Chapter Text
i.
Tara opened the off-white door with a gentle nudge from her hip, letting a strip of warm, yellow light illuminate the dark room. Squinting, she could just make out the corner of a tightly folded sheet in the dim glow that was leaking in from the hallway. She paused for a moment in the doorframe, silently looking across the room at the neatly made bed before reaching out a hand and closing the cracked door with a muted inhale of air.
She didn’t know why, after everything, she was still half expecting Jax to be waiting for her on the other side of that empty room – sound asleep and spread wide across the bed, taking up every available inch of space or lying with his back against the headboard, an easy grin stretching across his lips as he watched her move in the doorway and a murmured ‘hey baby’ at the tip of his tongue.
She should be more than used to this by now.
It had been more than a month since she’d gotten released on bail.
More than a month of carefully controlled glances and strained smiles. More than a month of polite, forced tones and tiptoed footfalls. More than a month of muted calls with Lowen, discussing her last out. More than a month of forcing herself to act like everything was fine. More than a month of Jackson coming home later and later each night until half the time he wasn’t coming home at all. More than a month of fortifying herself for what was to come. Examining and reexamining every option. Planning for every possibility. Putting her emotions in a reinforced steel box and snapping the lid shut.
And yet – here she was. Still checking that closed door.
Tara tilted her head, mouth pulled at the corners in an angry grimace. She needed her emotions centered for what was to come. It wouldn’t do to have even the tiniest piece of her heart hoping for another outcome. To have even a sliver of herself looking for some miracle to jump down from on high and stop her from having to leave the only person she’d ever loved. It wouldn’t do at all. Because she was leaving. Because this wasn’t just about her. And any second guesses or hesitations wouldn’t just cost her. They would cost her children.
And that was her hard line.
She might have stayed, despite everything, if it weren’t for Thomas and Able. But if she couldn’t be strong for herself, she sure as shit could do it for them. They deserved to have at least one person in their lives fighting to get them out of this cesspool of a town. Fighting to give them something more. A better future.
She gave her shirt a firm tug with the hand that was still wrapped in an ace bandage, straightening it where it had bunched slightly and let a measured breath of air slide into her lungs.
No use feeling sorry for herself. She had things to do before the night was done.
Straightening her back in a smooth, controlled motion - as if rolling off the worries permanently settled along her spine, Tara walked noiselessly back down the hall. She paused for a moment outside her son’s room before moving forward, her footsteps echoing hollowly against the hardwood.
Anita had left half an hour ago, right after Tara had stepped in the door and carelessly tossed heaping bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. The entire house seemed like it was holding its breath now – waiting in mute silence for something terrible to happen. What, Tara didn’t know. Maybe she just wasn’t used to the quiet. She almost wanted something awful to happen - something to justify the uneasiness that was rolling down her gut and making her palms slick with sweat.
Each sound she made seemed to reverberate though the empty rooms she passed, bouncing off walls and returning muted - as if stolen away by some invisible force.
When she reached the kitchen she turned the tap on cold and let the water run steadily, using the white noise to dull her senses as she methodically opened up brown grocery bags and started placing things in the pantry with the type of thoughtless precision that only came with practice. It wasn’t that late – maybe 7:30 or 8, but it felt closer to midnight. Like she should have been asleep in bed hours ago, not just now getting home.
She was half way through the last bag when she heard a gentle knock and felt something like relief course through her bloodstream.
Too quiet for Jax she decided, quickly putting the can gripped in her hand on the top shelf with the others. Whoever was at the front door paused for a moment and then knocked again, almost hesitantly. She put the nearly empty bag she had been holding on the counter top and walked to the front door, cracking it inward without removing the chain. She glanced at the cut before tracing her eyes up to the other mans face.
“Jax sent me to drop some stuff off” he said unnecessarily, keeping his eyes glued to the large box that was cradled to his chest.
She nodded, saying “Thanks Juice” with a overly bright smile before shutting the door and sliding off the chain in a smooth motion.
Opening the door wide she stepped aside and watched as he stepped forward into the front hall and then hesitated awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with himself once inside.
“You can put whatever it is on the counter” she said with a small nod towards the kitchen.
“Okay,” he replied in the same flat voice he had used before and headed into the interior of the house.
Tara looked quizzically at his retreating back before heading in the same direction. He looked different than she remembered. Harder somehow. She wondered if everyone in the club was now carrying the weight of the life on their shoulders like that. Becoming brittle. She had thought it was just Jax, and that it was just when he was around her - but seeing the way Juice’s shoulders hunched made her wonder. She hadn’t seen anyone tied to the club besides Gemma, her husband and Lowen in over a month. She hadn’t asked about club business in longer than that.
