Thanks for the comments on the last chapter, guys. :) I hope you enjoy this one.

three words that became hard to say
i and love and you
what you were then, i am today
look at the things i do
The Avett Brothers, "I and Love and You"

Olivia hurried to answer the knock at the door and smiled when she glanced through the peephole. "Hey," she said.

He stood awkwardly, shuffling his feet and gripping his duffle. "Are you sure about this? I don't wanna impose."

"Ope, come on. It's no imposition."

She moved aside so he could go past her and locked the door behind him. He paused a moment to get a look around: it was a true loft, with concrete floors, exposed brick, and a twenty foot ceiling. An industrial-looking staircase led up to an open bedroom area, and there were three doors: one to the hall, one to the terrace, and one that must lead to the bathroom.

"This place doesn't look like you at all," he said with a faint smile.

"Hhmm. Well. The price was right." At his questioning look she lifted a hand. "The gallery keeps a couple of these for its artists-in-residence. This one was empty, so I got it for free. Otherwise I'd probably be begging my agent to let me sleep in her guest room."

She took his duffle and set it by the couch, which was pulled out and made up. "Clean sheets," she said. "I figured someone would be crashing on my hide-a-bed this weekend, so I washed them the other day."

"Thanks, Oll. I mean it."

"Stop acting like a stranger, Opie. I couldn't let you come all the way to New York and stay in a hotel." She paused. "Um, oh, I'm making macaroni and cheese. If you're hungry."

As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud rumble. He pressed a hand against it and Olivia muffled a giggle. "I guess that's a yes."

"Mac and cheese, huh?" he said, grinning. "With hot dogs cut up in it?"

"Do I look like a savage to you? Of course with hot dogs cut up in it."

His smile deepened. "You know what I like."

She lifted her eyes to meet his, and something in her expression made him go red around the ears. "I try" was all she said, but her voice was low and shivery, and it was enough.

He ached to grab her around the waist and pull her against him. She'd taken off her shoes, but she still wore the black lace dress that made her skin look like alabaster and her freckles glow like sparks. She'd cut her hair again, back to chin length, and it was curled and tousled around her head like a bright corona.

"Did I mention you looked really good tonight?" he said, all in a rush.

She grinned, the dimple in her chin winking. "Maybe. Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it again." She reached up to brush a bit of dust from his shirt. "You look good, too. In case I didn't mention it."

"Nah," he said, "you did. But you can say it again."

"You look good," she said, and he laughed.

"Wipe the drool, Gable. I'm not a piece of meat."

"Sorry," she said. "I'm just not used to seeing you in anything other than a sweaty t-shirt and wallet chain, so I'm savoring the moment."

Something in the kitchen beeped, and she peeked around him. "Water's boiling."

"Go check it. Can I use your shower?"

"Yep. That door over there. There're clean towels in the cabinet by the sink."

"Thanks." He scowled and loosened his tie. "I smell like champagne and plastic surgery," he said.

"You big baby," she said over her shoulder. "It wasn't that bad."

"That's easy for you to say. I think I got my ass grabbed about ten times in the first hour."

"Well." Her head tilted in an easy shrug. "It's a nice ass."

He busied himself digging through his bag for some clothes and his toiletry kit, but it was mostly to avoid looking at her. He wasn't sure what he'd see in her face, and he suddenly felt like a nervous, bumbling kid. "Yeah? Why don't you grab it then?"

"Maybe later," she said. "Right now I'm hungry and you need of a shower."

"Right," he said, drawing the syllable out. "I'll make it quick."

"Do that," she said.

He shot a glance back at her, but she was paying attention to the pot on the stove and not looking at him at all. He'd thought she—no. He had to stop thinking about her like that. The other night on the phone had been…well, he wasn't sure what, exactly, besides maybe crazy. A crazy thing to do, and they'd barely spoken since.

He'd fucked up. Moved too fast and scared her off. Or maybe she wasn't interested in him like that at all. Good ol' Ope, high school ex and best buddy.

The water tap was tricky, but he finally got the temperature he wanted and stepped underneath. One advantage of being so tall: if he didn't want to get his hair wet, it was pretty easy to avoid it. He grabbed her girl-scented soap (paused a moment to take a deep breath because it reminded him so much of her skin) before he put it aside in favor of his own.

Maybe he should jerk off. Just so he wasn't so tense when he got back out there.

