I kind of thought Olivia might shoot Kohn, too, but I'm glad she didn't. :) I didn't want to depart from canon in that respect.

Thanks for your lovely words, dear readers.

i found a photo and you were there
captured in our faces
just before you disappeared
it was nice to know you, if only for a while
to come and go with a sweet hello
and a bittersweet goodbye
Better Than Ezra, "Hey Love"

Kohn came around again the next day, but one strong glower from Opie sent him running the other way. He might be obsessed, but he wasn't stupid—and Opie was enormous.

They got Tara's essentials packed and made arrangements for a moving company to get the big stuff. Opie called Donna, and she found Tara a place in Charming she could rent short-term until she found something more permanent. They all knew she wouldn't want to move back into her dad's house.

Meanwhile Tara arranged the transfer between her hospital in Chicago and St. Thomas back in Charming. It would be a little while before she could get her license to practice in California, but at least she would have a job in the meantime.

It was over two thousand miles from Chicago to Charming, but between the three of them they made it manageable. They stopped to spend the night somewhere in Utah, and they got adjoining rooms with the door between them open, Tara and Olivia in one, Opie in the other.

Back in Charming Donna showed up to help get Tara moved in, and Olivia was impressed at how easy she and Opie were around each other. That was what she wanted with Juice: a chance to move on and be friends without all the bullshit and the tension.

Maybe one day.

Olivia got Tara a new phone in Olivia's name and Donna put her name on the rental agreement for the house. Kohn could probably track Tara through the hospital, what with his FBI connections, but they weren't going to make it easy for him.

It had been almost three weeks, and nothing. All quiet from Chicago. Tara was settling into the Charming rhythm again, but as far as any of them knew, Jax hadn't heard that she was back in town. Opie had promised not to tell him, and for Olivia and Donna it didn't even bear mentioning it was so obvious.

When Opie showed up at Olivia's house that day he thought he maybe should've called first—but as the weeks had passed they'd been spending more and more time together, and an unexpected drop in like this one was commonplace. The Cougar was in the driveway, and he could hear noises coming from the backyard workshop, so he headed that way.

"Olivia?" he called.

Nothing. She probably had her headphones in. He pushed open the door and stopped. She'd been busy.

The sculpture was big, nearly filling the open space, and for the moment he couldn't see her. Then he saw the flash of the welding torch behind a curving bubble of glass. When had she started using glass? It was orange and red and yellow, like a flame, with the metal framework surrounding it; sensual curving glass contrasting cold, rigid metal.

"Wow," he said.

She noticed him and flicked the torch off. Shoved the faceplate back and tugged her earbuds out. "Hey, you. Didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah, I called but I guess you were busy."

"Mmhhmm," she said.

She stripped off the welding gloves and set everything aside, then ambled over to stand next to him. He mussed her hair and she stuck her tongue out at him. It was damp from the heat, sticking to her temples and neck in curling tendrils, and her face and chest glowed with a fine sheen of sweat. She pulled a bandana from her back pocket and wiped it across her forehead and down the side of her neck. He swallowed and looked away.

"This's new," he said with a nod toward the unfinished sculpture.

"Yeah! You like it?"

"It's pretty incredible. You ever used glass before?"

"No, and it's insane. I can't do it here; the building's not up to code for an oven that hot; but I've been headin' out to this hippie commune place where they have all these artists? It's called Red Sands, even though there's not really any sand and it's not really red."

His mouth twisted. "Yeah, I've heard of it."

"It's, like I said, pretty fuckin' hippie dippy, but they've got great workspace, and tons of glass blowers and shit. I learned some stuff and I've been working on it." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Whatcha think?"

He glanced down at her, then back at the sculpture with a thoughtful frown. "I like how—like the glass is really sort of…almost alive? But the metal is…cold. Hard, like."

"Yes!" Her face lit up and her bright eyes danced with glee. "That's exactly it!" she said, bouncing on her toes as she circled it. "It's the juxtaposition between the organic and the inorganic. It's like—the glass is fire and life and sex and passion, and the metal is logic and structure and taxes."

