Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from "Sons of Anarchy." They are the property of Kurt Sutter and Fox Network. No money is changing hands in the writing, reading or distribution of this story.

Chapter 5

Tara stood at the window between her and the ICU, looking intently on where an unconscious girl lay in a bed, slow to wake from the anesthetic. The CT Scan didn't reveal the best findings, there was significant head trauma. The decision to go ahead with surgery wasn't made lightly. But, there hadn't been much choice, either take the risk of the anesthesia killing this girl, or be cautious about the head injury and let her bleed to death from the broken ribs that had punctured her liver and spleen. The girl's color was better, the bleeding was successfully halted, but she needed to wake up, soon! But who would want to wake up and find themselves in the condition that this girl was in? Her young body was covered with bandages in more places than Tara could really count, and still lacerations and bruises were visible on the parts of the patient's skin still exposed. It was impossible to tell what this girl truly looked like, she was one big injury, but it wasn't actually the patient that Tara had been studying for the last few minutes.

It was against hospital policy to allow visitors in ICU at this stage in a patient's recovery, but the "visitor" that had Tara's attention at the moment had "insisted" otherwise. There was no arguing with him and no stopping him, not even after security had been called; that only resulted in a safety officer needing an X-Ray to diagnose the concussion he received after a vicious punch had been thrown. Tara interjected herself into the scuffle, suggesting that it was easier to make this one allowance than it would be to try to enforce policy. Her superior would likely bitch at her for it later, but what else would be new? Besides, what Tara had been watching was so strange and unexpectedly intriguing. She'd never seen a visitor who was so nervous he couldn't sit still, but at the same time was able to reach out and deftly peel single strands of the patient's long, dark hair out of where it was stuck to the antibiotic ointment on her many less serious scrapes and cuts. He was even speaking softly to the girl in the bed, his eyes shifting around rapidly as if trying to watch every part of her at every moment, but the low, comforting din of his voice was constant, but not loud enough for Tara to hear. She was curious though about his choice of words, strained to try to make out what he said to the girl, so enthralled she didn't even notice someone approached her until he spoke.

"I thought you were off like twenty minutes ago?" Jax couldn't help fixating on what happened on the other side of the ICU window either, but he nonchalantly drank a cup of vending machine coffee. "If you're hanging around to keep an eye on things as a favor for the club, this isn't exactly official business, go home."

Tara glanced at Jax and smiled slightly, reaching down and taking his hand, but her gaze went back to the window again. "I know it's not a SAMCRO thing, technically. I just sort of lost track of time." She said, watching the hand of the unruly visitor gently slip around the hand of the unconscious patient as he finally took a seat in the chair beside the bed. Tara subtly shook her head in disbelief. "Tig," she began, her eyes on how gossamer all of his actions were and had been. "I don't know very much about him."

Jax snorted as he raised the paper cup to his mouth. "You don't want to, believe me!"

She smiled, leaned closer to Jax and understood what he meant. It was out of turn for him to speak negatively of a brother like he'd just done, but Tara knew Jax was right. Tig Trager was not a nice man, but in the last few moments Tara had seen that he could be a good man, when he wanted to be. The question was why. She'd heard that Tig had daughters, was this one of them? "So, I guess Tig hasn't 'fessed up to anything yet, huh?"

Jax grimaced and shook his head, putting his arm around Tara's shoulders. "He swears Butcher hung himself in the tree with the tow chain. At least, that's all he'd say to Unser; still no theories on how Butcher blew both his knees and hands off, or how he cut his dick off and shoved it up his own ass, though." Jax's stare fell on Tig and he sighed, shaking his head again, strands of his long blond hair falling from behind his ear. "Clay's handling the alibi shit right now."

Tara shivered, but then rolled her eyes, choosing to focus on an image tenderer than the state of Aaron Butcher's corpse. "I meant about the girl. Tig seems awfully worried about her."

"Man," Jax sighed and shrugged, giving Tara a 'how about that?' kind of look. "I don't know. It's not like him to beat the shit out of 'em and then drag them to the ER, worrying and fussing over them all night."

"It's kind of sweet, though." Tara smiled, looking up at Jax. "The way he is fussing and worrying, I mean."

Again Jax snorted. "Yeah, 'sweet' the same way it is when you put a live mouse in a snake's cage, and the snake pays no attention to it…but eventually, that mouse is fucked, I guarantee you that!"

