Like I said, the next couple of chapters are gonna be kinda heavy. But what would SoA be without the drama, right?

Reviews, kittens? :D

they say love finds its own way home
around the snakes inside your heart, underneath all the bones
and though the world may fold you in its pocket you'll never bend
you're not the type, my only love, my only real friend
-Bob Schneider, "C'mon Baby"

"You know I could ship you back for this murder, right?" Roosevelt said to her.

"All they have are prints. I could've left those any time."

"Hhmm," he said.

Something about his tone made her cut her eyes his way, and he offered a bleak, humorless smile.

"Your building key code was used twenty minutes before estimated time of death, and security cameras have you entering and exiting the building during the kill window."

Her mouth quirked and she leaned back in her chair. "Well. That's awkward."

"To say the least."

She had walked in carrying a folder and a large manila envelope. He'd wondered about them, but since he doubted she had a weapon stashed inside either one he'd let her be. Now she slid the envelope across the table. "Take a look at those and then tell me you wanna make trouble for me over this bullshit."

He frowned at her, but after a moment he unwound the string that held the flap closed and spilled the envelope's contents onto the table. "What are these?"

She made a face and didn't bother with an answer. Still frowning, he grabbed one of the X-rays and held it up to the light. He stared. Even with his limited knowledge he could recognize a broken collarbone. Multiple healed fractures on both arms. A broken rib. He could imagine all too well what she had looked like on the outside, and it was a nasty picture.

He let out a huff and picked up the other one. Three broken fingers, one of them cracked in two places.

"I was lucky," she said. She held up the hand and wiggled her fingers. "I hardly lost any dexterity. They just ache a little sometimes…but then I ache at least a little bit every day."

He had been a cop long enough to understand what these injuries were. He dropped the film and pinned her with a long, probing look. His jaw was tight and his expression thunderous. "How long?"

"Six years."

He flipped through the case folder from Atlanta. "There's no record—"

"Of course there isn't. I never filed a complaint or bothered going to the cops. His father has ninety percent of the Atlanta PD on his pay role, from the commissioner down to some lowly rook walking his beat."

"Mrs. Flanary—"

"No!" she said, a sharp rebuke. "My name is Olivia Gable. Call me Olivia or Ms. Gable, but I'm not Mrs. Flanary and I refuse to even hear that fucking name."

He sat back and assessed her, his hands flat on the table and his muscles coiled tight. She said she was willing to pass along information about SAMCRO, but he doubted that was her real purpose for coming here. A woman who, rather than take the clear escape route she'd lined up, had come back to put three bullets into her abusive shit stain of a husband didn't strike him as the type of woman who would rat on the people who took her in.

She tapped her fingers on the table. "You still want to ship me back, or would you like to go find US Attorney Potter so we can have a chat?"

"Why him? You can't tell me what you have to say?"

"I'm not trying to exclude you from anything, Sheriff. Just—this isn't really a story I want to have to tell twice. See?"

"Yeah," he said in a low voice. He shoved the X-rays back in the envelope. "I'll go get him."

Olivia cooled her heels in the interrogation room for nearly an hour before a tall bearded man in a leather jacket sailed in. He regarded her for a brief moment before he dismissed her with a flick of his eyes. Roosevelt trailed after him, and from the looks of things he wasn't happy.

"Mrs. Flanary—"

"It's Gable," Roosevelt said before she could.

He flashed the sheriff a condescending smile and lowered himself into the chair opposite Olivia. "Ms. Gable. Better?"

"Much," she said with a smile that didn't touch her eyes.

"Very good. Ms. Gable, I'm Lincoln Potter, US Attorney for San Joaquin County. Sheriff Roosevelt tells me you have some information on the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club that might interest me."

He looked nothing like her idea of a US Attorney. More like some sort of hippie biker type, long-haired and leather clad. Juice had been right about one thing, though: this guy was stone cold. His tone indicated he was anything but interested, but she was sure she could change his mind without much trouble.

"I know a bit about the club," she said. "Probably not enough to help you, though."

"Then why are you wasting my time?"

She flipped open the folder she'd brought and pushed a piece of paper and a photograph across the table. Roosevelt craned his neck to get a look while Potter stared down at it, nonplussed. The sheet was a wanted poster with a sketch of a man, fortyish and balding. He had a full, fleshy mouth, sharp cheek bones, and deep-set eyes. The sketch was labeled, in huge red letters, "NAME UNKNOWN. KNOWN ALIAS(es): MICK DOYLE, MICKEY DOYLE, MIKE DOYLE."

