Disclaimer: I own nothing. See chapters 1-9. Last time I'm writing it, I'm sick of it and I think we all get it by now.
A/N: My biggest weakness in my writing is accents so I will make a polite request that you use that thing called an imagination whilst I figure out how to write out a Scottish accent.
Also, in regards to the season 2 finale...holy ******* shit. I did not see that coming. I'm going to have to rewrite the planned sequel to this, I had three chapters which now don't make any sense. I'm not ashamed to say that I cried and shouted at the computer screen...but how could you not? Poor thing, he was fast becoming one of my favourites. Yes, I'm trying very hard to not give away just who dies in case people haven't seen it - I only know about it because I've been watching it online.
The knocking on my door pulled me out of my thoughts. All the different memories had decided to roll over me last night and hadn't given me any rest, driven me to the knifes edge of insanity . It was no point going the road of introspection though, it would serve me nothing but trouble in the long run. Instead I'd fallen on old faithful – whiskey, wine and smashing all the breakables lying around the house. First and foremost the mirrors – if the glass hadn't fallen out after being struck with my fist I'd end up pulling it apart. There was a dried streak of blood running down the one side of my face and little inflamed dots where I'd been struck and nicked by flying shards. The same shade of crimson coated my arms and hands – both of which were a complete mass of partly healed wounds that would split open with the slightest movement. My feet were in no better shape; I'd been walking over the shattered pieces all night in my bare feet just to feel something again. Anything to distract me from the inner maelstrom of my own shattered psyche. One night and all the defences I had built up over the years had caved. The dam was gone and nothing was left to protect me from myself and the mar of memories. It left me strangely numb though...I really should have some sort of emotion or sensation running through me, shouldn't I? Pain, hate, fear...anything but this blankness. It was such a...dull emptiness that it left me wanting to cry. Maybe it was the loss of emotion that I grieved for instead of the lost innocence I recalled with such terrifying clarity.
The door opened slightly, unaware that I was the one opening it. I did nothing to fight the two entering. Two? Why were there two...I thought only Juice had come last night. Dark eyes watched me...through the haze of the morning hang over I couldn't put my finger on the colour but the scarring and accent reminded me of the owner of those eyes.
"Christ lass, what happened in here?"
"There is purification in punishment"
Silence. It was similar to something both had once read but they couldn't be sure. I could see that in their eyes – Oscar Wilde. The Irishman had been a genius searching for a social revolution no where near maturity. A visionary and master of the last truly homoerotic Gothic novel ever written.
"Punishment for what love?"
"Staying too long in the flames, burnt myself"
"No more games love, need you to tell me why"
"I haven't played games in a long time Scot. Never had time for them – games are for the innocent"
"Aye? Feel like talking about where your time went?"
"Ask belle-mère and Marc. They know...she knows. He doesn't"
"Who is Marc?"
"Don't push her Juice. She'll tell us in time"
Yes, I'd tell them in time. I think the Scot got it – there was something in those eyes of his that left me trusting him. Moving away from them and back into the kitchen where the empty whiskey, vodka and rum bottles were – the only glass objects not lying on the floor in pieces. An empty smile unwillingly took a claim of my face...why did I smile? I had nothing to smile about. I should be crying...but the more pain I felt the more I smiled. I had stopped crying years ago; tears were a waste of my energy.
"I think we need to get these looked at love"
He indicated to the accidentally caused wounds. The result of shattered glass. Of my own drunken rage. Christ...why was I so pathetic? I knew what he meant when he said that they needed looking at. That meant hospitals...me and hospitals simply did not get on. We never had and we never would.
"No. Please, no"
"It's fine love, no-ones gonna hurt you"
"I can't go to a hospital"
"Why not. C'mon lass. I need to know"
"They'll find me and I'll not see another sunset"
Silence as the two men looked to each other, trying to figure out what could be done. I knew what was going through their heads; what the hell had gone on in the past to make me freak out so much? The Scotsman sighed, shaking his head. No...he couldn't do anything – the wounds people could see were there were treatable, but the ones underneath the surface, the ones scarring mind, heart and soul he wouldn't be able to touch. He'd say I needed help...they always did. Leaving me for a moment and dragging Juice away from sweeping the glass off of the floor, they left me in the silence once again.