Jocelyn was underwater. At least it felt like she was. The sounds around her and the way everything felt on her skin had a very dull, submerged kind of quality to them. Plus she felt like she'd sunk, all the way to the bottom of a deep pool or a lake or something, with no control of herself, at the mercy of what surrounded her only. Some of the drugs Butcher forced her to swallow made her feel like this too, but there was always a bleakness attached to the feeling of submersion then, and it felt different this time. She remembered pain, but nothing hurt her now, there was only a very distinct memory of feeling like she was being torn open.

"Come on," Tig's voice, he was gasping, his mouth millimeters from hers, she could taste his breath as her tense body struggled for air. He took a deep breath, got up on his knees a little more, one arm wrapped firmly around the small of her back, pulling her even more onto his huge cock as he braced himself against the wall behind the futon with his other hand. "I know it hurts, but it ain't over yet, baby."

This wasn't happening now. But it was. Joss knew it was just a vivid memory, amplified by whatever was making her feel so shrouded by deep water. She remembered everything, her father's remains crackling away in the fire, the rancid stench of burning flesh and also the smell of bleach that clung to her. She preferred not to think of the smell on Tig's skin and in his hair, but it reminded her of the odor she'd often noticed when she'd been in one of those butcher shops that was attached directly to a slaughterhouse. She hadn't slept all night, had felt so numb to everything, but now it seemed like she felt everything, and it was all pain. She'd been putting her mouth on Tig's big dick for weeks now, she was well acquainted with how endowed he was, so the torture of having it shoved into her for the very first time was no surprise. It hurt, it hurt so badly! Her body wasn't long enough to hold all of him, but he jammed himself in harder and harder until the pressure of something so big inside her made her hurt up to her kidneys and she felt nauseous. He could barely move, kept telling her to "relax" and to "loosen up," but she couldn't, his width all but exceeded hers, and he was wedged into her tighter than she could have ever imagined. Every thrust was friction filled, burning, anguish and tears streamed from Joss's eyes, but she kept silent. Tig was fucking her, and she'd wanted it for so long! He was hurting her, there was no physical pleasure in this for her the way there was for him, but Joss craved this agony. She needed to feel Tig ripping into her, cracking her wide open and thrashing all memories of her father out of her, out of her from everywhere. The pain, the searing burning pain that consumed not just her breached passage, but her body from ribs to knees, was like a baptism; a renewal of purity that washed her clean again in her own blood, a flame that destroyed the memory and essence being her father's whore. It hurt, it was terrible the way it hurt, but the more it hurt, the more free Joss felt herself becoming, and she wrapped her arms and legs around Tig and begged him for more.

Tig's body heaved forward against hers at her request and he slammed himself deeper than before, his hand suddenly between them, fingers furiously rubbing at her pummeled clitoris. Joss felt nothing, but something made her body yield a bit more lubrication, or perhaps it was blood? It didn't matter, for as soon as it happened, Tig was taking severe advantage of it, fucking her hard and fast, beating her tight muscles into submission until even her head pounded with each of his sharp, deep thrusts. Faster, harder, he only seemed to get stronger and bigger inside her, he grunted now with each drive, his need for release seeming to turn him into a madman who could never be as deep inside her as he wanted to be. Joss felt herself lifted off of the futon with some of his strokes, only to be slammed back down again when he'd burry his big cock nearly to his balls. She couldn't take anymore, the pain and the punishment making her head spin, Tig above her, inside her, taking all of her, ripping it apart and rebuilding her as his. She wanted to be his, couldn't help screaming his name at the top of her lungs, though it only came out as a murmur. Tig breathed heavier and faster, his voice a hot whisper in her ear, "Tell me you love me," but Joss couldn't answer, couldn't even breathe any longer because of the pain. She tucked her face against his neck, tried to hold him a little tighter in her arms, and passed out.

The urge for a cigarette had been gnawing at him for over an hour, but in the ICU was the last place he'd be able to get away with lighting up, and Tig wasn't about to leave his post. He'd allowed his thoughts to run freely tonight, well, no, he hadn't actually been able to attempt to filter them, and or kick himself in the ass for thinking certain things, the way he usually did when he thought about Joss. He'd feel humiliated and vulnerable when he realized the things that bloomed unabashedly in his head tonight, and he prayed to, well, to whoever would give him the strength to not start acting out those thoughts. He didn't love this girl. She loved him, for whatever sick reason Joss had for doing so. He'd seen her maybe four times over the last two years, and never was it because he'd gone looking for her. She looked for him, all the time, even when he told her not to. She let him use her, fuck her, in however many ways he wanted to, for as long as he wanted to, she was like any other little hangaround handing out free pussy. Tonight was no different, except of course he stepped in to take care of her Butcher problem…just like he was there for her with her father problem. Fuck! Why did he keep doing this? And when she did show up looking for him, why in hell couldn't he haul ass out of wherever they were without talking to her?

