Alright, loves, what you have before you is a textbook case of avoidance. I didn't want to dive into all the sad stuff just yet, so here. Have 3.5k words of fighting and dirty makeup sex.

hate stumbles forward and leans in the door
weary head hung, eyes to the floor
he says "love, i'm sorry," and she says, "what for?
i'm yours and that's it, whatever
i should not have been gone for so long
i'm yours and that's it, forever
you're mine and that's it, forever"
The Avett Brothers, "The Ballad of Love and Hate"

She'd used the curtains after all.

She hadn't had time to remake the whole dress, of course, so instead Tara had worn it as-is (with a few strategically placed pins to adjust the top), and she'd made a sort of jacket, like a long duster, to go over it. Carla (Nero's assistant, apparently? Olivia hadn't been super clear on that relationship.) had flipped out, but Nero mollified her by promising she could pick out new curtains, whatever she wanted. The long sheers were perfect for what Olivia had in mind, and so while Tara's wedding "gown" may not have been exactly everything she'd dreamed, at least it was better than blue jeans.

Olivia had stood up for Tara, and Opie for Jax. When Tara asked her she said something about being sisters, and that was as far as she got before they were both bawling all over each other like idiots. Some part of her wondered when her life had become about wedding dresses and tear-soaked hugs in bathrooms, but overall she'd rather improvise a last minute dress than a chest tube.

Gemma had shown up, incensed because apparently no one had remembered to invite her. She'd given Tara her and John Teller's wedding rings, and no matter how tough she pretended to be, Olivia could tell Tara was both touched and relieved by the gesture. She might act like it didn't matter, but the queen regent and matriarch's blessing meant something.

The ceremony was brief but heartfelt, and Chibs' unexpected addition brought tears to everyone's eyes. When it was over, and the judge pronounced them man and wife, the room exploded in applause. She and Juice locked eyes across the room, and her smile was wry.

He gave her a ride home that night, after they all watched Opie attack some cops to get his ass arrested along with the others, and he came inside when she invited him. He had seemed sort of strange, like he had something he wanted to say but couldn't figure out how. She almost asked him, demanded he just spit it out so it would stop lurking there behind his eyes, but she hadn't. He was gone the next morning when she woke up, off on some club business no doubt—he'd been acting as Clay's driver and general assistant since he'd gotten out of the hospital.

Considering Olivia's current opinion of Clay Morrow, she wasn't completely comfortable with that arrangement. She hadn't told Juice what had passed between them the night Opie shot him (which apparently the club knew about now; also about what happened to Piney, though Clay had told them some distorted Clay-version of events, as Olivia had predicted), and at the wedding they had largely avoided one another. She knew how Juice felt about Clay, how grateful he was that someone in the club treated him like he mattered, and while Olivia could only see manipulation and subtle, stinging lies, Juice took him at face value.

She wouldn't rob him of that. She would keep an eye on the situation, and if she thought Clay was setting him up for something dangerous she would intervene. In the meantime it simply seemed like the actions of a desperate and lonely man who longed for the esteem he'd once enjoyed. And there was always the possibility that his brush with death and been a wake up call and now he was genuinely trying to make himself a better man.

Olivia had her doubts about that, too.

She technically didn't have to be at work; Gemma hadn't put her back on the schedule yet; but she was restless and bored and needed something to do. Tara was already at the hospital, she knew Lyla had her hands full between work and the kiddos, and she had no desire to perch on the back of yet another motorcycle, so it was Gemma she called for a ride in.

And that was how Olivia ended up at Diosa for the second day in a row. Juice was there, and Clay (somewhere, but she hadn't asked), and Gemma had holed up with Nero almost immediately upon their arrival. Left to her own devices, Olivia struck up a conversation with one of the girls. It turned out they had the same favorite book—American Gods by Neil Gaiman—and they spent the next fifteen or so minutes debating various points of fact about Shadow and Sam Black Crow and Lakeside, Wisconsin.

Juice watched it all from behind a magazine he pretended to read. Olivia laughed and touched the girl's shoulder. She apparently said something about Olivia's hair, because she tugged it free of its pins and held the long braid out for the girl's inspection. She oohed and aahed and ran her hand down the red-gold rope.

