SUMMARY: The world doesn’t stop when Opie dies. It just… drags. Slower. Heavier. Like every mile is uphill, and no one told your lungs how to breathe without him in the room.
You’re left picking up pieces that don’t fit anymore—his cut still hanging by the door, his voice living in the silence, his absence louder than anything else. And Jax… he’s just as wrecked. Different kind of broken, but just as deep. He lost his brother. You lost your husband.
Grief makes strangers out of people. Or it stitches them together.
WARNINGS: Grief and loss, major character death (Opie), emotional trauma, slow-burn romance, guilt, mentions of violence, canon-typical themes, healing through shared loss.
CHAPTER 1 - BROKEN BONES
CHAPTER 2 - FRACTURED LINES
Time didn't heal. That was a lie people told so they could sleep at night. Time didn't stitch you back together — it just dulled the edges until you stopped bleeding on everyone around you.
Weeks stretched into months, and the hole Opie left in your chest was still wide open. But you'd learned how to cover it up. You went to TM every morning, put on a smile that didn't reach your eyes, and buried yourself in work. Grease under your nails, paperwork stacked high, and Abel tugging on your shirt when he wanted you to chase him around the lot.
Abel was your anchor. That little boy could drag a laugh out of you when no one else could. You held him through tantrums, through sticky popsicle fingers, through nights when he cried for a mother who wasn't there. You whispered to him in the dark that he was safe, that you'd never leave, even though you weren't sure you believed in forever anymore.
Jax noticed. He noticed everything. The way you lit up when Abel reached for you. The way your hands shook less when you had him in your arms. And the way your grief, sharp and raw, softened around his son.
One night, after a long day at TM, Jax leaned against the garage doorframe, cigarette glowing between his fingers, watching you wipe grease off Abel's cheeks. His voice was low, rough.
"You're good with him, darlin'."
You shot him a look, tired but fond. "He's the only man around here who doesn't drive me crazy."
Jax smirked, but there was something in his eyes. Something heavy. He didn't push it, just took a drag of his smoke and exhaled slow. But that look stayed with you long after you drove home.
Sleep never came easy. Nights were the worst — the house too quiet, the bed too big. You started leaving the TV on, static voices filling the silence, but it didn't fool your body. You'd wake in a cold sweat, reaching out for a man who wasn't there.
One of those nights, there was a knock on your door. You dragged yourself out of bed, hair a mess, sweatshirt hanging loose on your frame. Jax was standing there, helmet in hand, eyes tired like he hadn't slept either.
"Couldn't stay at the clubhouse," he muttered.
You didn't even hesitate. You stepped aside, and he walked in. He didn't take the couch — he just dropped down on the floor by your bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For hours, you lay there in silence, both of you staring at the ceiling. Every now and then, he'd shift, the leather of his kutte creaking. Finally, in the dark, his voice came quiet.
"I see him everywhere, y'know? Close my eyes, he's there. Hear his laugh, his voice. Then I wake up, and he's fuckin' gone."
Your throat tightened. "Me too."
Jax didn't move, didn't look at you. But after a beat, his hand slid up onto the bedspread, resting close enough that your fingers brushed. He didn't grab your hand, didn't push. Just let it sit there, steady, until you finally closed your eyes and drifted off.
It was the first time you'd slept more than an hour since Opie died.
The weeks stacked up, grief twisting into routine. You and Jax worked side by side at TM, fixing bikes, running parts, sharing smoke breaks in the alley. You didn't talk much about Opie — sometimes the silence said more than words could.
But there were moments.
Like when you found one of Opie's old ratchets buried in a toolbox and froze, staring at it like it might burn you. Jax was at your side instantly, his hand curling over yours, voice low. "He'd want you to use it, babe."
Or when you saw Opie's photo taped to the memorial wall, that wide grin that had been yours alone. Your knees went weak, and Jax was there again, arm steady around your waist, holding you up without a word.
The bond between you was unspoken. Shared loss welded you together.
But there were cracks in the weld, too — sparks of something you didn't want to name.
Like the way your heart thumped when Jax leaned over your shoulder, warm breath brushing your ear as he showed you how to fix a carb. The way his laugh pulled a smile from you, even when you swore you'd forgotten how. The way Abel's little voice calling "Mommy?" by mistake made your chest ache in a way you didn't know how to handle.
