Hi, guys! In the day or so I was gone I've been busy. :) I've created a new sideblog on tumblr JUST for my soa fic stuff. The url is juiceinpanties, so if you're interested just in the fic and not, like...Hannibal and cute cats and all the shit I post on the main blog, there's an option for you. :) Also there'll be stuff I post there that's not anywhere else, bc sometimes I just fuck around and write shit that I don't want to really put anywhere, so.

Anyway...

and you move like water
i could drown in you
Better Than Ezra, "A Lifetime"

Olivia was exhausted by the time she got back to the loft that night, but she still had to call Tara. It had been an insane day of running around, arranging, setting lighting—the gallery's owner, Cary Sparrow, had taken some sort of strange and instant dislike to Olivia, and she made everything about five hundred times harder than it had to be. Luckily her assistant, Brad, was cool, and he helped smooth things over.

Olivia put some leftover pizza in the oven to heat, poured a glass of wine, and picked up the phone.

"Ollie! How's New York?"

"Busy. And kinda lonely," she said with a grin.

"Nice. Good to see nothing's changed. Um, listen, I got your invite…"

"That's why I'm calling, actually."

"I figured." Tara sighed. "I'm sorry, babe. I can't get away from the hospital. We've got one of our main pediatricians out with knee surgery, and—"

"It's okay," she said. "I understand. I'll miss you, but it's really okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! You're saving tiny babies. Livin' the dream! Who can argue with that?"

"Hey, you're livin' the dream too. Big New York solo show!"

"I know. Not even thirty and we're both taking the world by storm."

There was a pause. "But somehow still in Charming," Tara said.

"Yeah, well." Olivia pulled the pizza out of the oven and slid it onto a plate. "Speaking of, how's Kohn been?"

"Quiet," Tara said. "Either he hasn't tracked me down yet or moving two thousand miles away finally got the message through."

"That's good," Olivia said. She curled up on the couch and flicked the TV on, but hit the mute button. "Fuck. Ow, that's hot."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just pizza mouth. Anyway, so. What about Jax?"

Olivia could hear papers shuffling in the background. "What about him?"

"Please, Tara. Don't do that."

"Okay," she said. "I'll tell you what's up with Jax if you tell me what's up with Opie?"

Olivia blinked. "Huh? Why what did he tell you? Nothing happened, not really. It's no big deal."

"Whoa, Ollie, calm down! Nobody told me anything, but clearly something did happen. So spill."

She sighed and took a sip of wine. "Honestly? I don't know. I haven't talked to him since the other night, which is…not the way things usually go. I'm worried he's freaking out over it."

"Uh huh. You still haven't told me anything. Just some weird message about Opie and the opening and…something about phone calls?"

Olivia fiddled with her pizza and gave Tara a brief recap of the past few weeks, her phone conversations with Opie, and what had happened last time they talked.

"Whoa. So, like. Phone sex?"

"Not exactly," Olivia said. "More like…" She shivered at the memory. "I don't even know. Phone…erotica? But even that's too strong a word, really."

"Holy shit," Tara said, giggling like a kid. "Opie?"

"I know! Trust me, I was pretty…well."

"Uh huh. So are you in love with him?"

Olivia almost choked on her pizza. "How'd we get from that was sexy to in love in less than two seconds?"

"Please, Ollie. You don't get this upset over a guy unless there are feelings. Like real actual feelings. Like with Juice, back in the day. Or more recently, for that matter."

"Let's not talk about Juice, okay?" Olivia said, frowning. "I'm trying to keep all of this separate from all of that."

"Hhhmm," Tara said. "Whatever you say, chief. Is Opie coming to the opening?"

"I don't know. I hope so. He said he'd try." She cleared her throat. "Now. About Jax."

"Oh my God," Tara said. "There's nothing to say, really. I ran into him again a few days ago, and it was fine, I guess. He's being less of an asshole, so that's something."

"I don't understand why these men get so upset that we decided to go on live our lives, and it just happened to not include them."

"Don't you know, silly girl? Our lives are supposed to revolve around them."

"Ohhhh. I forgot. See? This is why you're the doctor and I just weld shit."

"Exactly. Shit, listen, I gotta go. I'm on call. I'll talk to you later this week, okay? You've gotta tell me everything about your dress and the gala and all of it."

"I will," she said. "Love you."

"Love you too, babe."

They hung up and Olivia set the phone aside with a thoughtful moue. She wanted to call Opie. She wanted to hear his voice and find out if he was freaking out about the other night…but she didn't. They needed space. A little time apart to digest everything that happened and maybe get a better handle on where they wanted to go from here.

