The first part of this chapter is all plot, but then there's a brief veer off into smut city in the second part. So, I mean. Proceed with caution if it's a problem for you.

i've been around
i've been here and i've been there
thought i'd found true love but it was just underwear
made me wonder what love might be
well i was blind, now i see
Bob Schneider, "Medicine"

Her head shot up from the pillow with a jolt of terror and adrenaline. What—? Someone was pounding at her door. She glanced at the clock. At three AM. She closed her eyes and took a long breath. If whoever were at the door wanted to kill her, they probably wouldn't waste time knocking. She sat up and pressed a hand against her sleep-muddled head.

"Hang on!" she called. "I'm coming!"

She stumbled out of bed and pulled a short robe over the t-shirt and panties she slept in. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and yawned as she groped her way down the hall and into the living room. She flipped a switch and light flooded the enclosed front porch and wide green lawn. A peek through the peephole left her more confused than ever, and she opened the door with a frown.

"Juice, it's the middle of the night. What's—?"

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go. I'm sorry." His voice was raw and cracked, frantic.

She blinked at him. He looked like shit. Pale and shaky and— "What happened to your neck?"

"Can I come in, Liv? Please?"

"Yeah." She stepped back. "Of course. You can leave your boots here on the porch and hang your gun and cut up there." She pointed to a wall-mounted coatrack.

He collapsed onto the padded bench and unlaced his boots. His fingers were shaking so badly he made a botch of it and tried again.

"Here," she said. She knelt in front of him. "Let me." She got one of his shoes off, then the other, and when she looked back up tears were streaming down his face. She reached out to touch him, but he flinched away.

"I didn't know where else to go," he said again.

She took his hand and pulled him gently to his feet. Stripped him of his cut and his gun and hung both on the rack. She led him into the living room and got him settled on the couch. "Stay here," she said. "I'll be right back."

He nodded dismally and stared at the floor without seeing it. He could hear her in the kitchen banging things around, and he spared a moment to appreciate how different the place looked from the last time he'd been here. There were walls, for one. Gleaming hardwood floors. There was a dining room to his left, and he could see into the kitchen through a passthrough in the dining room wall. A hallway stretched in front of him, and he remembered that it led to the one bedroom and bathroom.

It was small, but she'd made the most of the space. She'd restored the traditional Spanish feel of the place, from the texture on the walls to the arched doorways and thick beams set in the ceiling. There were colorful rag rugs thrown here and there and a painting he didn't recognize above the fireplace. He was surprised by how feminine the space was. Not girly, just…soft. There was no doubt a woman lived here, and a woman with taste and an eye for detail.

He accepted the steaming mug she offered when she returned, and a ghost of a smile moved across his face. "The place looks great."

"Thank you," she said as she settled on the sofa next to him. She curled her legs underneath her so that she faced him, and her bright eyes were steady on his. "It turned into a group effort before it was through. There's no way I could've done the ceiling by myself."

He grimaced in appreciation and sipped from the mug. The taste of mint sweetened with honey flooded his mouth, and the soothing heat felt so good on his raw throat he almost sobbed.

She watched him over the lip of her cup. He stared down into the pale liquid and shook his head. "I'm such a fuck up, Olivia," he whispered in his damaged voice.

Her head tilted. "Tell me," she said simply.

And so he did. About Eli and his father and the US Attorney. About the coke and Miles and the deal he'd been offered. About RICO and the dilemma he faced. When he was finally done a long silence followed. She set her mug down and her gaze never left his face.

"Say something," he said.

"I'm working through it," she said. "You did all this because you didn't want the club to know your father is black?"

He blinked and then gave a short, jerky nod. "It's in the bylaws."

"You're Puerto Rican. Hap is Mexican. V-Lin is Chinese. Chibs' wife is black."

"Old ladies are different," he muttered.

She cut a glare at him but otherwise ignored that. "But they'd draw the line at a black dad you've never even met before? Come on, Juice. Those bylaws were written by racist old bastards like Piney. Dinosaurs. Don't you think Jax would have a different view on things if you'd taken it to him?"

