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i have burnt down my past
i'm lost, i'm built to last
i'm built to break, but that's okay
i got a place down by the lake

we can go there whenever you want
we can go there
Bob Schneider, "Honeypot"

When Potter finally came for her, Olivia was both surprised and not to see him. He didn't look happy, which didn't surprise her, and he apparently wasn't there to escort her to protective custody, which did. She was on the bed with her knees raised and her arms propped on them, her head bent. She raised it slowly, and he offered a tight, humorless smile.

"Ms. Gable," he said. "I hope you're well."

"Well? Sure. I'm peachy keen." A line formed between her brows. "When are we getting on with this? I'm ready to get it over with."

He cleared his throat and flipped the chair around; straddled the seat with his arms crossed over the back. She stared at him, nonplussed, and took the large envelope he offered.

When she tipped it upside down, the first thing that fell out was a metal flash drive. She had given it to him two days ago when they signed the deal. "I don't understand," she said.

"I'm giving that back to you, if you want it. Keep looking."

She gave the envelope a little shake and two stacks of stapled papers fell out, along with the picture she'd shown him that first day, the one of her, TJ, and Teddy. One of the documents was a copy of the deal, and the other one… "What is this?"

"Ms. Gable, tell me something. Are you really so eager to leave Charming?"

She frowned. "I—" Her nose scrunched. "No, to be honest. Despite all the crazy shit. I have a home here."

"That's what I thought," he said. His head fell forward and he let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner, but yesterday was a busy day."

"Did you get what you wanted?"

He looked up with a sardonic tilt to his mouth. "No, I didn't. I'm not sure anyone did."

"What happened?" She wondered how he'd gotten away alive; she'd felt sure Romeo's enforcers would have killed him.

He hitched a shoulder. "Politics. The bad guys won, and I'm left with nothing."

"You've got a way with melodrama, Mr. Potter."

"More like an over-familiarity with bathos," he said with a grimace.

She had never heard anyone use the word bathos aloud before, but somehow she wasn't all that surprised to hear it from him. And, of course he was right: so much buildup only to have it all dissolve at his fingertips. The ultimate anti-climax.

"So your big raid was less that you were hoping for?" she said.

"I can't really talk about it, and it's only partly why I came." He pointed to the first document, the original deal. "As you know, Ms. Gable, we agreed that you would give us information about yesterday's meeting, as well as everything you knew about one Theodore Flanary, aka Mick Doyle. In return, the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club would be granted immunity for RICO, and you would be granted the same for any crimes committed during or immediately following your association with Theodore Flanary or his son, Theodore Junior."

"Right…?" she said. She knew the terms of the deal. It had been a long and agonizing process to get it all hammered out. Where was he going with this?

He gestured for her to read the other one. "I've outlined new terms, and I've taken the liberty to sign it and backdate it for day before yesterday."

Her eyes widened as the read through it, but he grew impatient.

"It says that you will give us information about SAMCRO's meeting with the True IRA and the Galindo drug cartel—which you have done—and in exchange we will grant the club immunity from RICO—and you will receive immunity for any past crimes. Full stop."

"I don't understand," she said again. He'd left out anything about her former father-in-law, but he'd still granted her immunity for TJ's murder. "What about Teddy—Doyle, I mean? That's a career-making case."

"It is. I've given it a great deal of thought, and I've realized that I care more about the work than the career. The Bureau has a name now, which is more than they've ever had before, and it's up to them to make something of it."

He leaned across the back of the chair and pinned her with an intense, disconcerting stare. "Ms. Gable. Do you understand the terms of this agreement?"

"There's no WITSEC."

"You won't need it, as you won't be testifying against Theodore Flanary or giving law enforcement any information about his illegal activities."

She clutched the flash drive in her fist and gaped at him. "This doesn't make sense. You're giving me back all the information I gave you? You're just…you're letting me go?"

He drummed his fingers against the metal rung. "Do you feel you need protection from the club?"

"No," she said after moment. "No, I can handle the club."

"Very good, then." He fished a pen out of an inside pocket in his leather jacket and held it out. "Make sure you date it the same way I did."

