I thought about waiting till tomorrow to post this, what with the downtime and all, but I decided to go ahead and put it out tonight. See the end for some semi-important notes, and thanks as always for your kind words. :)

Yeah I went with the same quote as last time, sorta, bc it works so well.

you're not friends
you'll never be friends
you'll be in love till it kills you both...
but you'll never be friends
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 0308 "Lover's Walk"

November 2009

"This was a bad idea. Why the fuck did I let you talk me into this?"

Olivia could hear Tara roll her eyes all the way from Chicago. "Ollie! We talked about it roughly a million times. Yeah, I guess it could be a bad idea, but you won't know until you try."

"But, Tara, he said—"

"I know. I know. He said never come back to Charming. But, come on. He was pissed. People say a lot of things when they're mad, and it was a long time ago."

Olivia sighed and hit her blinker before she turned down her new street in Charming. The house was halfway down the block, a Spanish style bungalow from the twenties, and as soon as Olivia saw it in person, her heart melted a little. She pulled in the driveway and cut the U-Haul's engine.

"I take it by the lack of noise you're finally there," Tara said.

"Yup." She took a deep breath. "So, look, I did it. I'm here."

"Now get out of the truck and go inside. Start moving your shit. Oh, and call Ope. He said he'd help."

"You've talked to Opie?"

"About Project Get Olivia Back to Charming? Yep. About anything else?" There was a pause, and Olivia knew anything else meant Jax. "Nah, not so much."

"Hhhmm," she said, a low noise of disapproval.

"Oh my God. We're not talking about me now. Get out of the truck. Get your shit in the house and make your bed and call me tonight. You're not changing your mind about this. Got it?"

"What if he—"

"Ollie!"

Her mouth twisted. "Yes, ma'am. I'll call you later."

"Okay. Love you, bitch."

"You too, mega-bitch."

The last sound Olivia heard before she ended the call was Tara's scoff, and it made her smile. The expression faded as she considered the house. Most of her big stuff had gotten there ahead of her, yesterday, so her couch and bed and fridge should all be inside waiting. Still she had a daunting task ahead of her. Moving always was.

A mental to-do list began to form in her mind: call Opie. Move in her essentials, like dishes and sheets and towels. And a lamp would be nice. Hit the store for some food. Grab Chinese on the way home. Oh, also unpack books.

She dialed Opie's number, and he answered on the second ring. "You here?"

"I'm here. Where are you?"

"On my way, bossy pants. I'll grab Chinese."

She grinned. "That'd be great. See you soon."

She climbed down from the truck and made her way toward the house. It was in decent condition overall, but the yard needed work. Some tiles on the roof might need replacing. When she unlocked it and got the door open she smiled.

The floors needed refinishing, which she knew. She stepped onto the covered porch and then through to the small living room. Great fireplace, just like in the pictures. The kitchen cabinets were awful, but she'd known that, too. Everything needed fresh paint, and a couple of tiles were chipped in the bathroom.

Maybe new windows, too. These looked original. Wooden windows were expensive, but she didn't want to go with the ugly vinyl kind that wouldn't match the style of the house. Also the back deck was a hot mess. Maybe a complete tear down and rebuild.

Back at the front door she crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. "Perfect," she said aloud. Plenty of projects to keep her occupied, and Opie had already agreed to help where he could. She imagined she could talk Jax into it, too, if only because he was always desperate for the little tidbits about Tara she sometimes let drop.

Olivia was in the workshop in the backyard when she heard Opie's bike. The space, she decided, would be perfect for her work, and it wouldn't even need much to make it suitable. Some fireproofing, maybe. The old wood looked dry, and that didn't really mix with a welding torch. She shut the creaky door behind her and headed toward the driveway, a smile brightening her face when she saw him.

He knocked the kickstand down and climbed off his bike before he closed her in an enormous hug. Lifted her off her feet and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Finally," he said. "Thought you were gonna chicken out at the last minute."

"Please," Olivia said with a snort. "I don't chicken out."

"Hhmm," he said, doubtfully.

She tugged his beard. "Just get the food and come inside, Winston. I hope you remembered utensils, because all of mine are still in the U-Haul."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. We'll get it after we eat."

She grinned. "Who's bitching? It's just a fact."

Inside he let out a low whistle. "You got some work to do, kid. These floors."

"I know, but I think the wood's still in good condition. Just a bit of refinishing, you know? And the original plaster on the walls looks good, amazingly enough. And look at the fireplace!"

He couldn't help but smile; her enthusiasm was contagious, and she'd loved this place since he first sent her the pictures of it. He'd been the one to tour it with the real estate agent, and he'd warned her about all the work it needed—but that only seemed to encourage her.

Her couch was plastic-shrouded, shoved against a wall, and Opie handed her the bags of food. "Just a sec," he said and pulled his knife. He sliced through the plastic, careful to avoid the fabric underneath, and then shoved the sofa into place.