Potter frowned and set it aside to study the photograph. There was a woman—Olivia Gable, younger and far more frightened—with her arm around the waist of a tall man about the same age she was in the photo. Next to them, turning away but still caught in three-quarter profile, was another man. Roosevelt's eyes flicked between the wanted poster and the photo.

It was the same guy, no doubt. The same mouth. The same gaunt face. The younger one—Olivia's husband?—had a similar look, and it was obvious they were father and son.

"What is this?" Potter said. He had clearly realized the same thing Roosevelt had, and for the first time since he'd walked in he sounded intrigued. Intrigued and maybe a little flustered.

She smirked and leaned back in her chair. "That, Mr. Potter, is my opening gambit. Where we go from here is almost entirely up to you."

It was the middle of the night by the time she got back to the compound. She parked in her usual spot and sat for a moment. What the fuck was she doing? Was she really going to go through with this? Give Teddy Flanary up to the Feds in exchange for WITSEC and fucking SAMCRO?

No, she thought. "Not for SAMCRO," she said aloud as she met her own eyes in the rearview mirror. She was only doing this for one person, and if it weren't for him she would've been long gone by now. As it was she had ties in this town she'd never wanted. Not just to him, but to the people he cared about—people she had come to care about, too. Chibs and Opie and Lyla. Gemma with her tough love and her take-no-prisoners attitude. Tara. Tig, the dumb shit perv, and his idiot buddy Kozik. All of them, really. Even Clay, as much an asshole as he could be so much of the time.

She sighed and scrubbed her face. It was worth it if it gave Juice a shot. No matter how things fell out at least part of the club would go down without her involvement. On top of that, Juice would be a dead man.

She hadn't spent the last two years falling in love with the little shit just to have him check out now.

The thought stopped her, and the eyes in the mirror went wide. Well of course that was it. Everyone else knew—at least everyone who mattered. Why was she the last one to clue in?

"Fuck it," she muttered. She climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She had already called Jax and asked him to meet her at the clubhouse, and she took note of his bike in its spot.

He was in the office, and at the sight of her he sat up from his slump.

"Well?" he said.

She lifted her hands. "He's a greedy son of a bitch."

"Fuck." His head fell back. "Fuck!" He kicked the desk and she jumped. He cast her an apologetic glance. "Sorry. I was just hoping to keep this away from the table."

"You and me both, kid." She walked to the desk and propped against it. "What do we tell them?"

"The truth," he said.

Her face clouded. "Not about Juice."

"No, Ollie. We already agreed about that. I'm not crazy about it, but it's probably better they don't know that part." A pause. "You really sure about this? You go through with it and it's done. You can't come back."

"I'm not exactly thrilled by it, but—better than the alternative, I guess." Her tone was grim, her eyes troubled, and she suddenly seemed engrossed by the sight of her scuffed black boots.

"Chibs and I are the only ones who know about Miles and the coke. As long as Juice didn't take the RICO deal—"

"If Juice doesn't take that deal and I don't give Potter what he wants, I'm sure Clay will be getting a visit from our friendly US Attorney soon after. And there's still Otto to think of."

"I honestly can't see Otto turnin' rat. He's First Nine."

"Nobody First Nine has ever betrayed the club before, huh?" she said with an ironic lift to her brow.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Yeah," she said. "Our options are severely limited. I give him Doyle and it's done."

He rubbed his face and looked away. "You know, I can't imagine anybody ever doing somethin' like this for me."

She studied him. "Tara loves you very much, Jax."

"She's also fucking pissed at me right now. About everything."

"She's pissed at the world about everything. Can you blame her?"

"Nah," he said. "Of course I can't." He paused and shook his head. "I really wanted her to get out. Take the boys and go to Portland. It would've been good for all three of them."

"Not so much for you, maybe," she said.

He hitched a shoulder. "They're what matters. Only them. The rest of this bullshit is just details."

"Exactly, Jackson," she said, her voice soft. "Nail on the head."

Jax called the club in for church first thing the next morning. Juice was still in jail, held by Potter as guarantee that Olivia wouldn't skip town during her furlough, but Jax made excuses for him. As everyone got settled the doors opened and Olivia slipped in.