If anywhere.

Maybe he just wanted to go back to before. Maybe she did too. Except…after the other night she couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to have his hands on her. His mouth. She bit her lip and slid a hand under her shirt and idly played with a nipple through the cup of her bra. She'd told him she wasn't interested in a hook up. She'd meant it.

Did she still? Because a hook up with Opie might be just the ticket: a quick, complications-free fuck just to see what it was like.

Except would it be complications-free? At all? Because right now every time she thought of Opie she felt the sort warm ache low in her belly that she hadn't really felt since…

Yeah, okay, since Juice. She'd lied to herself for ages about her feelings for him, but she'd been a dumb kid back then. Surely she could handle having feelings for Opie, could get them sorted out and then decide what to do about them without having some sort of breakdown.

She just needed to see him. If he didn't come for the opening, fine. She could deal. But as soon as she got back to Charming she was tracking him down and they were going to have a Serious Talk.

First of all, how did he feel about piercings?

The day of the big gala had finally arrived, and Olivia had only talked Opie once, and then so briefly they'd barely had a chance to say hi and bye. She didn't know if he were going to be there tonight or not, and she also still had no idea how he felt about their last real conversation.

She was nervous to begin with, but add to it the thought of seeing Opie tonight, or Ben, or Ben and Opie, wasn't helping.

It had been an incredibly long day at the gallery doing last minute prep, and she'd just gotten back from the loft after running out to change. She'd accidentally left her phone in Cary's office, so she went straight there to check it.

A missed call and a voicemail. From Juice.

She should wait. Listen to it after the party.

Except that would be hours, and she knew curiosity would probably kill her before then. She dropped down into the chair and dialed up her voicemail.

"Hey, Liv," the message began, and she couldn't smother a smile at the sound of his voice. "I got your invite, and thanks for that, but I know it's not really me you want there, so I thought I'd sit this one out."

A brief pause while he seemed to be sorting out what to say. "You're probably freakin' out, right? Yeah, I know you are. You don't trust things goin' right. I get that; I really do. But, Liv, listen. You remember that night we were at Piney's cabin and you told me your wish was to get your own show?

"You got it, kid. You're livin' it. And you fuckin' well earned it. So relax. Enjoy. Take a deep breath and fix your pretty dress—I know it's a pretty dress, and I bet you look real good—and go out there to see all those people who came to look at your stuff, babe. Just yours."

He took a deep breath. "I guess that's all I gotta say, and I don't wanna get cut off, so—I'll see you when you get home. Knock 'em dead, Olivia. I know you will."

The recording came on to ask what she wanted to do with the message, and she hit the button to replay it. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she threw her head back and dabbed at them. God she couldn't start crying already. She'd worked way too hard on her eye makeup.

When it finished its second play through she saved it and tucked her phone away. She stood up and smoothed her dress—it was pretty: long sleeves, knee length, open back, black lace overlaying a shorter, fitted black sheath—before she took a deep, steady breath, just like he'd advised. She hadn't expected him to come, and it was sort of a relief to hear he wouldn't be there. She would've been glad to see him, on one level, but she already had enough to worry about keeping her dad and Ben apart without having to think about Juice, too.

There was a brief knock on the door and Brad poked his head again. "Lookin' good, gorgeous."

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "You, on the other hand, look harried. What's up?"

He snorted. "I don't point out your flaws. But, well…there's a very large man at the door insisting he's a friend of yours."

"Large?" she said. "How large?"

Brad held a hand well above his head. "Beard. Hair. Ferocious looking."

"Oh," she said as her mouth softened into a smile. "I think he is a friend of mine."

"Cary's adamant: no one in until eight."

"It's ten till. I don't think it'll kill her."

She followed Brad across the gallery, her high shoes clicking smartly against the matte black floor, and when she saw him a helpless grin curved her lips. He caught sight of her through the glass separating them, and his glower turned immediately into a sort of stunned expression, like the glass were electrified and he'd been shocked.

After a moment he shook his head. Wow, he mouthed.

She laughed and pointed to her wrist, where a watch would be if she wore one. She held up both hands, fingers spread. Ten minutes.

He glared. She shrugged.

"I guess you do know him," Brad said, sounding smug.

She'd forgotten he was there. Her blushed deepened and she shook her head. "He's a friend from back home. We've known each other since high school.

"A friend. Mmhhmm. Listen, sweetheart, you want my advice?"