She was still stunned and couldn't quite make sense of anything that had happened in the last few minutes, but she took the pen and signed her name with numb fingers. "What happens to this one?" she said and waved the original agreement.

"That is the only copy. Do with it what you will." He rose and spun the chair back into place.

She jumped to her feet and took a step after him. "Wait," she said.

He paused and made a half-turn back. "Yes?"

"Why are you doing this? Could you at least tell me that much?"

He hesitated. His face, partially turned away and obscured by the beard, was inscrutable. "Did they force you to make this deal?"

"No, of course not," she said, surprised.

"But they knew," he said. "They knew and they didn't stop you."

"I volunteered, Mr. Potter."

"For the club?"

Her lips twisted. "No. Not for the club."

He nodded as though some great mystery had been solved. "Juan Carlos does not deserve you, Ms. Gable, and neither does that club. But your life should be your own, and you shouldn't have to sacrifice everything to protect the people you love." He threw a brief, sad smile over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Ms. Gable. I hope all goes well for you."

She opened her mouth, but she was so discomfited she couldn't find any words. He strode away, out the door, and left it open behind him. She still stood in the middle of the small room with her jaw hanging open when Roosevelt poked his head around the doorjamb.

"You okay?" he said.

She shook her head and finally clacked her jaw shut. "Yeah. I mean. I guess."

"He kinda has that effect."

"Do you know what happened with the raid?" she said with a frown.

"Not really. I just know it didn't go down."

"At all?"

He shrugged. "I can't really talk about it."

"Right," she said and looked away.

He hesitated. "You need a ride somewhere? I can take you back to TM, or home if you'd rather."

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Where's my car?"

"Ahh…" He cleared his throat and wouldn't meet her eyes. "It was entered as evidence in an on-going investigation. Seized by the county."

"Are you kidding me?!" she cried.

He held up his hands. "I can get it back. It might take a few days, but since the case is being dropped I can get it back for you."

She rubbed her fingers across her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "Good. Thank you. I would appreciate it if you would do that," she said in a carefully measured voice.

"Uh huh," he said. "And in the meantime—about that ride?"

It took time to process her out, and it was over an hour later that they pulled up in front of her house. Night had fallen, and lights burned inside the small bungalow. There was a bike parked in the driveway. She recognized it with a small grimace. She had hoped to put this off until the morning, at least.

"You need me to go in with you?" Roosevelt said. "Make sure everything's okay?"

"No. Thanks, but I'll be fine." She reached for the door handle, but he stopped her.

"Ms. Gable—"

"Call me Olivia, or Ollie, if you want. I've been Ms. Gable'd enough in the past few days to last a lifetime."

"Olivia," he said, smiling wryly. "I can take you somewhere else. To a motel. The club doesn't have to know about the new deal. You still have a chance to get out of Charming. A clean break. You've already said all your goodbyes."

Her face clouded and she lowered her head. "I appreciate the offer, and I understand where you're coming from, but…I can't. I can't do that."

"Nasty thing, that shooting the other night," he said after a moment.

"It really was," she said in fervent agreement.

"Happened in front of the garage, right? With you inside? Lucky you didn't get hit by a stray shot."

"I know what you're trying to do, Sheriff."

"Eli, please. I think we're on a first name basis at this point." He paused to study her. "This club is bad news, Olivia. It hurts everyone involved with it. Look what happened to Tara. The shooting the other night was the second one on TM property in the last week. This cartel shit is dangerous, and if you're not careful you'll be in the body bag next."

She lifted her head and met his earnest brown eyes. He was right, of course. She'd never wanted her life to get this heavy, and she'd never intended to stay in one place as long as she'd been here. But, like she'd told Tara, sometimes all the planning and intentions in the world didn't mean jack shit.

She patted his arm and squeezed a little. "Thank you, Eli. For the ride and for the advice." She opened the door and swung a leg out.

"Here," he said and offered her a card. "At least take this. If you ever need anything, call. I know I'm a cop, but believe it or not I'm on your side."

"It's funny, but somehow I do believe it." She took the card from him and shut the door behind her.

She let herself in the house and watched through the window with a bemused little smile as he drove away. She appreciated his efforts, but they were pointless. She'd made her decision the moment she'd agreed to take the first deal. Charming—and the people in it—was her horse.