Juice scowled and shifted in his seat. Tossed the magazine aside and pulled out his phone. He tried to play Tetris, but he hated the shitty black and white display and he quickly grew bored. Olivia and the girl were laughing again, and Juice watched with narrowed eyes as she wrote something on a slip of paper and tucked it in Olivia's pocket.

That was the last straw. He exploded off the couch and strode toward her. Her eyes widened as he grabbed her wrist. "Can I talk to you?" he said.

Her glance darted from him to the girl and back again. "Sure, Juicy. Can it wait, or—?"

"Now, please."

She tugged her arm from his grasp and flashed a tight smile. When she turned back to the girl the tension eased from her face and her expression became friendly and open. "Looks like we'll have to continue this later." She patted her pocket. "Thanks for the number, Sasha."

"No problem, Olivia. Take care of yourself," she said with a quirk of her brows and a knowing look in Juice's direction.

Juice glowered and motioned for her to follow. She rolled her eyes at Sasha and fell in step behind him. His shoulders were rigid, his back tight, and she could tell from the cant of his head he was pissed.

He waited for her to enter the room ahead of him and slammed the door so hard she jumped. She spun toward him, brow furrowed and mouth a tight line.

"What the fuck, Juice? That was incredibly rude, and I don't appreciate you grabbing me—"

"How did you think I was gonna react, Olivia? What did you think I would do?"

"React to what? Do about what? What the hell is wrong with you?"

He threw an arm out, back toward the lobby. "You were all over that girl right in front of me! Laughing and flirting. You even got her fucking number! I was sitting right there!"

She gaped at him. That's what had him spitting nails? He was jealous? Of a conversation? "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious! You were flirting with a whore—"

"Whoa. Watch yourself, Ortiz."

"That's what she is!"

"Her profession is none of your fucking business. Might as well say she was flirting with a mechanic!" She waved her hands and made a face like she'd smelled something awful.

He glared at her. "So you admit it."

"Admit what? We were talking, Juice."

"You let her touch your hair!"

"She wanted to know how long it was! She asked if she could touch it and I said yes. It was nothing, for fuck's sake."

"It would be nothing if you didn't—" He cut himself off and jerked his head. The muscles danced in his jaw and he shoved his fists into the pockets on his cut.

"If I didn't what?" she said in a low, dangerous voice. "If I didn't fuck women? That's what you mean, isn't it? Because right now you're acting like someone put their hands all over your property without your permission."

His mouth fell open. "That's not what I meant, Olivia."

She just fumed at him, eyes narrowed and face flushed.

"Fuck," he muttered. Then, "Yeah, fine! It pissed me off, and it wouldn't have if I didn't know the the person you were with before me was a woman!"

Her eyes flared and scarlet flooded her cheeks. "You want to know something else? They've all been women. Every person I've slept with since TJ. All women. Except you! You're the only guy I've even really looked at in the last seven years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He ducked his head and his face screwed up. He hadn't known that. She'd hinted at it, sort of, but this was the first time she'd come out and said it. "It does," he said. "But I just—"

"You what, Juice? What do you think bisexuality is? Do you think it means I have some sort of uncontrollable libido and I just fuck anyone I find the least bit attractive?"

He hitched a shoulder. Sort of. Maybe. But he wasn't stupid enough to admit it aloud.

"Goddammit, Ortiz! I have no fucking time for your biphobia and the idiotic notions you've gleaned from way too much porn! Next you'll be demanding I call you daddy while you come on my face!"

That startled him into looking at her. He opened his mouth to protest, but she grabbed double handfuls of his cut and hauled him closer. Her eyes were hot, verdant sparks. "Are you in this with me or not?"

"Of course I am," he said. "You know I am."

"Are you planning to fuck somebody else?"

"What? Olivia, no—"

"Okay! Then why the hell do you think I would? If you've got so little faith in me that I can't even have a conversation with a cute girl then we're in serious trouble."

"I didn't—"

"Yeah, Juice, you did. You think it's easy for me to see the crow eaters hanging all over you? They all think you're so cute with your big sad eyes and your tight little brown ass. And it's not like you'd even have to waste time flirting! One crook of your finger and they're basically obligated to come running. You have a fucking harem at your beck and call and I'm supposed to just be cool with that."