You shoved it down. You had to. He was your husband's best friend. The man who carried his coffin. Anything else was betrayal.
At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.
One evening, you and Jax sat on the porch steps outside Gemma's, Abel asleep inside. The crickets buzzed in the warm air, smoke curling from Jax's cigarette. He passed it to you, and you took a drag, the burn grounding you.
"You ever think it's wrong?" you asked suddenly, voice sharper than you meant.
Jax's brows furrowed. "What?"
"This." You gestured between you. "Us sittin' here, pretendin' like it's normal. Like we ain't thinkin' about him every second."
Jax was quiet for a long beat. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It ain't wrong to breathe, darlin'. He'd want you to. He'd want me to. If all we do is drown in it, then what the hell did he die for?"
You stared at him, anger and guilt and longing all tangled in your chest. "You make it sound so simple."
He huffed a humorless laugh. "Ain't simple. Nothin' about this is. But I can't lose you too."
The words hung heavy in the night. You didn't respond. You just handed the cigarette back, fingers brushing his, and stared at the stars until the silence swallowed you both whole.
The first time it almost happened was at TM, late one night. You were both finishing up paperwork, the shop quiet except for the ticking of cooling engines.
You looked up from the desk to find Jax watching you. Not in the casual way he always did, but something deeper, heavier. His eyes swept over your face, lingering like he was memorizing every line.
Your breath caught.
He leaned in, slow, hesitant, like he was giving you every chance to stop him. His hand brushed your cheek, thumb trailing soft along your jaw. For a second, you swore you felt the world tilt.
But just before his lips touched yours, you flinched back, heart pounding. "I can't. Jax, I—"
Pain flashed in his eyes, but he pulled back instantly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."
You wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in your throat. So you just turned back to the paperwork, pretending the moment hadn't just split you in two.
The push and pull tore at you in the weeks that followed. Every time you laughed with him, guilt gnawed at your ribs. Every time his hand brushed yours, you burned and froze at the same time.
But the truth was there, unspoken, lurking between every glance, every shared silence. Jax was the only one who understood the depth of your loss because it was his loss too. And in that shared grief, something new was taking root, whether you wanted it to or not.
One night, Abel crawled into your lap, half-asleep, mumbling against your chest. Jax watched from across the room, a softness in his eyes you hadn't seen in years.
"You look good with him," he said quietly.
Your throat tightened. "Don't, Jax. Don't make this harder."
He stood, crossing the room, stopping just inches from you. His voice dropped low, rough. "Ain't tryin' to make it harder. Just tellin' you what I see."
You met his gaze, heat sparking in your chest despite the guilt, despite the grief. And for the first time, you didn't look away.
Warnings: Suggestive themes, mentions of death, and angst
Word Count: 4.2k
Requested by @anzaisaki
(A/N:) Okay apparently I cannot write small imagines for Nicholas! XD I had one idea and it rolled downhill until it became this! XD I had so much fun writing it and I hope it’s as much fun to read as well! I adore his character and I hope to see more of him than what was in the original Trigun series! But that leaves us fanfic writers to have some fun and give the readers what they desire! I had a lot of fun with this request and I hope it’s everything you wished for. I tried tagging you so I hope you can find it! So until next time happy reading! ~Countess
When you had started this journey you had thought that it was everything that would make life better. Your husband had agreed instantly, wanting better for you both and the child on the way. He even pushed harder to relocate when the doctor told you both you were expecting twins. One mouth was going to be expensive enough to feed, but he was ecstatic so you couldn’t dread having two kids to look after. He wanted the best for you and the babies, that made you soar above cloud nine. The journey started out easy, despite the heat and the dust. It was until halfway there that the trials became harder and harsher did you finally start to regret leaving the place you had called home for years. Then tragedy struck, your husband gave his life protecting you and the life within from bandits who took everything you both had. The only thing you had left to your name was a small sack with just a few meager possessions, a torn photo, and a little bit of money. You hid your stomach well as you knew some foul criminals would use your state to take advantage of whatever they desired. After your husband had breathed his last you trudged onward, on foot to the next town. It had taken you several days and with no water. By the time you made it, you were dusty, exhausted, and on the verge of collapse. Despite the horrors of the world an elderly couple did take pity on you. They opened their home to you and fed you, bathed you, and promised to keep the life you carried inside a secret.
