Welp. I guess I decided to publish here after all. :) Enjoy...


i sit and watch your flowers wilting in the kitchen
i felt like i was one of them gasping for air
i go from room to room hoping to find you
i play my music louder than you'd like me to
Better Than Ezra, "Get You In"

August 2002

Olivia Gable hadn't seen Juice Ortiz since their senior year of high school. Christmas, in fact. She'd been eighteen, he was seventeen, and he'd come from California to visit her in West Virginia. For one reason or another that visit had marked the beginning of the end for them, and within a few months they'd split up.

Well. Minor correction: she broke up with him. He'd been against it and she'd…

It was a long time ago, and the only reason Olivia was thinking about it now was because of the phone call she'd just gotten. Tara. To tell her Juice's mother had died after a final bout with breast cancer.

Three years, roughly, though in truth closer to four. Three years since that Christmas and the end of her relationship with Juice, and they hadn't spoken once. Olivia hadn't been back to Charming since the day she and her father left there, but she knew she had to go now.

Ana Ortiz was a kind woman, and she'd always treated Olivia well. She wanted to pay her respects.

And what was the big deal? She could handle seeing Juice. It had been three and a half years. That was forever at their age. The difference between eighteen and twenty-two was huge. She'd started college. Quit college. Travelled the country. She was on the verge of having her first solo show.

Juice, she imagined, had patched into SAMCRO by now—since she knew through Tara (who she still talked to on the regular) he hadn't gone to college, preferring to stay home and close to his mom as she got sicker, then well again, then sick again.

Tara wasn't really in contact with anyone back home since she'd moved to Chicago, so she didn't have fresh scoop. Olivia wondered how she'd heard about Juice's mom. Maybe Juice called her. Jax wouldn't have. Or Gemma. Donna was a possibility.

Olivia was going. She would regret it if she didn't. It was a long drive, but doable, and the gallery had her show well in hand. They could spare her for a few days.

She should call her dad. He wouldn't be able to get off work on such short notice, or swing the flight, but he should at least know. She could put both their names on the flowers.

A mental to-do list began to form as she wandered from room to her in her sunny apartment. Call her dad. Call a florist. Call the gallery. Ask her neighbor to feed the cat. Take her black dress to the cleaners.

Her hand went to her throat, where she still wore the opal necklace Juice had given her. She should leave it at home. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

But the idea of taking it off—no. What did it matter? It was a pretty piece of jewelry that suited her. Besides, Juice had surely moved on by now. He probably had some cute girlfriend who loved to perch on the back of his bike and brag about being an old lady.

Or maybe he was hot and heavy with a crow eater, and she got all territorial when the other girls looked at her man. Because of course all the crow eaters looked at Juice: he was adorable and sweet and really good—

She cut that thought off with a scowl. "Way to be unhelpful," she muttered at her own brain.

Change the oil in the Cougar. Find her mom's pearl earrings. Reschedule her hair appointment. And the last fitting.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the best timing, but it was important. She could do it if she worked extra hard when she got home.

Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she searched her jewelry box. She should take that purple sweater. Juice had always liked her in purple.

Not that it mattered what Juice did or didn't like her in; she wasn't going for Juice. She was going to say goodbye to Ana. Olivia and Juice were long over.

Olivia had moved on. So why wouldn't he?

The idea didn't make her sad, exactly. More, sort of…nostalgic. Which was fine. Nostalgia was fine. Anything more than that could be trouble. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hall mirror as she went past, and she rolled her eyes at herself.

Keep it together, Gable. It's gonna be fine.

One little road trip. She was sort of an old hand at them, wasn't she?


Juice had been keeping it together pretty well, really. His mom had been in hospice care for a while, and when the end finally came it was more of a relief than anything. She'd been in so much pain there at the end, no matter how much morphine they gave her, and he'd held on to her hand and just kept talking: you remember that time I tried to make you a cake for your birthday and almost set the oven on fire? You remember how mad I was when you decided to move us to Charming? I never thanked you for that, I shoulda thanked you, I shoulda said…

A million things. She'd been sick for a long time, but that didn't mean you could ever really prepare for it. Not completely.

Gemma had been great, of course, helping with everything: the funeral arrangements, notifying everybody, sending the crow eaters by his place with a constant stream of food. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten so well.

They'd offered other things, too, more in keeping with their speciality, but he'd turned them all down. The girls were good for some fun, and he enjoyed them from time to time—even though he wasn't in the club, not even a prospect—but it didn't seem right just now. Sex was the last thing on his mind (for maybe the first time in his life), but they all seemed to understand.

