BAD BLOOD.

who: clay morrow & @gemteller​

where: teller-morrow auto shop 

when: january 1991

It wasn’t like he was going out of his way to look for Gemma, but he was going out of his way to look for her. Things seemed to be going in a direction (which was a start) for the two of them when John fucked off to Ireland. Sure, he just helped with Thomas and there was never anything physical between the two of them, but he knew there was something. He just had to try harder. But when John came back, he knew he had to back off out of respect for his president. And then Thomas died and Clay thought that he didn’t even deserve the damn title that he had. Who cares if he was in Ireland to expand the sons? It was irresponsible. Clay saw him as weak-willed now. He seemed like a changed man, he wasn’t sure if it was because of his time in Ireland or Thomas’ death. 

Clay looked around to see if anyone was near, not wanting to put Gemma in a compromising position. Not that anything was happening between the two of them anyways. He put his hands in his jean pockets as he approached her. “Hey,” He greeted her with a smile, something that he really only saved for her, “What’re you doing tonight?” Though he continued before she could answer, “Figured we could take a ride. I dunno about you, but I could sure use to clear my head.” 

•

Tense is a delicate way to describe what the last year has been like for Gemma. It seems like the hits just keep coming, with JT’s venture off to Ireland and the subsequent loss of their son following shortly after. Things aren’t good, to say the least — but somehow, in the most unprecedented way, Clay has become a constant in her life. He was there when Thomas was sick, helping out around the house if she needed it or just keeping her company on the bad days, and to be honest, Gemma appreciates the attention. How could she not when she’s practically starved for it, and he showers her with it? It’s nice to be wanted, which sounds fucked up given the horror she just went through, but Gemma’s almost desperate for someone to lean on and more often than not, Clay gives her just that. Right now, though — when they’re in public — she can’t help but feel a little stressed out about talking to him. Nothing’s happened between them, they’re simply just friends, but they’ve toed the line between friendship and something else more than once at this point, and every time Gemma’s around the man she feels her resolve fading fast. Still, she’s not going to be rude. 

“Hey,” she returns his greeting, smiling back at him before the corners of her mouth turn down again as she looks around the shop. No one’s close enough to hear their conversation, nor is anyone around even paying attention to them, but Gemma’s paranoia always seems to get the best of her. “You have no fuckin’ idea how bad I need that. Kinda seems like a bad idea though. Not afraid JT’s gonna think you’re trying to ride off into the sunset with his girl?” Her tone is teasing, and light in a way she can rarely muster anymore, but underneath the joking there’s some sincerity behind her question — they’re starting to enter dangerous territory lately, and she wonders if Clay even gives a fuck what John might think if he heard about the amount of time they’ve been spending together.

Who: Tig & @gemteller​

Where: Teller residence

When: 1988 

JT fucked off to Ireland for whatever reason Tig should probably know but he forgot and just knew that he was gone. That meant Gemma and her sweet self was on her own. Perfect opportunity to check in and see if there’s anything he can lend a hand with. Maybe clean some rusty pipes. He left the shop and stopped home for a quick shower before heading over to the Teller residence. A smile formed on his lips while he contemplated knocking or just walking in to see if Gemma was wandering around naked or not. If he was a woman as fine as her he’d never wear clothes, not in private anyways. However, the Tellers had guns and he was positive Gem knew how to use one. Knocking it was. He rapped his knuckles against the door frame and waited for her to answer. “Hey gorgeous, have any pipes that need clearing out?” Tig greeted with a mischievous smile and a wink.