He ran a hand up his face and over the dome of his skull. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know. It's too late now anyway. I already stole the coke and killed Miles and now they can give that to the club if I won't make the deal. The leverage is a moot point."

She let out a long, slow breath. "This is some fucked up shit, Juice."

He choked on a laugh. "You're tellin' me."

"You know you can't tell them. Not any of it."

He stared at her, brown eyes bright with unshed tears. "It's killin' me, Liv. They're my brothers. The club is my family. Miles was loyal, and now everybody thinks he was a thief. I'm the thief. I'm a fuckin' rat. I'm nothing."

She entwined her fingers with his and squeezed hard. "If you tell them now, they will kill you. They will take your patch and shoot you like a dog—if you're lucky. That US Attorney will go ahead with RICO and the entire MC will be done. Every charter. Everywhere. Telling them now will be a loss for everyone, Juice. Everyone except the cops. What good does that do?"

He shook his head in stubborn denial, but he knew she was right. He had dug himself into this hole, and now all he could do was hunker down and wait for the storm to pass. "How do I live with it?" he said. "How do I make it right in my head?"

She didn't answer that, but it hadn't been a real question anyway. He couldn't make it right. He could only just barely live with it. She turned away and chewed her lip, and when she turned back her face was inscrutable.

"Don't make that deal, Juicy. There's another way."

"What way, Liv? Tell me. Because from where I'm sittin' all I see is shit."

"Roosevelt seems like a good cop. You really think he'd sell you out knowing full well you'd end up in an unmarked grave somewhere?"

"Fuck if I know," he said with a restless shrug. "And even if he wouldn't, this Potter guy would. Guy's stone cold."

"Okay," she said on a long breath. She opened her mouth, but closed it again and looked away with a troubled frown.

"What? What are you thinking?"

"I have an idea. It's not—it's not a great idea, but I think it could work."

"You gonna tell me about it?" he said when she didn't continue.

"No. Not yet. I need you to trust me, Juice," she said. Her eyes were steady on his, bright and clear. "I need you to trust me. Don't take the deal. Just hang tight, okay?"

"I do trust you, Olivia, but—"

She shook her head to hush him, and he subsided with a frown. A small silence fell while he sipped his tea and brooded. Not a great idea. Her words loomed large, and he wondered. How bad was "not great?"

"What happened to your neck?" she said again, her tone so gentle it almost broke him.

He tugged his hand from hers and touched his throat. Winced. "I put a chain around a tree branch and tried to hang myself from it." His eyes slid away. "The branch broke."

"Good," she said.

"I'm not only a rat, I'm also a fucking coward."

"Mmm." Her tone was mild and a little annoyed. "You boys have a rather archaic view on mental health."

"What's that mean?" he said with a furrowed brow.

"Nothing," she said. "Just that, you know, depression isn't emasculating. It doesn't mean you're weak."

"I'm not depressed."

Her lips twisted and she finished off her cold tea. "Not sleeping. Barely eating. Lack of interest in things you once enjoyed. Suicidal thoughts or actions. Sure, Juicy. You're just kinda bummed a little."

He grimaced. "Olivia—"

She rose to her feet and took his mug. Set them both on the table next to the couch before she tugged him to his feet just like she'd done out on the porch. "Come on, Ortiz."

He trailed after her, his face scrunched with confusion. "Where are we going?"

"To bed. First I'm going to do some first aid on that neck of yours, and then you're going to sleep."

"Sleep?" he echoed.

"Uh huh. That thing you do in bed that isn't fucking or jerking off. Trust me; you'll remember how it works once you're under the covers all comfy cozy."

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been comfy cozy, but it sounded amazing. He nodded and blinked back tears. "Yeah, Liv. Yeah, okay."