You didn’t stay long as you didn’t want to be a burden but now as you sat at a rickety table at a less than desirable establishment you were regretting not staying within the comfort of that home. You still had a ways to go until you reached your destination, the last wish your husband breathed was for you to continue on. To arrive and make the life you would build better for the little ones and yourself. You shook your head blinking back tears in frustration as you couldn’t help but feel despair bubbling up. If your husband couldn’t survive. How would you? You had no weapon, no means of transport, you could barely afford the necessary food and water for the journey. You wallowed quietly, unaware of your surroundings until the chair before you scraped the floor and a man plopped down. His shaggy black hair dusting his brow, while sunglasses hid his eyes from view. He propped a large canvas wrapped cross against the table. Without so much as acknowledging you he held up two fingers gaining a waitress’s attention.
“Two waters,” he told her, “and two specials and make the lady’s a little extra portion.”
You opened your mouth to protest but too late the woman rushed away to get the order in. Business was slow and like she knew that you would argue she took off. You glared at the man while he just smiled easily leaning back in his chair.
“I don’t even know you. Get lost,” you snarled as you weren’t really in the mood to deal with any kind of nonsense at the moment. Nor did you have the money to spend on food, let alone an extra portion (despite your babies needing the food).
“Don’t have to know me for me to do a kind deed,” he still smiled easy and it infuriated you more.
“For what kind of payment,” you questioned readying yourself to sprint out of here. “What’s your angle?”
“Let’s just say I’m a sucker for a good sob story and you look like you have one heck of a doozy to tell. Plus I don’t like the way them guys over there are looking at a pregnant lady.”
You jolted up with eyes wide. “You can tell?!”
“Not everyone has the senses I do, or pays attention to minor details but you keep your arms wrapped around your stomach. So either you have a REALLY bad stomach ache or your pregnant. And seeing as you aren’t green in the gills, yet. Gotta be pregnant. Congratulations!”
“What kind of priest are you?”
He grunted leaning forward patting the cross with one of his large hands, “Undertaker actually. But I’m an undertaker with a good listening ear. Mind unburdening yourself, you’ll feel better.”
“My husband was killed about a week ago,” you started, surprised that you were actually telling this man your story. He smiled leaning back in his chair again, readying himself for as long as you would go on.
“My condolences,” he interrupted a sad frown pulling at his lips.
“Thank you. He protected me and the babies and lost his life for it.” You sniffed wiping at the tears that threatened to fall. “He’d do it again, but we were on our way to find a better life and he wanted me to finish our journey to Octovern so the babies would grow up safe and have a good life. But it’s going to be difficult on my own. All our belongings were stolen as well, it’s a miracle they didn’t kill me.”
“Twins huh,” he asked at hearing you say babies. You nodded about to continue when the sudden presence of the returning waitress interrupted you.
The waitress set the two plates down before each of you, yours mounded with a little extra food and a rare glass of clear water. Nicholas nodded for you to eat as he handed the right amount of money to the server.
“My treat,” he said.
“For what price,” you still didn’t trust him. Everyone had a motive behind it if they helped anyone.
He sighed, “Caught me. I’m actually on my way there myself and I’m needing to make money on the way. There’s no better way than escorting a pretty pregnant lady to her destination. All I ask is half up front and I’ll even give you a discount.”
“You’re not a priest or an undertaker,” you scoffed pushing your plate away. “You’re nothing but a con artist and I rather take the chance I won’t make it by myself. Did you not notice the part of my story where I had my things stolen?”
“No I heard that part. No need to repeat yourself sweetheart,” he shoved the plate back. “That’s why I said discount. I promise I’m worth the pay.”
You contemplated shoving the plate back at him and storming off. But he had a point. The chances of you making it to Octovern in decent shape let alone alive was slim to none. The desert world was a harsh mistress that pitied no one. You were afraid he would charge too much for his services as you had to be frugal more than just once so far. Though the possibility of killing him in his sleep later on was the table. You shook your head, horrified at yourself for thinking such a thing. This journey was beginning to change you dramatically and you rubbed your stomach trying to soothe yourself. The stranger watched you with interest and his expression warmed at the thought of your protectiveness of the babies you carried. He remembered his lonely childhood with no parents and knowing not the mother that carried him. You were double blessed as your womb was protecting two new lives. He had the sudden urge to make sure these unborn children had their mom to grow up unlike he did.