He grabbed her wrists and pried her fingers from his cut. "You never said anything. You told me you didn't care about them. The night of the party you said you didn't give a fuck." Her exact words had been I don't give a flying fuck. He hadn't forgotten a second of that encounter at the swings despite the alcohol in his blood at the time.

"I don't. Of course I don't." She spun away and shook her head. Raised trembling hands to scrape back her hair. "Except I fucking well do and I'd be an idiot if I didn't," she said over her shoulder.

"So that's why you flirted with that girl? Because of the crow eaters?"

She rounded on him and he knew he'd said exactly the wrong thing.

"I. Was. Not. Flirting with her. We were talking." She pulled the paper from her pocket and flung it at him. "She gave me the number of her esthetician because I asked her where the girls get their bikini waxes!"

He blinked. "Why would you—?"

"Why do you think, asshole?!"

"Oh," he said as the light dawned. He realized then he'd made a very grave error. He rubbed a hand over his scalp and ducked his head. "Olivia, fuck, I'm sorry. I—"

"Oh no!" she said and jabbed a finger at him. "No way. You don't get to wiggle your way out of this with puppy eyes and some lame ass apology. You seriously thought I was picking someone up while you sat and watched? What kind of person do you think I am?"

His mouth hardened and he surged toward her. He grasped her arms and squeezed. "You're mine, Olivia. That's what you are. Not my possession, that's not what I mean, but still mine. I wanna tell every fucking person I see and you want to keep it all a secret and it's got me so mixed up I can't even see straight."

She tried to shove him away but he gripped tighter and pulled her against him. "You're not going anywhere," he said.

She lifted her chin and met his angry gaze without flinching. "It's no one else's business, Juice. No one else needs to know what we are."

"Fine," he said, a husky growl. "Maybe I need to know what we are."

"You just said it." Her voice shook, and that seemed to make her angrier.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck you, Ortiz," she hissed.

His head tilted in a thoughtful nod. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said. He lowered his head and cut off her protest with a furious kiss. She bit his lip and he drew back with a grimace.

She laughed and jerked her arms from his hold. Grabbed his head and pulled him down again. Her tongue lathed over the tender spot and he moaned against her mouth as their lips met. She shoved his cut off his shoulders and yanked his shirt over his head. He pushed her onto the sofa and was on top of her before she had her breath back.

He rucked her shirt up under her chin and licked a line from her breasts to the waist of her jeans. Her back arched. He undid the button on her pants and lowered the zipper, but as she started to reach for him he flipped her onto her belly. She gasped in surprise and her head came up off the cushions. She shook her hair off her face and cast a long look over her shoulder. Her eyes were all pupil as she watched him. He bared his teeth in a grin that made her dig her teeth into her lip.

He raised her up onto her knees and tugged her pants down her thighs. He took a moment to admire the long line of her back and the rounded curve of her ass. She wiggled.

"Juice, what—?"

"Shhh," he whispered. He stroked a hand over her buttocks. "Hush, baby."

She whimpered as he spread her cheeks. He ran his tongue from her hole to her clit and back again. He wanted her dripping. Aching and begging and wanton. She wasn't his possession, his property, like some object that could be bought and sold—but she was still his, and he was hers, and it didn't matter who did or didn't know.

All of these thoughts flashed through his head in an instant, and when he lowered his mouth again he was grinning. He circled his tongue around her hole, back and forth across it, up and down, until he could feel the muscles in her thighs quiver every time he touched her. She had her face buried in a pillow to muffle the sounds she made, but he could still hear her breathless gasps and heated moans, and each one was a thrill.

He moved down and lapped at her pussy. Across her clit. Around her lips. He sucked each one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it as he slid it in and out.

"Fuck," she whimpered, her voice clearer as she lifted her head. "That's so good, Juicy!"

"You want more?" he said and drew a finger along her wet slit.

She nodded wordlessly. He slid the finger into her and drew it out. She groaned in frustration and he smirked.

"Not enough?"

"You know what I want," she said through gritted teeth.

"Hhmm. Yeah. I guess I do."

She heard the jingle of his belt and the scrape of his zipper and her hips pressed back against him eagerly. He grasped her thighs to hold her still. She felt the head of his cock glide along where his finger had just been and she bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

He brushed it across her clit and she rocked backwards. He swore and his hips jerked. She laughed.

"Looks like I'm not the only one getting desperate," she said, breathlessly.

