See the end notes for some timeline updates in case you're getting confused. I know I am.

the king is dead and the queen has flown
left me here in the twilight zone
lost and lookin' for a way to get back home
but there's no right and there's no wrong
and i'll be good and i'll be strong
Bob Schneider, "Metal and Steel"

At some point when Olivia opened her eyes it was Jax in the chair next to the bed. He was flipping through a notebook, his brow creased in concentration, and she took a moment to study him. She could tell the gavel weighed on him. She had her reservations about Jackson Teller, and she would probably never completely trust him, but she did understand that he meant well.

But, of course, there was an old saying about the road to Hell and good intentions, and the position he was in now rarely allowed him to do what was purely right over what was advantageous.

She let out a soft sigh and he looked up. He smiled, dimples flashing and blue eyes brightening, and she couldn't help but smile back. Slippery son of a bitch was a charmer when he wanted to be, and she was on a lot of drugs.

"You're awake," he said.

"Such a keen eye you have, Teller."

"And still a smartass. Guess one little blow to the head couldn't beat that out of you."

Her mouth curved. "Not my first blow to the head. They say the damage is cumulative, you know, so I guess there's still hope."

He glowered—as they always did when she so offhandedly referenced her old life—and slapped the notebook closed. He leaned closer and peered at her through narrowed eyes. "I can't believe they actually drilled a hole in your head."

"A very small hole. Better than the alternative, I guess."

He acknowledged that with a twist of his lips. Sat back and propped his ankle on the opposite knee. "I kicked Juice out, in case you're wondering. Clay's been bitchin' about his missing chauffeur and I figured you might be ready for a break."

She waved a hand. "He spends too much time here anyway. He needs to breathe something besides hospital air. I am a little surprised to see you, though."

"Why's that?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"Our last meeting wasn't exactly…wine and roses. More like yelling and throwing things."

"I might've overreacted. A little."

"Humm," she said. She picked at the sheet. "Yeah. Me too, maybe."

They fell quiet. It was probably as close as either of them would come to an apology, and all things considered it was a noble effort. He sighed and jittered his foot. She took a sip of water.

"There's a reason I came by, actually," he said at last.

"What? More than my scintillating conversation and squashed-tomato face?"

He barked out a laugh. "Not really squashed-tomato. It's not that bad."

"The more people tell me that the more I worry. I've refused to look in a mirror so far."

"That…might be a good idea," he said and pulled a face.

She couldn't really glare at him, so instead she stuck her tongue out. He laughed again.

"How's the eye?"

"Getting better. They won't know for a few more days if there'll be any permanent damage."

"Roosevelt said—" He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "He said whoever hit you was wearin' a ring."

"That's the rumor. I honestly have no idea. Most of it's still a jumbled up mess in my head."

"Most?" he said and his gaze sharpened.

She hesitated. "I haven't told Roosevelt this."

"Why? You think…?" He trailed off and lifted his hands. He had no idea what she might think.

"I trust him. It's not that. I just thought I should bring it to someone in the club first. If you hadn't stopped by today I was going to have Tara ask you to. She usually visits in the afternoons."

She was rambling a bit, but these days her mind tended to wander. He made a face and she knew to get on with it.

"The guy I stabbed—as if a stab wound isn't enough to help you ID him—had a tattoo on his neck. I've seen it before."

He went still. "Where?"

"The Nomads."

It was enough. He immediately understood what she meant. He fell back with a curse and scrubbed his hand over his face.

"You seem angry but not surprised."

"Unser and I worked some shit out. All this started when the Nomads came to town. None of us really know them, and if someone wanted to make SAMCRO look like shit—" He shrugged.

"Discredit SAMCRO and pin the whole thing on Pope. Then you look like a sucker for trusting him, especially in the wake of—of what happened to Opie."

He tilted his head in agreement. "You said one of the guys mentioned someone else."

"Yeah, but he didn't use a name. At least not that I remember."

"I know, just—he said they weren't supposed to touch you. They'd been ordered not to."

"They roughed up Sydney and Wade and did a number on Wayne," she said.

"So why would they have orders not to touch you if they found you at home?"

"I don't know. Maybe someone has a soft spot for redheads."

He grunted around a grim smile. "Or maybe someone owes you."

She tried to lift a brow and immediately regretted it. "Why would he target my place at all then?"

