Disclaimer: All characters taken from Sons of Anarchy were created by Kurt Sutter/FX. I do not claim ownership over those characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Lyrics from "Strong Enough" by Sheryl Crow. Also, slightly mature themes and language in this chapter – you've been warned. And we are disclaimed.

Nothing's true and nothing's right
So let me be alone tonight
Cause you can't change the way I am
Are you strong enough to be my man?

Lie to me
I promise I'll believe
Lie to me
But please don't leave, don't leave

I have a face I cannot show
I make the rules up as I go
Just try and love me if you can
Are you strong enough to be my man, my man?

He thinks about her less frequently as the years have passed. Not every day, but on the nights when he's had too much liquor, or when sleep comes slowly and he allows his mind to wander. He remembers the curve of her neck, the salt and sweet of her skin, her face as she came around his fingers. This is the face he sees as he bends over the countless croweaters, chasing his own release, always from behind. With Wendy, he tries to love her. Tries his best to show her the kindness she craves and the tenderness he's missed. But he notices the nights when she pulls away first, wrapping her arms around herself, crying into her pillow. The pain he's carried since she left has made him cruel, callous in a way he doesn't notice until he hears Wendy sob quietly in the dark and he doesn't move to console her. At first she says nothing. But as the time passes, and the frequency increases, she slips into conversation his mistake. As she pours coffee one morning, "you said her name" passes Wendy's lips in a small voice. Jax winces slightly, but doesn't acknowledge her statement. Time goes on and the resentment grows, festers in her chest. One night, during a particularly pointed argument, she screams, "You say her fucking name. Every god damn time. Don't you ever see me, Jax? Is it ever me?" His mouth gapes slightly, and he can't meet her eyes. She knows it's never been her.

She whispers his name in the dark. She needs to say it, needs to hear it. She calls for him hoping that somehow he'll hear her. It's a silly idea, but she's still a child in so many ways and it keeps her together on the nights when the pangs of loneliness threaten to overtake her. The years pass, time moves on without her consent and she finds herself thrust into a new reality, one she never expected but is grateful for every second. She forgets him. She leaves him behind. She no longer has time for loneliness because the selfish part of her that needed his love died on the night her son was born. He's pulled from her grasp, tiny and blue, barely alive. She knew the chances were high, a heart defect that is hereditary. The surgeons work for hours. The nurses are kind, updating her when they can. He's brought to the NICU after 12 hours. She makes her way there slowly, slightly unsure on shaky legs, using her IV pole and the wall's railing for balance. He is frail, covered in wires and tubes, and her fear is all consuming. She screams his name into the quite of the hall. Several nurses and a doctor rush to her aid, but she is thrashing against their hands violently. She is sedated soon enough, his name on her lips as she passes into sleep. Days pass, and her despondency settles like a shroud. On the third day, Margie visits her. She sits by the girl she's come to care for and holds her hand gently. She tells her to visit her baby. He needs her. She must be strong. Her words are gentle, a kindness she needs. Tara tells her she knew this could happen. She tells her more than she should, but the way Margie holds her hand reminds Tara of her mother. When she hold him for the first time, warm and pink and full of life, she weeps.

"Mom! I'm home!"

Several seconds pass, but Jax feels like an eternity stretches on before the owner of the voice appears in the kitchen. He has time to sweep his eyes around the room. He takes inventory for the first time – a soccer schedule adhered to the refrigerator door with a magnet, a lock on the cabinet Tara pulled the wine from earlier, and perhaps most glaring to him now, a row of neatly arranged pill bottles on the counter near the cordless phone. He had been so focused on her, so narrow in his pursuit that he had missed the signs of life in her home. A sheen of cold sweat beads along his back as reality crashes into him.

And then there's the boy. Jax is struck immediately by warm familiarity. This boy is Tara. He sees her in the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, and the dark thickness of his hair. But there is something else here too. It's in his posture, the chin he raises as he pushes off the door jam and saunters toward the table. He leans toward Tara, kissing her cheek swiftly, then sits in a chair directly opposite Jax. His elbows rest on the tabletop, and his shoulder hunch forward slightly as he brings his head up to meet Jax's glare. And in this moment, realization dawns on Jackson Teller for those are his eyes staring back at him.

"I'm Thomas Knowles," he says with a quick glance toward his mother. "And you're my father." His mouth quirks upward slightly, satisfied with the stunned expression that crosses Jax's features. Tara's eyes are wide and she shakes her head slightly. The boy ignores her, staring intently at Jax. "I take it you didn't know about me, then?" His tone is snide, bordering on cruel and anger begins to pool in Jax's chest. "Thomas," his mother counters, "that is enough." The boy looks over at her, and Jax feels himself relax slightly. He has been on the receiving end of Tara's icy glare. "Sorry," the boy mumbles quietly.

"Ok," she says with an exasperated sigh, "we need to start this again." They both look toward her expectantly, and Tara shudders slightly. She hadn't planned for this. Bringing Jax home tonight had been the opposite of her plan. She had hoped to convince him to leave, to go back to Charming and forget her once and for all. But as she listened to him tonight, she saw a man emerge from the ashes of trauma and memory. And this man, this man wanted to be good.

"Jax," she said his name firmly as her eyes locked with his, "this is Thomas. He is your son. When I left Charming, I was six weeks pregnant." His eyes widen, but he says nothing. "I hated that godforsaken town, but I would have stayed. I loved you." He can't help but feel his heart pinch slightly, but he remains quiet. "But your life there would have poisoned him. And after what you've told me tonight, I know that you can feel that as the truth. You are SAMCRO. And he," she stumbles slightly, and takes a deep steadying breath, "he deserved more than the we that would have existed in that life could offer. He deserved a chance to be better than us. Better than you." Her eyes are glassy but she holds his gaze. Her words stun him, their truth holding his tongue hostage. He thinks of Abel, and the young couple in Ireland, and the fear that grips him when he imagines his son, fully grown and wearing a patch. He blinks hard, then reaches for her hand. She holds his fingers tightly, and nods once.