“10,000,” he sudden spoke while you chewed thoughtfully.
You hid your reactions well as his asking price would clean you out. You had planned on finding a place to work as soon as you arrived at Octovern, until you had to give birth. But he would leave you destitute, living on the streets. Your mind circled around trying to find some sort of plan where everything could work out in your favor. He waited a little bit before his foot began to tap in impatience.
“Kind of steep don’t you think,” you spoke still trying to buy yourself some time.
“I cut you a huge break sweetheart,” he replied taking a gulp from his water cup. “All I ask is half up front. I did just pay for your meal to, the least you can do is finish it.”
“Stop calling me sweetheart and we have a deal,” you shoveled food in your mouth fighting the urge to throw it at him and storm off in frustration.
“Sure thing,” he held out a hand and you took it shaking it. He paused shaking your hand with a grin still on his face and you noticed the stubble on his chin and cheeks. “Sweetheart.” You groaned it was definitely going to be a long trip.
“I do have a name,” you released his hand before sitting back down. He noticed that you suddenly had a great interest in your plate of half eaten food. Once again he was patient also sitting back down across from you, just waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to speak. “(Y/N),” you finally said. He grinned again while rummaging in his pocket just to pull out a cigarette that had seen better days. Placing it between his lips he lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. Blowing smoke away from you he finally removed his sunglasses.
“Nicolas.” He took another drag. “Nicholas D. Wolfwood and I am your humble servant. Finish up we move at dusk.”
That exchange had happened two weeks ago and now the feel of despair was settling in as you felt like you were never going to make it to your destination. Nicholas did collect half of his fee when you both had left the small town, but despite being paid you did have to admit he was going above and beyond for you. There had been several unsavory people cross your path looking for trouble, he handled them easily. Whether they needed a bloody nose or their graves came in the form of scavenger's bellies he took care of them. You shivered at the memory of the first time you had watched Nicholas kill. But he was beginning to see the alluring life of being pregnant too. Your stomach was growing by the day and now the morning sickness and nausea had started setting in. Though he shuddered every time, Nicholas unfailingly held your hair back every time the nausea came too much and you emptied your stomach on the sand. And every time you finished retching he offered you water, immediately afterwards. Night time was the roughest as you couldn’t get comfortable on the sand due to your swelling belly. You were becoming bigger than most women because you carried two inside. It didn’t help that once the heat seeped out of the golden sand it started sapping away whatever body heat you had in your body and it made your joints start to ache. Nicholas noticed your shivering, he was used to the harshness of the desert alone, but this had to be your first time alone. Your husband most likely had a mode of transportation for you both. Most of the time Nicholas traveled on foot and he couldn’t imagine doing that while carrying children. Though his cross was definitely a lot heavier, but he had gotten used to lugging it around years ago. So he laid next to you every night to help keep you warm. You protested at first but when you saw how much warmer you were all arguments fled and you slept comfortably next to his warmth.
On tougher terrain he held your hand guiding you from the safest spot to the other. He didn’t talk about himself much at all, deciding to keep most of his story a secret but he asked plenty of questions about yourself. At first you were reluctant to tell him anything, because despite him helping you he was still a stranger. You always worried about betraying your husband, you love him dearly still and you weren’t looking to find another man to love anytime soon or never. You were leaving that up to fate, though you couldn’t lie to yourself that Nicholas is a handsome man. He got a kick out of making you blush at times but he didn’t tease you often and you couldn’t help but grow to like him. You caught him staring several times during the day at your growing stomach. You couldn’t read his expression and the only thing you could guess close to was wistful. One of the big things you knew about him was he grew up an orphan and he didn’t know either of his parents. You couldn’t imagine growing up without the people who created you. It always made you sad when you started to think about how your children weren’t going to know their father. Nicholas could tell something was bothering you while you sat resting your feet and chewing slowly on a piece of dried meat.
“Got something on your mind,” he asked while smoking another cigarette.
“Just thinking about how they aren’t going to know their father,” you sniffed, the hormones making your emotions rage like a storm. You wiped at your eyes trying to give a brave smile but it wavered.
“They’re lucky to have a mom like you,” Nicholas answered. Tapping out his cigarette he moved to sit closer before taking your hand in comfort. He wasn’t one to pursue a woman who just lost the man she loved but he couldn’t help but feel a little attracted to you as you wanted nothing but the best for your children, no matter the cost to yourself. “I didn’t have either of my parents and I turned out fine.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better,” you scoffed.
