Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on characters and situations suggested by Kurt Sutter's, "Sons of Anarchy". No copyright infringement or offense is intended.
A/N: Set during 4.07 – "Fruit for the Crows"; this story started off being written via the 'post-it notes' ap on my phone, hence the short, drabble-like chapters (in answer to a reviewer who wished for longer chapters).
With regard to this 'chapter', I wrote it on my phone and then edited on Word, and then messed with it some more and then even more, and finally, I broke it into two 'chapters'. It has been read by a friend who doesn't even know who the characters are (Animegirl1129). She caught an error with a verb tense which I summarily fixed.
Did I mention that I am a bit of a perfectionist with regard to grammar? With that said, I do hope that there are no glaring errors within this particular chapter. Fragments are intentional, and I am sure I do have a comma-splice or several (those are my one indulgence with regard to breaking proper grammar protocol). I hope that you are able to forgive me them.
Warnings: Only swearing/foul language in this chapter; this is a switch in point of view.
Chibs knows that something is up with Juice because the kid hasn't been acting 'right' lately. He just doesn't know what it is that's wrong with the kid and isn't sure that he'll be able to help him with it, whatever it is. The kid is uncharacteristically jumpy, always looking over his shoulder, and in a way that doing a stint in prison doesn't fully explain.
He's determined to keep an eye on the younger man, which is why, instead of vacating the clubhouse as he, and the rest of the crew, were ordered to do when church came to an end, he sticks around, hovering just beyond the damaged door of the chapel, courtesy of the new sheriff in town. And that's just a whole shitload of trouble for the club in and of itself, Juice's troubles aside.
The fact that the shades on the windows have been drawn shut is not lost on Chibs. Clay had them added a fortnight ago, claiming that the windows – a new addition to the clubhouse, again, thanks to the new sheriff – made him uneasy, and took away from the privacy of their meetings.
He can't see in, and no one can see out. He supposes that's the point of them, but right now they're a damn nuisance.
Something doesn't sit quite right with him, and there's a twisting in his gut that can't be explained away by the copious amounts of whiskey he'd drunk the night before. He asked Clay to talk to Juice, see if the older man could help him sort out whatever the hell is going on in that thick head of his.
Instead of being excited or eager about talking with Clay, the kid had looked wary, sick even. Like he was walking to his death. And, as Chibs thinks back to other times that Clay has asked him to stay after or talk, he realizes that Juice's reactions have gotten progressively worse.
The kid's become skittish as a deer over the past several weeks, like he's got some terrible secret that he's trying to keep from everyone. The problem is that it's eating him up from the inside out, whatever it is, and Chibs doesn't like watching the kid deteriorate like that, and right in front of him.
As he's pacing from one closed door to the other, Chibs makes the decision that tonight, once he can get Juice on his own, he's going to confront the younger man about his atypical behavior – the nervousness and the fear that seems to linger and flash in his eyes when he doesn't think anyone is looking. It worries him, and there isn't a whole hell of a lot that can worry him.
"Shit," he whispers aloud, wondering when the kid had managed to worm his way into his heart.
Sure, the club had made them brothers, but the way his heart twists when he thinks about how Juice looked – lost and scared like a little kid – as the others trickled out of the meeting tonight tells him that it isn't just a brotherly love he feels for Juice. Fuck it all, he feels like a god damn father to the younger man.
A noise coming from behind the closed door hits him in the gut like a fist. At first, he dismisses it because it's so out of place, and so soft. He's certain that he must have misheard, but then he hears it again, and he's unable to chalk it up to parental, as warped as that is, worry.
He turns away from the door, his hand clenching into a fist, but he's unable to walk the rest of the way out of the building, in spite of his desire to leave. On the other hand he can't bring himself to open the door leading to the chapel, the sanctuary of their brotherhood, either.
Muffled cries of, "Stop," interspersed with, "Please," and, "Not here," reach his ears and Chibs is trying to parse it all, make some sense of it, except that he can't quite get a handle on his emotions, or wrap his mind around what he's hearing. Denial is an alluring mistress, whispering what he wants to hear – that everything's okay – what he needs to hear to make everything okay and right in his world.
He walks to the door, puts his hand on it, turns the knob, but backs away without opening the door. He knows that if he fucks this up, it won't only be his life and livelihood on the line. There's Juice, the club and his girls to consider.
But, if what he fears, as improbable as it is, is going on behind those closed doors, he's got to do something.
Because, no matter what position Clay holds in the club, never mind that he's one of its founders, the man has no right to be taking advantage of anyone, let alone Juice who practically worships the ground the man walks on. Juice, whose innocence, in spite of some of the shit that he's done, is oft displayed with an enthusiastic smile and an almost insatiable desire to please his elders, is someone worth protecting.
It's incomprehensible to Chibs that Clay would so callously use others under his authority, which is why he cannot, in all good conscience, consider the darkness at the back of his mind that is insisting is true. He won't believe it, not without proof.
He wracks his mind to see if he can recall anyone else being asked to stay back after church closes, and it comes up blank. Juice is the only one. Chibs' heart plummets when he hears a muffled cry from behind the closed doors and vows to get the truth from Juice, no matter what.
At the next muffled groan, accompanied by a strangled cut-off cry, Chibs is at the ruined door, knocking. He has no idea what he's going to say, what excuse he's going to come up with when Clay asks why he's knocking.
There's no answer, just the sound of shuffling and panting, and it makes him sick with worry. His mind is still courting denial, insisting that, until there is proof, what he's hearing, what he fears, is not true. Clay is innocent until proven guilty.
Chibs would have thought that his knocking had gone unheard if it wasn't for the sudden hush that accompanies his third round of knocking. When an eternity's passed, Chibs knocks again, an insistent, clipped ringing sound designed to get an answer.
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