She turns back to Thomas, a watery smile plays across her face. "I'm sorry, baby," is all she can manage but the boy is already a better man than Jax, for he throws himself into his mother's embrace. He holds her tightly, and her hand is pulled from Jax's grip as she wraps her arms around him. She whispers soothing words into his ear, and Jax watches as the boys shoulders begin to quake slightly. He buries his face into Tara's neck and she presses her lips to his temple. Jax can't look away.

Several minutes pass, and the boy regains his composure. He pulls back from his mother, looking into her eyes and nodding once, a habit he must have learned from her. He sits back in his chair, and begins to speak, quieter this time. "I've had a picture of you in my room for as long as I can remember. It's you and my mom, both leaning on a motorcycle. Your arm is around her waist, and you're both looking at each other and not the camera." The boy looks up from the spot on the table he's been intently focused on, and he meets Jax's eyes. He draws his bottom lip in under his teeth, biting down nervously. Jax nods to him, silently pleading with him to continue. "Two years ago, the night before my 11th birthday, I got really angry and threw the picture across the room. The glass in the frame shattered everywhere. Marge was here watching me. She came in and cleaned up the glass. She didn't ask me any questions, only told me I could talk to her when I was ready." Jax's eyes flicked to Tara. She was listening intently. He could tell this story was new information to her as well. "It didn't always bother me, not having a dad. Most of the time I didn't think much about it. I have my mom, and we have Marge, and that's usually enough. But that night, I was angry because Billy's dad was announced as our new soccer coach. He gave a speech about being sorry he'd missed so many games and wanting to spend more time with his kids. I just," he pauses slightly, taking a quick breath before he lets out, "I just got really angry because it wasn't fair that Billy had a dad who wanted to coach soccer, and spend time with him, and all I had was a damn picture." Tara exhales at the same time as her son. She can feel what it takes for him to tell this story, and pride swells in her chest.

He starts again, slower this time. "I went downstairs after I broke the frame, and I brought the picture to Marge. I asked her if she knew you," his eyes flick to Jax, then back to the same spot on the table, "but she said she didn't. She said she only knew what mom had told her, which was that you were both from the same town, and grew up together. That you loved each other and that's how you had me. Obviously, Marge was trying to avoid a birds and bees situation." Jax snorts slightly, and the boy looks up at him. The corners of Thomas' mouth turn up, just a little. "She said I should ask you," he looks toward his mother, "about him if I really wanted to know anything." He drops his gaze back to the spot on the table. Tara reaches out and places two fingers on the inside of his left wrist. The boy continues. "I went back to my room with the picture, and I sat with it on my bed for a while. I turned it over and found a date on the back, and Teller-Morrow, Charming. So, I uh…" he swallowed hard, "googled it. Along with what I knew already about you, which was only your name and California." He looked up at Jax then, and the anger than had been brewing in Jax's chest had completely dissipated when he saw the apology in his son's eyes. "Boolean search: Charming, California, Teller-Morrow, Jackson Teller. I found more than I wanted to know, honestly." His eyes fall back to the table, and Jax swallows hard.

Tara shakes her head slowly. "Never should have bought you that damn computer," she spits out tightly. "You should have come to me with this, Thomas." The boy nods his head slowly, and for the first time tonight his name registers with Jax. Thomas. His brother and now his son. The pills on the counter. His heart.

"Do you have it to?" The first words Jax speaks to his son are strangled, a cry escaping his parched throat. His sons stares at him, unsure of his meaning. Realization comes to Tara quickly, and she nods. "Yes, Thomas was born with a heart defect. He had his first surgery on the day he was born, and three more since. He takes a regime of medications daily and needs to be monitored closely. There are a team of doctors that keep an eye on his progress. But, he is healthy." She nods as she slowly speaks those last few words, as they are the most precious to her. Jax inhales deeply; he cannot yet fathom the depth of terror she must have experienced, but in the instant he thought his son was ill, his understanding of her choices deepens exponentially.

They sit in silence for several long moments. Tara looks at Thomas, whose gaze has returned to the table. Jax watches Tara watch their son, her protective, worried eyes studying him intently. Jax takes a deep breath, runs his hands over his face. Tara's flicks her eyes back to him and he meets her stare. They hold each other's gaze long enough for her eyes to soften slightly. He feels a rush of warmth creep up his neck. His eyes leave hers when he realizes his son is now watching them, his face more open than when he first sat down. "What now?" Thomas says quietly.

Jax reaches a hand out across the table, his palm covers the boy's hand easily. He grips harder when he feels his son's hand turn upward, palm to palm. "I need to talk to your mom. But we're going to figure this out. I promise." He holds the boy's stare, and much like his mother, Thomas gives one resolute nod. Jax reaches for Tara with his other hand, but she is slower to accept this time. He sees the doubt begin to worry her face, and he searches for the words that will make her believe him. He settles for, "please Tara" and she accepts his hand with careful, tight fingers.

"Ok."

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who is sticking with this story, reading and reviewing. I appreciate all of your feedback. I'm sure we're all still reeling from S6 and the events of the finale. There is probably another chapter and epilogue left here. This story takes on a life of it's own as I write it. A word on the previous chapter: I realized that if you are a casual SOA fan, the references to older episodes may not be immediate. Most of the events in seasons 1-4 have occurred, just without Tara. There will be no Kohn in this story, however. He's not needed. Thank you thank you thank again. Please stick with me. We'll get to the end. *I apologize for any typos, but I wanted to get this up as soon as it was finished.*