“I’m trying here.” He rubbed the back of his neck, not really knowing what to do for once in his life.
You felt guilty making him feel so awkward when all he wanted to do was comfort you before the water works really began. “I’m sorry. Thank you Nicholas.”
“Come on,” he got up dusting his pants off before offering a hand to you. “We don’t like too much longer and we’ll make it. Then you’ll be rid of me and you’ll have your babies and your life will be so much better.”
With some effort you were back on your feet, your ankles tender from the weight and your back aching fiercely. “I’m ready to have them. Not just for getting pregnancy over with but I’m excited to meet them. And I think that I’ll have to tell them all about a certain undertaker with a big heart.”
Nicholas scoffed hurriedly hiding his blush as he squeezed your hand a little tighter, “Don’t flatter me.” You laughed leaning against him to show him that you were really happy that you had met him all those months ago.
The outline of Octovern stood out against the horizon a few days later and you could sob from relief. It was getting dark fast and Nicholas wanted to get you in town during the daylight hours, so you both had to camp outside one last time. You had fallen asleep from pure exhaustion and relief that your journey was coming to an end. Nicholas watched you sleep peacefully a sorrow growing in his heart that he wouldn’t be able to see you any longer. Once he got you set up somewhere safe, where you could live in peace and raise your children he would disappear. The orphanage in the town needed his assistance for a little while and then when he was done he would be gone again, until years later when he was needed once more. You had become a welcoming constant in his life and he was dreading traveling alone once more. His heart yearned for the type of companionship you had found with your husband, but that was a life he could never earn. A wife and a stable home didn’t seem to be in the card for him. Though a deep rooted part of him fantasied staying with you, raising your children with you as their father. Working like a normal man just to come home to a family who needed and adored him. He shook his head, reaching for another cigarette. His hands shook and the feeling to do the right thing overwhelmed his more selfish side. Nicholas rummaged in his pocket, taking the money you had paid him and gently placing it back in your pack while you slept. He sat back down keeping watch so you could replenish your energy for the last little bit of travel in the morning.
Octovern seemed really promising and it took your breath away. Nicholas held onto your arm guiding you through the people so you wouldn’t get lost from him. While it was one of the better towns it still had it’s own unsavory characters and there was no way to hide your large belly now.
“I didn’t know what I was expecting,” you said breathlessly.
“It’s hard to imagine until you see it for yourself,” he chuckled. “But I know the perfect place for you to stay. It will be safe for you and there’s easy places to work not far from it.”
Nicholas and you stood before a large building, compared to others it wasn’t near as dilapidated from the weather like others. You looked to him excitedly and he smiled in return. Apparently he was well known around the establishment as Nicholas was welcomed in with open arms. You laughed when the elderly lady squeezed him tightly making him uncomfortable. You were set up with a room and told where meals were held and what times. Before you knew it your time with Nicholas was coming to an end. You could feel the tell tale sting of tears threatening to breach your wall that you had built. Nicholas nodded at the older lady and she went in the back giving you both some privacy.
“I owe you for the other half of your fee,” you spoke while reaching into your bag. Nicholas grabbed your wrist shaking his head. He smiled softly taking you into a hug.
“I can’t ask for any more payment, you have a lot to get before starting to work,” he fought tears himself. “Take care of yourself.”
You could no longer fight your tears as they streamed down your cheeks. Nicholas tenderly kissed them away, knowing he was overstepping his bounds.
“But...”
Nicholas cut you off with a kiss to your forehead. He finally allowed himself to place a calloused hand on your stomach feeling the two kids kicking at his hand in greeting. He smiled though it wavered and a rogue tear slipped out.
“Be good for your mom okay,” he gazed back up to you. “She’s amazing.”
With one last squeeze Nicholas D. Wolfwood released you and walked away. You watched him leave, cross and all while sobbing quietly as you had grown attached to him. Nicholas didn’t look back walking to his destination, vowing to not make it harder by coming to see you again before he left Octovern, all the while still tasting the salt from your tears on his tongue. That night you found the money he returned in your bag and you couldn’t help but break again. You felt doomed never to see him again and you looked out hoping you could catch one more glimpse of the stranger undertaker.
Five years later...
