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 8

"So did you ever find it?" It was so hard thinking of something to say, and it had never been that way before, not even the first time they'd met. But something was wrong with him today. Jocelyn had never seen Tig pace like he was right now, she'd never seen him chew at his fingernails, he'd never given her flowers, and he'd never been so eerily distant. There was a look in his clear, blue eyes that wasn't so clear; what the hell? Did he take Meth before he got here?

"What?" He stopped pacing long enough to look at her with annoyed confusion, so seemingly irritated by all his surroundings, but it wasn't anger that Joss could see being provoked. So what was it?

"My spleen," she said, had meant to smile when she said it to try and lighten whatever the mood was that was permeating the room, but it just didn't happen. She couldn't help but feel a little pissed that he'd run out on her for two weeks, dumping her with strangers, and then avoiding every opportunity to visit her, or even fucking call her. Her understanding of what was happening when she first awoke in the hospital was more than hazy, but she knew she'd felt that something was transpiring then, that something had changed between them. She hated that Tig had given her that impression, that he'd in an unintended way, encouraged her to get her hopes up, and then, gone, nothing, no words, no actions, no explanations. But, she knew well not to even go there, particularly not today, something was wrong with him, big time!

"Oh," that was it, no other answer, not even much of a reaction. Tig stood looking all around the room now, looking at everything that wasn't her. "So you got your own TV in here?" He said, his tone suddenly sounding like he was discussing a new household purchase with a neighbor over the garden wall. Joss wanted to stand up, to get in his face and make him look at her, make him have to show her some kind of…something, but with the soft-cast on her broken right foot, and the hard-cast that came above her left knee, standing wasn't possible, and neither was getting out of his way quickly if the situation should abruptly call for it.

"Yeah," she answered, staring at him and wondering what he'd say next and who he'd be next. "Clay moved it in here for me, but I think that was mostly because he wanted someone to play Wii with him. I guess I'm the perfect opponent because I'm not so great with my left hand, so he wins all the time." Joss held up her right arm which bore a cast from her knuckles to her elbow, and this time she did smile a bit, but mostly because the tradition of nightly video games with Clay were usually a laugh riot that even Gemma came in to be a spectator for.

Tig nodded, but once more there was hardly any reaction from him. "Whose shirt is that?" He asked next, pointing to the oversized, faded SOA t-shirt she wore that came down almost to her knees.

"I don't know," for some reason Joss felt a need to try to pull the black knit cotton further down her legs. It was all she wore, she didn't have very many clothes, and if it hadn't been for Gemma picking her up some necessities like underwear and bras, and Tara bringing over a few things she no longer wore, Joss would have had even less. Why was Tig asking about the shirt? It was his own club's insignia, for crying out loud! Something was building in him, an outburst was coming, Joss could feel it, but she still couldn't tell just how it would all go down. "I guess it's Clay's, maybe Jax's."

Tig nodded. Again with the fucking nodding! It was all making Joss tense. Tig had always been unpredictable, but this time it was putting her on edge too. He still wouldn't even look at her, now picking at a tiny piece of leather that peeled out of the braid of his wrist cuff. "Butcher's dead." There was zero emotion in his voice, but he stopped pacing and poured his six foot two inch frame into the wheeled office chair at Jax's old desk.

"I know." Everything about this situation told Joss to tread lightly, be observant, don't do or say anything that might set him off. "Thank you?"

Tig kept his attention on that stupid little piece of leather, but pursed his lips and once more his head nodded. But then, all of a sudden, and it was only for a split second, he actually looked at her. "You love him?"

"Are you fucking serious?" Oh no, that couldn't be what his mysterious mood was about! That was way too easy. "I'm going to love someone I was traded to for a broke down, rusted through '92 Softail Springer?"

He glanced at her again, still fidgeting, still monotone everything. "Nice bike."

What the hell did that mean? That she wasn't worth much to him, or anyone else? If he thought so little of her, and he didn't want to be here, why the hell had he come? Joss's attitude suddenly jumped the fence of carefulness that she'd been trying so hard to stay on the good side of and she sighed in exasperation, her green eyes narrowing to angry slits. "What is with you?"

His head jerked up this time and he stared at her with a lost, half angry, half melancholy expression. "You really wanna know?"

The question was part challenge and he sounded as though he really wanted her to shut up, but Joss, even though she knew better, bowed up and glared back at him. Why was it that whenever she wanted or needed to see him the most, and he finally showed up, his attitude was always shit? "Make it good!"

The faint outline of the oddest smile formed on his lips and she couldn't tell for certain if she were in trouble or not. "It's you."

Joss felt her blood go icy, she hadn't expected that answer and wasn't sure what it meant. Was he angry? Was he apologetic? Was he horny? His eyes, his voice, nothing held any context or clues. She stared back at him, waiting for him to continue, because, he'd have to explain himself, right? She kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to speak, hoping he'd speak, but as she watched him, she could see something that both shocked and frightened her more than anything had in a long time. A tear was slowly falling from his right eye and easily, slowly, rolling down over his cheekbone, the gentle caress so vastly opposite everything else being felt in the room. She could tell Tig tried to hide it, wiped at it under the guise of some suddenly occurring itch to scratch, but he couldn't hide the way the plastic frame of the chair he sat in began to rattle under the trembling of his body. Joss had never seen him like this before; she didn't know what quite to do. She only wished he'd stop. All she could think of was the horses she used to ride. She'd always loved horses, rode better than most people at the stables, soaked up every bit of equine knowledge that was available to her, the most important of which was how horses learned to see the humans working with them as their herd leaders and respected them as such. She'd always been careful to be calm and positive around a horse, because the animal could feel her attitude and would mimic it. If she were having a bad day, if she was angry or nervous or hesitant, then so was the horse, and that's when trouble would occur. Such was the safety mechanism of the herd, always be tuned into the leader, and always automatically know when to run for your life. She still didn't understand what was happening, but Joss felt like she should be running; if Tig was scared then she should be terrified! She felt cold, her breathing shallow. "Tig?"

