borrowed her father's Cutlass. Jax had shown at the house party a little over an hour after Tara's arrival, an already stoned Opie in tow. He had wrapped himself around a pretty blonde senior while Opie distracted the girl's friends. Tara and Jax weren't mutually exclusive at the time. The thought was actually rather ridiculous. Jackson Teller was the definition of player. He loved the game. She knew this. And yet, Tara could feel the anger bubbling in her chest. She needed to feel control, over her emotions, the situations she found herself in, her choices. But when it came to Jax Teller, Tara was anything but in control.

She had never laid a hand on another person in anger before that night. She grimaced at the memory of a fist full of blonde hair in her hand, and Jax's strong arm around her waist pulling her through the crowd and out the front door, as he laughed loudly and whispered disgusting, erotic words in her ear. She fought against him once outside, and they fell onto the grass together. He held her wrists, trying to still her, a look of excitement in his eyes. "I knew you were crazy about me," he had said. She scoffed loudly, turning her head to the side and averting his amused gaze. She stiffened in shock as he leaned down, his whole body aligned with hers, and pressed a wet kiss onto her clavicle. She felt his lips smile on her skin and her body shook as he laughed.

Foolish girl, she thought as she remembered her answering laugh, the turn of her head to meet his lips in a hard kiss. That was the first night Tara Knowles had lost control. There were other nights, not unlike the first, where her fist or palm met the skin of another girl's face with a crack. And those nights ended much the same, in a tangle of limbs on the backseat, the heady scent of alcohol, sweat, and need steaming the windows of the Cutlass, and the drive home followed by a single headlight. The memory stayed with her as she drove in silence, glancing occasionally to the rearview mirror.

The noise doesn't matter, she thought as she pulled into her driveway.

She felt a heavy presence behind her as she turned the key. The alarm beeped as she pushed the door open. She hurried inside, throwing her purse and keys on the counter, and punching the code quickly into the keypad. She sighed slightly as she stepped back and turned in time to see Jax peering into the kitchen, not crossing through the mudroom threshold. "Are you going to stand there all night?" She couldn't help the slightly bemused smile on her lips. Jax Teller was nervous, and for some reason that caused her heart to warm, just a little.

He stepped into the kitchen, careful to move around her without touching. He slumped into a chair at the table, and sighed heavily as he leaned his head back and ran a hand roughly over his face. She stood rooted to her spot near the wall, watching him intently. He jerked his head forward quickly, eyes opening to stare in her direction. And then, in an almost cartoonish way, he sniffed the air. "Dinner?" Her laugh rang through the empty house, and Jax felt a familiar pang in his chest. Tara's laugh was infectious, just like her smile, and he couldn't help but laugh with her. "Yes," she chuckled, turning to wash her hands. "Dinner."

He was struck by overwhelming affection for Domestic Tara. She had come a long way from the girl who served him burnt grilled cheese when they had spent afternoons on her couch after skipping the last few periods of the school day. Domestic Tara knew her way around a kitchen: a crock pot of beef stew on the counter; quick cuts to a variety of vegetables tossed over a mix of greens; and a wine pairing she called "perfect for red meat or a heavy meal." Growing up had been good for Tara. But he couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't also growing away from him that had been good for her too.

They ate in relative silence, hunger taking the place of the awkwardness that threatened to settle over them. He complimented her cooking. She thanked him politely. She cleared the plates, he offered to help dry the dishes. They worked together, side by side. Her hand brushed his as he took a plate from her. He watched the muscles of her back move through her t-shirt as she scrubbed the silverware clean. He fought hard the urge to wrap an arm around her waist and lean into her. When the counters were clear and the water turned off, she faced him squarely. Her mouth had that same tightness he had seen earlier that night. "It's time to talk."

They sat together at the kitchen table, not touching. Her hands were folded around a mug of tea she had made after the first hour of their conversation. He filled in the gaps of time from the day she left until the night he pulled Opie from Donna's dead body, covered in her blood and his best friend's tears. She didn't speak, only nodded occasionally. Her eyes were glassy as she starred at his hands, pressed flat on the table as he tried to steady his voice.

He began the story of the ATF agent who hunted his Club for months, a sharp-tongued blonde with a biker vendetta. As he spoke, she could tell he was glossing over the more gruesome details. She lifted her eyes to meet his, and her voice was sharper then she intended. "I need to know the truth. Not just what you think I can handle. I need all of it." That's the only way I'll know if I can do this, she thought. He cleared his throat and nodded once, a harsh and deliberate movement. He started again, leaving nothing out. He spoke of Gemma and the violence she suffered at the hands of madmen, home-grown terrorists, white supremacist bastards. A large part of the reason she fled Charming was the iron-fisted rule of one Gemma Teller-Morrow. Maybe her hatred of Gemma had softened over the years, or maybe she just couldn't stand hearing of the brutality perpetrated against another woman, but a tear fell from Tara's eye as she listened intently.