"A little to the left," she said.

"Women," he muttered.

"Uh huh. That's what they all say, huh?"

"Somethin' like that." He took a step back. "Good?"

"Yep. Perfect. I'm gonna have to get some of those things to put under the feet so it doesn't scoot around and damage the floor."

He eyed her. "What the hell are you plannin' to do on this couch? Never mind. Don't tell me."

"Sit on it, Opie. Perv. But couches move." She dropped down onto it and he sat next to her, and for a while they were busy unpacking the food. She grabbed an egg roll and added duck sauce before she took a huge bite.

"Mmmm, man, these are so awful," she said.

"Right? Nothin' like Two Dragons for shit Chinese food."

"Tastes like home," she said with a grin.

"Mmhhmm."

A silence fell while they ate. He stole a dumpling from her, and then gave her the shrimp from his house special fried rice. She forked up a bite of lo mein, then nearly choked when he spoke again.

"What'd Ben say when you told him you were moving back?"

She coughed and he handed her a bottle of water. "Uh…" she said after a long drink. "Not much. I mean, we've been divorced over a year now."

"But you did tell him, right?"

"Well yeah. We're still friends, mostly, so it would be shitty if I just took off."

"He know why?"

She twirled some noodles around her fork and let them slide off again. "Kinda hard for him to know why when I don't."

Opie snorted. "C'mon, Oll. That bullshit might work on some people, but I've known you almost our whole lives. Look, I get it: your marriage didn't work out, you didn't have any other ties in Portland, and you needed a change of scene. Question is, why Charming? You haven't been back here in, what?"

"Seven years," she said. "Juice's mom's funeral."

"Right. And it's kinda weird how Juice decided to prospect like the next day. He'd always said no before, like he was waitin' for somethin'."

She shrugged and set her food aside. "His mom didn't like the idea of him joining up. I'm sure he told you that."

"Uh huh." He took a bite of rice and chewed thoughtfully. "I know it's none of my business—"

"You're right, Opie, it really isn't." At his look she sighed and scrubbed a hand back through her short hair. She'd cut it off, chin-length, not long after her divorce was finalized, and she'd liked it so much she'd kept it that way. "I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help. Juice is…Juice. We parted really badly, and I have no idea how he's going to react to seeing me again."

"I think he'll be happy."

She made a face.

"No, really. I think he will. I mean, don't really expect him to show it—but inside he'll be real happy."

"Hhmm." She ducked her head and a blush touched her cheeks. She could only hope. "What about you, Opie?" she said with an easy smile. "You happy I'm back?"

"Yeah, Oll," he said. "Real glad."

His tone was more serious that she would've expected, and her mouth opened to comment when he flashed a big grin. "Plus I think you raise property values. Famous artist moves in, everything skyrockets."

She laughed and the slightly awkward moment was broken so fast she thought she must have imagined it. "Please. I'm not famous."

"More famous than anyone else in town."

"That's not saying much," she said.

"True." He handed her the box of hunan beef as she passed him the mushu pork. "It's good, though. Good you're back. Pretty sure we all missed you."

"So," she said after another food-induced conversational lull, "how's Donna?"

He scowled and jabbed his fork into the container. "Fine, I guess. We talk some. Not much."

"Not as much as you'd like."

He didn't say anything. Then, "I don't blame her, you know? For any of it. She never really liked SAMCRO to start with, then after I went down for those five years—well. It was tough on her. She was a great wife. A great old lady. But there're limits."

"I'm sorry, Ope," she said. "I really thought you guys would make it."

"Yeah," he said with a sad little snort, "me too. Maybe you were right all along: you don't meet the love of your life at seventeen."

"I think I might've changed my stance on that."

"Oh yeah?" He cast her a curious look, and she shrugged.

"I think maybe you can meet the love of your life at any age. You don't have to love them from the moment you meet. People grow and change and feelings…feelings change, too."

"Huh," he said. He pointed at her with his fork. "Your feelings about Juice change a whole lot?"

"That's not—"

"Pretty sure it is."

She rolled her eyes. "Actually, yeah. I'm twenty-nine years old. Seventeen was a long time ago."

"Yup," he said in easy agreement. "But you ain't changed a whole lot."

Her eyes narrowed in a glare and she gathered the half-empty food containers. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm nothing like I was back then."

He hitched a shoulder and pressed the lid onto his before he handed it to her. "In some ways, yeah, but ultimately? You're still Ollie. Stubborn and kinda prickly and not…"

"What?" she said. She had forgotten about the food for a moment while she studied him. "Not what?"

He made a low noise of frustration and combed his fingers through his beard. "I dunno. Just not—not like other girls, I guess."

"Please." She dropped the last package into the bag and rolled it closed. "Don't try to compliment me by insulting other women. I hate that shit."