"I can only do so much Juice. Sure as hell won't be that good with the stitches. Tara would be a better option"
"She's working today. Can you try?"
"I don't want to mess it up. She needs to see someone. I don't know why she won't go"
"She has a real dislike of hospitals. I wouldn't push it"
"Jean?"
It didn't matter how many times you told her, she'd only ever refer to me as Jean. It was almost like she couldn't call me Juice. She stood by the door, face still tear-stained and streaked with last nights make-up. She seemed so small and delicate this morning – I knew she was far from either of the two, but it was convincing. I doubted it was an act, but still...
"What is it doll?"
"Do you think I should go?"
"Probably...but I won't make you if you don't want to go"
"If you think I should go then I will"
So much trust in my opinion...it was strange, but a welcome change. Normally if it wasn't liked to security, my opinion didn't count for shit. However, she was taking it to heart and acting on it. Slipping past both myself and Chibs, she pulled a jacket off of the banister, slipping it over her shoulders and seemed to start looking for boots. It would be too painful for her to consider it, that and she could have shards or specks of glass in her feet.
"Don't worry about shoes...borrowed a car. Lost my keys last night and don't even think about walking over this again"
Shoes...I'd had them last night. I couldn't find them now, but I was interrupted. Arms wrapped around my waist, whispering into one ear and pulling me into a warmth that deep down I was longing for. Despite what I had grown up knowing, he made me doubt it all. He made me consider the idea that a man could be loyal to one woman. Some how....I didn't get it. One person could challenge every reality and scenario I'd ever known. How was that possible? There were fragments remaining in a mirror opposite me – I hadn't found the will to completely rid myself of it. The cracks were lined with the scarlet smear of blood. My blood. Through the mess I could see the outline of arms wrapped around me, face buried in the untamed mess. So many memories, so much pain...I just wanted to get rid of it all. To forget for just one small moment in time. But I knew I'd never forget, it'd stay with me until my dying day.
The pressure lifted from my feet only for a different kind to be found under my knees and gripping around my ribs and waist. He was carrying me? I didn't need carrying, I could walk. So why didn't I say something? Because burying myself in him was enough to ease the memories and fears that had been driving me to distraction. Giving up was easier than running...even if it was weak. The crunch of glass under boots and the weight of bodies filled the silent void that we had fallen into. Part of me wondered how much it would cost to replace all the broken objects (was it even worth replacing them?) and how long it would take to clear up after this little episode. How long would it be until the next one? Would there be another one? Was anyone going to let me be on my own after this? Probably not my darling Kipper, and no doubt Jean...Juice, which ever, would be that little more paranoid around me. So I'd hit a rough patch...didn't mean I was incapable of looking after myself...oh, who was I kidding? If it got me carried around by my beautiful Rican with those liquid chocolate eyes, then who was I to complain? Fighting him was a losing battle - no doubt if I wanted to, I could kick his ass but my body would betray me and give in to anything he wanted to do with it. Lust was a damn powerful weapon and one that women gave into far too easily.
"Where are we going?"
"Hospital darlin', don't worry. 'M here for ya. Not goin' anywhere - not without me"
How long had I been sat here with a needle pulling together the torn fragments of skin? Hard to think that the skin was so like material in the way that it could be sewn together to hide any nasty little tears and holes. However, material didn't heal in the same way - that little collection of stitches would come out in two weeks or so and for a few weeks after that the skin would be tender and marked before fading. If I was lucky it wouldn't scar, if I was unlucky there would be a small livid scar stretching from one edge to the other, some fading in time, others would remain for life. A constant reminder of the story and events surrounding it's formation.
He'd sat with me, as he had promised but had slipped away at one point on seeing his blonde friend...Jax was it? Of course there was that reading of initial surprise, a glance over in my direction at the desk signing my soul away to the hospitals paper system. I hated the thought that no matter where I went, who I lived with or what I did there would always be a collection of paper about me. 1989 realised and no-one seemed to have to come to that conclusion yet. Well, those who had often found themselves locked away and out of sight so as to not spread the truth and cause disruption to the tamed sheep like masses. Always following a crowd, never paying attention to the truth that was staring them in the face. Their attention slipped away from me, returning to the reason behind the blondes sudden appearance here. There was a smile on both their faces, a hug and what I presumed was a congratulations. It was good to see such positivity in such dark times - they would try to hide it from me, but I could tell when a club was going through a rough patch. What with Bobby going down for murder recently and Opie just disappearing...any news was good news.
