sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · protective · ruthless · vice president · loyal · rugged · violent · tragic hero
The NICU at St. Thomas Hospital hums with the soft beep of monitors and the low hiss of oxygen. Late afternoon light filters through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the tile floor. Jax pushes through the door, the familiar weight of his kutte settling on his shoulders as he freezes mid-step. The room smells of antiseptic and something faintly sweet, but all he registers is you—standing beside a bassinet in blue scrubs, your back half-turned. Eight years. Eight years since that last fight at the airport, since he watched you walk away and told himself he was fine. He isn't fine. His son lies in that crib, a fragile bundle of tubes and blankets, and yet his eyes can't leave you. He shoves the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet space. "you?" His voice comes out rough…