Hi guys! Thanks for taking the time to read this! I wanted to give a HUGE shout out to loubielou88 for reading this whole fic in like, two days and STILL taking the time to review. Also, thanks to HGRHfan35, MRsprofile, and twifantasyfan, who are loyal readers and reviewers. And as always, a massive shout out to Ambrosia Rush, without whom I would have given up writing forever ago.
Anyway, I hope that you enjoy the chapter and PLEASE take a moment to let me know what you think. Your reviews keep me writing, guys!
"What's going on?" Gemma questioned immediately upon arriving inside the Clubhouse. SHe hadn't expected to arrive and find a slew of motorcycles, cars, and other vehicles here. Christ, they had just gotten off lockdown; she hadn't expected to find any of them here. She had simply intended to come and make sure things were running smoothly in the garage this morning. After days of being closed for a lockdown, they really, really needed things to be running smoothly if they wanted to pay bills this month. She had parked and noted the Prospect standing dutifully outside the office, looking bored to tears. She had peeked her head inside to find Tess, who had informed her in no uncertain terms that something was happening inside. Gemma had burst through the doors, expecting utter mayhem. The things drifting through her head...a shooting, trouble with the Irish-Russian meet, it could have been literally anything. She had found Opie, Kozik, Piney, Fiona, Kerrianne, and an older man she didn't recognize, sitting silently, staring off into space. She wanted some goddamned answers. "I SAID what the fuck is going on?!"
"Easy Gemma," Opie replied tiredly, standing to sooth the woman. "Things are fine."
"But something is going on, otherwise you wouldn't all be sitting here dumb a horse shit," Gemma surmised, her eyes scanning the room. She noticed immediately who was missing. She turned quickly to Fiona. "Where's Chibs?"
"He's in the back," the Irish woman replied, waving a hand in a vague direction. "Tara needed help."
"Tara?" Gemma asked, wondering how her son's Old Lady came into this. "What is Tara doing here? And who the hell is that?"
Her eyes rested on the older, unfamiliar man, understanding that the source of trouble likely came from the one unknown element in the room. She was surprised to find that he didn't look the least bit intimidated by her. Gemma instantly decided that whoever this man was, she didn't like him much.
"I apologize, my lady," the man stood with a kind, if a bit intolerant, smile. She could tell that he wasn't used to being treated with anything but the utmost respect. His Irish accent and holier than thou attitude gave him away; this man was IRA. "I should have introduced myself the very second you walked in. My name is David McCormick, and I am just here visiting from Belfast for a few days. A medical situation has arisen with a member of my traveling party and fortunately, your boys have agreed to help with the situation. There is really no reason for alarm."
She heard Kerrianne's snort at those words, and saw Fiona shoot an incredulous look at the man. She wondered what that was about, but didn't dwell on it. Gemma knew when she was being placated and talked down to, especially when it was done in such a fantastic manner, but she also knew that this man was IRA. Business with the Irish was necessary and Clay would expect her to treat this man with respect. She sighed and tried to relax.
"Somebody get shot?" she asked, much more calmly.
"Not at all," McCormick replied. "Just giving birth."
"Giving birth?" Gemma asked in disbelief. "You're telling me that Tara and Chibs are delivering a baby in one of the dorms?"
Her question was confirmed with a simple nod from nearly everyone in the room.
"Christ. I think I need a drink," she muttered, heading behind the bar.
"That's the best idea I have heard in awhile," Opie agreed, following her and pulling bottles of beer from the cooler.
"I'll make some tea," Fiona declared, looking at Kerrianne and McCormick.
"None for me, thank you Fiona," McCormick told her with a smile. "I think, in this situation, I might do a damn sight better with something a little more potent."
Gemma personally agreed with the man, and poured a healthy amount of scotch into a glass and slid it over to him with a forced smile before continuing to pour herself a drink. An unsettling feeling was creeping up on her, and she didn't like it, not one bit. There was a time, not too long ago, that if a Mick baby was being born in the Clubhouse, she would have been the first phone call. Not anymore, apparently. Tara knew before she did, and Fiona was making tea like she owned the place. Hell, even Tess knew more about this shit than she did. It was almost as if she could feel her power slipping, and with her husband and son on the inside, there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.
She downed her shot in one gulp, long since numbed to the burn in her throat. "I think I am going to drive out to see the boys today, let them know that we are all safe."
She fully expected at least Opie to volunteer to join her, figuring he would want to see Jax and update Clay on the gun meet today, but she was sorely disappointed. He just nodded at her. "That's a good idea. Tell Clay to call so we can update them on some things."
"I….I will," Gemma agreed, sliding her sunglasses over her eyes, struggling to hide her disappointment. "Good luck with everything in there. Let me know how things go."
"We will," Opie told her.