"What was that all about?"
"Abel's doing good...should be outta his toaster soon"
"Good, look I know you'll think I'm crazy but I need to get to San Joaquin"
"Mayan territory...why?"
"I know you think I'm crazy and I don't blame you but there's a good church out there. It's small, quiet, out of the way...and the Mayans respect it. We'll be safe there. I swear. I've been a few times for the odd occasion when I went to mass or confession, it's the only reason I know this"
"Why San Joaquin?"
"No Sons, no-one knows me or my face, language is less of an issue, culture is similar to my grandfathers. Reminds me of good parts of my past. It's a haven. Charming is nice, but sometimes I just find it too..."
"American?"
"For lack of a better expression, yeah. Some times I need a touch of the Latino culture to keep me sane. I dunno if you understand but it's me Juice and I need it, like you need the club. I can't ignore it forever, it'd drive me crazy"
"I get it...but you owe me for this"
"I'll pay you when we get back in any way you want"
"Any way I want, huh?"
"I said it didn't I? I'm a woman of my word"
"Get going then"
Smoke filled the almost silent air – only the occasional break of the clergy's chants and prayers. The air seemingly hummed with some unspoken power. The cool touch of the floor was enough to soothe me where nothing else would. Here I was at peace, though I had not really paid that much attention and would not be able to tell you much, there was something in the belief that there was something out there that was comforting. This sanctuary was enough for me to gain a resemblance of my sanity. It was not an unusual sight to see bowed heads, bargaining for their souls immortality with some unseen and unknown force. The light drifted through the small stained glass windows and candles lit the rest of the room, casting a soft light over the smoke and giving life to the illuminations and congregations work. Old wood pews smelt of polish and people. I must have not long missed one of the services. I did not come for absolution – not yet. My sins were still too great, too innumerable and too painful in their manner for me to reveal. Some would argue that the pain was a necessity for me to progress. Not only had I wronged people, but I to had been wronged and needed to come to terms with that.
Soft Spanish tones filled the air around me in some otherworldly manner, questioning my tears. It was a second nature to reply, though I would not remember what I said upon leaving the building and conversation. To their question, I gave my own – why do any of us cry? Pain...yes, they were right. We cried for pain, for loss and rarely for joy. They questioned my pain but I just shook my head...I could not speak to another living person about it. Not yet. If not to a person, they reasoned, then to the holy mother. The Patroness of all humanity. I had to admit then that it had been so long that I had forgotten how I was supposed to pray. It came from the heart, they said, and nothing I said could be wrong...just go from the start and don' stop. No matter how great the pain, don't stop. Admitting to it was the hardest part. I was sure they had left me at the time, but I was not so sure by the end that I was completely alone.
Following their advice I went from my first memory and the pain hit me like a tonne of bricks. The emotional pain felt like it was splitting me in two, but through the tears the figure never wavered, nor did it flee, it didn't judge and I needed that. I needed someone – anyone – to remain with me the entire time and not judge. As much as I fought with myself to give in and say nothing more I knew I couldn't. I needed this – all the pain, all the tears, all the distrust...everything pent up and stored away over the years. Every face burnt away in the flickering light, slowly burning lower. Slowly they were forgotten, along with which ever crime against me they had committed. It was only the start, but it was a good start. Slow, agonising but strangely relieving.
He'd been unsure about joining me in the first place, but rising he was sitting on one of the pews nearby, watching me with a certain degree of almost disturbing intent. I wasn't sure how much he'd heard or understood but he snapped out of his own daze as I passed him. No-one had entered of left the building since I began and the only other person in the building wore a Mayan cut. I had not been expecting it – the enemy of my lover setting me on the right path. Alvarez of all people...who would've thought that under all the perceived image of a cold, twisted, bitter old man there was a heart for the lost and broken? Nodding his head in my direction, he turned back to his previous fixation. If anyone would ever see that side again was a mystery.
"Ready?"
"I am now"
Play-list
Norah Jones – Carnival Town
Tarja – My little phoenix
Enya - La Soñadora