"Taxes?"

She waved a hand. "Rigid shit. Rules. Like the glass is the id, the metal is the superego, and the space around it is the ego."

He snorted out a laugh. "The glass is Kirk and the metal is Spock."

"Exactly!" she said, pointing at him. "This is the biggest one I've done, but I've got a bunch of smaller ones over there." She waved to several sheet-shrouded forms. "It's not all fire. A couple of them the glass is more like water, or even, like…trees and grass and…growing things."

"Can I see?"

She bit her lip and tilted her head back and forth as she thought it over.

"Never mind," he said. "I'll wait until it's all ready."

"Are you sure? I don't mind—"

"Nah. It's cool. I wanna see 'em all together, you know? The whole shebang."

She grinned at him, the dimple in her chin flashing, and he couldn't help but grin back. "I'm hoping it'll be a really big shebang. My agent's coming down in a few weeks to take a look, then she'll start hittin' up some galleries."

She chewed her lip again, her eyes trained on the sculpture. "This might be it. I have a feeling, you know? Like—" She poked herself in the belly before she reached over and poked him in the same spot.

"Hey!"

"In my gut. This could be New York. A big gallery in San Francisco. LA."

"That'd be awesome, Oll." He paused. "And, you know, I think you could be right."

"You do?" she said.

"Yup. I've got a feeling in my gut, too. I don't know much about art, but this?" He shook his head. "It's crazy good. Even I know that."

Her smile ratcheted up a few watts, which he hadn't even thought possible, and before he could get his breath back (he wasn't sure when he'd lost it) she launched herself at him.

"Whoa," he said, stumbling a little from the surprise. "I'm not in charge of any galleries."

Her cheek rested against his sternum, right over the reaper he had tattooed there, and she stood for a moment just listening to the steady drum of his heart. Finally, "You're a good friend, Ope."

"Ha," he said. He patted her back. "Just tellin' the truth, Ollie. You know me."

"I do." She took a step back and threw her arms out wide. "I haven't been this excited about a project in years. I guess coming to Charming was the right move after all."

"I guess it was," he said.

She pressed a hand to her tummy and rubbed. "You hungry?"

"That's why I came over. Tara said you'd been workin' a lot, and I was afraid you were forgettin' to eat again."

Her nose scrunched. "Yeah. Maybe a little. You guys talked about me behind my back?"

He sighed. "Nothin' bad, Oll. Just neither of us had seen you much, so I thought I'd ask her about it."

"Oh," she said. She looked up at him with a teasing grin. "You asked about me?"

"Ollie, come on."

"I'm messin' with you." Her mouth moved in a pensive frown. "I can't remember the last time I went to the store. But! It's three dollars off a large at Positano's tonight."

"You can keep track of what day is cheap pizza night, but not the last time you were to the store?"

She hitched a shoulder and brushed by him on her way toward the house. "Priorities, my friend."

He followed her, ducking his head to hide a smile, and flicked the lights off as he went past. She shut the door and set the padlock, giving it two hard tugs to make sure it was tight. He tossed an arm around her and they crossed the yard in companionable silence.

"I think I need a shower," she said in the kitchen.

"I wasn't gonna say anything—"

"Order for us? You know what I like."

"I'm not gettin' spinach."

"Broccoli?"

"Olivia."

"Fine!" she said. "Pineapple at least?"

"Pineapple," he said with a brief nod. "And olives on the other one."

"Pineapple and prosciutto on one, olives and pepperoni on the other?"

"Olives, pepperoni, and onions."

"Opie!"

He held up a hand. "Kidding, kidding. Olives, pepperoni, and…" A long-suffering sigh. "Broccoli."

"Thank you, Harry. You're very generous."

He snorted. "Go get in the shower, Gable. You stink."

"Lovely. Don't forget the cheesy bread."

"You insult me."