She didn’t want to know.
It should have made what she had to do easier - knowing all the awful things that her husband was still a part of, but it didn’t. It still felt like a punch to the gut every time she washed dried blood out of his clothes or saw a sickly yellow bruise bloom and then retreat over his exposed skin.
As she watched Juice gently place the box on the counter and then nod politely at her before mutely walking back the way he had come she realized why something felt off about him.
He hadn’t smiled once in short time he was there.
Not even while saying goodbye.
Tara glanced at the large box now sitting innocuously on the marble top counter and then turned away, a small but clear sense of nagging guilt eating away at her abdomen.
Repeating to herself that what she was doing was necessary, Tara moved the box as far away from herself as possible and avoided looking at it for the rest of the evening.
When she heard Jax crawl stiffly into bed long after the lights were off she didn’t ask about it. Instead, she forced her breath to even and rolled quietly on her side - keeping her eyes shut and her face angled away from him.
She didn’t want to know what was inside.
ii.
The next time she saw Juice it was a couple weeks before her trail (if it didn’t get pushed back for the third time) and a couple months later.
She was alone in the house again, but this time instead of a gentle knock in warning, the door burst violently inward - propelling Jax and a half-conscious Juice through the threshold.
Her husband hoisted the younger man up, arm looped tightly against his ribs. He ignored the way little droplets of blood were splattering against the white tile floor and moved him quickly towards the living room.
Tara remained motionless, gripping a cold glass of water tightly in her fist until the sound shattering glass ripped her back to the present. She looked down, her eyes tracing to the broken shards at her feet and the steadily spreading pool of damp and then back up again to the couch where Juice was now sprawled, deathly pale and listing on his side. Jax was leaned over him, crouched on the balls of his feet – their foreheads were almost touching they were so close. She could hear the muted sound of his voice rising and falling but he was talking too quietly to make out individual words.
From where she was frozen Tara watched him place gentle kiss onto Juice’s cheek before surging silently to his feet and saying “You did good brother” into the still air.
Tara could feel herself distantly wondering when the last time he had placed a kiss with that much genuine affection on any part of her body and immediately felt a swift surge of guilt tear through the numbness that was surrounding her like a cocoon. That more than anything propelled her into action. She moved swiftly into the living room as Jax was leaving it. He said ‘fix him, I have to finish this’ over his shoulder as he sprinted out of the door.
The screen banged loudly shut for the second time, leaving silence in its wake.
“Finish what?” Tara asked as the distant rumble of a motorcycle starting filtered in through the open window; more because it was something you were expected to ask, and less because she genuinely wanted to know.
Standing over Juice, evaluating the amount of blood that was caking that plain white tee-shirt he was wearing, Tara felt the doctor persona she carried like a shield slip over her like a cloak. She wondered why he wasn’t wearing his cut, but the thought was a distant one. Something to be evaluated later, when she wasn’t preparing for surgery.
It had been months since she’d donned this particular set of armor but it still fit her like a glove. She gently rotated Juice’s head to the side to get a better look at the bullet hole that was sluggishly oozing red down his front. He was ridged as a store mannequin, only turning with the force of her grip.
“Can you maintain pressure here?” she asked in an even voice, gripping his hand with her own and moved both of them to the vulnerable place where his neck met his shoulder, feeling blood squelched up through their fingers as she pressed firmly down. The unfocused look on his face didn’t alter as she increased the pressure.
“I got it” he said, glazed eyes trained on the wall opposite of them.
“Are you hit anywhere else?” Tara asked as she rose, slightly unsteady on her feet.
“Don’t think so” Juice replied in a detached voice, hand clamped exactly where she had left it.
“Is the bullet still in?” she asked in the same clinical tone, feeling the first hint of hysteria clawing at her throat. She pushed it ruthlessly back down.
“Probably” came the reply from down in the couch cushions.
“Let me get my med kit” Tara said, trying very hard not to think about how if that bullet had been another inch to the right it would have hit his Carotid - and how at that moment it didn’t really look like Juice cared.
- - -
It took her 20 minutes to fish out the slug because of her hand and another 10 to disinfect and stitch it up. Juice stared blankly at the wall the entire time - only wincing when her bad hand slipped and she pushed the bullet deeper into his flesh.
Once she was finished Tara looked down at his now ruined shirt for the first time since putting on her surgical gloves, taking in how blood had managed to pool in the tops of his jeans and asked if he felt alright enough to take a shower. His lips jerked up in a crude intimidation of his regular smile before he replied with “It’s fine - took the cut off before. Didn’t want it to get dirty.”
