My loves, I urge you to take a moment and re-read the summary for this fic.

I'll wait.

Back? Oh good. I hope some of you feel better now. :)

kiss quick, i've got a line out the door
who all think they can save me
one by one they lay the world at my feet
one by one they drive me crazy
Matt Nathanson, "Kiss Quick"

When Opie opened his eyes several hours later she was still curled into his side, her chest rising and falling in the even cadence of sleep. He winced as he shifted. The meds had worn off and his arm fucking hurt—but he didn't move her to reach for them. Instead he brushed her hair back from her face and combed his fingers through it. It had grown out a little, and now it was nearly shoulder length, a bright spill that he fanned over the pillow behind her.

She shifted, spreading out so that she was sort of on top of him, partway, kind of, but enough to get his attention. A furrow formed between her brows and he smoothed it with his thumb.

It relaxed and her eyes fluttered open, heavy and hazy from sleep.

"Oh," she murmured. Her mouth eased into a smile as she recognized him. "Hi."

That smile, so sweet and soft and…stopped his heart. Literally stopped it. He felt it start again with a stuttering jerk, but he could only blink at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"You okay?" she said. "You look pale. Do you need more drugs?"

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh. No. I mean—yeah. But in a sec."

"I don't mind—"

"In a sec, Oll."

She stilled. "Okay," she said. "In a sec." She pushed his hair behind his ear and grinned. "You need a haircut, Chewbacca."

"I'm growin' it out," he said with a grunt.

"Ohhh, I see. Really goin' for that homeless biker Paul Bunyan look. All in. I gotta respect that."

"Shut up," he said even as he laughed.

She tapped the end of his nose. "All this beard and all that hair. Can't see your adorable little face, and that's a damn shame."

He rolled his eyes. "Go away, Gable."

"Fickle is man. You ready for your drugs now?"

"Nah. I'm okay."

"You're not." She ran her fingers over the lines in his forehead. Her thumb along the ones that bracketed his mouth. "You don't gotta be the big macho man, Ope. You got shot. Pain meds are sort of par for the course."

"Oh, I know. And I'm gonna take 'em, believe me. I just don't wanna check out quite yet."

Her eyes were intense on his face, searching and probing, and after a moment he shifted and looked away. "What?" he said.

She brought him back by the beard. "Nothing," she said. "I was just thinking—I know I said this before, but you were kinda doped, so maybe you don't remember. You're important to me, Ope. One of the most important people in my life. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

Somehow he managed a smile, though it was shaky and not as reassuring as he might like. "Don't worry, Oll. Really don't. I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Blind optimism in the face of violence. That's what I like to hear." Grinning, she leaned up to kiss his cheek again, but he turned his head to say something and their lips met instead. She gave a squeak of surprise and pulled away. "I'm sorry. I meant to—"

"Nah, no, it was me. I—"

"You didn't know I know you didn't mean to I should've—"

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "It happens."

"Surprise kissing," she said with half a smile.

"Yeah. Like, ambush kissing."

"I didn't ambush you! I was going for your cheek and you turned your head."

"My big dumb head?"

"That's the one."

"Sorry. It gets in the way sometimes." He paused and their eyes met. "You could do it again. Not an ambush this time. I won't turn my head."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I'm fallin' for that one."

"C'mon, Oll. I got shot today. Have a little pity."

"That's not fair! You can't play that card!"

"Yeah I can." He poked her in the back. "Just try again, okay? I'll be still."

She gave a rough sigh. "Fine. But if you move this time—"

"I know, I know." He tilted his face toward her. "Not movin'."

There was a moment when she knew she could end this silliness and just get up. Get him his meds and walk out and that would be that. Or she could kiss him. One harmless kiss on the cheek, no big deal, and they'd both have a laugh about it. It would be weirder to refuse, give it all too much weight, so with a shrug she leaned in again.

He turned his head and captured her mouth and she pulled away with a breathless "Opie!" but he tugged her back. His mustache tickled; his lips were warm and chapped, firm against hers, and he tasted like sleep and whisky and cigarettes. Her fingers curled in his shirt and his hand tightened on her hip and if her pulse kicked up a few notches she tried to ignore it.