"I don't know. Because you're an easy target, way out there. Or because a lot of people in the club care about you. I mean, look, everyone likes a crow eater, and Wade's been workin' for us for a while. I'm sure they went after Gemma's thinkin' no one was home. But you? You're practically an old lady. That's a pretty strong message."

She made a low noise of disapproval and looked away. "Gemma's way more an old lady than I'll ever be, Jax. Also queen regent. I'm just a mechanic."

"Right." He let out an amused huff and scooted forward in the chair. "You know, Ollie, you're a whole lot of things—but you sure as fuck ain't just anything."

"Was that…was that a compliment? From Jackson Teller? Oh mercy me I can die now with a smile on my face and light in my heart."

"Fuckin' smartass. Hit your dope button and go back to sleep."

He pushed himself to his feet, and she started to reach toward him before she caught herself. The sardonic humor had drained from her face, and she suddenly looked…vulnerable. Frightened. She attempted to smile, but it was a tremulous effort at best.

"Could you just—I'm sorry. I know you're busy. But could you stay until I fall asleep?"

What had it cost her to ask him that? Jax could only imagine, and he wasn't enough of an asshole to give her shit about it. Instead he dropped into the chair again and smiled slow and easy. "Sure, Ollie. I'm not that busy."

She swallowed and turned her face away. Her thumb worked the button to dose her, and as her eyelids fluttered closed he heard her whisper a soft thank you. Just a mechanic my ass, he thought. Only a fuckin' moron would buy that load.

The bed was empty and Juice sat in the chair next to it reading a comic book. Clay scowled and peeked out into the hall. Usual bustle of nurses and visitors, a couple of patients, but not the one he was looking for. Clearly he'd have to get rid of Juice, and for longer than he'd been planning.

"Hey, Juicy," he said, making his tone light and easy. "Where's Ollie? Was hopin' to say hi."

He glanced up from the comic with a nod toward the hall. "Physio. She's been gone a while, though, so it shouldn't be much longer. How's Gemma and Abel?"

Clay lifted his hands and made a noncommittal noise. "Okay. She's worried about the kid, mostly, but the doc says he'll be fine. Just a problem from his heart, and they got everything workin' again."

"Good. That's good." He closed the book and tossed it onto the bedside table. "Gemma say what happened?"

Clay stepped closer and let the door drift shut behind him. "I told Jax the same crew that shot at him and Chibs ran her off the road. He bought it, but I don't know. Won't take much checkin' to figure out it's bullshit."

Juice frowned. "I don't get it. What really happened?"

A heavy sigh. Juice pushed up from the chair and offered it to Clay. He sat with a grateful nod. "She was stoned. Maybe even a little drunk. Nodded off and swerved off the road."

"Holy shit," Juice said, his eyes round. "When Jax finds out—"

"Honestly I'm not as worried about Jax's reaction as Tara's."

"She's already…"

He trailed off and his scowl deepened. He remembered what he'd overheard the other day in the clubhouse: You're already dead to me. When he'd asked Clay what he'd done, he just said it was the same thing he did to everyone. Juice wasn't completely sure what that meant, but he had an idea—especially since the shit went down with Greg and GoGo at Unser's that morning.

Juice wasn't sure how he might've finished the thought, because just then the door opened and an orderly wheeled Olivia back in.

"Heyyy," Clay said, "there she is!"

She cut a quick glance at Juice and pasted on a smile. "Hey, Clay. Been a while."

"I've been by once or twice, but you were always sleeping. Didn't want to wake you."

Their eyes met, and hers seemed to say, And you didn't smother me in my sleep? Admirable restraint. Aloud she only said, "Good of you. Hard to get any real sleep in a hospital, even when they keep you doped to the gills."

The orderly helped her back into the bed and got the blankets and pillows arranged.

"You good, Ollie?"

She almost rolled her eyes. Somehow even the hospital staff had picked up on the nickname. "Could I get some orange juice, Aaron? I'm sick of water."

"Sure," he said. "Hang tight. I'll be back." He nodded at Clay and Juice and shut the door behind him as he left.

"So," Olivia said, "what brings you boys by?"

Juice cleared his throat. No one had told her about the accident, he knew, but he figured she'd find out eventually anyway. "Gemma was in a wreck last night. Abel and Thomas were in the car with her."

"What? Is everyone okay?"

"Gemma's banged up and shaky, but she's fine. Abel had a heart thing that they've gotten straightened out," Clay said. "Thomas wasn't hurt at all."

She let out a long breath. "Good. Wow. What happened?"

