*I own nothing you recognize*

The first few weeks are the hardest.

It's the first thought in Tara's mind as her eyes open, slowly, skittering past the spot in the bed she can't help but leave empty for him; briefly, she reassures herself for the umpteenth time that it won't always feel like this- it won't always hurt this badly. Anything, really, to dredge up even one shred of conviction that she won't be spending the rest of her life like the walking wounded, oblivious to everything but the persistent ache in her chest.

It's a thought she's had before, actually- though she can admit she's moved the goalposts a bit since that first awful night in that seedy motel.

Yes, introspection had been cold comfort that first night, fresh off what had seemed the longest drive of her life. She'd stopped the first time at a truck stop barely outside the Charming city limits and spent ten minutes crouched on the shoulder next to the Cutlass and emptying the contents of her stomach onto the cracked pavement. It wasn't the only such stop she'd made, and progress had been slowed by both the literal fog that shrouded the highway and the fog of panic, doubt, and grief that had filled the small space within the car. Even the tattoo shop- which had drawn her like a moth to a flame, then left her numb yet stinging- satiated, yet somehow still on fire with pain for him and everything they used to be- had been only a brief reprieve from what seemed like the world's longest drive to actual hell.

Tara had plied the owner of the tattoo shop for directions to the aforementioned hotel, and he'd reluctantly complied- evidently, he'd been hesitant to send a young girl to a third-rate dive even as the new ink he'd etched into her skin welled up with blood. Nevertheless, she'd arrived fifteen minutes later… only to find a row of Harley Davidsons looming at the corner of the lot, and had absolutely, fucking frozen- torn between the two halves of herself that had been warring ever since she'd spotted the first bike just outside of Lodi.

Her rational half told her SAMCRO was all the way up in Tacoma on some important run or other. Hell, it was the entire reason she'd left when she did- even one glimpse of his beloved face would have been fatal to the new plan she'd scrambled together once Jax had made it clear the one they'd made together was likely never going to happen. She'd never have been able to force herself to leave him, a fact the other, emotional half of her wouldn't let her forget.

Coward, it had been whispering, practically ever since she'd found herself unable to look at the framed photos of herself and Jax as she stuffed them into her duffel bag. Tara had found herself well unable to disagree a full eight hours later, slumping down into the driver's seat as she watched a ragtag group of older, civvie-clad hobbyists exit the motel and cross the lot towards the bikes, barely giving her or the Cutlass a second glance… It wasn't Jax and a bunch of SAMCRO, here to drag her back to Charming- a thought that was somehow simultaneously a tremendous relief and a disappointment to more of her than she'd liked to admit.

Later, delirious with exhaustion- yet too wired with panic and grief to sleep- she'd found herself lying fully clothed under the sheets- curled inward and questioning every thought she'd ever had, every move she'd ever made. And still, that nagging voice, whispering its poison into her ear until she was ready to scream- until it had merged with that of the one other person besides Jax and SAMCRO she hadn't dared to say goodbye to before she'd left Charming in her rearview mirror.

Coward...

"I always thought the two of you might end up together… But you break his heart, and I'll be your worst enemy, make no mistake about that."

It seems Gemma had been right- Christ, maybe she'd even seen this coming that first day back at the clubhouse. Especially since Tara had left him before, at the age of nine, and then returned from San Diego at fifteen to find him changed- both from the influence of SAMCRO and the loss of his baby brother. Still, he'd taken no more than the better part of a day to reveal that the big heart and conflicted soul she'd grown to love as a child was still in residence within him. It had taken even less than that to prove that the connection she'd always felt between them had not only failed to wane over the years but had actually transformed into something that defied her understanding. Bone deep was the term she'd settled on to describe their connection at the time; she'd thought she'd felt it- this pull towards him- in the very bones of her.

Now, though, Tara realized that pull was more than just their mutual need for the other, just as she'd found the way her heart seemed tied to his went much deeper than that.