As soon as Gemma opens her front door to see the curly-headed fuck that is Tig Trager standing on the other side of it, she can’t help the scowl that crosses her features. She loves Tig, honestly she does, but sometimes he can be a pain in the ass and it seems like tonight is no exception to that judging by the wink he gives her. “Jesus, Tigger, don’t be disgusting,” she rolls her eyes, but steps aside so he can come inside anyway. It’s not rare for one of the guys to show up looking for a meal or just a place to hang out, the latter more likely being a guise to check up on her, especially in JT’s absence. Still, Gemma’s feeling more on the irritable side tonight and Tig’s lewd comments never help that. “If you think I’m gonna feed you, you came to the wrong place. Got two mouths to feed already and I’m not interested in adding a third.” Except if he really wants to stay for dinner, Gemma will without hesitation make him up a plate, because even in her hostile state she can’t help but be hospitable.

who: luann & @gemteller​

when: february 1989

where: teller residence 

While Gemma and JT’s small house in the middle of town used to be somewhat of a safe haven, Luann can’t deny that it feels like something has shifted recently. The home used to be somewhere she would practically itch to get too — the building somehow feeling like it had a heartbeat of it’s own, the walls so full of love and warmth that it would be impossible to leave without carrying some of that with her. But lately… lately when she walks through those doors all she feels is despair, loneliness. She isn’t sure where the change stems from — whether Tommy’s illness has finally taken it’s last turning point, finally chipped away at the last bit of hope either of his parents may have, or if it’s from John’s excessive time spent in Belfast. Luann has a feeling even if she could put her finger on the source of it, she wouldn’t understand it — not when she had barely been able to understand the state it had been in before. Love isn’t something Luann is sure she’s ever going to understand, having only ever experienced a watered down version of it from fleeting one night stands or relationships that seem to last about as long as it takes to blink. She’s certainly never had that all or nothing, do or die kind of love she’d been so sure JT and her best friend shared.

The chill that comes when she walks through the front door is noted, and she rubs her arms to try and rid herself of it. Gemma sits at the kitchen table, beautiful as ever though Luann can see the stress pushing down on her shoulders and the uncertainty in her eyes that she tries so hard to hide. “Hey baby,” she greets with a small smile, shrugging her jacket off, head nodding toward the living room where she can hear cartoons playing. “How’s he feeling? I brought some of that chocolate cake he was talking about last week if his appetite’s still around,” she holds up a Tupperware container – one probably stolen from Gemma months ago– before sitting it on the table between them and taking a seat opposite her friend. “How’re you doing? You hear from John yet?” 

•

It’s not unusual for Luann to show up to Gemma and JT’s place unannounced and insistent on a good time, but lately the former hasn’t been a real possibility with everything going on in her life. John’s absence and Thomas’s illness have put a dark cloud over the house that Gemma can feel growing larger as time passes, and as much as she’d every much like for that not to be the case, she doesn’t exactly have the power to stop it — and she hates that, hates feeling helpless and out of control in a home she’s supposed to run. More often than not her best friend finds her sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette in hand and a blank stare on her face, trying with no luck to figure out how the fuck she managed to find herself in a place that’s got her feeling like she’s drowning all the time, and today’s no exception. Gemma takes another drag of her cigarette when Luann walks through the threshold of her kitchen, not bothering to put it out in the presence of this specific company. “Hey you,” she answers back, trying to sound friendly in a way that just comes off as fake — and being fake with Luann isn’t something Gemma can get away with. 

Her eyes drift toward the Tupperware container Luann’s toting, already dreading the battle that’s sure to come because of it despite her friend’s good intentions. “Honestly he hasn’t been eatin’ much since they’ve got him back on that breathing machine, but some shit like this might do the trick.” If nothing else, Gemma’s got no doubt that her son will at least try to keep it down considering chocolate cake’s one of his favorite things in the world. But the heart defect she’d had the misfortune of passing down to him makes it hard for him to breathe, which makes it hard for him to eat, and if he’s not flat out refusing food he ends up feeling so nauseous he can’t help but toss it all right back up. It’s a vicious cycle, one she’d love to figure out how to break, and the mention of John’s absence while she’s here trying to do just that doesn’t do anything to ease the stress that’s evident on Gemma’s features. She refuses to answer the question are you okay, because lately the answer’s always going to be a big fat fuck no but she’s never going to outright say that to Luann, so she just moves on. “Not in a little bit. S’hard with the time difference and everything I guess.”