After the twins were born your life had become less lonely. Missing your husband and then Nicholas took it’s toll on your mental health but once the midwives placed a pink bundle and a blue bundle in your arms everything changed. You found work where you could be home with them every night while the land lady of the housing building was more than willing to babysit during the day. Your life was a whirlwind of giving them everything you possibly could. But on lonely nights when you put the twins to bed you laid awake wondering what happened to the undertaker you had grown fond of in that short amount of time together. Your children asked for stories about their father all the time and you gladly told them, despite them making you a little sad. And while you wanted them to remember their father and be proud of the man he was, you made sure to tell them of the stranger that had protected you and them while they grew inside your belly. They made known their wish to meet the man you thought of fondly, but you knew that the chances of him ever coming into your life again was basically zero. You remembered watching him walk through the door and the overwhelming crushing feeling of being alone once more.
Fate had different plans as you had to take the twins to work with you. Your boss didn’t mind the children as they minded well and stayed in the back out of the way coloring or reading picture books. You served tables with fast efficiency as you noticed the front door swing open.
“Seat yourself wherever you like,” you called heading back to the kitchen with dirty dishes in tow. “I will be with you in just a second.”
“Is that any way to treat an old friend,” the new customer asked in a familiar smokey voice.
Your head whipped around gazing at the silhouette in the door frame darkened by the sun at his back. You caught a glimpse of the familiar mop of black hair that needed trimmed, the dark sunglasses, dusty suit, the cigarette between his thin lips, and the large cross ever present against his back. You dropped the dishes and they shattered upon impact. Everyone asked if you were okay but you rushed across the building, tears and a cry of surprise as you tackled him. Nicholas D. Wolfwood had come back into your life like a heaven sent. He caught you, bringing you to his chest while still holding his cross in a tight grip.
“Hey sweetheart,” he chuckled also blinking back tears.
“I’ve missed you,” you sobbed.
He nuzzled his cheek in your hair the stubble catching on the strands, “I’ve missed you to. I see you had your babies.”
Before you could say anything else, two little voices spoke up in concern.
“Momma!” Your twins rushed towards you and the strange man hugging their mom. Your son glared at Nicholas not knowing this stranger while your daughter looked on in awe up at the man. He chuckled at their expressions seeing you in their little faces.
“Speak of the little devils,” he kissed your forehead before squatting down in front of the two children. “I’m Nicholas a friend of your momma’s.”
He went to his pocket and you were surprised he would smoke in front of your kids. But he once again surprised you when he held two lollipops out for them. They eagerly grabbed them from his hand, unwrapping them, and then popping the treats into eager mouths. You walked to Nicholas’ again pressing into his side before gesturing towards your children he had yet to meet formally.
Pointing to your daughter, “This is Nikita.”
“She looks just like you,” Nicholas replied smiling at the five year old.
“And this,” you pointed towards your son, “is Wolfe. I guess you can tell where I got the inspiration for their names.”
“Must be one magnificent guy to inspire the names of two cute kids.”
“He’s pretty great, for a lousy undertaker,” you teased.
“This lousy undertaker really missed you,” he whispered while leaning in closer now that the children were distracted.
“I missed the lousy undertaker too,” you whispered back. He kissed you softly, letting himself give in for once since it had been years. He knew he couldn’t take advantage of his feelings with you losing your husband so close to him finding you beforehand. But now that years had passed by and he had taken time away from you, he couldn’t let the opportunity pass him by. Your soft lips pressing against his, it was better than any water he had ever tasted. He held you tighter afraid you’d pull away but you just melted right in. Threading your fingers through his mop of hair. He shivered at the feel of you, losing himself in the feeling. This is what paradise felt like, he was sure. You had become his everything across that desert and now he wasn’t willing to ever let his Eden go ever again.
Having him back felt like a dream to you. A wonderful dream that would disappear if you let go. He would probably have to leave again in due time, but for now you could have some semblance of happiness and your children could have someone to look up to. He had became your everything after losing a lot and now you were more than willing to open up your heart to him, to see where the new journey before you would take you and him. And you couldn’t dream of a better ending to your story.
SUMMARY: The world doesn’t stop when Opie dies. It just… drags. Slower. Heavier. Like every mile is uphill, and no one told your lungs how to breathe without him in the room.