No shit, her unfailingly rational scientist's brain said, completely ignoring the way the rest of her body practically shuddered under the weight of the pain pressing down on her. He's got your heart, and the heart is posterior to the sternum. Still, no anatomy or physiology she'd learned would ever begin to explain the actual, physical, ache in her chest now that it had been ripped away from his.

The first night's the hardest, she'd told herself for the first time, switching off the bedside lamp and sinking into darkness. Then, as now, she'd been swamped with memories of him- the smile lines that crinkled his crooked grin; the way his almost unearthly blue eyes seemed to darken when he was loving her just the way she liked; the way he'd hold her afterward, her head resting on his chest even as his heartbeat settled back into its usual cadence; his lips pressing those absent, unhurried kisses against her hair that she'd always wondered if he even knew she'd noticed.

In fact, she'd noticed everything about Jackson Teller- the way his cocky, fuck-you swagger just barely hid the tender parts of him he chose not to expose to most, the way he'd always saved his heart for her. It's like he'd counted on her to protect it, help him keep his vulnerability and the soul he didn't think he was supposed to have under wraps from his club. The one thing she'd missed, though, until it was too late, was the moment he'd stopped being her Jackson- something he'd been since he was barely six years old- and truly become Jax Fucking Teller.

And finally, she couldn't do it anymore- let her whole life be about him, while her own self languished somewhere within, buried under a pile of leather and crow feathers. She couldn't go on needing someone so much that she felt she couldn't breathe without him. Couldn't handle the thought that she was solely responsible for another person's emotions, that he'd shuttered his heart in a box to put in her safekeeping with a silent warning that it never be let out again.

So, she left- before she truly lost herself. Before she became Gemma, who lived and breathed for the men of SAMCRO. Before she became Luann, willing to empty her bank account and risk imprisonment herself to save the love of her life- and more than willing to let someone else do it for her. Before she became Donna, without family and without the man that had promised her a new one of her own someday.

Maybe- because she realized she already saw herself in all three of these women of SAMCRO, at the end of the day-Tara left before she found herself shoved in the box with Jax's heart, forgotten.

God, she'd loved him- and, as if to prove it to herself and the ghosts of those she'd left behind- Tara had finally shattered, the sparse room seeming to echo her sobs tenfold.

And now, after her first weeks in her crappy studio apartment- procured with a good chunk of her earnings from the vet clinic since the available summer dorm space had been claimed weeks ago- how far has she really come since the day she'd decided to leave? The part of her that had marinated in guilt and misery isn't as much a part of the past as she wanted it to be, and even Jax pulling away from her hadn't snapped the invisible thread that connects their two hearts. If anything, the pull seems even stronger than before- continues to pull taut with each passing mile and each passing day, threatening to tear her heart in two.

Tara can only compare her new life to all she'd had, and all she'd lost… but despite her efforts to make this place her own, is just doesn't feel like a home without him. He'd been her home, her safe place for so long that even with her trinkets and the one photo of them she could bear to display – the others of Ope and Donna, of JT and Gemma and Trinity still zipped safely in her duffel bag- what the place is lacking is beginning to become painfully clear.

Here, there are no motorcycles idling outside to transmit their comforting rumbling deep into her chest, no bikers doing their best to stand in as parents, and nobody to confide in save the slightly awkward student manager that had handed her the keys to the place. No discarded notepad and white sneakers to grace the foot of her bed or heated kisses in the dead of the night; no bright blue eyes that once saw her – all of her – as much more than what was on the surface. No strong arms to hold her, no shoulder upon which she could cry- and, worst of all... no love.

What Tara does have, though- aside from a broken heart, a Cutlass in desperate need of an oil change, and an efficiency in the oldest part of campus- is a full slate of classes beginning in a goddamn hour, thanks to the provisionary scholarship letter she has in hand. Opportunity she can't afford to waste – intellectually, spiritually, and definitely not financially.