He squeezed her thighs. "Say it, Liv," he demanded, his voice rough and thick.

"Say what?" she said, and he could hear her smirk.

He dipped the head of his cock into her and pulled it out again. Slid it back down over the sensitive nub. "You know what."

She let out a strangled moan as he pushed into her halfway and then stopped. "Please, baby!"

His breath hitched and he clenched his jaw. "That's nice," he said. "That's—" Her muscles tightened around him and he choked. "You know—what I meant," he managed.

In his distraction he'd loosened his grip on her thighs, and she took advantage of it. She eased back and he slid in deeper. He groaned and buried himself in her to the hilt.

"Not. Fair," he said.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he pulled out to the tip and thrust back in again.

"You're mine, Ortiz," she said, her voice hard and tight and almost angry. "You're mine and I'm yours and that's it."

He let out a strangled cry and yanked her back. He moved in long deep strokes, pulling her against him as he pushed into her. It went on and on until she thought she'd lose her mind. She begged him to go harder, faster, and he ground his teeth together.

"Don't wanna hurt you," he gasped out.

"You won't!" she said on a moan. "Please, Juicy!"

"Fuck—!" His control snapped and he slammed into her. She buried her face in the pillow and eagerly met every thrust. He slid his hand around her body and found her clit, and as soon as his fingers touched her he felt her tense.

She threw a look over her shoulder and he could read what she wanted in her eyes. He rocked against her and teased her clit. He pressed in deeper and her mouth curved as she jerked her head in a nod.

"Now, baby," she said.

Her name fell from his lips like an oath and her head fell back as the orgasm hit. She clenched around him like a vise, again and again, drawing him deeper, and he came with her, an electric jolt as he pumped into her. His own climax left him shaking, and it had no sooner passed than he pulled out and dropped to his hands.

"What…?" she murmured in confusion.

Then his mouth was on her and her mind blanked. He chased a trickle of their mingled come as it slid down the inside of her thigh and followed it back up to her cunt. He lapped at her, flicking his tongue up and down to catch every drop. He pressed his mouth against her and sucked. She moaned and ground against his face. He swirled his tongue around her hyper-sensitive clit until she tried to pull away, and then he moved up to dip it inside of her.

He pulled it out to flick over her clit and then thrust it back in again. Twisted it inside of her. He sucked and licked and nibbled until she let out a long, high-pitched keen and he felt a fresh surge of wetness against his tongue. He moaned and kept going until she begged him to stop. He leaned back reluctantly and pressed a kiss to her thigh.

She started to slide onto her stomach, but he tugged her back against him as he sat so that she was perched on his lap. She laughed a little and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck and up over his skull.

"Well," she said.

"Mmhhmm," he murmured. He dipped his head to kiss her throat. She shifted against him.

"My pants," she said with a frown. She toed off her shoes and he helped her wiggle free of the heavy denim. When she was settled again she cut a look up at him. "They'll probably want their room back soon."

"I'll pay Nero for his trouble," he said and sucked her earlobe.

"And what about me?" she said. Her fingers dug into his thigh as his tongue hit a sensitive spot behind her ear. "I'm missing work right now."

"Ohh," he said, drawing the syllable out. "Then I'll pay you for your time, too."

She twisted around to face him and he reached to unclasp her bra. She looked down with a vexed expression that made him laugh. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple and she glanced up with a lifted brow.

"Hmm," she said. "And what if I don't want your money?"

He shrugged and pressed his mouth to her shoulder. "We'll think of something."

"So confident, Mr. Ortiz."

"Yep," he said with a grin. He lifted her with strong hands and slid her down onto his cock.

She bit out a gasp. "Already?" she said.

"Yep," he repeated, his voice gone husky.

She kissed him then, her mouth hot and heady, her tongue a smooth velvet glide against his. "You're mine, Ortiz," she said when the kiss broke.

"I know," he told her. His eyes were steady on hers, and she could read the unspoken apology written there. "And you're mine. Nothing else matters."

This time it was slow and sweet, filled with languorous kisses and unhurried caresses, whispered words and soft laughter. It lasted a long, long time, and the world outside might as well have burned down for all the thought they gave it.

Can't avoid 5x3-4 any longer, kids, so expect things to get tough next chapter.

Also, we'll start to see the fallout from Olivia's new "deal."