“You knew you were going to get shot?” Tara asked before she could think about it, the words sounding harsh and foreign to her own ears.
Juice gave a shrug, seeming oblivious to the fact that the once white gauze was stretched across his left shoulder and was getting redder by the minute. His eyes looked dead as glass.
“I’ll turn the shower on” Tara said after a moment of tense silence, eyes trained on Juice’s empty face and lips working to remain neutral. He just nodded his assent, his head bobbing up and down in a single jerky motion, normally tan face pale with blood loss.
Tara got up before she could do something stupid. Like ask if Jax told him it was necessary – if he had said it was for the good of the club. Or put her hand through a wall.
Once she got into the bathroom Tara lost her composure. It started when she went to turn on the tap and realized her hands were shaking with rage. Hard enough that when she finally managed to twist the water to warm her entire arm was soaked for the effort. The kiss she had witnessed before didn’t seem so genuine now. It seemed calculated. Controlled. Manipulative. She’d been doing enough of that herself the last three months to know what to look for. And Jax had always been his mothers son.
She spent longer in the bathroom than she ought to, unclenching her tightened fists and wiping her face clean of shock and rage – but when she got back Juice was still exactly where she left him, eyes trained on the wall.
“Can you stand?” she asked, brown eyes glued to the little patch of red and white just above his collar. Juice nodded but didn’t try and get up. He looked borderline catatonic.
Tara took a penlight out of her bag and then crouched down to his level, saying ‘follow the light please’ as she traced a straight line from eye to eye. His pupils contracted correctly but it took him longer than it should to trace the path the small light made with his eyes.
‘Shock then’ Tara thought with a sigh before giving a quick nod and muttering ‘okay’ under her breath.
She ended up half pulling him, half dragging him to the bathroom and dumping him in the tub. He sat exactly where she put him, eyes unfocused and blank. She hovered for a moment, looking at the way his body was tremoring, goose bumps making the skin on his arms pebble and his hair stand up straight.
Having two little boys has made her used to what came next.
Tara stripped him with quick efficiency, manhandling him until everything was off but his boxers as Juice sat like an obedient doll, raising his arms when specified and staring mutely at the tap that was now spitting warm water into the open drain. She took care not to let her eyes linger on the myriad of still pink scars dotting along his ribcage or wonder at how they got there. She didn’t want to know.
There was steam on the mirror by the time Tara was done. She glanced up at the shower head, debated shutting the curtain and letting gravity do the work before sighing, grabbing a washcloth from the table beside the sink and pushing Juice closer to the open tap.
She spent close to 20 minutes trying to get all the blood off before giving up and scooting him all the way under the rushing water, stepping in the tub and rocking back on her heels as she dumped water over his head and tried to avoid the hem of her pants getting soaked.
Blood was everywhere. On his hands, feet – running in little divots along his spine… Flecks of it even managed to get in Mohawk. She had a sneaking suspicion that it probably wasn’t all his, but she didn’t want confirmation.
After she was finally satisfied he was clean she rotated him so he was facing her and gently peeled off the gauze that was wrapped around his collarbone. She methodically rechecked each stitch before grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and dabbing it across the entire area.
When she decided she was content she applied a new patch of gauze, gently pressing down the edges with the tips of her fingers and then leaned back to survey her handy-work. “Not bad for a bum hand” she said, a hint of pride creeping into her voice.
Juice still looked pale, but besides the glaringly white patch of cloth nestled where his shoulder and neck met he looked whole at least.
Tara creaked out of the tub, tossing Juice a towel before washing her hands up to her elbows in the sink. She glanced down at the bloody foot prints covering the bathroom floor and then over to the crumpled pile of clothes in the corner. ‘Trashed’ she though with a small grimace, knowing firsthand how hard it is to get bloodstains out of fabric.
She was halfway through dumping the dirty clothes into the laundry basket when she glanced back over at Juice and realized he hadn’t moved from when she tossed the towel in his general direction.
It was half-on half-off his knee, with the corner trailing sadly in floor of the bathtub; soaking water up like a sponge.
Sighing Tara crossed back over to where he was and gently hauled him to his feet. It didn’t take much effort. Once he realized what she was trying to do he followed her lead. He didn’t bother to grip the towel though and it fell limply to the bathroom floor.
Tara deftly grabbed another one and dried him quickly, acting like he was a much larger version of her toddler.
“How’d you get here?” she asked as she scrubbed the towel roughly once through his short hair.