He closed his eyes and changed the angle to deepen the kiss, but he didn't try to use his tongue. Neither did she, and he didn't care, he didn't even think about it, because she tasted so damn good and kissing her felt so right. He wondered if she could feel the way his heart hammered in his chest or if she had any idea…

And that was when he broke away.

Of course she didn't have any idea. To her he was Opie, good buddy. He liked being her friend, loved it, but that kiss, Jesus—

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No," she whispered. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and when she looked at him there was barely any green in her eyes for all the pupil. "Don't apologize. It was—it was fine."

"Fine?" he said, grinning a little.

"Umm…"

"Never mind," he said. "Don't answer that." He kissed her forehead, gentle and chaste. "You said I'm your best guy friend, right?"

"Of course," she said.

"Good. You're my best…friend who's a girl. I like hangin' out with you. We have a lot of laughs."

"Uh huh," she said. She blinked and tried to focus on his words. "Yeah. Of course we do. We've always been good that way."

"Right. And I don't want you to think—I don't want you thinkin' I expect somethin' from you, or…I'm lookin' for anything…more than that. Between us, I mean."

"Oh," she said as his meaning became clearer. Her expression faltered for a moment before she smiled at him. "Nah, of course not. I know you're not like that. Besides, you've got the crow eaters."

He frowned. "The crow eaters?" What did they have to do with anything?

"Yeah, you know. If you need like—I mean if you get—" She waved her hand. "You don't need to sleep with me, I mean, if you get the urge to sleep with someone."

"Oh. Huh." His eyes dropped to her mouth and back up again. "Olivia, you know…" Laughing, he shook his head. She could be so clueless sometimes. "If I had the urge to sleep with you, it wouldn't be because I'm horny and need a quick fuck. It'd be because it's you. Ain't no crow eater gonna help with that."

She shifted against him, pulling away a bit, and her head tilted as she thought it over. "I'm not quite sure how to respond to that."

"Don't," he said. "We're good, Oll. We'll always be good. Don't think so hard."

"Okay. I'll work on not breathing while I'm at it."

He sighed. "Quit bein' a smartass and go get me my drugs. Please?"

If she scrambled off the bed a little too fast, neither of them chose to comment on it. Instead she opened the pack of pills and handed them to him, along with the glass of water.

"You should get some more rest," she said as she took the glass back. "I'll leave you to it."

"Sure," he said. "Thanks for stayin' before."

"Of course." She grinned, the dimple in her chin flashing. "What are friends for?" With that she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her, and he let his head fall back to blink up at the ceiling.

Not for kissing. He could've sworn she'd felt it too, that heady rush and engulfing heat, but she'd seemed so normal after. So casual. He could be casual too, if casual was what she wanted. If she wanted to pretend it hadn't happened, or at least pretend that it hadn't been so—then he could too.

Friends. Buddies. Pals. Compadres. Amigos.

And not the kind that made out and ripped each other's clothes off and—

He cut that thought off. The pain in his arm was strangely steadying, and it was comforting to know there wouldn't be any clothes-ripping while he healed. It gave him an excuse (as if he needed one; she was his friend) to ignore the way that kiss had felt, and the memory of it lingering on his lips.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to get some sleep. Without thinking about Ollie.

For the second time that day Olivia found herself in the clubhouse hallway shaking and on the verge of a panic attack. She rubbed her sweating palms over the thighs of her jeans and took a deep breath to try to steady herself, but it wasn't doing much good. She needed to get out of here—again—and fast.

She straightened, but before she could move Tara appeared at the end of the hall. "Ollie?" she said. "Are you okay? Is Opie—?"

"He's fine. I just gave him some more pain meds and he said he was going to try to sleep."

"So why—?" She frowned. "He's fine, Olivia. It really was a minor injury, and—"

"No, I know." She gripped Tara's arm. "Meet me at the garage? As soon as you're done here. We need to talk."

"Yeah, of course. I just have to check in on Ope and I'll be on my way."

"Great." Olivia squeezed her in a quick hug and then hurried away. She still held her boots in her hand; Tara wondered when she'd realize she was in her sock feet.

Opie was already asleep, and Tara didn't bother peeling back the bandage. There didn't seem to be any seepage, and thanks to the Oxy he looked comfortable enough. She pulled the covers up a little and then went to find Olivia.