You’re left picking up pieces that don’t fit anymore—his cut still hanging by the door, his voice living in the silence, his absence louder than anything else. And Jax… he’s just as wrecked. Different kind of broken, but just as deep. He lost his brother. You lost your husband.
Grief makes strangers out of people. Or it stitches them together.
WARNINGS: Grief and loss, major character death (Opie), emotional trauma, slow-burn romance, guilt, mentions of violence, canon-typical themes, healing through shared loss.
Chapter 1 - BROKEN BONES
The clubhouse smelled like stale beer and smoke, like it always did, but the air was heavier tonight, thick enough to choke you if you let yourself breathe too deeply. You'd been pacing outside, back and forth under the buzzing porch light, cigarette forgotten between your fingers. It burned low, filter hot against your skin, but you didn't even flinch.
You knew something was wrong. The minute Jax called, that low gravel in his voice saying, "Darlin', I need you to come down here," you'd felt it in your chest. That gnawing dread you'd lived with every time Opie walked out the door wearing his kutte.
The sound of boots against the wooden floor dragged your attention up. Jax stepped out, blond hair messy, his kutte hanging heavy on his shoulders. His eyes found yours, and right then, you didn't even need him to speak. You saw it. The crack in him. The grief trying to crawl out but getting buried under the weight of having to carry it for both of you.
Your throat tightened. "No," you whispered, shaking your head before he even got close. "Don't—"
"Babe..." He said it soft, a word that should've been gentle, but it cut like a blade. He tried to step closer, but you backed up, hand up like maybe you could stop him from saying it. From making it real.
"Don't you fuckin' say it, Jackson." Your voice broke sharp. "Don't you put it in the air."
He swallowed hard, jaw flexing, and for a second, he looked like the kid you'd known years ago instead of the man weighed down by a crown of shit he never asked for. He ran a hand over his mouth, breathing hard, then met your eyes again. Blue and burning, drowning all at once.
"They... they took him inside," he rasped, voice shredding on the words. "Prison yard. He didn't make it out."
It felt like the whole world cracked down the middle.
Your knees went first. Jax caught you before you hit the dirt, his arms strong and shaking at the same time, holding you up while you sobbed into his kutte. The leather smelled like smoke and oil and blood, and you hated it, hated that it wasn't Opie holding you, hated that this was the way your love story ended.
You screamed. Loud and raw, your voice ripping out of your chest, and you didn't care who heard. The night didn't swallow it — it carried, echoing against the metal and the bikes and the walls of the clubhouse. Jax just held on tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your waist like if he let go, you'd fall into pieces he couldn't put back together.
"I'm sorry," he kept muttering into your hair. "Jesus Christ, darlin', I'm so fuckin' sorry."
But sorry didn't touch it. Sorry was ashes in your mouth.
You didn't remember how he got you inside, just that one second you were outside choking on grief and the next you were on the worn leather couch in the clubhouse, knees pulled tight to your chest. Everything around you blurred — the hum of voices, the clink of bottles, even Gemma's sharp tone cutting through the background.
All you could hear was silence. The kind that screamed.
Jax crouched in front of you, hand resting careful on your leg like you were glass. "Look at me, sweetheart." His voice was low, like he was scared if he spoke too loud, you'd shatter right there.
You shook your head, nails digging into your arms. "I can't... Jax, I can't fuckin'—"
He reached up, cupping the side of your face. Rough palm, warm, grounding. "I know. I know, darlin'." His thumb brushed away tears you didn't even realize had carved down your cheeks.
You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to hit him, to make someone else feel even a fraction of what was clawing at your chest. But the way he looked at you — broken, guilty, like he'd failed you too — it killed the fight before it ever reached your fists.
Your voice came out cracked, jagged. "He promised. He promised me he'd come home."
Jax's jaw clenched hard. "He didn't have a choice, babe." His eyes burned, like fire smothered under water. "Opie... he—" His voice broke, just for a second, and you saw it, the crack in the armor. "He went out fightin'. On his feet. That's who he was. He made sure it was him, not one of us."
You pressed your hands over your mouth, trying to breathe, but it just came out as a sob. Loud. Ugly. The kind of sound that ripped your throat raw.
Jax pulled you forward, arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from the truth. You collapsed against him, fists clenching the back of his kutte. His heart was hammering, matching yours beat for broken beat.
It should've been Opie. It should've been his arms, his chest, his voice telling you everything was gonna be okay. But he was gone. And Jax was the one left to pick up the pieces.
