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 7; Part 1

The door opened much faster than Tig wanted it too, standing there trying to get himself together, hoping the tears were more dry on his face than they felt like they were, wishing that the now bedraggled flowers he held would somehow perk up a little. Shit, he didn't even know what kind they were, had no clue what to even buy for something like this, just grabbed the first bunch of brightly colored variety he came to. At least he'd remembered the blue button down shirt though, faded and tattered at the cuffs though it was. But Joss had said once she liked him in this shirt…at least, he thought it was this shirt. Fuck! Everything about his body language, appearance and demeanor spoke of how unprepared for any of this he was. But here he went, headlong into it. One more chance.

"Tigger," Gemma smiled and kind of sighed, her hand leaving the handle of the house door and now opening the storm door. She didn't need to say anything to imply that he'd been expected much earlier than this, that woman's eyes and expressions spoke more than Billy Graham could articulate verbally. But she also didn't harp on it, just opened the door, her smile broadening. "Come on in, please."

"Yeah, thanks," Gemma, with her aggressive confidence and the way she wore a pair of jeans, had always made him feel a little quivery in the pit of his stomach, but now it was for a different reason. Tig felt like he needed to apologize, or at the very least, to explain himself, but where did he start? "I brought some flowers…but they're not as nice as yours are." He said nervously, turning briefly to indicate the rows of Golden Poppy's in Gemma's front flowerbed.

"Oh," Gemma smiled again, but her tone and stare still had that 'you know you fucked up' quality to them that dug into Tig more than ever. He wasn't usually the one Gemma directed that tone at, if anything, she talked to him more like he was some vicious attack dog that she knew liked to have his belly rubbed. That was their usual rapport and Tig liked it, but he'd known not to expect it today. "They're fine, stop being so obsessive!" She cocked her head and relaxed her stare in a motherly way when she said it, willing Tig to settle down, even though she'd been disappointed in him.

"So," this situation was feeling so ridiculous, they both knew why he was here, but getting to it seemed like trying to cross a raging ocean. He'd decided that he wanted to do this, so why did he still not want to do this so much at the same time? But he'd driven over here, he'd come into the house, he'd put on what he hoped was the right shirt; he'd even bought the shitty flowers! He must have wanted to do this more than he didn't want to do it. Tig sighed, what did he say now? He was in Clay and Gemma's house; he couldn't just wander off to Jax's old room when Gemma wasn't looking. Too bad, because that would have made this seem a little more clandestine, like he was sneaking around to do it and no one would find out about it. But Gemma knew, and Clay knew. The only one who didn't know was Joss, but then, how could she know? Tig became aware that Gemma's stare was becoming more expectant, yeah, she knew why he was here, finally, and he'd better fucking get to it, too! Still, this was such an odd feeling! If this didn't go well, Gemma would know. If this did go well, Gemma would know. He wasn't sure which one would be worse. Tig sighed, hoped he could just hold it together, no more tears. "Can I see her?"

The corners of Gemma's mouth turned up into a nearly smug smile as she crossed her hands over her chest and sort of sighed. "She's awake, just finished lunch," she said as if she were flipping through some imaginary appointment book, trying to schedule Tig's visit. But then her smile broadened again, her voice softening along with it. "Go ahead, I really think she'd like that; down the hall, second door on the left."

Tig stood nodding, his knees bending slightly, but he was so scared his feet wouldn't move. Gemma must have noticed, because she stepped closer to him, put her hand on his shoulder and leaned towards his ear, her voice a soft, but serious, matriarchal whisper. "If you can do half the shit you've done for this club, then you can do this."

Chapter 7; Part 2

In the last two years Jocelyn was used to being shifted around, passed around, one time even sleeping under an overturned, smelly old couch that someone had dumped in an alleyway. She didn't care where she found herself, it only mattered where she was going, Tig. This current reunion with him hadn't worked out quite as well as she'd figured it might; she'd found him, had contact with him, from what she'd heard, she'd had more of his attention than she'd ever gotten before, but then two weeks passed, and he was nowhere to be found. But she knew she had him to thank for her current accommodations, which were the best she'd had in such a long time. Except for Tig, it seemed like everyone in her life was a complete stranger, and she'd been so beat up and felt so much not like herself that it had been difficult the feel the usual unease that would have been there had she suddenly found herself staying with and being taken care of by people she'd never even heard of before.

The first time she'd ever seen Gemma Teller-Morrow was the day she was to be released from Saint Thomas Hospital. Joss had no idea where she'd go, she had a broken foot, a broken leg, a broken arm, was recovering from surgery and still a bit woozy from the concussion. Plus, she had nothing and nowhere to go. She'd hoped Tig would do…well, something, but she also knew not to expect it. He wasn't exactly a nurturer. And, he wasn't even exactly around ever since she'd regained consciousness. Her eyes had opened, and he was there, though. He looked like shit, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, his eyes red, hair a wild mess, a nervous and confused smile on his face that made him look a little more crazy than he usually did.

"Joss!" She knew he'd been holding her hand, because now he dropped it. "Joss, c'mon, don't close your eyes again, look at me!" She'd never heard his voice sound quite as desperate as it did then, it scared her. "Look at me!" He said again, this time louder and sterner. Whenever things were really bad, that's what he said to her, "focus," "get it together," "look at me;" it was a command she couldn't refuse.

Her eyes gradually remembered how to open up all the way. She had no idea where she was or why she felt so out of it. The last thing she remembered facing was Butcher, who was making clear his suspicions about what she'd gone outside with SAMCRO's Sergeant At Arms for, and she knew she was in danger, a lot of danger. It was too exhausting to try to remember and try to piece it together now. Tig was there though, and he was telling her to do something, something not as difficult as remembering was right now, so she turned her head towards him and focused on Tig…but there were a series of silver bars that separated her from him. What the fuck?