Jax waylaid her near the office, but when he jerked his chin toward the closed door she shook her head. "I don't have time right now, Jackson. I've got places to be."

He let out a sigh. "How's Ope?"

"He's gonna be fine," she said, softening a little. "He's in pain, of course, but the drugs will help. Oh, but. No riding for at least a week. I'd prefer two."

"What?" Jax said. "You tell him that?"

"Yep. Ollie's going to drop me by Opie's place and I'll drive his truck back over here. But he shouldn't be behind the wheel at all for a few days, especially if he's taking Oxy."

"Yeah, I got it." He paused, his expression stern. "Tara, we gotta talk about this."

"About what? Opie? Aren't we talking about that now?"

"Not Opie!" he said. He lowered his voice. "About you and me."

She lifted a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. "There is no you and me anymore, Jax. And even if there were—you've known I'm back eight hours. I think it can wait a minute."

"Tara—"

"Jax. I'm sorry. I can't right now."

"Later then. Soon."

She sighed and brushed a hand over her forehead. "I'm not sure what there is to talk about, but…fine. I'll be around the next day or so checking in on Opie, so…sometime."

His blue eyes were imploring, a look she remembered well, and for a moment her resolve wavered. Then she pulled herself taller and shook her head. "I've gotta go. Keep an eye on Opie's bandage; if the wound starts to seep or it turns red and hot, or if he starts running a fever, call me immediately. Okay?"

"Yeah, Tara," he said on a frustrated breath. "I got it."

She nodded and lifted a hand. Hesitated a brief moment before she patted his arm and smiled. "I'll be around," she said. She didn't wait for him to say anything else before she made her escape. Quick goodbyes to the guys as she passed through the bar, then a short jog across the lot.

Olivia had put her boots back on at some point, and she was currently stomping around cleaning up the day's mess. Tara paused in the doorway and watched her.

"Okay," she said, "what happened?"

Olivia turned toward her with a jerk and, like her strings had been cut, slumped against the table behind her. "Oh my God, Tara, it's bad. Like, real bad."

"What did Juice do? I told him—"

"Not Juice for once. Opie."

Tara's brow creased in confusion and she shut the door before she crossed to her. "I don't get it. What could Opie have possibly done to get you so worked up?"

Olivia looked away and scuffed her boot against the concrete floor. "He—we—" She bit off a sigh. "There was a kiss."

"A kiss? You and Opie…kissed? Oll, I know it was a while ago, but there was a six month period in tenth grade when you and Opie practically didn't stop kissing."

"I remember, Tara, trust me…but that was…not the same thing. At all."

Tara studied her. "Wow," she said. "This isn't quite under-the-mistletoe levels, but that must've been some kiss."

"It wasn't—I mean—it wasn't like that. It was just friendly."

"A friendly kiss. Right. Between two friends."

"That's what I said," Olivia said with a huff. "You don't have to be so goddamn smug."

"I'm not!" She swallowed down a grin and leaned on the table next to Olivia. "Tell me what happened."

"It wasn't a big deal, really. I went to kiss his cheek, just like hey glad you didn't die, and he turned his head at the wrong time."

"Bam, lips."

"Yeah, bam. So then he asked me to try again and promised he wouldn't move…"

"But he did."

"Uh huh."

"That sneaky fuck. Then what happened?"

Olivia fidgeted. "We kissed. Do I need to draw you a diagram?"

"Ollie. Please. Was it like…I mean…did he get grabby? Was there tongue? Did you have to fight the urge to push him down and have your way with him?"

"Tara!"

She didn't say anything, just waited, and finally Olivia relented.

"A little, but not inappropriately so. No, no tongue. And…yes…? A…tiny bit, maybe."

"Oh my God!" She smacked Olivia with the back of her hand.

"Ow."

"Olivia Jameson, don't you ever try to lie to me again!"

"What are you talking about?"

"This morning you were all nah we're just buddies and a few hours later you're making out—"

"It was a kiss. Hardly making out."

"And trying not to rip his clothes off!"

"Christ. Look, okay. Opie and I are friends. Nothing else. Yeah, he's a good looking guy, and I guess maybe I'm attracted to him—but that's it. And, come on, I haven't had sex in ages. Gimme a break."

"A couple of months is hardly ages, Olivia," Tara said.