"That's not what I meant," he said. "I guess maybe, more, not like most people. I don't think anybody was surprised when you and Ben didn't make it."

There was a long silence while he watched her wrestle with it. Then, so softly he wasn't sure he'd heard her right, "I really thought I loved him."

"Maybe you did," he said. "But there're a lot of different ways to love somebody, and not all of 'em make a great marriage."

Her mouth quirked and she tugged his beard again. "When'd you get so wise? You grow some hair on your face and you think you're fuckin' Yoda."

"I dunno," he said, clearly embarrassed. "Just, like. When things with Donna fell apart, and then you told me about you and Ben—it's just been on my mind, that's all."

"What? Why relationships end?"

"Well, yeah. But more, like, what keeps them going. It's easy to figure out what brings people together. What keeps them together, though? That's what I keep thinkin' about."

"Big questions, bud."

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands. "Just, like you said, I really thought me and Donna were gonna make it."

"Ope." She touched his arm and her hand lingered there. "You're a great guy. You know that, right? Just because your marriage didn't work doesn't mean you won't find somebody. I know Donna loved you, and honestly I don't think it fell apart because of either one of you. Sometimes things just don't work out."

"No, I get that," he said. "I really do. I wanna know why they do work out. What's it take?"

"You're probably asking the wrong person."

"Tell me anyway. Your opinion."

She bit her lip and looked away, a furrow forming between her brows as she considered. "Well…I think you have to…you can't overlook someone's flaws. You can't love them in spite of whatever, or even because of whatever. You just have to love them, as they are, warts and all. Because all that shit, the baggage and the—the…" She waved a hand. "It's part of them.

"Like I know I couldn't be with you—or, um, Juice, I guess—without accepting SAMCRO. And you couldn't be with me without accepting what a pain in the ass I am, and kinda understanding that I'll always be at least a little bit…difficult."

"Yeah, Oll," he said, grinning. "Pretty sure I accepted that about you twenty years ago."

"Jerk," she said, but she was laughing. "You asked me a serious question!"

"I know, I know. Calm down."

He tossed an arm around her and dragged her closer. She let her head fall onto his shoulder and let out a quiet sigh. Some of the tension from the last few weeks started to drain away. She put her arms around his waist and squeezed a little.

"I'm glad you're here, Opie," she said.

He brushed a hand through her hair. "Yeah, Ollie. Me too. I'm glad you came home."

Olivia only sort of needed to work, thanks to the success of her sculptures, but that income was unsteady and varied wildly. Between buying the house and all the work it would take to get it fixed up, she needed a more reliable flow.

To that end she found herself at Teller-Morrow. Gemma knew she was coming; she'd called her yesterday to say she was back in town and to talk about a job. Olivia wasn't sure anyone else did, though, and that's what made her nervous. Had Opie told any of the guys she was back?

Had he told Juice?

She opened the car door and a familiar Scottish accent floated to her from across the lot. "I'd know that car anywhere!" he said. "Ollie lass!"

She climbed out and waved, but that wasn't good enough for him. He jogged over and caught her in a hug. "Hi, Chibs," she said. "It's good to see you too."

"Ope mentioned you might be by. Why didn't ye stop in sooner?"

"Oh, well." She blushed a little. "I was getting settled, you know. Moved in? And I didn't know…I mean…I just thought it would be better to wait."

He lifted a brow, but eventually he nodded. "Aye, well, glad you finally made it. You here for business or pleasure?"

"Business, I guess?"

He ruffled a hand through her hair. "I like this. Suits ye, darlin'."

"Thanks," she said. "Is Gem in the office? I'm actually here to see her."

"Aye, she is. Waitin' on you, pretty sure." He slid an arm around her waist and walked her that way. "Look at you, Ollie girl," he said, his voice dropping a bit. "You're all grown up."

"Chibs—"

"Ach, I'm not meanin' anything by it. Just an observation."

She made a low noise that could have meant any number of things. "Try to keep your observations G rated, okay?"

"I'm the very soul of chivalry, lass."

Her grin was wry as she pulled away from him. "I'm sure," she said. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Never change, Chibby."

He stared after her, too surprised to reply, as she disappeared into the office. Clearly Portland hadn't made her any less peculiar, and Chibs was glad to see it.

"Gem?" Olivia said as she pushed the door open. "Hey, Chibs said—oh fuck."

Juice lifted his brows at her. "Wow. Hello to you too."

"I thought—I'm looking for Gemma. Chibs said she was in here, and I—why are you here?"

"Why am I here?" He shoved his hands into the pockets on his kutte and sauntered around the desk to lean against it. "I work here, Olivia. Better question is why are you here? Don't you live in Oregon?"

If he could be an asshole so could she. She lifted her chin and stepped closer. "Not anymore."