Except he was in Olivia's shower and that seemed skeevy at best, downright disgusting at worst. In the end he just rinsed and shut the water off. Climbed out and grabbed a towel from the cabinet.

He didn't buy it, though; her disinterest. He hadn't imagined her face when she first saw him at the gala, or the moment later when he could've sworn she wanted him to kiss her. And there was her reaction the other night…the sound of her breath and those soft sighs…

"Stop thinking about it, Winston," he told his reflection.

"Ope?" she called. "Food's ready."

"Yep," he said. "On my way."

Olivia glanced up from her spot at the kitchen island and did a double take. He still had his hair in the bun from earlier, and he'd put on a pair of sweat pants that were so low she…

"Put a shirt on, Harry," she muttered.

"I'm gettin' one. Why? Don't like the view?"

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and let her eyes roam slowly from his feet all the way up to his face. She made sure to linger in a few places: between his thighs. The reaper tattoos on either hip. The anarchy ink that circled his collarbones. He blushed and turned away, and she tried not to notice the dimples just above his ass, or the way the muscles rippled under the sprawling reaper back piece.

"It's a fantastic view," she said. "But around here we dress for dinner."

"That's right," he said. "This is a fine dining establishment."

"You better believe it, buddy." She handed him a bowl of Kraft mac and cheese with hot dogs and he grinned at her. "We even provide entertainment to go along with your meal." She waved the TV remote at him and jumped out of the way when he tried to snatch it from her.

"Behave or we're watching Casablanca again."

"Oh God," he said. He liked Casablanca, but she'd made him watch it three times since she moved back to Charming. "I'll be good. I promise."

They settled down on the sofa bed, him propped in the middle and her curled in the corner. She turned the TV on and flipped until she got to an old Twilight Zone episode.

"Oh, I've seen this one," he said. "The aliens—"

"Hush! I haven't."

"Sorry," he said.

They ate in silence until the big reveal: the robotic aliens the old lady had been fighting were from a ship sent by the USA.

"Hhmm," Olivia said. "Our reputation for violent colonization and the destruction of indigenous peoples must be universal."

"Mary Sunshine over here."

"It's The Twilight Zone, Ope. It's not exactly an optimistic show."

"True," he said. "Science fiction usually mirrors society's biggest hopes and fears at the time. So, you know, McCarthyism, the Cold War…"

She grinned. "Smarty pants."

"Yup," he said. He took her bowl and finished off the last several bites of food, then set both of them on the table near his elbow. The one with William Shatner was starting, so he didn't turn it off, just lowered the volume a bit.

"So," he said.

She cut him a look. "What's on your mind?"

"I was wondering about earlier. At the party? With Ben?"

"Ahhh," she said. She ducked her head to hide a grimace. "Let me go run change real fast, okay? It'll be easier to talk about this if I'm a little more comfortable."

"Sure," he said.

She grabbed the bowls and dropped them in the sink on the way, and he glanced up when the light came on in the bedroom loft.

"Do you have a closet?" he called.

"Not exactly. More like a bar and a bunch of drawers."

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah, it's—shit."

"What? You okay?"

"Yeah, just couldn't get the zipper."

His entire body went hot. Was she going to ask him to unzip her? He could do that. It was just a zipper.

"I got it, though."

"Ohh," he said on a breath. Then, loud enough for her to hear, "Good. I'd hate to have to come rescue you from a dress mishap."

She stuck her head over the railing, and he could tell she was laughing at him. "In your dreams, Winston," she said.

He thought it was safer to keep his mouth shut, and for a few minutes he tried to pay attention to the show. She reappeared and handed him a beer before curling up in the corner again, dressed now in a t-shirt and shorts so brief they were practically underwear. He did his best to keep his eyes off her legs, but it was a losing battle. It always had been; she'd had great legs since they were kids, even though he knew she hated the scars on her thigh.

"It's kind of dumb," she said, and it took him a moment to catch up.

His face scrunched. "Whatever it was, it upset you. It's not dumb. Just tell me about it."

She sighed and shifted so that she could pull the covers up to her waist. "He and Amy got married last summer."

"Amy's the woman he—" He broke off, and her mouth quirked.

"Had an affair with. Left me for. Yeah, she's the one." She waved a hand. "I'm not worried about that part. I'm glad he's happy." A brief pause. "I mean that," she said, thoughtfully. "He deserves to be happy.

Opie made a low noise. "So do you, Ollie."