Clay and Juice exchanged a look. Olivia frowned and tried to interpret it. At last Juice said, "Asshole ran her off the road."

"Hum" was Olivia's only reply.

Clay shifted his weight in the chair and fixed his gaze on Juice. "Listen, Juicy, I need your help with something."

"Yeah, Clay. What's up?" he said with a surprised start.

"Head over to the clubhouse. Find out what they know about Frankie Diamonds. As soon as you hear anything, call me."

"Where're you gonna be?" he said, doubtfully.

"I thought I'd keep Ollie company for a bit. Give us a chance to catch up. If she gets sick of me I'll stop in on Gemma again."

She didn't trust the easy bonhomie in his tone, and part of her wanted to ask Juice to stay. But at the same time they did have a few things to work out, and they definitely couldn't do that with him in the room.

"Go ahead, Juice. I'm sure we'll be fine here."

He didn't like it much, this whole business of going behind the club's back, and he definitely didn't like walking out on Olivia again. Even for Clay. He had this own doubts about what had happened to Greg and GoGo (despite Clay's version of events), and he wondered at how Clay seemed so intent on getting to the Nomads before the club did. The Nomads were behind the home invasions, he said. Okay, fine. But why the fuck would they do that? It didn't make sense, and Juice was sure there was a lot he didn't get yet.

He wanted to talk to Olivia. She had a way of putting things into perspective; probably because she didn't really give two shits about the club at this point; and he felt like he could really use that right now.

But at the moment they weren't alone, and he had no real way of refusing Clay's request and getting rid of him, so instead Juice nodded. "Sure," he said. "Probably won't be gone long."

He glanced at Olivia, and the wry smile in her eyes was for him alone. She knew there was something up, but she couldn't mention it aloud either. He squeezed between the chair and the bed, ostensibly to get his comic, but he brushed his fingers over the back of her hand and winked at her where Clay couldn't see. He wanted to kiss her, but not in front of Clay.

"Bye, Liv," he said from the door. "I'll talk to you soon, Clay."

"Yeah, Juicy. Drive safe."

The door shut and they were alone. A tense, loaded silence fell, and it took all of her concentration not to fidget. She felt like a rabbit in the room with a caged fox. The setting (and the promise that Aaron the orderly could return anytime with her OJ) might be keeping her safe enough, but she couldn't shed the instinctual fear that came from being in the room with a predator.

"I'm not here to fuck with you, Ollie," he said, his gruff voice quiet.

She turned her head to give him an incredulous look. "Just to threaten and intimidate?"

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. He knocked out the nasal cannula attached to his oxygen tank and didn't fix it back. She lifted a brow and a sardonic smile curved her lips. That answered one question at least.

"GoGo and Greg are dead," he said. "I killed them myself. The club's tracking Frankie Diamonds, but I wanna take care of him first."

"Right. Because you're so fucking altruistic. Gimme a break, Clay. You need to get to Frankie before they do so he doesn't spill everything he knows about your little arrangement."

"You weren't supposed to be home."

"Hmm," she said. "You knew the cops had my car. There were lights on in my house. Are these Nomad boys of your so stupid they can't put two and two together to equal four?"

He lifted a hand in a shrug. "They shoulda just tossed the place and gotten out. I never meant for this to happen to you."

She swallowed back her rage and tried to think clearly. "You realize I might not come back from this, right? Not fully. This is my fourth concussion. They start to do permanent damage after a while, even mild ones. This one sure as fuck wasn't mild." She held up her arm. "They had to break my wrist in three places to get it set right. Admittedly that wasn't entirely your boy's fault; the fuckin' thing wouldn't've broken in the first place if it hadn't already been fucked all to hell from old shit."

"I know. All I can do is apologize."

"Fuck your apology, Clay Morrow. You think I don't know what it's worth? I gave you a chance, Clay. I saved your life in that garage so you could be better. And you turn around and sic your boys on me? Fuck your apology and fuck you. Fuck the games men play. Fuck Charming and fuck SAMCRO."

He grunted in amusement. "Good to see this shit hasn't broken you."

"Takes a lot more than a little brain surgery to break me."

"No shit," he said with something like admiration.

Her nostrils flared and she looked away. The last thing she wanted was Clay Morrow's regard. "What's to stop me from taking this to Jax and the club?" she said in a choked voice. "You've all but admitted your role in everything to me, and you confessed to killing Greg and GoGo."