She shook her head and turned away from the window. "Juice?" she called. It was his bike in her driveway, his boots under the bench, and his cut on the coatrack.

She didn't see him in the front of the house, and after a quick check of the bedroom and bathroom came up empty she poked her head out to the back deck. He was there, slumped in one of her lawn chairs. A half-empty liquor bottle dangled from his hand. She wondered if it had been his first.

She tiptoed closer and brushed her hand over his head. "Juice?"

He started like he'd been shot. She jumped back as he sprang up from the chair, and he grabbed her and shoved her against the porch railing. His hand was around her throat and his expression was murderous.

His dark eyes bored down into hers and she stared up at him with a shocked, frightened face. Recognition trickled in slowly, a sluggish drop or two of sanity amidst drink and grief. His face folded in on itself and he shoved away.

"No," he said. "No. You're not supposed to be here. Chibs and Jax said—"

"Things change, Juicy."

He stormed inside to the kitchen sink and ducked his head under the tap as cold water gushed out. Gripped the counter so hard his knuckles were white. She chased behind and reached for him with a trembling hand, but he swatted her away before she could touch him.

Her mouth hardened. "Fuck you, Ortiz. You want to sit on my porch and have a pity-party, that's fine. Knock yourself out. But don't fucking think you can drown yourself in my kitchen sink and not even give me ten seconds to explain what's going on."

He lurched back and water flew everywhere. "Explain? What the fuck is there to explain, Olivia? You turned state's evidence. Chibs and Jax told me all about it. You're gone. Out of Charming forever without a goodbye or so long or fuck you."

"I wanted to say goodbye, Juice. I wanted to tell you—"

"You ask me to trust you, to come to you with my shit, but then the second I do you turn around and spill it to Jax like it's nothing. You didn't even have the fucking curtesy to tell me your plan! You just did it!"

"Of course I did!" she said. She surged toward him and got up in his face. "Of course I just did it, you dope. If I had told you you would've flipped out and tried to talk me out of it. Then what? You would've taken that deal yourself, wouldn't you? Just to keep me from doing what I did."

"You're damn fucking right I would have!" he cried, his nose inches from hers.

"And what good would that have done anyone? Could you have come back to the club knowing what you'd done? Knowing that Jax and Chibs and whoever else were in jail because you ratted? How could you have lived with that, Juice? Even if they didn't find out!"

"I don't need my old lady to protect me, Olivia!"

"Good goddamn thing I'm not your old lady then!"

One hand went around her waist and the other tangled itself in her hair, heedless of the complex braid. "You fucking well are," he ground out. "I don't care if we're the only two who know it, but you are, Olivia."

He hauled her closer and kissed her, hard and hot and punishing, and she kissed him back just as fervently. She gripped his head and pressed close, all lush curves against lean, carved lines. His fury melted away as he held her, and his hands skimmed her body as though he thought she might disappear at any second. Their tongues brushed and their mouths melded and it was like coming home.

"I did it for you, baby," she said between kisses.

"I know," he muttered back. He could taste the salt on her lips as she cried, or he cried, or they both did. He mouthed away the wetness on her cheeks and whispered her name again and again. "I thought I'd lost you," he murmured. "I thought you weren't coming back."

She pulled away and shook her head. "I wasn't. That was the deal. I was supposed to go into protective custody, just like you said."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know. Potter showed up this afternoon with a new deal. He didn't want Doyle anymore. All it said was I give him info about the meet—like I'd already done—and the club was safe from RICO and I was safe from TJ's murder."

His brow creased in confusion. "Why would he do that?"

"He wouldn't tell me. He just said—he said I should be free to make my own choices. Juice, what happened at the meet? Why didn't Romeo kill him?"

"I got no idea," he said. "Everything went down just fine. Romeo and Luis were there, and the Irish. The only hiccup was Clay."

"How is he?" she said, unsure what she wanted the answer to be.

"Not great, but he'll make it. It'll be a long recovery, they said, because of the damage to his lungs." He paused. "I guess you saved his life."

"I just—I just did what I knew how to do."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. "Are you back, Liv? Are you really back? You're not running again?"

"No, Juice. I'm here. I'm staying. It's you and me, babe."