"Not really."

"Good, because you clearly need to hear it." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Climb that boy like a tree. He has got the hottest lumberjack-in-the-city thing goin', and if you don't, I will."

"While he'd be polite about it, because he's not a Neanderthal, I'm almost certain he'd decline your offer," she said, her smile turning wry.

"Me too," he said with a regretful sigh. "Which means you've gotta do it for both of us.

"Olivia," one of the other assistants said from behind them. "Cary's looking for you. She wants to make sure you're with her to greet the VIPs."

"Sure," she said. "On my way." She shot Brad a look, and he returned it with an insouciant shrug.

"Trust me, sugar. I've never seen anyone need to get laid as bad as you right about now, and that boy is a fine candidate for the job."

"Let's just focus on work right now, okay? My sex life is not really something I'm thinking about."

"That's abundantly apparent," he muttered as he fell in step behind her.

After that time seemed to fly. The doors opened and the crowd poured in, bigwigs first, and Olivia was caught up in greeting and schmoozing and toasting, and she had no idea how long it was before she finally spun away and nearly crashed right into him.

"Oh!" she said to his chest. He caught her elbows and she looked up—way up—and the dimple in her chin flashed. She was momentarily overcome, and when she opened her mouth no sound came out. She swallowed, took a sip of champagne, and tried again. "You came."

He'd had time to process seeing her, both through the window and then later as he caught sight of her again and again across the room, so he managed to keep it together and not come off like the stuttering idiot he'd felt like after that first glimpse.

"Of course I came," he said, his own smile easy and warm. "You think I'd let you down?"

"No, Ope." Her cheeks felt hot and she tried to write it off as the alcohol, but that was bullshit. She had a feeling he knew it, too. "I know you wouldn't," she finally said.

She took a step back so she could get a better look at him. He wore black on black: black suit, black shirt, thin black tie. He'd trimmed his beard since the last time she saw him, and his hair was pulled back in a bun at the curve of his skull.

"Wow," she said. "You clean up good, Winston."

"I could say the same thing about you, Gable. Or should I call you Jameson?"

"Ah, yeah. Olivia Jameson is my professional name. Just…because. I don't know." He smelled incredible, not at all like biker Opie, and it was subtle and distracting and full, complete thoughts were a little difficult.

"Nah, I get it. You don't want everybody all in your business. That's you." He squeezed her arm before he let go, and in that moment time seemed to stop. Their eyes met and the bustling party around them disappeared. If he tried to kiss her right now, she'd let him. Her lips parted in invitation, and their velvety red color beckoned him like a siren.

But it wasn't right. Not here, with all these people watching them like they wanted to carve out a piece. He could feel their eyes like little hooks, and the way her eyes suddenly darted to either side told him she did, too.

Instead he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and skimmed his thumb over her cheek. "You're beautiful, Olivia."

She must be absolutely glowing by now, as red as she'd ever been, and for lack of anything else she grabbed another glass of wine from a passing waiter. "Thanks," she said when she managed to find her voice. "You're not so bad yourself."

He grinned and decided a change of subject might be in order. "Hey, I saw your dad a little bit ago. He was looking for you." His head tilted. "Who was the blonde on his arm?"

Safer territory. Good. "His new wife. Well, new-ish. They've been married almost five years now. Her name's Belinda."

"Evil stepmom?" He offered her his arm and she wove hers through it.

"No," she said, "Belinda's cool. I like her, and, more importantly, she makes him happy. That's what matters."

"Olivia!"

She went still and glanced up at him. "Gird your loins," she said under her breath.

"Cary!" she said, pasting on a huge smile as she pivoted.

"Darling, who is your friend?"

She cleared her throat and pulled her hand from Opie's arm. "Cary, this is Opie Winston. He's a friend of mine from back home. Opie, this is Cary Sparrow. She owns the gallery."

"Oh," Opie said. "I guess I should thank you for showin' Ollie's stuff then. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sparrow."

"It's Ms., sweetheart, but call me Cary. And the pleasure is all mine."

Olivia knew she wasn't talking about the art, and she tried to smother a smile.

"Is this how they grow them in Charming, Olivia? Clearly you've been holding out on us!" She caught Opie's arm and waved a hand at Olivia. "Go mingle, darling. I'll entertain your guest."

Opie shot her a panicked look, but she just gave him a mild blink in return. "Sure, Cary," she said. "Don't let him drink too much, though. It just goes straight to his head."

His expression morphed into I'm gonna kill you so goddamn hard, and Olivia tried not to giggle as Cary dragged him away.