"I know," she said. "And I'm working on it. It's a process."

"Um hum."

She swiped the beer from him and took a sip before she handed it back. "Did you and Donna want kids?"

He blinked. Oh. Of course. Ben's new wife was pregnant.

"We talked about it," he said, "but she didn't want kids raised in the life. Which I get." He looked away and pretended to watch TV. "I think it's another reason why we split. After I did those five years she realized the MC thing wasn't temporary. I guess before that she always hoped it was just a phase or somethin'. You know, that I'd get it out of my system."

"Grow up and move on?" she said, quietly.

"Yeah." His shoulders rippled. "Somethin' like that."

She had scooted across the bed toward him, and now she sat with her legs crossed, facing him, and her knees nearly touched his thighs. "Ben and I wanted kids. Or, at least—Ben did. And I did, too, but more…"

"To make him happy?" he said when she trailed off.

She bunched a bit of sheet between her fingers and then smoothed it across her leg. "Sort of. But also because…I knew I didn't love him the way he loved me, and I thought if we had a kid…we could both love it. You know, completely. And it would love us and we'd both stop feeling so—kind of—incomplete? Together."

He laced his fingers through hers to still them, and when she looked up at him her expression tore at his heart. "I guess it's better," she said. "That's too much pressure to put on a kid. You should either…like, you should either be apart, or be totally together. Not halfway. Not partly and expecting a child to fill those cracks."

"So you changed your minds? That's why you didn't—?" He broke off with a gesture, and she shook her head.

"Not exactly. We tried. Basically up until…the last year, I guess?"

"You never got pregnant?"

She drew in a long breath and let it out. "I did. Twice."

"Oh," he said. He squeezed her hand and rubbed his thumb in a circle against the back of it. "What happened?"

"The first time—who knows. Just one of those things. It was, you know." She held up her fingers. "Tiny."

"The second one?" he said, almost afraid to ask.

"Um." She tugged her hand away and ran it back through her hair. "Car wreck. Twenty-two weeks, so too little to…" Her mouth curved and he brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek to wipe away the tear that fell. "It was a boy."

"Jesus, Oll," he said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. Her hands fisted in his shirt and he ran his palm over the curve of her skull and down the line of her back. "I can't believe he said it like that, so offhand. Like no big deal."

He was so warm and solid, and his scent was so familiar, that for a moment she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the feel of his arms around her and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

"It's his new life," she said. "His new family. A chance to start over. Of course he's happy, and he probably just wasn't thinking. He really wanted kids. It was like—the ultimate thing for him. He's just excited and telling everyone. Like people do."

"Still. I'm sorry. That's a shitty thing to have to think about any time, much less a night like tonight."

"I'm—okay about it, mostly. It was hard, and awful, but I got through it." He could hear the bitterness in her voice when she spoke again. "I land on my feet, remember?"

"Hey." He cupped her face and tilted her head back so that their eyes met. "When I say that, I don't mean you're cold, or you don't feel. You just—you get on with shit. Because you gotta. It's a good thing, Ollie."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. Come on. You know it is. Tough don't mean frozen."

"Mmm," she said. Then, with a smile, "I think everyone needs an Opie Winston in their life."

He made a face, and she laughed. "I mean it. You can lift heavy things and scare almost anyone off just with a look, and you're…"

"I'm what?" he said, sensing that whatever she'd been about to say wasn't nearly as much a joke as the first part.

She gave his beard a tug, then carded her fingers through it. "You're Opie," she said, her voice soft.

"Good ol' Opie?" He darted a quick look at her full mouth then away again.

Somehow her hand had drifted around the back of his neck, and when she pulled him closer he didn't resist. "Opie," she said. "My Opie. Don't ever underestimate what you mean to me."

Their noses brushed and her lips parted on a silent gasp. He could feel her breath against his skin, fluttering through his beard. Her eyes were huge, her cheeks flushed, and his palm pressed into the small of her back to bring her nearly into his lap.

"Olivia," he murmured.

"Did you miss me, Opie?" she said, searching his face with a worried line between her brows.

"I told you a thousand times I missed you," he said, soothing it with a fingertip.

"Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it again," she said.

"Uh huh. Greedy."

"Yep."

She wiggled around until she was in his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs, and he was acutely aware of how little clothing they each had on. He shifted, but that only made things worse. "Ollie—"

"Did you mean those things you said the other night?" she said in a rush.