"It kind of is for me, and that encounter with Juice in the bathroom didn't really satisfy much of anything—despite the orgasm."

"So talk to Opie about it. He'd probably be down for a little fun, and then you'd both feel better."

Olivia scowled down at her feet. "Yeah, I guess," she muttered.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just…I'm not in the mood."

"For sex?" Tara said, astounded.

"Well, no. Sex would be nice. I more meant…a hookup."

"Babe, you think too hard."

"Yeah, that's what Opie said."

"And he's right." Tara took her by the arms and gave her a little shake. "So you fall for Opie. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He doesn't feel the same way and it ruins our friendship forever?"

Her lips pursed. "Okay, that's kinda bad. But what if he does feel the same way?"

"I can't even think about that, Tara."

"Then don't! Just calm down. Things've been fine, right? You two just hang out, shoot the shit, have some laughs? Like you said this morning."

"Yeah…?"

"Okay then." She made an impatient gesture. "Just keep going. Relax. Flipping out about it won't help anything."

Olivia chewed her lip, and her eyes were far away. "He's gotten really hot, right? It's not just my imagination? I mean, he was cute in high school, but in that kinda dorky way. These days with the beard and the—he's hot."

Tara laughed. "Yeah, he's pretty hot."

"Glad to know it isn't just me."

"Nah, it's not just you. Though, I don't know, you are the only one taking advantage of his drug-addled state to—"

"Tara Grace!"

She grinned and tossed her arm over Olivia's shoulders. "Come on, worrywart. Buy me some dinner before I starve to death. It's been one hell of a day."

A week later and Opie's arm was healing nicely. He hadn't seen much of Olivia, but according to Tara she'd been locked in her work shed nearly all week. He'd only just been given clearance to drive, so he hadn't been by her house since before the shooting.

He pulled into her driveway to find her perched on the front steps, a glass of what looked like iced tea in her hand. She waved and pushed herself to her feet, and they met halfway between his truck and the house.

"Hey," he said. "I expected you to be working."

"I have been." She offered him the glass and he took a long sip before he handed it back. "But I'm finished."

"Finished?" he said. "Finished finished?"

"Yep. With this series, anyway." She grinned and bit her lip. "Wanna see?"

"Fuck yeah. Lead on."

"How's the arm?" she asked as they walked.

"Better. Still sore, and Tara won't clear me to ride yet. She says another week at least."

"Bummer. She's a tough one, that Dr. Knowles."

"Don't know what the fuck she knows about arms anyway," he said with a scowl. "She's a baby doctor."

Olivia grinned. "Pretty sure you've gotta learn basically all of it before you decide you wanna fix babies full-time."

"I guess so," he grumbled.

She stopped at the door and cast a look over her shoulder. "Be nice, okay? I mean, don't lie, but be nice."

"Oll, come on. I'm sure they're great."

She flashed a quick, nervous smile before she opened the padlock and gestured for him to follow her inside. She flicked on the lights and he froze.

"Whoa," he said.

The big one he'd seen her working on a couple weeks ago was done, and it dominated the space, but the smaller ones surrounded it like eager disciples. They all followed the same basic concept: curving, organic glass versus rigid metal; but like she'd said, they had a variety of colors and patterns and…moods.

He caught her looking at him from the corner of his eye, and he cleared his throat. He'd been quiet too long. "Shit, Ollie. Wow. These are fuckin' amazing. Really."

"You think?" she said on a breath.

"I told you before, didn't I? But all together they're like…wow. Holy shit."

Her grin brightened the room and she threw herself at him. He caught her in an awkward one-arm hug and gave a hiss of pain when she squeezed.

"Oh!" she said, pulling back. "I'm so sorry! Your arm!"

"Nah," he said with a smile. "Worth it."

A frown appeared on her brow and she touched his face with light fingers. "I missed you this week. Sorry I haven't been around, but I needed to get this done. Like, needed."

He caught her hand in his and laced their fingers together. "Tara told me what you were up to, and I get it. Sorta, I guess." His mouth quirked. "You been eatin'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Relax, mother hen; Tara's been bringing me food. Otherwise, um…okay, yeah, I probably would've forgotten."

They were still holding hands, but neither seemed to notice. Their eyes met and pink brushed over her cheeks. He grinned, couldn't help himself, and she laughed.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing." Her nose scrunched, but it was a happy scrunch. "I've got news."