“Jax” he responded, eyes trained carefully away from her face.
“You have anywhere you’d rather be?” Tara asked, keeping her own eyes trained on the small scar cutting through his eyebrow and moving on to dry his left shoulder.
He shrugged in response. “Club house I guess” he replied slowly, an unnamed emotion flicking across his face for the first time that night. It looked suspiciously like fear.
Tara kept silent for a moment, mutely debating with herself as she motioned for him to lift his arm and wrapped the towel high around his chest and then pinned there with both of his arms.
He was still studiously looking at her shoulder, avoiding anything remotely near her face.
“Dry off the rest of the way while I find some extra clothes” she said softly as she stepped away from him and towards the bathroom door, avoiding thinking about the fact that out of anywhere in the world, the only place he knew to go after he got shot was the place that was responsible for the bullet hole.
As she walked to the closet to pick out Jax’s nicest pair of pajama bottoms and favorite T-shirt (she never claimed not to be vindictive), she decided he could have the bed and she’d take the couch. She didn’t think Jax was coming back that night - and if he was? Well. Fuck him.
She’d take the couch and he could take the floor.
She took her time spreading clean sheets over the bed, trying to give Juice a little space to center himself. She peaked in on her kids on the way back, smiling softly down at Thomas and gently wiping the bangs off his forehead before moving on.
She knocked on the bathroom door softly, heard a wooden “come in” before cracking open the door and sliding into the steam of the bathroom. Juice was in the exact same spot she had left him, dripping water and a faint line of blood onto the bathroom rug, towel still wrapped firmly around his chest.
Tara figured that was probably as good as it was going to get.
“Don’t really feel like driving if that’s okay with you” she said, focusing on the wall passed his shoulder, ignoring the blooming black bruises around his eye that trailed down his side until they were covered with plushy white fabric. “Besides, better for you to be here in case something happens with your stitches. I can check on you in a couple hours to make sure there isn’t any additional bleeding.”
He gave her a jerky nod in response, a look that could have been gratefulness passing over his face.
She handed him the clothes so she didn’t need to say anything else and then pointedly turned around. “Wait on the shirt” she said over her shoulder. “I’m probably going to need to rewrap your shoulder.”
She focused on taking out the gauze again as she heard the rustling of clothes behind her.
She patched him up quickly and efficiently, and then lead him into the bedroom. He immediately looked uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, edging back towards the door. Tara just shrugged and said “I’ll be out on the couch. Pretty sure doctors orders are bed rest” and shut the door before he could open his mouth to protest.
She felt vaguely guilty about leaving him alone for all of five seconds before she decided she’s been a mom too long and he’s a grown biker and can probably handle himself.
She then settled down on the couch and read until she fell asleep.
Jax didn’t come home.
---
At about four in the morning Tara blinked awake to Juice quietly trying to slip out the back door.
“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
“Clubhouse” Juice replied, at least having the decency to look slightly sheepish about it.
“And how were you planning on getting there?” she questioned in a more alert voice, stretching wide, the cracking of her spine sounding overly loud in the quiet of the still house.
“Walking?” Juice answered, studiously looking at the ground.
“At –“ Tara tapped the screen of her cellphone and then continued “3:56 in the morning?”
Juice didn’t look numb anymore. He looked jittery. On the edge of panic.
“Why not wait ‘till the morning?” Tara asked, eyes intent on his face.
“I can’t-” Juice shrugged helplessly, jerking his head to the side as if he had tried to meet her eyes but then thought better of it at the last second. “I don’t like being alone very much.” He finished awkwardly, as if each word was physically costing him something.
“Who’s at the club house?” Tara asked, now the one that was studiously looking at the floor.
“Maybe no one” he replied. The ‘but maybe-‘ was left hanging unsaid in the air. Tara didn't ask why he was raring to go somewhere that just under five hours ago he had been terrified of. She got that. That had been her reality for the last 4 years. She just blinked tiredly and then patted the couch next to her, pulling the blanket aside and glaring until he crawled in.
They didn’t say anything else that night. No parts of their bodies touched. He fell asleep first. Scooched as far away from her as humanly possible on the small couch, crunched into the opposite arm rest, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Tara fell asleep later, curled cat like into the cushion – but not before she tightly wrapped the comforter she had been using to keep herself warm around Juice's limp frame.
He was gone by the time she woke up, and the comforter was once again wrapped around her shoulders.
She hadn’t expected anything less.
When Jax finally came home she didn’t ask about Juice. He looked exhausted and Tara found she didn’t care. She didn’t want to know why.
She didn’t want to know anything about him.