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 43

Jocelyn had done everything she was supposed to do, everything she was trained to do, and everything she'd memorized how to do. Her coach stood off stage with that doofy-looking blond hairstyle, all long and wavy with just the right amount of height on top…height…Jocelyn hated "height"…it looked like a fricking bump on the top of her head…but pageant queens had "height!" One day, Jocelyn was going to escape this, all of it, and she was going to run so far away from it from all…and have poker straight hair…no curl, or wave or "height" whatsoever. But her coach, Madison, of course didn't know that and couldn't have understood it anyway, she was a joke, thirty-one years old and still all about winning a crown…but now coaching someone else to a win was the closest she'd ever get to that again. Madison…what a stupid name…but Madison stood there, pointing to Jocelyn and looking so pathetic as she smiled an overdone smile, reminding Jocelyn to look up and be perky. Christ…Jocelyn had already proven she wore an evening gown like no other teen, she had a body that rivaled some Playboy Centerfolds, and she was the smartest girl on this stage, too. None of these other hyped up little cocker spaniels on speed standing on this stage with her had been able to take the trite and stereotypical beauty pageant notion of "world peace" and assign each nation a numerical value, and work the entirety of them into a massive proportion. On a blackboard with a piece of chalk, before the eyes of the audience and judges, Jocelyn actually workout what it would take to achieve such an idealistic concept…but that proportion was always left unbalanced…always.

Her father, and Madison, were always both so angry with her for ending her talent-schtick in such a way, had mocked up a way for her to give everyone that happy ending that her math routine naturally lacked, leaving everyone with some sunshine blown up their asses by showing them how world peace was so much closer than expected to being a reality…but live on stage and by herself, Jocelyn could do what she damn well pleased, and what she believed. Decrease the population by about ninety percent, then maybe there'd be "world peace," because the unmatched and un-reconcilable variable in the equation was always the same factor; the human factor itself. Everyone was someone, and in that, everyone was individual, everyone had their own plan, and "it" was never going to happen to any of them, until "it" did, and then "they" only looked for someone else to blame for "it." It may not have been the happy Hallmark ending the judges were always said to want, but it worked, impressed everyone who saw it, and she was always described as being "disturbingly practical." She was saving the world in her own way, by waking everyone the fuck up!

In the audience was her father, smiling up at her and waving a pair of crossed fingers, looking so supportive, just like the wonderful father everyone who knew him, or knew of him, would have testified that he was; Doctor Donald MacQueen, psychiatrist to the rich and famous, and big time pageant dad. He'd helped countless numbers of unhappy and sick people, saved a marriage a day, could help anyone over an irrational fear in only a session, maybe two, and once talked a complete stranger out of committing suicide on a crowded subway train, finally ending a day long standoff that even the best police negotiators had failed to curtail. And no one, not even the strongest critics about child beauty pageants, questioned whether "allowing" his daughter to take part in such a competition was somehow damaging to her self-image, or skewed her understanding of the values in life…nope, of course not…her father was the wisest and most understanding, and most supportive, man in all the world. His kid was lucky to have him, she would grow up to be the most secure and stable individual in all the world.

"And that leaves only one left," the dork in the tuxedo was holding another card in his hand, smiling into the microphone, the tension thick in the air, so many hearts pumping and pounding around Jocelyn, all of these stupid girls, wishing, hoping, praying that their name was about to be called…all eyes on the crown sitting atop of the perfect hair of last year's smiling winner, who waved to the group of eager contestants like she was royalty. Joss smiled still, trussed into her sequin studded evening gown of purple silk…purple because it would bring out her green eyes so well. God she hated this smile, there was nothing of any emotional value in it, she could do anything with that piece of shit smile on her face now it seemed, but her eyes were distracted by movement at the very back of the auditorium, back behind where an enthusiastic crowd sat on the edges of their seats…someone was moving in the darkness, walking towards an exit door, dressed in black, his hand gripped the long bar of the door handle, and for a moment he turned and looked back at the stage. Tig!