"Good news?"

"Yep."

He tilted his head and raised their joined hands to poke her. "You gonna tell me or make me guess?"

"Tempting, but…" She bounced on her toes a little, giddy with excitement. "The reason I had to get it all done is because my agent called earlier this week. There's a gallery in New York—like a big gallery, an important one—that wants me. For a solo show, Opie!"

"What? Oll, that's awesome!" He frowned. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Well…" She took a deep breath and tugged her hand from his so she could pace. "I'll have to go to New York for a while. For the installation and the opening and then stay at least another week in case rich people wanna schmooze. It's a huge deal. Like…I could potentially get a patron? Maybe? Patrons aren't always all they're cracked up to be, but it would mean money, and that would mean sculpting full time."

"Wow," he said again. "That's awesome, Oll. For real." He watched her as she circled the room. "So, like. How long?"

"Hmm?"

"In New York. How long would you be gone?"

"Oh." She tapped a fingertip against her chin as she considered, and he could tell she was adding it up in her head. "A month? Maybe a little longer."

"Huh," he said.

Her gaze zeroed in on him. "What?"

"Nothin'. I'm real happy for you, Ollie. You deserve it."

"But…?"

He offered a sheepish smile. "It's selfish as hell, but…I'm really gonna miss you. A month's a long time."

Her mouth softened and she stepped closer. "I know, Ope. That's the only downside."

He shuffled his feet a little. "If you do get a patron, would you have to move to New York?"

"Nah, it doesn't work like that. I mean, I'd have to travel out there more than I might like, but…basically, depending on the flow, they'd get me some studio space wherever I work best—which happens to be Charming, strangely enough—and they'd pop in from time to time to check my progress. See what their money's paying for. That kinda thing."

"Then I guess you really will be famous," he said.

"Yup. I'll get a Vanity Fair cover and everything." She grinned at him, her dimple flashing, but after a moment it faded. "You know, Opie, I couldn't've done this without you."

"Me? What, I held the torch for you?"

"That's not what I meant." She shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged. "Just—since I've been here, you've…you've steadied me. Helped me keep my head together."

"Good ol' Ope," he said, and he couldn't hide the faint trace of bitterness in his tone.

"That's not exactly what I meant." She was so close now she had to tilt her head back to see his face, and with a frustrated frown she tugged on his beard to pull him down. "You matter, Opie," she said, quietly.

"To you?"

"Yeah. To me."

A brief hesitation, then he cupped her face in his hand and let his thumb rub along her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, but before their lips could meet they heard the sound of a bike in the driveway. They jumped apart like they'd been shocked, and Olivia laughed, bright and antsy.

"Oops," she said. "That's probably Chibs. I asked him to bring me some tools from the shop so I could fix the torch. It's been acting a little weird and—"

"You don't gotta explain, Oll."

"Explain what?" she said, frowning.

"You invited Chis over." He hitched his good shoulder. "You don't gotta explain why."

"It's not—" She broke off and tried to smile. "It's not like that, Opie. Trust me."

He looked away. "If it were—that'd be okay. I mean, you don't…you don't owe me anything."

"You said that before. The day you were shot, remember?"

"Yeah," he said. "I meant it."

She gave an impatient wave of her hand. "Stop saying it. I know I don't owe you anything, besides maybe gratitude because you're—but I never thought I owed you anything else."

She grabbed a handful of his t-shirt before he could escape, and her eyes were bright and steady on his. "If something happens here, Opie, it's because I want it to. Okay? Not out of any sense of obligation, or even nostalgia."

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "What's gonna happen, Olivia?"

She let go and took a step back. "I don't know," she said. "But I just wanted to make sure we were clear in case anything did."

"Lass?" Chibs' voice floated in from the yard, and Olivia turned toward it.

"We're good, Ope," she said. "Let's keep it that way."

Yep, he thought as she disappeared through the door. Real good, Oll.

Apart from, of course, the shattering realization that somewhere between welcome back to Charming and I'm going to New York for a month or more, he'd fallen for her. Fallen hard and deep and painful, like a vise around his heart every time he saw her. A sweet pain, though. A burning, velvety ache.

And she had no clue.

Waugh waugh.