Nobody mentioned Olivia. He sort of, maybe, in the back of his mind, hoped she'd come down from Portland, but he hadn't planned on it. He didn't think anyone had even told her; Gemma probably wouldn't've called, and he didn't realize Tara even knew. When he didn't see her at the receiving he figured she wasn't coming, and he accepted it with a sort of pang in the pit of his gut.

She'd moved on. It had been three and a half years, after all, and just because he'd spent it waiting for her, thinking about her, wanting her didn't mean she had. Maybe he should talk to Chibs about prospecting for the MC. He'd offered several times, and so had Jax, but Juice had always turned them down. He knew Olivia didn't want to be an old lady, and she might not even want to settle in Charming. He wanted to be ready in case she came back, and he wanted her to know he was serious about trying again.

Except it didn't look like she was coming back. If this hadn't brought her, then what would? She didn't really have anything here anymore, though once upon a time he thought she had him. Even after she ended it he thought that, because their thing hadn't been some fluke. It hadn't been high school infatuation. They loved each other. He knew that. He would bank anything he had on it.

All of that and more flashed through his head as he got ready for the funeral. His mom, always a planner, had told him what she wanted him to wear, so it was with a grim sort of determination that he got dressed: black suit, white shirt, thin black tie. Shiny black shoes that he'd polished the night before. He checked his reflection on the way out the door and smoothed his tie with a frown. He felt like an idiot, but it was one last thing he could do for his mom.

Gemma waited to pick him up, because going to your own mother's funeral on a motorcycle (while wearing a suit) seemed a little strange. She offered a sad smile when she saw him and leaned over the console to wrap him in a hug.

"How you doin', baby?"

He hitched a shoulder. "Okay, I guess. Thanks for the ride."

"No problem."

The church was packed, which surprised him. But it shouldn't have. People loved his mom. She was active at church, in Charming itself, and the customers at the garage thought she hung the moon. Plus there was the MC, of course, and members of some other charters. He'd asked the SAMCRO guys to sit with him in the family pew so he wouldn't be all alone, and when he finally trudged down the aisle, behind her casket, he saw that there was an empty space next to Gemma.

He also thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, a familiar flash of bright hair, but he was probably imagining things. Or, please, Olivia wasn't the only redhead in California. It could be anybody.

The funeral mass seemed to last forever, and as he knelt for the prayer, stood for the hymns, crossed himself and mouthed the familiar responses, he felt hollow. What was he going to do without her? He was an adult, and it wasn't like he…but still. She was his mom, and it had been just the two of them his whole life.

He kept his head down on the way out. Barely noticed the crowd around him at the graveside service.

He stood next to the grave for a long time after everyone had scattered, and finally Jax came back to lead him away. "Come on, brother," he said, even though they weren't. "Everybody's at Gemma's. They all wanna pay their respects."

"It was a nice funeral, wasn't it?" he said. He tried to wipe his eyes so Jax wouldn't see, but he was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

"Yeah, man. Your mom would've liked it."

"Yeah," Juice said. "She liked the new priest, too. He's the one who came to the hospice place. He did a good job."

Jax didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded. He knew Juice wasn't really talking to him anyway: more just talking. He got Juice loaded into Gemma's car and shared a brief smile with his mom before he went to get his bike.

"You okay?" Gemma said. "Holdin' it together?"

He nodded and watched the scenery pass by the window. "Sure," he said. "Well enough, I guess."

She patted his knee. "You're gonna get through this, sweetheart. We're all here for you, whatever you need."

"I know, Gem. Thanks."

The crowd was thick at the Teller-Morrow house, and Juice tried to find a quiet corner, but it was impossible. Everyone—even people he swore he'd never seen before in his life—had to come talk to him. Tell him some story about Ana, some time she'd done something nice for them or gone out of her way to help. He nodded through it all, a vague sort of smile on his face, and picked at the food they brought.

Everything seemed sluggish and slow, the colors muted to a dull gray, and it was hard to focus his eyes. He wondered when he'd last slept, like really slept. Before she died, for sure, because in those last few days he could barely close his eyes for fear when he opened them again she'd be gone.

He worked his way through the press, stopping now and then to shake a hand and listen to a kind word. They meant well. He knew they did. But God he had to get out before he went nuts.

He escaped onto the deck. There were a few people out there, but mostly MC guys smoking, and when Chibs saw his face he jerked his head toward the house.

"Let's give the lad a moment, aye?" he said to the others, and they fell in step behind him, patting Juice's shoulder or his back as they went by, and finally, finally, he was alone.

He raised shaking hands to his head and squeezed. He could hear the wind through the trees. The birds calling back and forth. The occasional car out on the road. But the sounds of the party (gathering?) were muted, and he was grateful. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet, and a rueful sigh escaped when he heard the door open and close behind him.

"Oh! I didn't—I'm sorry. I didn't see you out here."