"God," she said with a scowl. "I guess I'll have to go to the actual gym tomorrow."

"You don't sweat it off in your workshop?"

"I wish. No, I've got do it anyway for—" She patted her hip, the one she'd broken in the car accident when she was thirteen. "Gotta keep the muscles strong to support the weak-ass bones."

"That's you: Brittle Betty."

"Uh huh. I don't mind yoga that much, honestly. Hurts a lot less than, say, the stupid StairMaster. Swimming's good, too." She made a face. "If only I could find someone interested in rigorous, athletic sex it would save me the trip."

"Uh…" He cleared his throat and tried to focus. "You seriously can't find anybody to fuck you? With that ass?"

"Aw, Ope, I didn't know you'd noticed!" She shrugged and her joking tone turned serious. "There are plenty of people, I'm sure—at least five of them just in the SAMCRO clubhouse—but I don't know. I guess the problem's more me."

He grabbed a beer from her fridge and propped against the counter. "You've never had a problem with casual hook-ups before." He paused. "Wait, maybe that came out wrong."

"No." She flicked her fingers. Took his beer and sipped from it before she handed it back. "No, you're right. And I've had—well, just one, I guess—since the thing with Juice. And, honestly, it's not the thing with Juice that's holding me back."

Opie wasn't one hundred percent sure this was a conversation he wanted to have with her. Obviously he knew Olivia had sex, in the abstract sense, but it had been difficult enough learning about the "quick and dirty fuck" (as she'd put it) with Juice in the bathroom. Overall he tried to avoid thinking about her in that context.

But he knew she couldn't talk about relationship type stuff with Tara these days, and there wasn't really anyone else. So he took a long pull of beer and managed a smile. "What's the problem then?"

"I don't know," she said. She peered up at him, a line between her brows. "What's the problem with you?"

That took him aback. "Huh?" he said.

Her mouth quirked. "How many people have you been with since you and Donna split? How many dates have you been on?"

He made a face at her. "How many you been with since you and Ben split? You two've been broken up about as long as Donna and me."

"Hhhmm." He'd meant it rhetorically, but she thought it over anyway. "Dates, I'm not sure. Sexual partners? Counting Juice, three."

"Three? Three in almost two years?"

"What?" she said.

"Nothing. I just—I woulda guessed higher."

"You?" she said, and for a split second he misunderstood her and almost choked. Then he clued in.

"Oh. Um. I guess, uh…four?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Then don't give me shit about my three. You have a goddamn harem at your disposal and it's four. I have to find mine the old fashioned way."

"You're such a goddamn romantic, Gable."

It was almost exactly what she'd said to Jax that night they'd tried to kiss, and it gave her pause. "I think that's the problem," she said, quietly.

He studied her, the tightness around her eyes and the tense set to her shoulders. "What?" he said.

"I'm tired of it. Hook ups. Or, not even that…" She trailed off and her eyes flicked away. Back. "The only person I've ever loved is the boy I dated in high school. I was married five years and never really loved my husband. Not—not like that. I cared about him, and I enjoyed his company, but that like…dizzying, romantic rush? No."

He shifted his weight and frowned into his beer. "What you're describing…It's not all that common, Olivia."

"It isn't? You're saying Donna's the only person you ever loved?"

Their eyes met across the small kitchen, and his look was so intense she couldn't hold it.

"No," he finally said. "But you know that."

"Opie—"

"Hey, it's okay. You don't gotta say nothin'. I know you never felt that way about me."

"I wish I could have."

He gave a rueful shrug. "It's like I told you that time: you and Juice were real good together back then, and so were me and Donna. It worked out the way it was supposed to."

"Hhmm. Even though you and Donna are divorced and Juice and I are barely speaking?"

"Yep. Even though. Because, look, we're—you know we're—real good now. You and me, I mean. Hangin' out and stuff. It's easy."

"Right," she said. "If we'd tried to stay together back then, it would've been a mess."