For a full thirty seconds after he woke up he had no idea where he was. The sheets were cool and soft against his skin, and they smelled familiar—but not like his sheets. He opened his eyes and then screwed them shut again. The bed was set against one long wall, and just opposite him was a big arched window. Curtains filtered the sunlight, but still the room was bright.

He threw back the covers and sat up. He was at Olivia's. Her bedroom. Her bed. Last night came crashing back, and for a moment he couldn't move. He pressed a hand to his chest and rubbed at the ache there, but it wasn't the sort of pain that could be massaged away.

He could hear noises elsewhere in the house, and after a moment he dragged himself out of bed and down the hall. He stopped in the bathroom on his way to the kitchen, and when he got there he had to stop and stare. He made a noise, shuffled his feet against the floor and cleared his throat, and she turned to him with a bowl balanced against her stomach.

"Morning, sleepyhead. I don't have any coffee, but I can make you some black tea if you want. Caffeine without the heartburn."

He barely heard her. "Olivia," he said. His throat ached and he had to cough and try again. "Olivia, are you cooking?"

She pulled a face. "Yes, smartass, I am. Don't give me that look. Thanks to Gemma there are two things I can make: waffles and macaroni and cheese. Given that it's eleven in the morning I thought I'd make the former. If you don't want any I'll eat them myself."

"No, waffles sound great. Um, do you have any juice?"

"Mmhhmm," she said and nodded toward the fridge. It was cherry red and rounded at the corners, just like the stove. "Top shelf." She reached into the cabinet behind her and grabbed him a glass.

He filled it with orange juice and stared at it dubiously before he took a careful sip. Winced as the acid hit his throat. "Ugh."

She cast him an amused glance. "Sure you don't want that tea?"

"No thanks," he said. He worked on the juice and watched her from the corner of his eye. She'd apparently left her robe in the bedroom, because she wore only a pair of light blue hipster-style panties and a white t-shirt. He was suddenly conscious of his own state of undress. He wished he'd thought to pull his pants on over his shorts.

She set the bowl aside and dusted her hands on a towel. A frown flashed across her face as she spun in a slow circle. "Where the fuck did I put the waffle iron?" she muttered.

He ducked his head to hide a grin. Put his glass on the counter and stepped closer. She glanced up at him, surprised, as he grabbed her waist and pulled her to him.

"Good morning," she said with a slow smile.

He stroked her sides while she ran her hands up his chest to wrap her arms loosely around his neck. "Something on your mind, Ortiz?"

"A few things," he said. His eyes flicked down to her mouth. "I needed to touch you. After last night—"

"You had other things on your mind last night," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he said with a bitter grimace. "But I didn't want you to think—"

"What? What would I think, Juice? That there's something wrong with you because you weren't interested in sex an hour after your attempted suicide?"

He winced. "I wasn't—I just meant—" He let out a huff of impatience and rolled his eyes. "I'm always interested, Liv. With you, I mean. Just, last night—"

"You don't have to explain."

"I want to, though."

She pressed close and her lips curved. "I think some things speak for themselves," she murmured.

He dipped his head and kissed her, a hot, unhurried meld of lips. He'd missed the taste of her. The feel of her mouth beneath his. She trailed her fingers against the back of his neck and let her tongue brush his.

He pulled away and pressed their foreheads together. "I think I'm tired of taking things slow."

She laughed and slid her hand down his shorts. He hissed as she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed. "I know I am."

Another kiss, this one harder, deeper, his teeth on her lip and her deep gasp of pleasure and surprise. He skated a hand up her body to cup her breast through her shirt; squeezed it gently and tugged on the hardening nipple. She made her thumb and index finger into an O and stroked up and down his cock: long and slow, short and just rough enough to make him whimper against her mouth.

She ran her tongue over his chest, across his nipples, along the line of his collarbone. Her teeth grazed him there, but she was careful to steer clear of the ugly ring of bruises around his throat. Her expression clouded and she pressed her mouth to the corner of his jaw.

"Baby, promise me something?" she said.

"Anything," he whispered in a strangled voice.