"You're in a cage," her voice was clear in her head, but she could hear how muffled and raspy it actually sounded. Her throat hurt as if something had been jammed down it. She wanted some water so badly.

Tig's eyebrows furrowed and he looked not just puzzled but gravely concerned, his crystal blue eyes glancing quickly at the swollen lump she was beginning to feel on her head, his lips quietly murmuring something panicked that had sounded like, "Fuck! Please Joss, don't be a fucking retard!" But then, without any explanation at all, he smiled this weird kind of warm, amused, relieved smile that Joss couldn't ever remember seeing on his face before. He reached out and grabbed the top bar of the cage, clicked something near the bottom, and folded it down. No more cage. "I'm right here, baby," he said, taking her hand again as Joss began to realize that she was in a hospital bed, and that she'd been looking at Tig through the bars of the safety rail. But that warm, relieved smile on his face was short lived. Just as it became a comforting site, it was gone, and he seemed anxious, and uncomfortable to have ever let it get there in the first place. The sole of his boot began to quietly squeak against the linoleum tiles as his right knee began to subtly bounce nervously. He let go of her hand again like he'd suddenly been reminded he was holding it, and that he shouldn't have been. "They, uh," he began, but stopped, rolled his eyes and exhaled sharply as if he had nothing to say to her or didn't really want to talk to her. "Look, I did what I could to stop them, okay? But, they took out your spleen."

Butcher took out her spleen? That was some kind of new One-Percenter punishment Joss had never heard of! She tried to get things to make sense, but they just wouldn't, her mind lay there lifeless in her head, seeming to only roll over slowly if she poked at it with a stick. She had so many questions, but she just couldn't get to the good ones. "Do you know where it is?"

She saw a look of surprised relief flash over Tig's face like he hadn't expected her to somehow give him the exit he was trying to formulate on his own. He stood, quickly, his eyes already on the doorway leading out of the ICU. "I can go check," he said, and Joss hadn't seen him since then.

For five days Joss lay in her hospital bed in her hospital room, void of the usual types of "Get Well" cheer she could see in the rooms of other patients across the hall; no flowers, no balloons, no fruit baskets, no visitors. Well, that wasn't entirely true, Dr. Knowles had taken an extra interest in her case, and often times when she came into check Joss's charts or meds or whatever, she'd stay for a few minutes and chat. Twice Dr. Knowles had shown up just when her shift had ended, and with her was her boyfriend, a good looking blond guy in his thirties, sporting an SOA cut with the rank of "Vice President" sewn onto it. He'd introduced himself as Jax and seemed nice enough, but he asked a lot of questions that made Joss think before answering them. Jax always wanted to know how she knew Tig, how long she'd known him, what the situation was between them. It seemed like innocent and normal curiosity, and Jax was obviously on of Tig's brothers, but Tig had told her many times that "rats were everywhere," and Joss wasn't about to say anything that could damn him to or for…whatever. All in all though, she had to admit she liked Dr. Knowles, or Tara as she'd said to call her when she was off work. And she liked Jax too, their visits were much looked forward to, but mostly Jocelyn hoped that Tig would reappear, but she knew he wouldn't. It was all she thought about until Dr. Knowles came in smiling one day as if she had good news to share, and told Jocelyn that she was free to go home. Home? Where was that now? As she lay there wondering where she could go, and how she could get there, Gemma suddenly appeared in the doorway of her hospital room.

Gemma was wearing tight medium faded jeans, heeled boots, a V-neck plum colored top that belted in around her narrow waist, and a short leather jacket. It all reminded Joss of the basics she was lacking; all she had was the hospital gown she wore. Gemma also had gold hoop earrings on and a few small pendants on chains around her neck, but one stood out from the others. It was a gold cross, shinier and newer looking than the other jewelry she wore. Jocelyn would have described her overall look as some kind of trashy sophistication, edgy enough that Joss could tell that she was connected to the MC, but that it definitely was as someone who was well respected by all. That's what Joss wanted, and she wondered if she could ever be the way Gemma Teller-Morrow was.

"Jocelyn, I'm Gemma. I'm a very good friend of Tig's." Her expertly shadowed eyes looked at Joss with motherly sympathy, but there was a tinge of annoyance in her voice as she reached behind her to drag a wheelchair into the room with one manicured hand. She sighed objectionably. "I know this is all very strange, but, Tig asked if my husband, Clay, and I could give you a place to stay until you're more healed up, so…let's get on the road."

Obviously, Gemma wasn't thrilled at the idea of having a complete stranger, who would need a lot of assistance, a lot of everything really, at her house. Joss couldn't blame her, but she also couldn't refuse her. She could tell that Gemma was a woman who saw to it that those closest to her were taken care of, but she was all tough love. But, Tig had set this arrangement up for her? Okay, Joss could at least trust that she was going to a good place with good people. Tig would never admit it, but he always tried so diligently to leave her in a better state than the one he found her in. Joss just never stayed there like he always told her to. This would probably not be as bad as Joss was anticipating, but she wished Tig would come back, she wished he'd been the one to tell her about where she was going and who she'd be staying with. Maybe Gemma would have been less aggravated by it all if Tig had stepped up and did just that, instead of making her the bearer of awkward kindness. Or, maybe Gemma just was that way? That new gold cross around her neck, perhaps she was some newly Born-Again biker babe, who was doing what the good book directed, though she wasn't quite feeling it? It didn't matter, and it didn't change a thing either way. Joss was going home, with Gemma.