SOA Fic: a strike of lucky quarters

Nov 08, 2009 23:57

a strike of lucky quarters jax/tara, pg.
we all try to live our lives at the end of the day. post-ep for fa guan. 804 words.

-

He’s at the door before she looks up. Abel makes a soft sound in the crib.

“It’s late,” Jax says and she can smell the smoke too. It changes the room. The light coming in from the hall is suddenly dim, hazy almost. She looks around first, as if to reassess. Her jacket still rests across the rocking chair and her bag lives somewhere, back in the kitchen.

She runs a hand over Abel’s belly. There’s reassurance in the motion.

“Just put him down,” she says quietly. Her mouth turns slowly and Jax comes into the room, his boots scuffling over the carpet. He joins her at the crib.

“I’m late,” he mumbles.

“I know.”

It’s been a news day, between Gemma and work and the club; everything’s back to sliding around, trying to wear the same faces, and Tara’s sure she’s going to have to take another step back, just to make sure she’s handling things right for the both of them.

She stays smiling a little. Her fingers run lightly over Abel’s belly again, over the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He almost stirs and his arms crawl back into a stretch, his hands already fists. She readjusts the blanket and remembers something Gemma said about Abel and Jax both sleeping on their backs. It’s kind picture of father and son and with Abel, there’s this motherly tendency to care about these details.

“He good today?”

Tara looks up as Jax brushes his fingers against the baby’s head. His face relaxes briefly and his mouth wrinkles into half-smile.

“Perfect,” she says.

He nods and kisses her. His mouth is tired against hers, sloppy and hot. She steadies a hand over his arm.

“I still smell like the hospital.”

Jax laughs lightly against her mouth and then pulls back. He turns a gaze back to the baby, dropping his hand into the crib. He rolls his fingers against his forehead.

They’re quiet, watching Abel. Like any other night, she thinks. There’s a break of light in the room, a car that passes by the house. Someone who stops - she doesn’t know. Next to her, Jax straightens.

“What’s going on?” she asks finally and she’s serious, which seems to surprise him. He gives her a look that she doesn’t understand, but simply worries her. It’s not like it used be, him and her and this childlike indifference that was okay when they were kids. She worries now and he just understands.

She pulls her hand away from the baby. It settles around the crib railing, flicking lightly against the wood.

“Listen -”

Abel sighs and turns into Jax’s hand. Jax pulls his hand back and Tara frowns.

“You were late,” she says gently.

Jax inhales sharply. “I know,” he says. His answer’s hesitant, slow even. She tries not to think about even as he leans over and kisses her jaw. “I just - I’m not gonna be angry at home. I just need a minute to sort everything out before I go and talk about it. I guess. I don’t know.”

For a strange second, he sounds lost. Her hand curls around his arm and she pulls herself to him, her mouth brushing against the side of his head. The leather of his vest presses against her neck, sticky and reassuring. The smell of smoke is thicker this way, pungent even as she tries to breathe him in.

She keeps a grip on Jax.

“I heard about the fire.”

He sighs. “Mom?”

There’s faint amusement. She almost smiles. She feels his hand in her hair too, his fingers picking lightly at a few, loose strands.

“Yeah,” she says.

He doesn’t say much of anything else. She feels him shift his weight against her, never too much because it’s never been the kind of guy that Jax is. Instead she slides an arm around his back and curls another hand around his arm as she pulls him into a makeshift hug.

Below them, Abel coos and is neither awake nor aware of the two of them like this. Tara leans into Jax’s shoulder, closing her eyes. She tries and gives him the moment.

“We okay?”

It’s something he would ask now, she thinks or remembers. These days some things have decided to remain interchangeable. But it’s not a bad thing, or a good thing, just the sort of thing he would ask and she would remember falling in love with him for: because he asked, because he still cares to ask. Things, sometimes, she’s not entirely sure she deserves.

Tara kisses his shoulder. His mouth slides against her cheek and then her jaw. He almost seems to ask the question for a second time. It’s what he needs again.

Her throat is nearly too tight. “We’re always going to be okay,” she murmurs.

character: tara, show: sons of anarchy, pairing: jax/tara

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