"Um." Frowning, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Um…on the phone, you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course on the phone."

His face twisted as he considered. "I don't know, Oll. We talked on the phone a lot, and I said a bunch of stuff. What things you talkin' about?"

Her mouth fell open, then curved in a wry grin. "Well," she said, "there was the whole thing about my skin. How it would look in the candlelight. If the skin with freckles tastes different than the skin without. Also there was a bit about how it would feel beneath your hands." She trailed her fingers down his arm. "Your lips." She tickled the side of his neck. "Your tongue."

"Okay!" he said, catching her hand in his. "Yeah, okay, I remember."

"There was a whole lot more. Questions about where I'm ticklish and how—"

"Ollie, Jesus," he breathed.

"So did you mean it?" she said, and beneath her steady gaze he could sense a pulse of vulnerability. She genuinely wondered. She really didn't know.

His hands fell to rest on her hips and he kneaded the soft curve of them. "Yes, Olivia. Yeah, Jesus Christ, I meant every fuckin' word."

Her composure cracked a little at that, and he wasn't sure why. "Good," she said, her voice gone thick. "Because I meant it too. I mean, I didn't say much, but—" She blushed. "I meant it."

"It sounded like you did, but it's good to know anyway."

Chewing her lower lip, she looked away. Back, her expression wary. "We could do some of those things. If you wanted."

"I do," he said, quickly. He flushed and cleared his throat. "I mean—I really do, Oll. Like, as bad as I've ever wanted anything. But…you know that's not why I'm here, right? I didn't come here for that."

"Oh," she said. "No, I mean—of course you didn't." She tried to laugh, but it fell flat, and he caught her chin with his hand.

"Listen to me a sec. I came here for you, Olivia. For your big night. I didn't come here for sex, and I'd never expect…anything like that."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she gave a sharp jerk of her head. "I don't think I can give you what you want, Opie."

"What do you think I want?" he said, gently.

Her mouth trembled. "A—a relationship. A girlfriend. Someone like Donna."

He sighed. "I've known you practically our whole lives, Olivia. Somethin' like…twenty-six? Twenty-seven? years…and you think I don't know you? You think I want the same with you that Donna and me had?"

"That's right," she said. Her voice was tight as she tried not to cry. "I'm Ollie Gable. Different. The girl who doesn't get in too deep. For a good time call."

"Goddammit, Ollie," he said on a growl. "You fucking well know that's not what I meant."

"So tell me, Opie! Tell me what you mean! I can't guess wrong here, because if I do I'll fuck it all up and God that's the last thing I want. You matter to me. I can't—if I guess and I'm wrong and I end up losing you, I'll never forgive myself. Do you get that?"

"You're never gonna lose me. No matter what happens. Do you get that?"

"How is that even possible? I thought I'd never lose Juice, and now look at us."

"I'm not Juice!" he said. He slid her off his lap to sit beside him because he absolutely could not have this conversation while she was on top of him. Then, quieter but no less intense, "I'm not Juice and we're not fifteen or seventeen or twenty-two. We're almost thirty, Olivia, and we've both been through failed marriages and shit times and fucking life. We're not kids anymore, and I think we're adults enough to—to fuck up and not let it rip us apart."

"Tell me," she said again.

"I love you," he responded, so fast she thought she'd misheard him. She blinked and he twisted to face her and grabbed her arms before she could get away. "I love you, Olivia. I'm in love with you. You're the last thought in my head before I fall asleep and the first thought when I wake up, before I even open my eyes. My day's not complete until I hear your voice and make you laugh, and I gotta say—this last week's been hell, babe. Fuckin' awful."

He drew in a deep breath. "I love you, and I get you can't say it back, and I get it scares the shit outta you, but…you said to tell you. I don't want a hookup or a quick fuck. I want you. With me. I want us, Olivia."

She was stunned silent, and the tears she'd been holding beck fell unchecked down her face. She had no idea what to say, but she knew she couldn't have this conversation with his hands on her, and when she pulled away he let her go.

"That's—a lot, Ope."

He gave a rueful snort and tugged at his beard. "You can't be that surprised."

"I don't know," she said. "After what I did to Juice, and the way things fell out with Ben…I would've thought it might make you hesitant."

His back hunched as he faced forward again and rested his elbows on his knees. He studied the clean lines of her profile for a long time before he spoke again. "You don't love me, okay. I can—I can live with that."