He looked at her then, surprised and hopeful. "You and me," he said, softly.

He wanted to tell her everything he'd been thinking since he talked to Jax and Chibs. He wanted to tell her what he'd said to them—that she was it for him, his endgame—but he couldn't. The words caught in his throat and he choked on them. Something about her face told him she knew, and she felt the same, but she couldn't say it, either. Words could be dangerous, and they'd both been afraid for so long…

"I'm glad you're back," he said instead.

She laughed, short and sweet. "Yeah, Juicy. Me too." She shook her head and ran a hand down his arm. "I didn't have any choice. I had to come back. I only want this with you."

He kissed her then, light and soft, a butterfly's brush of lip on lip. She shook her head and pulled him closer so that the kiss deepened. She ran her hands up under his shirt to caress his chest while her tongue flicked teasingly against his. She pulled away long enough to get rid of her shirt, and he stripped his off too. He helped her with her bra, and then she pressed close again.

The heat built slowly, stoked by long, languorous kisses, honeyed words, and the smooth glide of skin on skin. He stroked his hands up and down the sleek lines of her back. Over the sweet curve of her ass. Up again, tracing the shape of her with both palms until they were cupped beneath her breasts. He didn't linger there, and instead continued up and over them—letting the heel of his hands scrape over her sensitive nipples so that she shivered—and to her shoulders. He dipped his head and kissed her where neck melted into collarbone.

"Juicy," she murmured as his mouth moved lower, down over her chest and toward the slope of her breasts, "baby, we could—the bedroom—"

"Right here," he said, his voice rough. His lips closed over her nipple and she lost the will to protest. It wouldn't be the first time they'd had sex in her kitchen.

He pressed her backwards, toward the counter, and she started to lift herself up onto it. He stopped her, and his eyes were steady on hers as he kissed lower. He ran his tongue around the underside of her breasts, where his hands had been moments before, and she gasped as his stubble rasped over her sensitive skin.

He was still mouthing her nipple, licking and sucking and rolling it between his lips, when his hands found the button on her jeans. She heard the grate of the zipper from far away. He tugged her pants down, followed by her underwear, and she kicked them aside. His hands were on her thighs, squeezing and kneading as he rubbed up and down. Her perpetually-aching bones were sore from the hard prison mattress, and his ministrations felt incredible; almost as good as what he was doing with his mouth.

He moved on, tickling her ribs with his lips and tongue, and then cut in to trail his mouth down the line of her leg. He kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh and she gasped sharply. He turned his head and brushed his lips over her mound. She wiggled, but he held her still with his hands on her hips. He looked up at her, his dark eyes intense, and pressed his nose against the crisp red curls, a few shades darker than her red-gold hair.

She looked down at him. Stroked her hand over the line and his skull and rested her palm against the back of his head. He inhaled deeply and savored the hot, torrid scent of her. He moved his hand under her right knee to lift her leg over his shoulder. She leaned back against the counter, trembling, every muscle taut with anticipation. She bit her lip and he squeezed her thigh.

"Baby, please," she whispered.

She felt his mouth move as he grinned. His tongue darted out to brush across her skin and she growled in frustration.

He gave up. He had no willpower to deny her. All he wanted was to taste her, to feel her wetness on his tongue and her legs shaking around him. He buried his face in her cunt and pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit. Teased the hood back and flicked across the sensitive nub.

Her fingers tightened against his skull as she pressed him closer. He licked up and down, from her ass to her clit and back again. She was so wet, hot and sweet and practically dripping, and he lapped up every drop. He sucked her lips into his mouth and she moaned.

"Yes, Juicy, yes, that's so good!" she said, her voice going high and breathless at the end as he swirled his tongue around and around her labia, first outer then inner. His nose bumped her clit as he thrust his tongue inside her; he moved his head up and down, back and forth, and she writhed against his face.

The low, guttural sounds of pleasure he made as he ate her pussy made her crazy. Every time she moaned or cried out his eagerness and fervor increased. He lapped up to her clit and her head fell back. Her legs shook and her nails left crescent-shaped impressions in his scalp every time he ran his tongue over it. She rocked against him and he moved in counter-rhythm, his lips and his tongue and, just barely, his teeth working up and down.