And so, without anyone here to push her in the right direction, reward her efforts, or motivate her when she just doesn't know if she can go on, Tara repeats the mantras that had gotten her through these first few weeks without Jackson and hopefully through the years of hard work ahead;

The first few weeks are the hardest… keep it together, Knowles.

Day one.

Jax awakens to the sound of voices- heated whispers, at first, but steadily becoming clearer as the thick, thudding, hangover fog in his brain lifts just a bit.

"-the hell'd he get here, John? I thought we agreed that the clubhouse-"

"He was stayin' over at the clubhouse, Gem; but if you'll remember, it was you who wanted him cleared outta there for a couple days." There's silence, but Jax can hear the skittering of his mother rifling through her purse, and isn't surprised to hear the flint and flare of the lighter a few moments later.

"And if you'll remember, I said I needed a day or two to give the girls time to get the place cleared out and scrubbed, get all traces of.. Of her outta there, get the new bed set up, get rid of that old quilt he dragged over there from the apartment… all that shit." At this, Jax feels the same sharp pang he had that first night at Tara's apartment when he'd found it empty, last night when he'd walked into his room at the clubhouse, and, hell, every goddamn miserable day between.

He'd thought he'd get used to the sensation over time- that it would eventually become a part of him, an ache that slowly throbbed until he could live with it… until it sharpened each time a particular memory- a thought, a song, a smell- came about to remind him of what he'd lost. Unfortunately, he knows by now there's nothing, nobody and noplace that didn't remind him of Tara; she's everywhere, surrounding him, yet sickeningly fucking nowhere at the same time. The resulting effect is something he can only compare to razor wire wrapped around his goddamn heart. Every thought he has of her seemed to squeeze just that little bit harder, slice just a little bit deeper, knife just a little bit sharper… and he'd only found two ways to dull its edges so he doesn't completely lose his shit.

"Gem…" his father sighs wearily, his voice an apt reflection of just how bone-tired Jax feels, "He loved her- still does. No amount of cleaning is gonna erase that memory."

There's a lengthy pause, and Jax knows Gemma's eyeing his father, sizing up his potential responses while she takes a deep drag on her cigarette; she'd always had an uncanny way of reading Jax and JT both, and Jax had instinctively avoided her for weeks, preferring to keep his pain to himself.

He'd awoken in Tara's apartment that first full day without her miserable, furious and torn- half-ready to ride off after her and fuck the club, fuck his responsibilities… and half ready to gather up every last memory the two of them had shared, pile it on the bed, and burn the place to the ground. Instead, he'd stuffed most of his shit into a backpack, swallowed his hurt, and just… gone on with life, unsure what else to do.

As word had spread about Tara's disappearance it became clear she'd told nobody where she'd gone. JT, Chibs, and Kozik had all made unsuccessful attempts at making inroads into his current mental state- by turn gentle, commiserating, and brotherly. While all of them were much more welcomed than the hovering flock of women that had resumed their advances practically the minute Tara had gone, Jax had shut even his father down instantly, neither willing nor able to talk about it- about her.

Jax had fully expected Gemma to hit the goddamn roof- she'd always liked the idea of the two of them together, but had pushed Tara, hard, toward the SAMCRO queen avenue she herself had taken. So, he'd steered clear of both T-W and his parents' house, hoping to dodge the inevitable blowup he knew was coming. To his surprise, his mother had only cornered him and prodded him to come home for a couple days, expertly avoiding any mention of just why he'd been marinating in Jack and weed whenever he wasn't on a club job.

As it turns out, however, Gemma had been furiously working behind the scenes- a fact that had become evident when he'd unlocked the apartment over at the clubhouse to find it completely changed from the last time he'd been in it.