His eyes opened and he didn't turn around. He'd know that voice anywhere. He dreamt of that voice. He hadn't heard it in over three years, but it didn't matter. Her surprised exclamation had made his pulse spike and the blood rush to his face in a hot wave. The world around him had gone crystal clear, and everything was back to full technicolor.

He turned slowly, his hungry gaze absorbing bits of her at a time: the hair. It was her hair he'd seen in the church after all. Long white legs. Freckles scattered across her arms. She wore a fitted, sleeveless black dress that fell to just above the knee and was cut high in the front. A familiar opal winked against the dark fabric, and he couldn't get past it.

"Juice?" she said, softly.

Finally he looked her in the face, and his breath caught like he'd been punched in the gut. Three years had done her well. She looked like a woman now, the lines of her face etched more clearly than they'd been at eighteen. Her cheekbones were sharp, her features bold as ever, and her eyes—

Exactly how he remembered them, green the color of spring.

"Liv," he said on a rough exhale. "I didn't think you'd come."

Her full mouth eased into a shy smile. "Of course I came. Tara called to tell me, and I—your mom was wonderful. I had to come."

He couldn't help but smile back, the first real smile since…well, he couldn't remember. A really long time. "You look good, Liv," he said. "Portland suits you, I guess."

"You do too, Ortiz." She gestured toward her head. "Nice hair."

"Ah." He rubbed a hand back and forth across his mohawk. "Yeah. It's sorta somethin' I'm tryin'. My mom hated it."

"Mmm," she said, a low noise of amusement. "I think I did too, at first. When I saw you at the church. But I don't know. It suits you."

He was taller than when she'd last seen him. Or so she thought. She wore heels, not very high, but still she had to tilt her head back further than she remembered. He'd shed his suit jacket at some point, and while he still had some of his old baby pudge, she could see muscles moving beneath the crisp material of his shirt.

There were bags under his eyes. New lines around them, and bracketing his mouth. When he'd smiled she got the feeling he hadn't done it in a while, and that he'd almost forgotten how. He looked younger than twenty-two—he would always have a baby face—but still. The last three plus years had aged him more than she would've guessed, and it hurt her to see it.

The moment stretched between them as they watched each other. She felt—she wasn't sure what she felt. A flutter in her belly and a rush of color to her cheeks. She wanted to look away, but his eyes held her as surely as his arms might. If she took a step closer. If she—

She cut that thought off half-formed. "It's good to see you, even like this."

"Yeah, Olivia," he said, another tiny smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

Neither of them knew how long they might have stood like that, just staring at each other across the distance between them, because just then the door opened again and Gemma stuck her head out.

"Oh," she said, her tone much dryer than Olivia's had been. "I guess you two found each other. Juice, sweetheart, people are asking for you. The priest just got here."

Juice frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, Gem. I'm coming." He flashed Olivia an apologetic grimace before he slipped past Gemma into the house.

Olivia turned toward Gemma with a smile. "Gem. It's good to see you."

"Uh huh." She stepped out onto the porch and crossed her arms over her chest. "How's Portland?"

"It's fine. How's Charming?"

"Fantastic."

"Good," Olivia said. "So. Small talk over?"

Gemma took a step forward and glared down at Olivia. "Listen, little girl. This town is your home. You know that and I know that, and if you wanna come back here, that's fine. But don't you dare. Don't you dare get that boy mixed up over you again. Not sure he ever got over the first time, and that's the last fuckin' thing he needs."

Olivia frowned, taken aback by Gemma's vehemence. "I'm not here to get anyone mixed up, Gemma. I just wanted to pay my respects to Ms. Ortiz."

She snorted. "Glad to hear it. Maybe you should quit lookin' at him like that, though."

"Like what?" she said. "I was just looking. We were talking. It's polite to look at someone when you're having a conversation."

"Sure," Gemma said. She sighed and shook her head. Her expression softened, but her tone stayed sharp. "Just be careful, Olivia."

"Gemma. I'm going back to Portland tomorrow. What could possibly happen in, like, eighteen hours?"

"With you two?" Another snort, even more skeptical than the first one. "Anything, sweetheart. Any goddamn thing."

Olivia couldn't really argue with that point. She'd felt the heat that still lingered there, after all. But she knew Gemma was wrong. She had no intention of messing with Juice. The encounter they just had was probably the last time they'd speak to each other, unless she sought him out to say goodbye.

By this time tomorrow she'd be back in Portland and back to her life, and Juice would barely remember she'd even been here at all.


So listen. What you just read is literally all I have written of this fic right now, but I wanted to go ahead and start publishing just so I could get some feedback. *shrug* Needy writer is needy. I know where I'm going, and honestly I think most of my block was just getting it started.

So we'll see. ;)