He wanted to get her off—the first time—with just his mouth, and he gripped her hips tight enough to bruise. He could tell by the cadence of her breathing she was close. He backed off, and she blinked down at him with hazy, befuddled eyes. He grinned. She lifted a brow.

He ran the tip of his tongue around her swollen lips and watched her expression change. He dipped his tongue into her and her forehead creased. He ran it up over her clit and her mouth dropped open. He pressed closer and moved his tongue in figure eights from her clit down to her entrance and back up again. He thrust it inside while his nose rubbed her; sucked her lips in and put of his mouth as he lashed her with his tongue.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" she cried and braced one hand against the counter. She ground his face into her cunt and her back arched as the orgasm hit like the crash of a wave. Wetness flooded his mouth, and he sucked it down. He held her up as her legs gave out, and he would have kept going, but she pressed a hand to his forehead and pushed him away.

"Wait," she gasped. "Hang on, Christ, I'm dying."

He laughed and kissed her thigh. "I don't think so," he said. He sat back on his heels and eased her down next to him. She rested her forehead against his shoulder and struggled to get her breath back.

"Jesus," she said. "If that's what you're gonna do when I come home, maybe I should leave more often."

"Flawed logic," he said and kissed her temple. "You want me to lick your pussy, baby, all you gotta do is ask."

She lifted her head and regarded him with amused eyes and a wry tilt to her lips. "That so?" she said.

He grinned and started to nod, but she pushed him back and down to the floor. "Something on your mind?" he said, breathlessly.

"Mmm," she said as she unfastened his pants. "Let's just say you're not the only one who likes to use their mouth."

Later as they lay twined together in her bed, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her to play with her hair, he watched the shadows from the tree outside dance on the ceiling just as he had the other night. Less than a week ago. In that short a time, two brothers had been murdered and another had been seriously wounded. Tig had apparently killed someone pretty important. Tara had almost been kidnapped and might never operate again.

He'd gone from thinking he'd lost Olivia forever to having her back again—for good this time, he hoped.

He twined a strand of hair around his finger and she stirred against him.

"You're thinking awfully loud, Ortiz."

His brows drew together and she craned her neck to look at him. "Go ahead. Spit it out."

He shifted a little. "I was just wondering—do you think—" He paused and his frown deepened. "You had a chance to get out. To leave. A totally clean get away. Do you think you'll ever regret not taking it?"

"Whoa, what?" she said and raised up on her elbow. "Juice—"

"I mean it, Liv. Since you've been here, three brothers and a prospect have been killed. Tara's been kidnapped twice. Abel, too, the one time. There's been a car bomb and two drive-bys and we murdered a DEA agent."

Her mouth quirked. "You don't really have to give me a rundown. I'm familiar with the club's shenanigans." She ran a hand over his chest and kissed the corner of his jaw. "Juice, listen. I can't promise I won't regret it, because I can't predict the future. Who knows what's going to happen tomorrow or next week or next month. Yeah, it's been a fucked up couple of years, but…"

"But?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

"But I don't know. I guess I have to believe it's worth it." Now it was her turn to frown. "I do regret that I won't have Teddy off my ass. I was looking forward to that part."

"I don't get why Potter would just give that up," Juice said.

"Who knows. He's a weird guy. He said they have a name, which is more than they've ever had before, and it's definitely a start.

"The good news is I still have that card to play if you idiots ever get yourselves in a situation like this again."

"Hum. If you have to go into WITSEC you're takin' me with you."

"Oh am I?"

"Yup," he said with a grin.

"You'd have to grow out your hair. And get rid of your ink."

"That's true, but...I don't know, Liv." His expression turned wistful. "I guess some things are worth it."

She laughed softly and kissed him. "You're a charmer, Juice Ortiz."

"Only when you're around."

"Hhmm. Then I guess I better stick around, huh?"

Once again the timeline here is really bizarre, bc at the start of s5 Clay's out of the hospital but it also seems like it's only been, like, a day? So, I mean. Basically I'm saying Olivia was in custody for about 48 hours, and we're just gonna PRETEND that's enough time for Clay to've been sprung from the hospital. *eyeroll*