"A huge fuckin' mess. And, yeah, Donna and me split, but I loved her. We had real good times. I wouldn't trade that." He frowned down at his boots. "I just wish I hadn't gone down for those five years. We maybe coulda made it work if it weren't for that."

Olivia hesitated, but then took a deep breath and forged ahead. "I don't blame her for leaving. I don't know if I could've handled that, either. But…I get the impression that was more a last straw sort of deal, rather than the sole reason. Not that she didn't love you—I know she did, and she still does—just that there was a lot going on. All of that plus five years without her husband while he served time for his MC…well."

"Nah," he said. "I think you're right." His brow creased. "Not sure if that makes it easier or harder."

"I don't either, love."

"Shit," he said after a quiet moment. "This got heavy."

"A little," she said.

"Go take your shower. I'll order the food."

"Cannoli?" she said, hopefully.

"Cheesecake."

She pondered for a moment. "Cheesecake. With cherries on top."

"Like I'd forget the cherries. Who you think you're talkin' to?"

"My bad," she said with a grin. "You always know what I like, Winston."

"Uh huh," he said. "Don't forget it, Gable."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and he tried to ignore the look she was giving him. "Don't worry," she said. "I won't."

"Go take your stupid shower and leave me alone," he said.

For a split second she had the wild notion to ask him to join her…but then she remembered her own words from just a few minutes ago. No more casual hook ups.

Besides, with their height difference shower sex would be anywhere from seriously ill-advised to outright impossible. Standing sex in general, though she had a feeling Opie would be strong enough to hold her up if—

Why the fuck was she thinking about Opie Winston and sexual positions in the same sentence?

"You okay?" he said as color flooded her cheeks.

"Yep. Just, um. Goin' to get in the shower. See you in a few."

"Sure, Oll," he said. "Weirdo."

"Loser."

"Thumbelina."

"Sasquatch!" she called from the hall and enjoyed his laugh all the way to the bathroom.

Over two months had gone by since their encounter in the bathroom, and Juice had decided it was past time to apologize. He'd taken Opie's words to heart, because he knew if he tried before he meant it, or while he was still angry and bitter, it would all blow up in his face and he might lose her forever.

He'd spent a long time angry. A long time hurting. But he'd never once, in all that time, hated her, and he didn't want to start now. He'd never wanted her out of his life, and the last couple of months having her so close but so impossibly far away had been awful.

It might be easier—at least a tiny bit easier—if it weren't all his fault. He'd done the wrong thing. Treated her like shit, in a way he always swore he'd never treat a woman, much less Olivia. His Olivia. His girl.

Except, of course, she wasn't his girl anymore, and after the bathroom stunt she'd probably never be his girl again.

At least they could be friends. They could try. It wasn't everything he wanted but it was better than nothing, and nothing was…the worst, frankly. Nothing was making him miserable.

To that end he found himself hunting her down at TM. Their shifts were wildly different (by design), and the club kept him busy when he wasn't working at the garage, but this was important. He dragged his laptop to the office and camped out there, and Gemma kept tossing him looks over her glasses.

He ignored her—not an easy feat—and pretended to be absorbed in his work. Finally he heard the Cougar, and when he shut the computer's lid and jumped up Gemma gave a knowing snort.

"What?" he said.

"Nothin', baby. Just be careful."

"It's not like that, Gem. I just gotta clear the air. It's been shitty way too long."

The office door opened and Olivia peeked in. "Oh," she said—her standard greeting for him, it seemed. "I didn't know—I'll come back."

"No, sweetheart, come in," Gemma said. "I was just clearin' out, and I think he's got a few things to say to you."

Olivia's stomach did a nervous little flip, but she stepped inside anyway.

"I'll be at the clubhouse," Gemma said. "Don't trash the place."

They both watched her go, and when the door shut behind her Olivia turned toward Juice with a wary expression. He had his hands shoved in the pockets on his kutte and she couldn't read his face.

"What's up?" she said, trying to sound easy.

He had no idea where to start. It was all so much, and he felt so gross and awful about the whole thing…

"I owe you an apology, Olivia."