She smirked and let go of his dick. "Doesn't count if I'm jerking you off." She grabbed him by the ears and turned his head so he was looking at her. "Never do this again, Juice. Okay? You can always come to me, no matter what. Always."

He gave a jerky nod, somewhat hampered by her grip, and tears stood out in his eyes. "I promise, Liv. I promise."

"Good." She leaned back a little and reached for the hem of her shirt, but he got there first. An instant later it landed in the sink, and she laughed. "Careful, Ortiz. You're gonna make a mess."

He grinned. "I hope so." He pulled her against him and squeezed her ass while they kissed. She wiggled and slid her leg up to rub her thigh against his. He lifted her and somehow yanked her panties off in the same motion, so that by the time she hit the wooden counter she was naked.

She laughed again and tugged him closer. Pushed his shorts down and danced her fingers over his hipbones and up his chest. They kissed feverishly. Her legs wrapped around him and her heels pressed against the small of his back and with one long, hard thrust he was inside of her.

They both went still for a second. He held her face in his hands and her mouth tilted in a smile. Their lips met, their tongues, and it was a long time before either of them came up for air. He braced one hand on the cabinets above her head and another on the counter beside her, and with their eyes locked together he started to move.

Time seemed to stop, and the world narrowed so that everything else disappeared. There was only the two of them, the taste of her skin, the feel of his body against hers. He tried to go slow, but it was too much, he was too hungry for her, and after a quick nod of encouragement, he gave up all pretense of ease. His fingers locked around her hips and he hauled her against him. She moaned and dragged her knees higher, taking him deeper, and braced a hand on the cabinets above her.

He pressed his lips to her neck, to the sweet curve he loved so much, and as he mouthed her soft skin he whispered her name and babbled nonsense endearments that neither of them would quite remember later. His thumb found her clit, and he stroked it in opposite time to his thrusts. Her gasps turned sharper, higher, and her teeth scraped his shoulder.

He shuddered against her and grabbed the edge of the counter with his free hand. Their eyes met, and as hers started to close he shook his head.

"Don't," he grated out. "Look at me, babe. Look at me."

She did, and something about his face—his brown eyes huge and nearly all pupil, the sheen of sweat across his brow and the smile that toyed with his mouth—sent her over the edge. Her heels drummed against his ass and her thighs trembled as she clenched around him again and again, wave after wave as the orgasm seemed to last forever. He tightened his jaw and tried to hang on to his last razor's edge of control, but she dug her nails into his hips and yanked him against her.

He let out a cry and came hard; she gave a low, delighted laugh as she felt him spasm inside of her. Her arms went around his shoulders and he buried his face in her neck and they rode out the last shuddering waves wrapped up together.

Their chests heaved in and out in almost identical rhythm as they struggled to get their breath back. She stroked the line of his skull, from his forehead down to the back of the neck, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Maybe one day," she said, "we'll make it to the bedroom."

"Maybe," he said. Then his eyes closed and his face scrunched. "Fuck," he muttered.

"That's accurate," she said.

He snorted out a chuckle. "No, I mean…we forgot…" He frowned and shifted his hips so that he slid out of her. "I didn't even think about a condom. I don't know—I'm so sorry. I'm a fucking idiot."

Her brows drew together. "It's all your responsibility? I'm off the hook?"

"Well, no, I just meant—"

"Do you have anything that I might need to worry about catching?"

He blinked. "No, of course not; I just got tested a few weeks ago."

"Okay then." She kissed his nose. "Don't make that face. It's fine."

His head tilted and the furrows in his forehead deepened. "Olivia, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but—"

She laughed and slid off the counter. "Juice. I had my tubes tied when I was twenty-two. I'm not worried about any unexpected Juan Carlitos." She cast around for her underwear, but he stopped her with a hand on his arm.

"Wait. I don't understand." He swallowed past the pain in his throat. "Not that I know much about it, but isn't that something they don't like to do until you're—you're kinda older? In case you change your mind?"