He'd been exhausted from the protection run they'd just returned from, half-drunk and mostly just ready to bury his face in the pillow and quilt he'd stuffed into his backpack at Tara's apartment- God, how fucking, fucking pathetic is he- and seeing it all gone had dredged up every last bit of what he'd felt walking into her apartment weeks ago. It had taken a good plenty more swigs from the bottle dangling from his fingers to numb the clawing sensation in his chest insistently urging him towards destruction. Just like at Tara's, he'd had to fight the compulsion to put his foot through the door, his fist through the wall and rage against her, against the memories, and against anyone that would take them from him.

He'd gotten as far as the dresser- stalking across the room to find it devoid of his favorite photo, the one of them on his bike someone had taken on his sixteenth birthday- before coming face to face with the one person responsible for this whole fucking shit show. He hadn't planned on what happened next, really; almost didn't realize that what he was doing in his own mind- punishing the person that had truly taken her away from him, taking a swing at the face that made him sick to his goddamn stomach to even look at- would actually happen in real life,

Until it did.

Until the glass tinkling on the floor and the pain radiating from his knuckles and on up his wrist had snapped him back to reality- his shitty, lonely reality. And, nearly unaware of the blood dripping from his hand, he watched how dark crimson mixed with the shards of glass scattered on the floor. Watched as jarringly red droplets marred the surface of his once-pristine Nikes- now just as obscene and ugly as his life without her. He'd seized the rest of the bottle, turned on his heel- grinding the glass beneath his feet into a fine powder- and fled.

"Goddamit, John- you go out there and take one look at him and tell me she didn't absolutely crush him." The slam of a cabinet door punctuates Gemma's statement, and JT breathes a heavy sigh.

"Oh, I gathered that much by watchin' him try and drink her away these past few weeks- and even if I hadn't, I'd've gotten a clue just lookin' at the state of his goddamn bike on my way in." Now, jolted back into the bleak present, Jax grits his teeth- though he's unsure whether it's against the argument in his parents' kitchen, the pounding in his head or the sudden flood of realization that he's got no recollection of riding here last night.

"Which is why it became clear I needed to do somethin'. Look at him, hopeless and pining over lost pussy-"

"Jesus Christ Gemma- you've been watchin' 'em since they were kids, just like I have. You know she's more than that to him- to all of us!" His father's flare of temper is outmatched only by Jax's own, and it's only the crippling headache, coupled with the shame-inducing realization that he'd spent the first days after she'd left unsuccessfully trying to convince himself of the same- that Tara was just pussy- that prevents him from defending her. As he gingerly tries to raise himself into a somewhat vertical position, he's not sure what's worse- the hangover or feeling like a goddamn hypocrite. At any rate, Gemma's next words just serve to make him feel worse.

"Love the man, then you'll learn to love the club… it's practically in the goddamn SAMCRO handbook. She said she loved him, John, so he believed her- and it sounds like she's got you fooled too, sweetheart-" Christ… exhaustion draining away, only to be replaced by anger, Jax shifts rather unsteadily to the edge of the couch.

"Gem-" But Gemma pays no attention to the note of warning in JT's voice, nor to the fact that the subject of their current conversation is stirring in the other room- continuing on as if he hadn't even spoken.

"And the first time it gets hard, the little bitch cuts and runs-"

"Enough!" JT shouts, fiercely enough to stem the flow of words from Gemma's mouth, and loudly enough to send Jax to his feet in the living room. "The first time, Gem? The first time? She's seen her father's life threatened, the president of this club nearly killed, the successor shot in the fucking head, a patched member and his wife ran off the road and killed, another arrested for murder… and then one of her best friends in the world got locked up for years of his goddamn life. And don't forget, she had a front row seat for just how well the rest of us- including your son and her own goddamn father- dealt with all of this shit... which usually wasn't all that fucking well. The fact that she stayed as long as she did, even after she graduated and got a full ride to half the goddamn schools in the state… I think that's pretty goddamn good proof of how much she loved him."