"You could do that," he said. "That'd be your right and I wouldn't blame you." He leaned forward and the sound of it turned her head back to him. His eyes were predatory, his smile a lean, sharklike baring of teeth. "But you do that, little girl, and I spill all of Juicy's dirty little secrets at table."

Her face went still.

"That's right. He told me all about Miles and the coke. I got enough to bury him so deep ain't nobody gonna find him."

"The club knows—"

"Jax might know, but the club sure as fuck doesn't. Happy? You think he knows? How about Tig?"

Tears sprang into her eyes, but they were motivated by fury, not sadness or fear. "You would do that?" she said in a soft, wondering voice. "There is one person left on the planet who genuinely cares for you and respects you, and you would throw him away like garbage?"

He flinched and dropped her gaze. "I'd do what I had to do."

"Of course. Clarence Morrow, hero to the people. You'd destroy the last person who loves you just to serve your all-consuming ambition. Honestly, Clay, is it worth it? Is the fucking gavel that important? It's an illusion of power, not the real thing. What does it matter in the long run? It would be a Pyrrhic victory at best."

"Huh," he said. She resorted to big words when she was pissed, he'd noticed, but this was one reference he understood. "I might have my gavel back but everything else would be shit."

"It would tear the club apart, and from what I hear it's already a hot mess." When she spoke again her voice had taken on that sweetness that signaled danger for anyone with ears to hear it. "You wanna burn me, sugar, go for it. But I'll bet you anything you've got that my tolerance for pain is miles beyond yours."

"Yeah. I don't doubt that." He paused. "You might have a high tolerance, but Juice doesn't."

She subsided with a scowl. "No. That's true. So it looks like we're at an impasse."

He seemed to fold in on himself. He slumped back against the chair and rubbed his chin. "I'm not gonna betray Juice, Olivia. You're right. He's like a son to me. What I've got with him is what I always wanted with Jax. I just couldn't stop fucking it up."

She studied him for a long time. There was something genuine in his voice, a note of weariness and grief she hadn't heard before.

"I don't give a fuck about the gavel anymore. It's meaningless."

"So what, Clay? Why all this bullshit with the home invasions?"

"Don't get me wrong. I did that to get my club back. But after what happened to Wayne, and to you—" He threw out his hands in a shrug. "The only thing I care about now is Gemma. I want her back. I'll do anything for her. That can't happen if Frankie spills our shit to the club. They'll take my patch and send me to Mayhem."

"Maybe you should just tell them."

He stared at her, aghast.

"It's an idea. Or maybe tell someone you trust first. Not Juice. He can't vote for you against the club or Jax will…" She trailed off and flicked her fingers. "Someone else. Tig, maybe."

"Tiggy ain't had shit to say to me since I lied about who shot me and he killed that girl. We were already on the outs over what I did to Gemma."

"I don't know what to tell you, Clay. You've burned a lot of bridges in this town. You had everything. A woman who loved you. A stepson who looked up to you. Your club. People's respect and admiration. Now in a little over two years you've lost it all. Thrown it away, even. Was any of it worth it?"

"No," he said, shortly. "And it took me way too fucking long to realize it."

She chewed her lip and considered him. He said he wouldn't betray Juice, but could she trust that? Every instinct told her no, but still some small part of her believed him. This Clay seemed a different man, a transformed one, and it had taken way more than a brush with death to do it. Stubborn son of a bitch.

"I'm not gonna help you with Gemma, Clay."

"Wouldn't ask you to."

"Good." A pause. "I don't know if there's atonement enough for you, but I do know the club won't wait around for it. I don't want your death on my head. I don't want Juice to have to make that call. So I'll keep what I know to myself, and I'm going to trust you—as stupid as that sounds—to protect Juice. Don't let him in on your bullshit. Don't make him part of it."

"I've kept him separate."

"What about with GoGo and Greg?"

"He thinks Unser did it because they tried to kill him to keep him quiet."

"Okay," she said with a slow nod. "Let's keep it that way." Her mouth quirked. "Let me make one thing clear: I'm not doing this for you. I don't owe you a fucking thing. This is all for Juice. You can go to hell and your club right along with it. He is what matters to me."

He returned her smile with an ironic one of his own. "Looks like you finally made your choice."

"Having your face smashed into a bathtub will clarify a few things."

"Yeah," he said as his smile faded, "I guess it would."