He must have noticed the rattling of the chair and he suddenly and sharply slammed his hand against the back support with a loud bang that made Joss blink involuntarily. She was even tenser now, afraid to keep watching him, for he just seemed to be unraveling more and more. Where did this end, and how? "Do you know what you put me through?" His voice was surprisingly soft for as rough as his actions with the chair had been. "Do you even know what you do to me?" Tig looked at her again briefly then fidgeted with his sunglasses in his shirt pocket as though he was contemplating slipping them on, trying to hide behind them. What was he hiding? Joss was too startled to answer, but her silence hadn't been the desired response either. "Do you?" he bit out, his voice like a hand that jerked her to attention.

Whatever was happening, it was just getting worse. She had to keep blinking so tears didn't start to seep into the corners of her eyes. "No," Joss answered, getting the impression that Tig didn't have very much control of what he was saying or doing at the present moment. She had to find a way to make this better, to steady him; be submissive, but don't show weakness. Weakness would bring disaster. "I'm sorry."

He laughed, but not a good laugh, not a laugh like the ice was broken and things would get better, but a laugh like he was completely at the end of his rope. She was horrified to see even more tears in his eyes, so many that Tig couldn't play them off as anything but what they were anymore, and both his hands rubbed them away. "Ain't no one sorrier than I am, little girl." He spoke with a warped smile on his face and his eyes closed, but all of sudden they opened again and there was nothing but a seething anger and frustration shining out at her in them, as though she'd chained him to a wall and held him prisoner for some detestable amount of time. He sat forward in the chair just slightly, stopping suddenly like he was fighting to hold himself back. "I fucking hate what you do to me, Joss!" He wasn't yelling, not quite, but it was more intense than just getting something off his chest. Whatever this was exactly, Joss knew it had been building for a long time, and there was nothing she could say that was going to make it better or make it stop. She just hoped she was going to be strong enough to hear what he was going to say, because it was obvious that Tig was going to say it, all of it.

"I never meant—" Why she had bothered to speak Joss wasn't sure, but it didn't last long anyway.

"Shhh!" Tig hushed her immediately with raised hands that quickly clenched into fists. "Just…don't!" He advised her, sounding more irritated than before. He shook his head and ran one hand through his dark hair, eyes wild. "I don't know what it is about you that makes me not able to walk away, but it's something, and I can't God Damn deal with it anymore! For days I've been thinking what I can do about this, about you, but you never give me a fucking chance to get away from this," Tig rapidly moved his index finger back and forth between the two of them. He was talking quickly, his voice harsh and disgusted, but he still wasn't yelling. It was alarming and only scared Joss more and more. She'd feel better if he just yelled, if he punched a wall, if he did something that would indicate an endpoint to this tirade. "You're always fucking there, even you're not, Joss! And there's only one thing I can think to do about it, and I don't even wanna fucking do it, but you're making me have to, because I don't know what else to fucking do!"

Oh God! It all clicked, every little last one of his distracted and irritated movements, every last nervous and accusatory word, the reason he hadn't come around for two weeks, the fitful tears. He'd said it plainly, he couldn't take it anymore. Tig was going to kill her! Jocelyn's heart began to pound, more scared than she thought she'd be, but the amount of hurt she felt overpowered her fear. She loved him! She'd been so certain that things were finally going to change between them! She knew what she felt when she woke up in the ICU, and she hadn't been the only one to notice, because Gemma had seconded a lot of what Joss's foggy memory held of Tig's actions that night Butcher had dragged her nearly to death. Maybe something had changed between them, and that's what had pushed Tig to make this sinister decision. She'd never expected Tig would take well to being in love, and maybe this was the only way he could handle it. It was horrendous, but it didn't change anything. He'd killed Butcher for her, he'd rushed her to the hospital and saved her life, he'd left her in the care of trusted friends, but those were all temporary solutions until he could think of a more permanent one, and now he had. Kill her, be free of all the things he'd said she made him feel, and finally be free of her. She'd always known he'd wanted that. But, she loved Tig! She'd only ever wanted to be with him, he'd been her confidant, her partner in literal crime, her mentor, her protector and her lover. She loved him, now and always! Joss wished she could say her execution was undeserved, but she knew what she was messing with in Tig Trager, it was always a very real possibility that it would end like this. The flowers…nice touch, for her shallow grave no doubt. She was so petrified she couldn't move, couldn't even call out for Gemma, though the voice inside her head screamed for her to do so.

Tig took no notice of what his words did to her, but then, why did it matter to him? She only had one good arm, and even if Joss had use of all her appendages, she was no match for him, would never get away from him. What was decided was decided and what was going to happen was going to happen. Her fight was fought, she loved Tig Trager, and he'd proven to be every bit Tig Trager. He couldn't have been more faithful than that. Joss's weepy green eyes fell to Tig's belt, but she saw no holster, no gun…it would be the knife then…Tig always had a knife. As she sat in quiet panic, contemplating her slow, bloody good bye to the man she loved, Tig sat back in the chair, looking oddly more relaxed. "I just fucking hate what you're making me do, Joss." The harshness in his voice was beginning to lessen, and he was sounding more in control of himself, his tears had stopped and he was able to look her in the eyes, "because it all scares the shit outta me."