Jax reached out a hand then, tapping one finger against her knuckle. She met his eyes and their gazes held for several minutes. She matched his steady breathing and soon found herself nodding, willing him to continue. He talked about prison, not just the times he'd been arrested or briefly incarcerated, but of a 14-month stint for federal drug possession, lessened only by a plea bargain he orchestrated before murdering the renegade fed who had terrorized his life and his Club.

"Tell me about Opie." Her voice was hushed, barely above a whisper. She watched him tense, leaning his elbows onto the table and resting his head in his hands. She had to fight the urge to leave her chair and stand behind him, rub the tension out of his shoulders with her hands. "It's hard not to hate. People, things, institutions, when they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed, hate is the only feeling that makes sense. But I know what hate does to a man, tears him apart, turns him into something he's not, something he promised himself that he'd never become…" He spoke clearly, stopping occasionally to take a deep breath, collect his thoughts. He told her a ghost story of a broken-hearted outlaw who gave his life not to save a friend, but because there was nothing left to live for; of a man who was strong, larger than life, kind in ways others could only envy, who left two young children to be raised by a grieving porn star.

Tara shook her head back and forth mechanically. Opie had been her friend once too, and the thought of his grotesque death at the hand of a sociopathic drug lord was enough to turn her stomach. She felt Jax's hand take hold of hers, pulling her fingers from around the mug and holding them tightly. She turned her palm up in his hand, as together they laced their fingers and held onto one another. She let the tears slip, wiping them quickly with her free hand. She flicked her eyes up to meet his, and couldn't help but lean forward, brushing her thumb across his damp cheek. He leaned into her touch, holding her hand there, his fingers wrapping around her palm. Her fingers moved carefully down his jaw, their hands coming to rest on the table. They leaned in closer to each other, holding hands and breathing deeply. Minutes passed as her tears subsided. Fear was creeping up his throat, that same fire scorching his lungs. This place they were in now had a fragile safety. He knew what he had to tell her next would shatter the stillness created between them. But she had asked for the truth, and she deserved all of his truth.

"Tara, there's something else we need to discuss."

She took a deep breath in as she pulled her hands from his, exhaling as she settled back in her chair. They had been talking for the better part of two hours. If she hadn't heard the worst of it yet, she wasn't sure she could hear anymore. But she had asked for the truth, and wanted to respect the newly forged peace their conversation had created. He moved uncomfortably in his chair, shifting his weight forward. He dropped his head slightly, averting her gaze as he spoke. "I have a son. His name is Abel. He's almost four now. Mom's a junkie, not in his life." He paused, then added quickly, "you didn't know her."

Her eyes were wide when he finally lifted his head to meet her stare. This was not what she was expecting to hear. Although, she had to admit his face was a strange mix of shock and awe. She was sure he was waiting for her reaction, for her to yell or swear or get to her feet. Instead, she asked the question any parent would, "tell me about him."

Relief flooded through Jax as he sat back in his chair. A grin spread across his face, a special smile she knew he reserved only for his son. "He's amazing, Tara. So smart and sweet. He's had a tough road so far, things weren't always easy…" Her mind spun as he told her of Abel's kidnapping, of the dead Prospect, and a cross ocean search for his missing child. She could feel the sharp sting of regret in her heart. She shouldn't have brought him here. He had a son, and his life was a mess. He obviously loves his boy, but he's endangered his life how many times? And he's only four? She could feel her breathing pick up as did her pulse.

And then, Jax Teller surprised her. His eyes watered as he told her of the sweet, young couple he had decided to leave Abel with in Ireland, how his heart broke as he followed them through a shopping mall, realizing he was not what was best for his son. Of course, Gemma had orchestrated Jax changing his mind. She had laid on a thick guilt trip, a classic Queen Gemma move, and Jax had gone back for Abel. He described how destroyed he felt finding the couple murdered, and the silent prayers he still says for them each night. She closed her eyes just then, taking in a long, slow breath. The time had come for her to speak her piece, but her courage was escaping her.

As she opened her eyes, she caught him watching her. She went to speak, but he spoke first. "Abel's mother, her name is Wendy. She wasn't just another croweater. I feel like I need you to know that." Jax felt vulnerable now, as this was the part he had really come for: to lay his heart on the line to her. For her. He spoke softly, taking her hand in his again. "I married Wendy because I was lonely. Because I got tired of the endless disconnect. It was just a sad time-out." He took a breath, looking up from their hands to meet her eyes. His voice betrayed him slightly, heavy with emotion as he spoke, "because when I'm inside someone, there's only one face I see."

Tara's eyes widened imperceptibly, but her gaze never wavered. She felt his grip tighten on her hand, and she returned the pressure. "I don't know, Tara, what this is going to look like, or how I'm going to get out. But I promise you, I will get my son and drive out of that godforsaken town and out of this life. Being here now, it's like my past coming around to give me another shot to do this different; better." The words tumbled from his lips quickly, and she wasn't sure how to react.

She glanced over her shoulder as she saw headlights reflect against the garage door. Jax followed her line of sight, confused as he heard a car door slam. Within seconds, the front door was opening and Tara pulled her hands from his quickly. She turned her body quickly in her chair, staring at the door, with Jax staring after her as a voice tore through their silence. "Mom! I'm home!"