"We're busy here, Olivia," Clay barked. "You want something it can wait till after. No bitches in the chapel."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to say something scathing, but Jax jumped in first.

"Some respect, Clay. Relax. She's got somethin' to tell us, and I thought it would be better comin' from her."

"Go ahead, lass," Chibs said before Clay could offer his opinion.

Olivia tugged the door shut behind her. They waited around the table with expectant, confused faces, and Clay scowled at her and stroked the gavel with tense fingers. She tossed her braid over one shoulder and dove in.

"I've got good information that a US Attorney is building one hell of a RICO case against the Sons. Not just SAMCRO—every Son. Every charter. He wants the cartel, the Irish, and he wants to end this MC as you know it."

They exploded. Voices rose and fists pounded the table and feet stomped. She weathered it with a still, stoic expression, and it was over a minute before Clay was able to restore order.

He pinned her with a ferocious glare. "And just where did you come by this intel, sweetheart?"

She ignored his vicious, patronizing tone and continued as though the interruption hadn't happened. "What's more, they've got Otto ready to roll on the club. Bobby, specifically, but I don't really know the details there. They'll use that as their in, and they'll take you apart piece by piece."

"Otto's no rat," Clay said.

Jax cleared his throat. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I don't know exactly what sort of leverage they have," Olivia said, "but I know it's about Luann. This guy's been up to see him three or four times now, and he's workin' him hard."

"Even if he does flip, how the fuck do they think they're going to get the Irish and the cartel?" Tig said. "Otto don't know shit about that."

She wanted to leave Juice out of it completely, and Jax and Chibs had agreed—reluctantly and with no small amount of fury—to her conditions. She tucked her hands in her pockets. "Otto doesn't. But I do."

"What they got on you, Ollie?" Happy said.

Her mouth twisted and she hitched a shoulder. "An old murder. Some other shit. Enough."

"Unser said you weren't a suspect in that killing," Clay said into the quiet that followed.

"Hum. That was then. Things have changed."

She watched him through cool, guileless green eyes as he tried to undo her with his scowl alone. It was heavy and hot like molten lead, but she knew she held all the cards now. The rest of the club was on tenterhooks waiting to hear what she had to say, and beneath his bluster, she could tell Clay saw it, too.

"Okay, okay," Kozik said. "They got you for some—some murder somewhere. What did they offer?" He stumbled over the words because he almost couldn't imagine it. Yeah, she talked a good game, but actually killing somebody? Ollie?

"I give them what they want to know about your next meet with Real IRA and they forget about the murder charges."

"They offerin' WITSEC?" Opie said, quietly. He'd been silent up to this point, and for a moment she couldn't bear to meet his eyes.

"Look, it doesn't matter what they're offering. They ship me back to Georgia I'm dead. I might not even make it there."

"What're you sayin'?" Tig said.

She drew in a long breath. "There's another option. I don't think I can get out of giving them info on the meet"—grumbles all around, but Clay banged the gavel and they went quiet—"but I can protect the club. He gets Real IRA and a shot at the cartel, which completes his case and makes him happy, and I give him something bigger than he ever expected."

Hard, angry looks passed between the men, but finally Bobby leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "We're listening," he said.

She told them everything she'd told Jax and Chibs (minus anything about Juice, of course), and by the time she was finished you could've heard a pin drop.

"Jesus Christ, Ollie," Tig said, dragging a hand down his face.

"How did Juice not make this connection? I had him dig into Teddy Flanary—"

"You really think there's any paper trail anywhere that connects the name Teddy Flanary with the name Mick Doyle? Come on. This guy is the most careful person I've seen in my life. It was his arrogant asshat of a son who fucked up."

"Your father-in-law is Mick fucking Doyle? And he hasn't tracked you down?" Tig said. Clearly the name meant something to him even if a few of the other guys in the room looked clueless.

"It's been a long six years," she said with a tired, humorless smile.

"A rat's a rat," Happy said. "You think the Irish and the Mexicans won't figure we sold them out when their boys are locked up and we're not?"

"Fine," she said. "Say I don't give them the meet. I just dangle Doyle like the sweetest fucking carrot they've ever seen."

"What happens to you?" Jax said.

"If he decides not to take it, I'm fucked." He'd pretty much already decided to take it and she was fairly sure she could convince him to ahead without the cartel and the Irish, but they didn't have to know that. "If Otto flips, the club's fucked. Regardless, there's gonna be a lot of fuckin' goin' on, and I don't think this guy bothers with lube."