"And the new Teen Ms. Mariposa County is…" but Jocelyn was already smiling more genuinely than she had been the entire night now, and she didn't care about what name was on the announcer's lips. Tig…he'd slipped in the back door, and was waiting just long enough for the end of this before he slipped back out. "Jocelyn Inez MacQueen!" Tig was gone before they'd said her whole name, not reacting to any of it, but it wouldn't have mattered if he did, Jocelyn wouldn't have been able to see the look on his face, the former Teen Ms. Mariposa County rushed over to her, and then the rest of the stage rushed her, there were far too many stupid girls around her for Joss to even watch Tig leave, but she knew he had. Madison and the honorable Doctor MacQueen were now on stage with her, hugging her, kissing her, everyone was so happy, so excited and so proud…except for Jocelyn, who in her mind had slipped out that back door with Tig.

Applause, applause, applause…and it was making her hands hurt. But why? Jocelyn wasn't applauding herself on yet another big-fucking-deal win, how could she with her father holding her free hand as she clutched those stupid, fake roses to her chest with the other? And then the strangest sensation came over her, everything just stopped around her, and she was shooting upwards, felt like she'd just launched off of the stage and burned right through the atmosphere, her head snapping upwards and realizing that she'd somehow landed on the floor by the bathtub, every muscle twitching, her spastic hands banging into the tub again and again until her knuckles were beyond red. What was happening? She tried to stop moving, but she couldn't, at least, not right away, it was like some kind of…seizure. Her entire body shook, her eyes now rolling back in her head and making her feel dizzy, and then all of a sudden, it was over, she was free of it, but what the hell had happened?

Chapter 43; Part 2

Sulfuric acid, it had been one of the things that was present the night that she and Tig had truly bonded, working together to cover her father's murder. She'd found and given Tig a bottle of drain clog remover which he'd soaked her father's severed fingers in, removing the skin that would have yielded prints, and now sulfuric acid was about to remove Joss from her confinement in the bathroom. But something still felt wrong inside…inside her head…Joss wasn't quite herself; she could think and act and solve the problems in front of her, but something was…disconnected. But she had to get out of here, she wasn't sure how to fix this feeling she had, but she knew she couldn't do it from in here. But, there was no budging either door, she just wasn't strong enough. She just had to get out of here, she had to kill Opie, she had to prove to Tig now that there was nothing between her and Opie, and that was her total motivation now. Clear her name, clear Tig's suspicions, and try to rebuild what she and Tig were. But he'd obviously wanted to keep her in here, to come back and kill her she would have assumed, but a bullet to the head as she'd laid…like that…on the floor wouldn't have taken that much of his time, and would have been an easy mess to clean up in the bathroom too. But no, Tig hadn't shot her, and maybe that meant he wouldn't. Still, she had to kill Opie…clandestine, staged, friendly fire set up be damned, she just wanted Tig to know she'd pulled the trigger, that she'd put a bullet in Opie's head…for Tig…for them. Whatever came after that would come, but as long as Tig would know she loved him and that she'd never ever betray him, Joss didn't care what danger she'd be in, or what dues she'd have to pay.

The door leading out into the hallway wasn't as heavily barricaded as was the door into the bedroom. The hallway door was only braced nearest to the doorknob itself, and the doorknob wouldn't turn. But there didn't seem to be anything across the other side of the door, where the hinges were. She could pour the drain clog remover on the metal and let it eat through it, but that would take hours, and it was time she definitely didn't have. Joss quickly looked around the bathroom, discovering she had a box of matches for the candle she sometimes lit when Tig did join her in her bath, as well as the shower curtain rod. Fantastic, she had the makings of a very simple bomb!

Fuck…she'd likely used too much drain clog remover! Joss watched it dripping down the hinge and the door, puddle-ing on the floor…it was the damn gel kind, and it had been hard to maneuver the huge bottle it came in and direct the thick, almost syrupy stuff only onto the top of the door hinge. A little bit of panic began to set in, for she wasn't sure now what exactly she'd made, or how much hydrogen gas the breakdown of the metal by the sulfuric acid would produce. But she'd know as soon as she lit a match…too much, and what Tig thought or didn't think about her and Opie wouldn't matter…because Joss would be gone…and so would most of the house! But, she had to try. There was no living without Tig anyway, and if there was even the slightest chance that she could fix this, Joss was going to!