Juice had confronted Clay with his suspicions about Greg and GoGo, and Clay had admitted that he killed them. He claimed Pope was behind the attacks, but somehow Juice doubted it. It just didn't seem to jive with what they'd seen from Pope so far. He was more confrontational. He pretty much laid his cards out on the table and told you how it was gonna be.

And now Frankie claimed Clay had been the one pulling the strings all along. That would mean Clay was responsible for what happened to Olivia. Indirectly, but he never should have pulled that shit in the first place. He wanted the club back so bad he was willing to put people they cared about in danger?

The worst part was Juice had left Olivia alone with Clay in the hospital yesterday. Anything could've happened. Now he understood why she'd asked that orderly for orange juice. She drank water like a fish, pretty much all the time, and for her to suddenly be "sick" of it and want juice instead hadn't made much sense. She'd been making sure Clay knew they could be interrupted at any time. It was a safety measure.

How many of those little tricks had she perfected over the years? Simple, subtle safety nets and escape routes. He realized it was about a hell of a lot more than never turning your back to the room. Her entire lifestyle, her mindset, her existence was focused on knowing at all times how to protect herself.

How to get away.

And he was asking her to stay in Charming. Stay with him. Stay in a place that had already almost killed her and stay with a man who'd proven he couldn't protect her. He should have let her go the night she found out about the deal. He should have helped her pack. Hell, he should've gone the fuck with her. She was right: this town and this club were picking them all off one by one, and soon there wouldn't be anything left.

He banged a wrench against the table and scowled at Chibs' bike. He'd offered to fix it after Frankie Diamonds shot out the tires, and in one way he was glad he had: it gave him something distracting to do. But a bigger part of him wished he were at the hospital with Olivia. He'd been away too much lately, wrapped up in club business, and he missed her. He worried about her. He wanted to tell her what Frankie had said, and how Clay had acted when he'd confronted him about Greg and GoGo. He wondered if anyone had told her about Lyla.

He was done with the bike, and if he hurried he could make it to the hospital before that one mean nurse came on duty and kicked everyone out. Not the one Chibs had the hots for; she was kinda sweet. This one was older, with a hatchet face and hair like a helmet.

He wiped down the tools and stowed them away. He was glad to see Wade and the others were keeping the shop neat while Olivia was gone. She was particular about…well, everything in the garage, and she'd be pissed if she came back to a mess.

The door behind him opened just as he shut the last drawer, and he turned warily. Jax and Chibs stood there, and Juice offered them a quick smile.

"All done, Chibs," he said. "Good as new."

"Aye, Juicy," he said as he inspected the bike with a keen eye. "She looks great."

"I was just on my way to the hospital, so—"

"Ollie can wait, Juice," Jax said, his voice gruffer than usual. "We got somethin' to talk about."

"Um." He frowned and looked away. Back. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

"Sit down, laddie," Chibs said and poked his cigarette toward one of the stools.

Juice sank down on it and his worried gaze flicked back and forth between the two. Was this about Clay? Or something about Olivia? He and Jax had talked about the bogus deal, and he said he didn't blame Olivia; they'd all been duped; and, hell, maybe Potter hadn't even meant to trick her.

"You wanna earn your way back in, Juicy?" Jax said.

It surprised him, but in a good way. He jerked his head in a nod. "You know I do, Jax."

"Good. I got a job for you. Do it and we're clear. Yeah?"

"Lay it on me, brother," he said. "Whatever it is, I got you."

Jax' mouth curved in a grim smile. "It's about Clay and what he did to your girl. I think once you hear what I got to say, this won't even be a problem."

Juice's mouth hardened. "Tell me."

I have fucked up this timeline to the point that even I barely know where we are anymore. Okay, so. I've made it so that Juice told Clay about Miles etc a little earlier than he did on the show. Also, while the time between Olivia's attack (which is basically a stand in for Rita Roosevelt's attack) and the truth about the Nomads/Clay/etc coming out has been extended, I've compressed the time between Greg and GoGo's deaths and Frankie's escape. At least I think I have. Once again, telling time on SoA is a Herculean task and frankly most days I'm not up to it.

In summation: by the time Olivia and Clay have their confrontation in this chapter it's been a little over two weeks since the attack. The scene with Juice, Jax, and Chibs takes place the next day, obviously after they went to find Frankie and that dude killed him. So at this point we're about halfway through season 5, and honestly the rest of s5 might be covered in the next chapter bc I'm sick of this mess.