Something moved out of the corner of Tig's eye, breaking him out of the comforting mental harangue. Had Joss moved? Did she blink? No. It was just the flashing light on one of the monitors…again. Tara said if Jocelyn didn't wake up within three hours then it was likely not a good sign. What time was it? How long had it been? Tig glanced at the clock over the nurse's station; it had been just over two hours. He looked back at Joss, still unconscious, and gave the palm of her hand a stroke with the fingers of his own where he held it. "C'mon Joss, you got a time limit, you know. You don't wake up, then Butcher wins, don't let that happen."

Jesus fucking Christ, was he some kind of Coma Coach now? For two years she'd been doing this shit to him, coming around, making him think about things he knew were bullshit, making him think he was something he wasn't. Even worse this time was that it was all in front of the club. He hadn't wanted it that way, hadn't enlisted the aid of any of his brothers when he'd gone out to wait for Butcher in the dark at the hotel. But as soon as Tig found himself in handcuffs and charged with Aaron Butcher's murder, he knew the club was involved, they'd all turn out, and they'd see the crazy shit he just couldn't suppress whenever Joss was around him. Poison, that's what she was! But no more! Nope! She'd managed to unravel him in front of the club this time, had him standing there with Clay and everyone else in the ER Triage Unit, screaming things like "I don't care how sick any of these other motherfuckers in here are, she's next!" while he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. How'd she'd fucking do these things to him? What? Was she some kind of beauty queen, genius, witch or something? It didn't matter anymore though, because after tonight, that was it, she was out of his life! He'd wait around for her to wake up, and then he walked away, and would keep on walking. Yeah, she just had to fucking wake up first. Oh God, she had to wake up!

Fuck! Double Fuck! There he went again! Every time Tig thought he got out of it, he found himself right back in again! He was going to lose his mind this way, for real, not in the way that everyone always said he already had lost his mind. It was still there…most of it, anyway. But Joss…she just got all up inside of him and made him feel all…Oh no, he wasn't going there! He just had to work harder at tearing her out of that place she was in, but she was in there pretty deep, and Tig knew it. He hated it, but he knew it. Fuck! He was likely stuck with her forever. Forever. "Joss," he heard himself talking again as he gave her hand a squeeze and he was afraid of what the next words he'd say might be, even though she likely couldn't hear him. "I said I wouldn't let him kill you, so wake up, Ok?"

But what if he had let Butcher kill her? Yeah, she was still alive, but if she didn't wake up in forty more minutes, it was likely that he'd let Butcher kill her. Tig could tell by how Butcher's bike rumbled down the gravel road towards the hotel that something was out of the ordinary. He had a suspicion of what the reason behind the huffing engine noise was, but part of him just didn't want to believe it. But he'd been in the life too long to fool himself, and from the darkness of the nearby trees, Tig watched Butcher's bike rumble passed, with only Butcher on it. Hooked to the bike's chassis was a tow chain, stretched taut, and at the end of that chain was Jocelyn, a torn up, bloody fucking mess. From then on, Tig lost control, but the viciousness that made him Tig remained, sharper than ever. It was like blacking out, suddenly coming to with Butcher choking out and kicking his last in the tree, the tow chain about dislocating his head from his big, fat body. And then there was Joss…

It wasn't the worst dragging Tig had ever seen, or even been part of, but he swore and moved to action like it was. He'd seen hangarounds and old ladies punished and executed like this several times, one girl was actually chained between two bikes and torn apart. Luckily, Butcher rode alone, no brothers to make that possible. Fuck, he'd tried so hard to keep Joss away from this life, away from the brutality of shit like this! She was a nice girl, a nice girl who loved him, she was his, and she didn't deserve this. But Tig knew why she'd been dragged. Yeah, when she did show up looking for him, why in hell couldn't he haul ass out of wherever they were without talking to her? Yeah, if Joss didn't open her eyes in a thirty minutes, in twenty minutes, in ten minutes, he'd let Butcher kill her.