She yanked the shower curtain rod down, sliding the curtain itself free, then pulling off the little plastic guard piece on the very end of the rod, so thrilled to see that the rod itself was a rolled piece of metal with a slender split that ran the length of it where the metal had been rolled once and then cut. Perfect! She took a deep breath; half cowered in the corner by the tub, away from the door with the acid dripping all over the hinge, lit a match, and then wedged it into the split seam of the shower curtain rod. Slowly she extended the rod, hoping it would reach, hoping it wouldn't be too willowy to support itself, hoping she wouldn't have to stand too close to the door…hydrogen gas was incredibly combustible…Jesus…this had to work! Joss drew what could have been her last breath, shoved the match at the acid and the hinge…with black and white news footage of the Hindenburg replaying in her head…oh, the humanity!

Chapter 43; Part 3

The aftershock of the blue steel Taurus in his hand rattled up his arm and made that chunk Joss had tried to bite out of him feel like it might just fall out on its own, but Tig was focused, striding calmly from the first kneeling and crouched over Mayan he'd shot in the back of the head over to the next; bang, and the bite mark on his arm vibrated and pulled away from the dried blood around it, but Tig paid no mind to it, strode up behind the final Mayan rat, pointed the Taurus, bang, and blood now ran down over the back of his hand from beneath his sleeve. Shit…now he'd have one more thing to try and explain. The claw marks on his face and neck had been pretty apparent, and even though there was a certain amount of hustle on the part of the club to head the ATF van off at the pass and hijack them here to the abandoned logging camp, everyone wanted to know what had happened. It had to seem a bit strange; no one knew anything, Tig was too shocked and angry to get the chance to say anything to anyone about what doctor bitch suggested was going on between Opie and his perfect, innocent little Joss…Jesus Christ…was she still a fallen statue on the bathroom floor? No, he couldn't think about that now, this was far from over, Stahl hadn't been in the van, she'd been following in another vehicle, alone; that vehicle suddenly unaccounted for!

"Shit, man!" A voice pulled Tig all the way back from his extracurricular worries. "You hit?" Opie stood there, a gun in one hand that was down at his side, pointing to the blood that dripped from Tig's fingers with the other. Opie! Tig felt a whole new kind of hate consume him; he'd fucking kill Opie! Tig turned to him, the Taurus still gripped in both his hands, and still pointed as if he intended to fire, right into Opie's chest. It was a beautiful, close range shot…but no, not here…and not that fucking quickly either, Opie needed to suffer first, more than he thought he already had.

Tig lowered his gun, slowly, part of him still not believing he wasn't taking the shot at Opie…again…but this time it was different. Stahl was still out there, and they'd likely need every man; Opie could still be useful to the club. "Maybe," Tig looked at the blood as it ran from beneath his cuff, spilling down in fat droplets from his wrist and knuckles. His arm throbbed like a white hot knife blade stuck out of his flesh, his little finger was numb, but Tig didn't care, he'd gladly suffer these pangs of guilt…hell, he'd cut his whole fucking arm off and gift it to Joss if it meant she'd come out of catatonia! Joss…please God…she had to come out of it, she had be herself again, and please, please, please, more than anything else, Joss had to still love him. As long as Tig had that, he had everything! Opie…he'd tried to take Tig's
"everything" away though…it was brilliant, Opie'd likely figured he could eventually make Tig so jealous and angry and put him in the position of having to save face, and Tig would end up killing the thing he loved most in life himself…an eye for an eye, and Opie'd never have to pull the fucking trigger! Fucking bastard! Nothing was going to come between Tig and Joss, nothing! And if something tried to…no, not now, focus on finding Stahl. Tig looked back at Opie, giving him a nod. "I'm good."

Opie looked at him like he didn't believe him. "Can you ride?"

A cold, strange smile crossed Tig's face, his upper lip curling at the corner and he stared at Opie like there was nothing and no one else around them. "I can do a lot of things."

"Tig! Ope!" Clay shouted, he and Chibs both dragging the body of the agent driving the van over towards the Mayan rats Tig had cleanly executed. "Sack, Juice and Bobby can handle cleaning up here and ditching the van, Jax, Chibs and Happy are out scouting for Stahl. You and Ope head back to the clubhouse, make sure everything's secure."

"No problem," Opie had been the first answer, giving Clay a dutiful nod, holstering his weapon and heading towards his bike.

"Yeah," Seconded Tig, but his eyes followed Opie, staring right into the invisible ten ring on his back…Tig couldn't help but smile; this was perfect! He was about to show Joss everything he couldn't express with words.