His surprise didn't show on his face—much—but Olivia had known him a long time, and intimately, and she could see it in the tightening around his eyes. He looked good. He'd filled out more, all muscle it looked like, and he still had that mohawk—only he'd added two curving tattoos on either side of it. He had more ink on his arms, all grayscale of course, and she averted her eyes from the way the one on the left rippled over his bicep.

"Nice kutte," she said when he stayed silent.

"Thanks," he said. "Goin' on six years now."

The significance wasn't lost on her: they'd last seen each other seven years ago. He'd patched in a year later, officially through with waiting for her.

"So. You on your way somewhere? Just passin' through ol' Charming town?"

"No," she said, and a line appeared between her brows. "Opie really didn't tell you?"

"Maybe I wanna hear it from you." He pushed himself upright and closed the distance between them. Loomed over her in a way she'd never seen before.

She swallowed, suddenly nervous, and clenched her teeth. "I've moved here permanently," she said. "From Portland."

His eyes roamed her face. "Oh yeah?" he said. "How'd your loving husband take that news?"

"I don't have a husband anymore, loving or otherwise. We've been divorced over a year."

He snorted. "Can't say I'm surprised. You can't base a marriage on maybe I'll love him someday."

She took a step back, anger flaring in her eyes. "It's not any of your business, Ortiz. I'm here to talk to Gemma. I don't have to put up with your bullshit."

"Why are you here?" he demanded through gritted teeth. The muscles in his jaw danced, and she could tell from the tension in his arms that the hands in his kutte were clenched into fists.

"Gemma offered me a job," she said, mildly. "I thought I'd take her up on it."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered in disgust. "What the fuck, Olivia? You think you can just waltz back into town and everything'll go back to the way it was in high school? Us all workin' at TM like one big happy family?"

"Hardly," she said. "I've got no illusions about where I stand with you. I'm just here for a change of scenery, Juice. Try to restart my work."

His brow furrowed, and it was the first genuine expression she'd seen since she walked in. "Your sculptures, you mean?" he said, sounding more like his old self.

"Yeah." She waved a hand. "I've been sort of…stuck. About six months or so. It's—it's so fucking frustrating. I realized it was maybe Portland causing it. That whole scene. I needed something new."

"Or maybe somethin' old," he said.

"Maybe," she said.

He looked away with a scowl. "I went to that show you had. In San Francisco."

Her eyes widened. "What? I didn't see you there."

"Nah. You weren't around. I just went one afternoon and…" He trailed off with a tense jerk of his shoulders. "It was good. Your stuff, I mean. It looked real good."

"Oh." She ducked her head to hide a smile. "You don't have to sound so angry about it."

"I'm not—" He shook his head. "You shouldn't be here, Olivia. I told you before there's no place for you here anymore."

"I know you did, and at the time you were right." She studied him: his rigid posture. Tight jaw. Scrunched forehead. "I'm hoping maybe I can make a new place. If that's possible. Maybe start over a bit."

"You can't just start over. Life don't work like that."

"I know it doesn't," she said. "I was just hoping—"

"Well stop! Stop hoping, Olivia. There's no fucking point." He stomped toward the door to the garage and stopped with his hand on the knob. "You wanna live in Charming, fine. You want your old job back, I can't stop you. But just—don't think anything's changed between us."

"Don't give yourself so much credit, Ortiz."

He cast her a long look over his shoulder, and his mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "That's right," he said. "I got no effect on you at all." He chuckled. "Keep tellin' yourself that, sweetheart. Maybe eventually you'll believe it."

The door shut hard behind him, and Olivia had to fight the urge to cry. She had hoped—maybe—it had been seven years. They'd both made new lives since then. She'd been married and divorced. He'd joined the MC and took on everything that went with it.

But somehow they were in exactly the same place they were that morning in her hotel room, only this time it was Juice who'd stormed out, leaving her alone and gutted. She pressed a hand to her belly and took a deep breath.

It didn't matter. She hadn't come back here for him. Not really. She was here to start sculpting again, and to fix some goddamn cars, and to reconnect with old friends.

Juice Ortiz was just another face in the crowd, and that was better for them both.

First off, if something like today's blackout happens again, I'm simul-publishing this on ao3, where my pseud is copperleaves, and you can also find it on my tumblr, url stupidscalptattoos.

A little note about the timeline:

If we go based on the date the show started as being the date canon picks up, then that would mean 2008, yeah? Well okay. That's all well and good. This chapter takes place in 2009 (as you can see), but I'm not following canon, per se. Like, yeah, we have all the canon characters and whatnot, but I honestly don't want to get into the plot quagmire that the show did. Maybe I might fold a few things in here or there if they suit me?

Also, of course, by this time Tara would've been back from Chicago, but she's not yet. And Abel isn't born yet, but he will be. I imagine at this point Wendy's pregnant? I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead. :)