"Can you? I married a man who loved me, who I didn't love back. Trust me: it's no picnic."

"I'm not askin' you to marry me, Oll."

"I know," she said. Her chin tilted his way. "What exactly are you asking for?"

"I—" He made a low, irritated noise. "Nothin', Olivia. I ain't askin' for anything. That's the point. I love you. I'm givin' you that. You don't gotta pay for it."

"You said you want us," she said, her voice so soft he almost couldn't hear her.

"I do. But if you don't, okay. I ain't gonna—I'm not pinin' here, Olivia. We're adults. I want one thing and you want somethin' else, and I think we can still be what we were before with that between us."

She swallowed hard and her head dipped. "What if I do?"

"What?" he said.

She shook her hair back as she glared at him. "What if I do want you? What if I want all those same things, Opie? You and me and us and all of it!"

"Well that's great, Oll," he said, reaching for her. "That's…" He let his hands fall and the worry line appeared between his brows. She looked miserable. "That's…not great?"

"I don't know how," she said. She made a helpless gesture. "I don't know how to do all that. How to—how to…love you and let you love me and just…be. Together."

He had to fight the urge to laugh, because that was just so goddamn Olivia. She had to make everything so complicated and had to think so fucking hard all the time. It was part of why he loved her, but he needed her to understand not everything was a riddle she had to solve.

"So…maybe we figure it out together," he said. Her eyes went wide and he held up a hand. "Not now. Not tonight. Maybe, uh…maybe when you get back to Charming? We could just…see. See how things go. See what happens."

Olivia rubbed a hand over her face. Could they do that? Just…see? She had no idea. She could tell that, despite the brave face he put on it, he wasn't sure either. The silence stretched and lengthened, but despite the tension between them it never turned awkward.

Opie. Her Opie. She owed it to both of them to at least try, as scary as the idea was. Maybe it was scarier to…not. To tell him no and try to move on and forget they'd had this conversation.

She took a deep breath and swallowed around the lump in her throat. "We could date," she said with a sardonic little smile.

He picked up on her change in mood: she meant it, but it was easier for her to make it light. He could do that. "Yeah, right. I could take you out to dinner and a movie."

"Try to cop a feel with that yawn trick. You used to love that shit."

"Jesus," he said. "I'm not fifteen anymore, Oll."

"Mmhhmm. Still."

He grinned. "Yeah. Probably. Then we could go for ice cream."

"With extra hot fudge."

"And afterwords maybe go necking at the lookout."

"Who says necking, Opie?"

"I dunno," he said with an easy shrug. "Somebody."

She laughed, bright and sparkling, and without thinking he pulled her against him. "Oh!" she said, a surprised breath, and he stopped just short of kissing her.

"I know you, Ollie. I'm not askin' for anything you can't give. I just wanna make you happy, baby, and be there for you when you're not." He brushed his mouth over hers, soft and sweet, and then let her go. "Just think about it, okay? That's all you gotta do."

Her shirt had rucked up above her belly button, and she yanked it back into place. "Trust me," she said with a shaky sigh. "I won't be thinking about much else for a while." She reached for the remote to turn the TV off, and a glance at the clock above it had her frowning. "We should probably get some sleep."

"Not a bad idea," he said.

Her eyes darted to his face and away again. "I don't want to have sex with you, Ope."

"Um."

"I mean! Oh God." Her forehead dropped to land on the heel of her hand. "I mean, I do. I—absolutely do. But I don't think…we should. Right now."

"Oh," he said, relieved. "Okay. That's—I agree. That's smart."

She blew out a long breath. "So if I invite you upstairs with me, you know it's not for sex." She eyed him. "Right?"

"Are you inviting me upstairs with you?"

"This couch is shit. You'll wake up with a backache and be grumpy all day." She paused and bit her lip. "The bed's really big. A king size."

His mouth quirked. "I think I can handle sharing a bed without mauling you."

"Don't be an ass." She watched him with big, solemn eyes as she slid off the hide-a-bed. Held out her hand to him, palm up, and managed a tremulous smile.

He slid his fingers against hers, entangled them, and squeezed.

It was all she needed, and neither of them spoke again as she led him upstairs.

Soooo there are probably a lot of you here for Juice/Olivia, which duh. I get. They're my otp, after all. :) You might be thinking this Opie/Olivia stuff is a waste of time, but it's not. I promise.