She lifted a hand. "Guys, look. You're telling me y'all can't think of a way for me to give this asshole what he wants without ratting anyone out? Please. I know about that shit with Stahl. That was Machiavellian. Fucking masterful.

"If I go down for this murder we're not talking jail time. I won't make it that far. Hell, fuck knows for sure Doyle'd even kill me. He's creative and he's pissed. Not only did I kill his only son, but also he's been chasin' me for six years. That's a long time to stew."

"Okay," Jax said. "I think we can all agree we don't want this guy to get his hands on Olivia. None of us are gonna rat—hopefully not Otto, either—but this asshole US Attorney ain't gonna give up."

"We can't pull off somethin' like we did with Stahl," Happy said. "Nobody on the inside."

"We don't have to," Clay said. He spread his hands. "We take it to the cartel and the Irish and let them deal with it."

"Are you serious?" Olivia said. "They'll kill him. He'll end up with his head on a pole somewhere."

"Not our problem, sweetheart," he said.

"I'm sure we'll all be cryin' fuckin' crocodile tears for the US Attorney who wants to take down our whole goddamn MC," Happy said.

Chibs stirred. "Maybe we should leave the Irish out of it for now. They're already nervous about the cartel; we tell 'em this and they might pull out completely."

"Let the Mexicans clean up the mess," Tig said.

"We take this shit to Romeo and get our cue from him," Jax said. "If this guy's as close to makin' his case as he made Ollie think he is, Romeo'll want him out of way."

"So what do I do in the meantime? He's letting me 'weigh his offer,' but Roosevelt'll be knocking on my door any minute now," Olivia said.

"Stall him," Clay said.

"How?" she demanded, eyes wide.

"C'mon, Ollie," Jax said with a smirk. "You sayin' you can't think of a way to stall one US Attorney with a hard on? You've stayed off Mick Doyle's radar for six years. This should be a fuckin' cakewalk."

She swallowed and crossed her arms under her breasts. "Yeah. I can feed him something. Keep him distracted until you get word from Romeo."

"We need to vote on this shit?" Clay said. There was silence all around, so he banged the gavel. "Good. You," he said to Olivia, "get the fuck out." He jerked his thumb at the door.

"Always a pleasure, Clay. Gentlemen."

The doors closed behind her and nobody spoke for a long time.

"She didn't have to bring this to us," Chibs finally said.

"Probably safer for her if she'd just taken the fuckin' deal. Ratted," Opie said. "She coulda gotten WITSEC and been clear of all this shit."

"Who'd she kill?" Happy said.

"Her husband," Jax said. "Mick Doyle's son, doing business as TJ Flanary. Shot him three times: head, chest, dick."

"Holy shit."

"Why'd she do it?" Opie said. He'd never asked her much about her life before Charming, and she'd never volunteered the information. He wasn't particularly surprised to find out she'd killed someone; unlike Kozik, he recognized the look of it on her.

Jax and Chibs exchanged a look. Jax tilted his head in a shrug and Chibs grimaced.

Finally Jax said, "He beat her. A lot, from the sound of things. Don't really know details, but…he had it comin'."

"Fuck," Tig said. "That explains some shit."

"I've said all along that girl might be more trouble than she's worth," Clay said. "Now she could bring Mick Doyle's entire fucking crew down on us."

"Who even is Mick Doyle's crew?" Kozik said.

"Nobody knows for sure," Chibs said. "Man's a ghost." He leaned forward and tapped his finger against the table as he spoke. "She's right about one thing: if she really can get Mick Doyle, if she has real shit on him, the entire fucking FBI will collectively jizz its khakis."

"Shit," Jax said. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "For now let's just see how it plays out. She brought this to us in good faith. We at least owe her a chance."

"I agree," Bobby said. "If Otto does roll—"

"Not a chance," Clay said.

"But if he does, we'll need insurance. What she's got trumps anything we could do to get outta this shit."

Clay breathed out a heavy sigh. "I don't like it," he said.

But Clay's wants and preferences didn't carry a lot of weight with the club at the moment, and ultimately he was outvoted. Olivia would be allowed to play her hand her way, and they would stay out of it as far as they were able.

I find that I really enjoy writing Lincoln Potter? Which is weird. Obviously there's not much of him in this chapter, but we'll see him again later on.