Olivia checked in on him periodically; he was taller than nearly everyone in the room and easy to spot over the two hundred dollar haircuts. He didn't look happy, but she didn't think he was going to chew his arm off, so she left him to it. She said hello to her dad and Belinda, chatted awhile, until her agent swept her off to greet some more walking dollar signs.

She'd grabbed a fresh glass of wine and a canapé when she saw him. Ben. She almost choked, but somehow managed to recover as he approached her.

"Olivia," he said, his smile warm.

"Ben," she replied, and she was happy to note her voice was steady. "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

"Miss this? Are you kidding? This's what you've been working for since I first gave you that blowtorch." He hesitated. "Can I hug you?"

"Sure," she said. "Of course you can."

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, his touch gentle, and Olivia returned the hug carefully. "I'm so proud of you, Ollie," he said as they embraced. "You've worked so hard for this."

Across the room Opie had tuned out the conversation going on around him while he did a quick crowd scan. He spotted her quickly—she was small, but her bright hair stood out—and his eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me," he muttered. He set his half-empty glass on a passing waiter's tray and plowed his way through the crowd. People got out of his way quickly, scattering both from his size and the glower he wore, and he got to her just as Ben let go and took a step back.

Olivia cast a glance over her shoulder at the feel of his palm warm on her back. "Ben, you remember Opie Winston. He's our Charming delegation tonight."

"Of course," Ben said. He held out a hand. "Good to see you, Opie. I'm glad you could make it."

Opie shook it and squeezed a little harder than necessary. Ben blanched, and it was clear the message had gotten through. "I'm sure Olivia's glad you could, too," he said.

She shot Opie a brief glare before turning a smile on Ben. "You look great. You're doing well?"

"I am, yeah. Portland's still—Portland. Not quite the same since you left, but still humming along."

Olivia made a small noise of agreement. "And Amy? How's she?"

Opie cut his eyes at her. He recognized the too-bright tone in her voice, but Ben seemed oblivious.

"She's—she's really good, Ollie. We got married last summer."

"I know," she said. "I heard. Congratulations, Ben. Really."

He smiled, big and wide, and ducked his head. "We're actually…we're pregnant."

She went tense beneath Opie's hand, and he rubbed his thumb against her skin in a soothing circle. She relaxed just a fraction, but even Ben could hear the slight edge when she spoke again.

"That's wonderful," she said. "When's she due?"

"May. That's one of the reasons she didn't come. Such a long flight this late—" He broke off with a shrug. "Otherwise she would've loved to've been here."

"I'm sure," Olivia said. "Every new wife loves to attend events celebrating the old one."

His brow creased. "Ollie—"

"I'm sorry. That came out snippier than I meant. It's good to see you, Ben, really, but I should—"

"Schmooze," he said. "Yeah, I know how these things are." He started to lean in, as though to kiss her cheek, but his eyes darted to Opie's face and he seemed to change his mind. "Maybe I'll run into you again before the night's over. Opie, take care."

"You too," he said.

There was an awkward moment while they all just stood there, but finally Ben nodded, smiled again, and walked away. Olivia spun toward the wall and pretended to study the painting there, and Opie hovered behind her keeping any would-be well-wishers away.

"Oll, what's wrong?" he said. "Don't let him upset you. This's your night."

"He didn't upset me," she said, but her voice sounded tight and breathless.

"Somethin' did."

"I can't—I'm sorry." She took a long breath and let it out slow. "I can't talk about it here. Later, okay?" She turned back toward him and rested a hand on his arm. "We'll talk after."

"Sure," he said. "Whatever you need."

"Thank you, Opie. I mean it." Their eyes met, and hers were big and dark. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Olivia. There's no where else I would be tonight. You gotta know that." He paused, acutely aware they were in public. "You know that, right?" he said, quietly.

Color brushed her cheeks, and her lips curved just a little. "I do. And I'm glad."

"Good," he said. He rested his hand against her back again. "Let's go enjoy the rest of your party, babe. This time you're not abandonin' me to the vultures."

It made her laugh, as he'd hoped. "One little Manhattan socialite and badass biker man's shakin' in his boots."

"Not exactly my scene. S'why I need you to protect me."

"Mmhhmm," she said. "No worries, sugar. I'll keep you safe."

He grinned down at her. "I know you will, Oll. You always do."

Didn't wanna add any more clutter to the top, so I'll say it down here: thanks for such an enthusiastic response to this one, guys. :)