Gemma turned to leave, wondering how she had fallen so far, so fast. She had walked into this building as the Queen, and now she was leaving as a messenger. How the mighty had fallen.
"You're doing great, Mae," Tara encouraged the young girl on the bed before her. "It won't be long now."
"This from the lady who said twelve hours ago that I would have a baby 'soon'," the girl grumbled, panting in pain. "Are you sure I can't have any drugs?"
Tara laughed. "Hate to break it to you, but it's only been maybe three hours. If we were in a hospital, you could have had an epidural, but in a Clubhouse dorm room, the best I can offer is Chibs here. You can hit him, if you want."
"No, you can't," Chibs spoke up tersely, not even turning away from his task of organizing the supplies they would likely need soon. His stony, silent demeanor was a mystery to Tara, but it was a mystery that she didn't have the time to uncover right now.
"Anyway, it's too late for pain meds," Tara informed the girl. "You are ten centimeters, ready to push."
"That sounds fun," the girl joked drily, causing Tara to smile.
"I'll guess I will find out. I'll be in your shoes myself, soon enough," Tara told her off-handedly, gesturing to her own growing stomach.
The girl raised a sweat soaked eyebrow at her. "Except you will likely be in a private room at a hospital, well drugged for the occasion, with your baby's father and friends and family all around you, not in a spare room in some shitty Clubhouse. Don't look at our shoes and think they are even close to the same, doctor."
Tara was surprised at the fire behind the girl's words. She thought for a moment to explain to the girl that the shoes were more similar than they appeared, that Jax was in jail and she would be giving birth alone, as well. It took another grunt of pain for Tara to realize that telling the girl all of this now would in no way benefit her. Instead, thinking of the older man who brought her to the Clubhouse, she spoke, "We could get the father if you want us to. He should be in here with you."
Tara heard Chibs drop something behind her, but didn't turn her attention towards it. The look of pain that crossed the girl's face, but had nothing at all to do with labor, kept her attention.
"No, I'm afraid you really can't get him," Mae whispered. "He really, really should be here, but he's not, and there is not a thing we can do about it now. I'm on my own. I'll be fine."
"I'll make sure of it," Tara squeezed the girls hand before standing. Whatever was happening with Maeve, she thought that maybe the girl could use a moment of privacy. She turned towards Chibs. "Do we have everything we will need?"
He glanced down at the measly supplies Tara had brought. She had clearly expected to be stitching somebody up or removing a bullet from somebody's ass, or something within the realm of normal. Delivering a baby at the SAMCRO Clubhouse had never even crossed her mind. Just like Paddy knocking up his girlfriend and then getting blown to bits had never crossed his mind, until it happened.
"No, but we will make due," Chibs replied honestly.
"We're good at that," Tara muttered. She turned to look at Maeve, who was groaning through another contraction. She took a pair of Latex gloves and pulled them on. Looking up a Chibs, she spoke quietly. "This is going to happen very fast, and very soon. This girl is by herself, and she thinks she is alone. All she has right now is me, and you. I will handle the hard part, but I need you to be up there with her, supporting her. This is going to suck for this girl, like a lot. She needs some support. Do you think you can do that?"
Chibs eyebrows knit together. Obviously, Tara had no idea that for him, being close to this girl, watching this happen, would be 'the hard part'. Things were all happening too fast for him to stop and process, and as much as he wanted to slow down and take a minute to comprehend the fact that his beloved nephew, the one who had died in his arms, had left a piece of himself behind, literally one of the last flesh and blood relatives Chibs had, he knew that he couldn't. Tara had given him a task, and he would do what was required. He nodded once.
"Alright Mae," Tara said as Chibs positioned himself in the chair, next to the girl's head. "We've got to get ready and push now. You are almost there, almost done."
"Right. Push," the girl grimaced as she readied herself. The doctor turned to put a mask on and double check the supplies that had been lined up. Maeve took this chance to glance up at the man sitting next to her. She knew who he was, of course she did. It wasn't as if there was a great accumulation of Scottish bikers riding around California. More than that, the resemblance was uncanny. This was Filip Telford. Chibs. Paddy's family. "You're his uncle, aren't you?"
The man's eyes locked on hers as he nodded, and God that threw her for a loop, because she knew those eyes, so very well. They perfectly matched the eyes she had fallen in love with. She looked away, while she still could.
"He looked like you," she admitted quietly.
"He looked like his da," Chibs told her honestly. "It just happens that his da and I….we looked a lot alike."
Mae wanted to roll her eyes and tell him that now wasn't a time for technicalities, but she didn't. Instead, she just managed a weak smile and told him, "I'm glad you're here. If I can't have him here….well, I'm glad that his family is, anyway."