She made a soft, noncommittal noise and just watched him.

"That day in the bathroom—I was wrong. I shouldn't've treated you like that. I was pissed, but you didn't deserve…" He ducked his head. "I'm just sayin' it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Her head tilted thoughtfully. "Sorry for the sex, or sorry for the circumstances around it?"

That surprised him into look at her. He snorted out a brief laugh. "The circumstances. The sex itself was…uh, I mean…I'm not sorry we had sex. It was…great…sex…I'm just sorry I was such an asshole about it."

"You were an asshole," he said, quietly. "I had no idea you could be such an asshole."

He scuffed his boot against the floor. "Yeah. Me neither, I guess."

"You hurt me a lot, Juice. I know—I know I hurt you too, and I'm sorry. I never should've said that about getting it out of my system, or even about goodbye sex. I just didn't know what else—I was engaged. I should have told you."

"Wouldn't've mattered," he said with a shrug.

"What do you mean?" she said.

He gave a frustrated huff. "You make me nuts, Liv. You gotta know that. When I saw you at the funeral it was like—I don't know. I don't got words for it. You coulda told me about Ben and I still woulda wanted you just as much. I still woulda asked you to kiss me just like I did."

"Juice—"

"I'm not sayin'…hell, I don't know what I'm sayin'. If I'd known I still would've done exactly what I did, just with different…expectations, I guess. I wouldn't've expected anything else. Just that night."

"So it really would've been goodbye sex," she said.

"Yeah, I guess."

"That might've saved us a lot of heartache."

He stared at her. "Is that what you had, Liv? Heartache?"

"You mean after?" She lifted her hands in an are you kidding me? gesture. "Of course I did. That night was—I don't know. I don't really have words, either. It was intense. Wild. And scary as hell."

He took a step closer and his voice dropped. "It was scary for me, too. I wanted you so damn bad, Olivia, but I knew you had a life in Portland. I didn't suspect about the fiancé, but I knew it was your home. I went into it knowing it might be a goodbye, and then when you told me the next day I flipped my shit. I didn't wanna hear it. I didn't want you to tell me exactly what I'd been thinkin'."

"Oh, Juicy," she said. She closed her eyes in an attempt to fend off tears, and when she opened them again they were bright and sad. "We're so stupid. Both of us. If we'd just talked to each other—"

"It'd been four years, Liv. And neither of us are real good at talking anyway."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "I am too. I wish I could just go back…" He grinned. "I'd still fuck you on the sink, but I'd do it all differently."

She poked his arm. "Who says I'd let you fuck me on the sink in this time-travel scenario?"

"You would," he said. "You totally would."

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "I guess I would."

He bit his lip and eyed her. "Can I hug you? Would that be okay?"

"Yeah, Ortiz. Just don't get handsy."

He reached for her, and she stepped into him. His arms went around her, one hand tangled in her hair and the other pressed against her back. He took a deep breath, savoring her clean, familiar scent, and kissed the top of her head. "I think we're gonna be okay, Liv."

"Me too," she said, sniffling a little.

Her fingers were curled in his kutte and she rested her forehead in the same spot she always had, the curve between chest and shoulder. It was so familiar it made her ache, but in a nostalgic sort of way. Bittersweet and sepia-tinted, like an old photo worn around the edges.

How long they stood like that neither of them could've said, and they didn't notice the activity that carried on outside their little bubble.

Chibs caught sight of them through the garage door and grinned. His invoices could wait, and he wandered off to find something else to do.

Opie headed toward the office from across the lot, and when the sun's glare cleared he could see them, Juice's face buried in her hair and hers pressed into his chest, and he stopped short with a breathless grunt, like a hard hit to the gut.

Well. Apparently Juice had finally gotten around to apologizing. And to great success, it seemed. He veered toward the clubhouse. It was early, but a drink sounded really good right now.

Don't be a fuckboy, Opie. Nobody likes a fuckboy.