The night bled into morning without you noticing. You were still curled on that couch, numb, staring at nothing, while voices moved around you. The guys came and went in shadows, heavy boots and heavier silence. Nobody knew what to say.
Jax never left your side. He sat there with you, quiet, cigarette smoke curling up between you both. Every now and then, you felt his hand brush yours, grounding you back into a body that felt like it didn't fit anymore.
When the sun broke through the grimy clubhouse windows, Gemma came over, her arms crossed tight. She looked at you with something fierce in her eyes — not pity, but something sharper. "You need to come home with me, baby girl. Ain't no good sittin' here."
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Words didn't live here anymore.
Jax answered for you. "She's not goin' anywhere she don't wanna." His tone was clipped, protective, the kind of voice that dared anyone to push back.
Gemma rolled her eyes, muttered something about stubborn Teller men, but didn't argue. She crouched in front of you, softer than you'd ever seen her. "Opie loved you. Don't let this place eat you alive the way it ate him."
That was when the first crack of anger cut through the grief. You snapped your head up, voice raw. "Don't you dare talk like he let it happen. He didn't choose this, Gem."
Gemma didn't flinch. She just nodded once, eyes steady. "I know, sweetheart. That's why you gotta keep breathin' for him."
Days blurred. You went back to the house you'd shared with Opie, every corner screaming his name. His boots still by the door. His jacket slung over the chair. His mug in the sink, ring of coffee dried at the bottom.
You broke down a dozen times in a dozen places — on the kitchen floor, in the shower, clutching his pillow. And every time, Jax showed up. He never knocked. He just came in, steady and quiet, like he knew you wouldn't survive the silence on your own.
One night, you were sitting on the floor in front of the couch, empty bottle beside you, when the door creaked open and Jax walked in. He stopped when he saw you, sighed low.
"Darlin'..."
You laughed, sharp and bitter, wiping at your face. "Don't. Don't fuckin' call me that. That's what he called me."
Jax froze, guilt flashing in his eyes. He stepped closer anyway, lowering himself to the floor beside you. "Alright. Then what do you want me to call you?"
You stared at him, anger flickering like a candle in the wind, then blew out in exhaustion. "Nothing. Just sit here. Don't talk."
So he didn't. He just sat, back against the couch, arm brushing yours. Two broken people, side by side, breathing in the same grief.
The only light in the dark came with Abel.
Gemma had you helping out at TM, watching the boy while she handled business. At first, you thought it was just busywork to keep your hands from shaking. But the first time Abel toddled over, arms up, calling your name in his small, sweet voice — something cracked open in your chest.
You lifted him into your arms, his little hands grabbing at your hair, and for the first time since Opie's death, you smiled. It was small, fragile, but real.
Jax saw it. He was leaning against the doorway, cigarette between his fingers, watching. His chest ached at the sight — you holding his son like he was your own, light breaking through all that grief.
Later, when you set Abel down for his nap in Gemma's office, Jax caught you in the hall. "He loves you," he said, voice low.
You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your throat tightened. "He's the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm broken."
Jax's eyes softened. "That's 'cause you ain't. Not really. Just bent. And we'll fix that."
You wanted to believe him. But all you could think was: Opie was gone. And nothing fixed that.
Weeks passed, grief dulling from raw and jagged to a deep, constant throb. You learned how to function — how to breathe without sobbing, how to walk into the house without collapsing. But every night, when the dark closed in, you still felt the emptiness pressing in on all sides.
Jax was always there. Sometimes with words, sometimes just silence. Sometimes with Abel in his arms, pushing him into yours like he knew that little boy was the only thing holding you together.
One night, after tucking Abel in, you sat on the TM steps, staring at the stars. Jax dropped down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. Neither of you spoke for a long time.
Finally, you whispered, "It should've been me."
Jax turned sharp, eyes fierce. "Don't you ever say that shit again." His voice was harsh, but underneath was something desperate. "You hear me? Opie made his choice in there. He wanted you safe. Wanted me safe. He went out knowin' you were gonna keep breathin'. Don't throw that away."
You blinked hard, tears slipping free. "I don't know how to do this without him."
Jax's hand covered yours, firm, steady. "We'll figure it out. Together."
And for the first time since the prison yard stole your husband, you believed him. Just a little. Enough to take another breath.