She could tell that he was far from glad to be here, but he thankfully didn't say it. Instead he just nodded again and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Let's get this baby out, yeah?"
The next hour was one of the most physically painful of Maeve's life. She had been an accident prone kid, always covered in scrapes and bruises. She had also been a fiesty tenager, never turning down a fight. The pain of a thousand scrapes and bruises, plus another hundred fights, all added together wouldn't have even come close to this pain. Tara kept encouraging her, telling her she was doing great. Chibs kept his hand on her shoulder as she leaned into every contraction while he steadily counted to ten and then had her relax, as if that was possible in the middle of labour. Through all this, Maeve cried and screamed and internally cursed Padraic Telford for putting her in this shitty situation and then leaving her alone.
It seemed like forever, but realistically, it had only been just over an hour when Tara told her, very suddenly, to stop pushing, just wait a moment. She sucked in a breath and squelched every tiny molecule in her body that was telling her to just push the damned kid out and be done. A moment later, and Tara was working again, telling her to push. Maeve wished the woman would make up her damned mind, and was about to tell her as much, when a wave of pain ripped through her again, only to be interrupted by a sharp, piercing cry.
Tara held a screaming, squalling baby in her hands. The doctor was laughing and grinning with unabashed joy. Chibs was handing her a blanket, his face blank as he stared wordlessly at the infant.
"It's a boy," Tara grinned at Maeve. "A boy. You have a son."
Tara reached out, the boy in her arms, to hand him over to Maeve. A boy. She had given birth to a boy. If Paddy were here, he would have been weeping for joy. The second she had told him she was pregnant, he had declared that he wished for a boy. This was a wish come true, for him. If Paddy were here, she would take the tiny boy in her arms and look at him with nothing but love, before handing him over to his father. They would be happy. They would be a family. If Paddy were here, a lot of things would be different, but Paddy was not here, would never be here again.
She shook her head. "No."
"No?" Tara repeated, confusing coloring her words. "What do you mean, 'no'? Maeve, take your son, meet him. I've got to cut the umbilical cord and help you finish up."
"No," Maeve said again, stronger this time. She was sure now, sure that she couldn't hold this boy, couldn't look into his face, not now. Maybe not ever. If she saw even a trace of Padraic Telford on it, she might lose her resolve to do what needed to be done, and that couldn't happen. "He's not my son. I don't want to meet him."
Tara opened her mouth to argue, to tell the girl that of course it was her son, but something told her now was not the time. She had work to do. There was a placenta to deliver and the girl was bleeding and that needed to be stopped. Instead, she snipped the umbilical cord linking the mother to the child she didn't even want to hold, wrapped the crying baby more tightly in his blanket and handed him off to the only other person in the room.
As Tara moved back between Maeve's legs to do whatever else needed to be done, Filip Telford found himself in a position he should have anticipated, but was entirely unprepared for. This baby in his arms was the son of Padriac. With a stunning bit of stupid surprise, he realized that that made him a great uncle, and Jesus did he feel old. None of that mattered when he looked at the child, really looked at him, and was instantly transported back twenty five years, when he was in a hospital in Northern Ireland and his favorite brother had handed him a similar bundle and said, 'Baby Brother, meet your namesake. This is Padraic Filip, and he'll need you to look out for him.'
If he didn't know better, he would believe that this was the exact same baby. Unfortunately, he did know better. He wanted to apologize to this tiny boy, to tell him what a great man his father had been and explain to hm why he would never know him. He wanted to scream and yell and rage at God for taking such a young life, such a good life. for making it so that his nephew couldn't be here on what should have been the proudest day of his life. He wanted to say something, anything, really, because he felt like this was a moment to be commemorated, but his words stuck in his throat. The tiny baby had somehow managed to work his arm out of the blanket Tara wrapped him in, and the boy's hand landed on the closest warm body around. His tiny fingers wrapped around Chibs' thumb, and in that instant, real words were not possible.
He wanted to be gone from here, right now. He wanted to hand his great nephew over to somebody more prepared, somebody better equipped, somebody who could take care of him and sooth him and love him. He wanted to climb on his bike and ride, as far and as fast as he could, until he had outrun the guilt and sorrow that threatened to drown him right now. He wanted some sort of tie machine to go back six months and stop Jimmy from detonating a bomb and tearing his family to shreds even further. Hell, if he had a time machine, he might as well go back farther than that, and stop the tearing apart from ever happening in the first place. He wanted to many things that he could never have.
Having no other choice, Chibs walked over and settled in a chair on the other side of the room, as far away from the action as possible. He shifted his great-nephew in his arms, careful to support the head and not actually break the tiny infant. Only minutes ago, he had prepared elaborate apologies and speeches in his head, but looking down at the whimpering child, he knew none of it would make a difference, so instead, he just said, "Hello, little one."