"Um." For a moment she wouldn't meet his eyes, and when she finally did her face was wary. "Usually, yeah. But after my third accidental"—she said the word so bitterly he winced—"miscarriage, my doctor was more than happy to do it for me. In secret, of course."

He stared at her. Just when he thought he couldn't despise her bastard of an ex any more, she told him something new that made him want to rip the man's lungs out and feed them to him while he choked. "I swear to God, Olivia, if he weren't already dead—"

She lifted a hand to stop him. "It's okay, Juice." She bit her lip. "It's reversible, sometimes. Though I…I don't know. I think I'm even less cut out to be a mom than I am to be an old lady. Kids are hard and I'm…pretty fuckin' selfish, when you come right down to it."

He didn't really believe that last part, but he didn't want to argue the point. "I chose this life for myself, and, you know, it didn't used to be this nuts," he said, his rough voice thoughtful. "Jax says everything he does is for his kids, so his kids won't have to live the same life he did, but it seems like every choice he makes just gets us all in deeper. I know that's not entirely his fault, and it's not that I blame him for it, just…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"Thomas and Abel will have this club in their blood, just like Jax," she said. "The other guys, their kids are older. Or away, like Chibs' daughter. It's different for them."

"I like kids." He shrugged and his eyes crinkled with a rueful smile. "They're fun and cute and all that, but this isn't any life for a kid. These days it's barely a life for me."

"Well," she said with a wry tilt to her mouth, "surely a steady diet of really hot sex can only improve things, right?"

He was smart enough to recognize a change of subject when it hit him over the head, so he took her cue and grinned. "Sure as hell can't hurt."

He kissed her then, a slow, easy dance, and felt her relax against him. Something occurred to him and he pulled away. She cast him a questioning look.

"What's your real name, baby?"

Her head tilted in astonishment. "Did you just quote Dirty Dancing?"

He grinned. "Maybe. A little."

"Jesus," she said with a half-exasperated roll of her eyes. She lifted a hand in a shrug. "Audra," she said. "Audra Jameson Munro." A pause. "I took his name, of course, but—well. No one will ever call me that again. Audra Flanary is dead. I killed her just as surely as I killed him."

Her brow furrowed. "You know, I think Audra Munro is dead, too. I'm Olivia Gable now. Have been for a while."

"Munro. Is that Scottish?"

"Um hum." She flashed a grin. "Don't tell Chibs. He'll figure out a way to gloat about it. Somehow."

"It's a pretty name," he said. "But you're Olivia to me, so I guess that's what you'll be."

"Just not Ollie, yeah?"

He brushed a hand along her jaw and his face went serious. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—" He broke off. "That's not true. Of course I knew. I thought if I called you that it would be better. Just like everyone else, ya know?"

"I get it."

"I didn't think it would hurt you so much, though. That wasn't what I meant."

"Hey." She touched his face with light fingers. "I know that." She drew in a long breath. "We've got a lot of bullshit behind us, Juicy. We've both said and done things to hurt each other, and if we dwell on it we'll never—we won't have a chance. So let's just forget all that and…see what happens."

"Yeah." He drew her against him and lowered his forehead to hers. "Yeah, I like that."

"I thought you might," she said. She kissed his chest and her smile turned mischievous. "I think I'd like a shower before breakfast." She slipped away and paused in the door to cast a long look over her shoulder. "Care to join me?"

He almost stumbled in his haste to follow her, and the warm honey of her laugh lingered in the air for a long time.

So this is in no way a self-insertion fic, but I gotta admit that Olivia's reaction to Potters' "leverage" about Juice's dad was pretty much my exact reaction, too.

There aren't a lot of canon plot points I'm gonna straight-up change with this story, but Juice taking the RICO deal is one of them. See also: Chibs' extreme mistrust/bitterness towards Juice in s5-6 (especially after the beat down in s6), bc frankly I think that shit was kinda ooc from what we've seen from Chibs over the years. But it's only SORT OF a fix-it fic, so don't get too comfy cozy.