Halting about halfway through the room, his head swimming and his heart lurching at what had turned into what's basically a statement of charges against practically everyone he cares about except Tara, Jax can see his mother stub out her cigarette before drawing up to her full height- bolstered by her spike-heeled boots- and glaring at JT.

"She knew what SAMCRO was, what Jackson was, before she ever set foot back in this town-" Gemma hisses, propping one hand on her hip and jabbing the other in dangerously close proximity to JT's chest "-and still she takes off just when he needs her most, and in the most chickenshit way possible. I told her little sneaky ass from the beginning; you break his heart, and I'll-"

"You'll what, Ma?" Jax demands hoarsely, his voice- unused since the night before- a furious croak that causes both his parents to whirl to face him, startled. He stalks the rest of the way into the kitchen, his face halting inches from his mother's defiant one. "Kick her ass? Track her down and threaten her so you can finish erasing her from my life just like you did the goddamn apartment? Or maybe you'll take her out like your boyfriend tried to do to my father-"

He's not surprised when Gemma slaps him, her palm making a resounding thwack that fails to knock the sneer off his face or stop the venom from pouring from his mouth.

"See, I've had time to do some thinking- shit, since Tara left, it's all I've been able to do. And what I think, Mom, is that people associated with this club have fucked with my family enough!" He doesn't tell her to leave Tara the fuck alone- doesn't have to; the threat, silent as it is, hangs in the air even as his words seem to echo in the small room. Gemma, however, merely narrows her eyes dangerously and sets her jaw, shrugging off the hand JT attempts to rest placatingly on her shoulder.

"I'll let that go, Jackson, because I know how much you're hurting right now." Jax snorts- she'd let it go in the way only Gemma Teller can. "But it's time you accepted things for what they are, Baby- Tara ain't family. Not anymore." At this, Jax can only shake his head, digging his blunt nails into his palms as he clenches and unclenches his fists- unable to look at her for another moment because the barely-concealed rage he'd been harboring for weeks has nothing to temper it. He really doesn't fucking trust himself at the moment.

"You know what, Ma? Forget what I said about the club- 'cause I've done enough of my own shit to push Tara away." He turns to leave, desperate to get out- away from his mother's glare and his father's goddamn sympathy- even though he deserved the former much more than the latter.

"Baby-" As her fingers encircle his wrist, he snatches his hand away, sending her flinching and his father starting forward. Christ.

"Don't- just don't, Ma, okay?" Jesus, his goddamn voice is wavering again as a direct result of the fucking lump that had reappeared in his throat- he's really got to get the fuck out of here. "Only one person gets to decide who I make my family. What I do, what Tara does? It ain't your business- not anymore."

And just like that, there's nothing left to say- despite the fact that Gemma seems on the verge of striking him yet again. Especially under his father's watchful eye- somehow a mixture of both sympathy and disappointment… in him? For him? That, Jax doesn't know...and he doesn't really give a shit.

He's outside and wincing, inwardly, at the way his bike's haphazardly parked half on the grass and half on the goddamn sidewalk- haunted by visions of Rick Knowles' Cutlass parked much this way years ago- before he realizes he hadn't bothered to close the door. And as his mother's reproachful calls sail out the door after him, he realizes too late that he'd only left himself with one option for loosening the razor-sharp vise Tara had tightened around his heart- at least until today's run is behind him and he's behind closed doors once again.

It's still true; something therapeutic happens at around 92 miles an hour… and maybe one day, Jax won't need to push his bike's- or his body's- limits just to keep functioning, to keep thoughts of Tara at bay and both his brothers and his family off his back.

Today is not that day.

*A/N- so, we're here! The final installment of my "what if" AU. Obviously, this is just a prologue- a sort of "where we're at" featuring both Jax and Tara. As you can see, there's relatively little action and a lot more misery; that will change as the story progresses and some of those questions from the end of Out of the Blue get answered. Thanks for sticking with me so far, and watch for a full-fledged chapter that will reveal more about what's going on with each of them soon.*