I'm publishing this simultaneously on archiveofourown, and also on my tumblr (url stupidscalptattoos), so you can always check over there if you wanna.

Enjoy!

oh there's larry he's alright
he's a walking stick of lit dynamite
always gets it wrong
his heart's as soft as chicken bone
Bob Schneider, "Come With Me Tonight"

She was thrilled to see Juice when he walked into her room that night. Not just because she'd missed him—though she had; he hadn't been around much lately—but also because she was starting to feel better, and that meant boredom was setting in. She couldn't knit, not with her wrist like it was, and it gave her a headache to try to read. She had the TV on at the moment, but she had to keep the volume super low or, yeah—a headache. Visitors were really her only respite from her own brain.

She hit the off button on the remote and grinned. Her smile faded as he stepped closer and she got a better look at him. His face was haggard and his eyes downcast. There was a deep groove between his brows.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

He slumped down into the chair and leaned forward with his head in his hands. "I'm such a fuck up, Liv."

"No more so than anyone else, really. Just, um. Yours've been maybe a little concentrated lately."

He looked up with an incredulous expression. She shrugged a shoulder and her mouth tilted wryly.

"Come here," she said.

He rose uncertainly to his feet and she tugged him closer.

"Here, silly. In the bed with me."

He gave her a long look, but at last he relented and perched on the edge of the bed to take off his boots. He slipped his cut off his shoulders and tossed it in the chair. He lifted his eyebrows at her and she nodded, so he swung his legs up and stretched out next to her. She curled up against his side and pressed her face into his shoulder. She took a long breath through her nose and he looked at her, puzzled.

"I've missed you. And, you know, smell is the sense tied the strongest to memory, so I was just reminding myself."

"Oh," he said. He brushed his nose against her hair, and through the hospital smells of medicine and antiseptic he caught a hint of Olivia. "I missed you too."

She rested her cast across his belly. He ran gentle fingers through her hair and down the side of her neck.

"How's the head?"

"Mmm. Hurts, but not as much. How's my face?" She still refused to look in a mirror, despite the hospital shrink's advice that she "couldn't confront the reality of the attack until she looked it head on." As if Olivia didn't know anything about dealing with PTSD.

"Better," he said. "Less purple. Going yellow, mostly, except in the worst spot near your eye."

"Sounds lovely."

"Practically perfect."

"Don't try to charm me, Juice Ortiz. I'm immune."

"Bullshit."

"Mostly immune," she admitted with a grin.

He raised her chin for a kiss, a bare whisper of lip against lip, but when he would have pulled away she tugged him back. Her mouth was warm and soft, her lips chapped, and suddenly he remembered it had been almost three weeks since he'd been able to really kiss her. She murmured something he didn't understand and pressed closer. His hand drifted down along her side, but the sheets were between them.

She leaned back and pulled at them. "Here," she said, "get under."

"Liv, maybe—"

"Hush," she whispered and her mouth was on his again.

He managed to get under the blankets with her, and his fingers easily found the edge of the hospital gown. He traced the line of her thigh and the curve of her hip and he felt her smile. He wrapped an arm around her and rolled them over so that he was resting between her legs. He was careful to keep his weight off of her. He frowned a little and kissed her chest above the edge of the gown.

"Babe," he said, his voice rough, "I don't want to hurt you."

She smoothed the line between his brows with her fingertips. "Then be gentle. Don't worry; if we have to stop I'll take care of you."

He scowled. "I'm not worried about that. Pretty sure I'm old enough to know there's no such thing as blue balls."

She laughed, that low ripple that made his blood run hot. "I know, baby. I was teasing." She pulled him closer for another kiss, but stopped short. "How old are you, Ortiz?"

The question surprised him. He realized he'd been inside for his last two birthdays: one shortly after they got in, and one right before they got out. "Thirty-four," he said. "I'll be thirty-five in July."

"Hhhmm." Her mouth curved and she ran her tongue over his lower lip. "Looks like I'll owe you a birthday cake. Assuming we live that long."

He made a face at her and shifted a little. She hissed and he froze. "I should move."

"No," she said, her voice suddenly urgent. "No, don't. I'm okay. I just want…"

She balled her good hand in his shirt and kissed him hungrily. She nipped his lips with her teeth and sucked his tongue into her mouth and he had his hands on her thighs without even thinking about it. He rucked the hospital gown up over her hips and caressed the soft skin of her inner thighs with his thumbs.

He kissed her neck and caught her earlobe between his teeth. "What do you want, Livvie? Tell me."

He only ever called her Livvie when they were like this, when he was hard and aching for her. It sent a sharp spike of pure lust through her and she shivered with it.

"You, Juicy," she breathed against his skin. "I need you inside me. Put your hands on me. Help me remember."

He almost asked her remember what? but he knew. She could've died from what they did to her, and as it was she might not quite ever be the same again. He hoped she didn't doubt him, but part of her must. Part of her probably doubted everyone and everything, and the way she clung to him made him think how fragile she was. She pretended to be untouchable, hard as nails and mean as a pissed off hornet, but she wasn't. She had her moments, yeah, but over all she was a hell of a lot more than what she seemed.

His fingers brushed the soft curls between her legs and she bit her lip. He flicked across her clit. A flush spread over her cheeks. He untied the gown's knot at the back of her neck and pulled it down so that he could kiss the curve of her shoulder. His free hand drifted lower to cup her breast, and he tugged gently on the nipple until she was squirming beneath him.

He slid a finger inside her and caught her moans with his mouth. She reached down and tried to unfasten his belt one-handed. He laughed a little and she glared.

"Don't make fun of the handicapped, Ortiz," she said.

He kissed her nose where it scrunched. "Here, let me help." He kept his weight propped on one elbow, and between the two of them they got his pants undone and pushed down his legs.

She squeezed his cock and smirked. "Miss me, baby?" she murmured.

He could only nod. He grasped her legs and pulled them up and around him. She guided him until he was pressed against her. With one long, easy glide he was inside, and she let out the breath she'd been holding. His forehead dropped to her shoulder and she ran a hand over the curve of his skull.

"God you feel good," he muttered, his breath hot on her skin. He nipped and licked her neck and started to move in smooth, unhurried thrusts.

Her head fell back and her hips raised up to meet him. He moved faster without meaning to, but when he tried to slow again she dug her nails into his scalp.

"Don't stop," she said, her voice high and strained. "Please, Juicy, that's so good!"

He adjusted the angle a little and she whimpered. A grin split his face. He ran his nose up the line of her throat. "Look at me, Liv."

Her eyes opened and she smiled when she saw him above her.

"I love you," he said.

Her laugh turned into a moan and he could feel the muscles in her legs dancing under his hands. "I love you too, Juice," she managed between sharp gasps.

She gripped his shoulder and her body arched as the orgasm shuddered through her. It took him by surprise, the strength and swiftness of it, and that was his undoing. He buried his face in the curve of her neck to muffle his moans as he came with her. He bit down hard enough to leave a mark, but then soothed the spot with his tongue. Her skin was salty and hot and he reveled in the flavor.

"I love you, Olivia," he said when he had his breath back.

"Mmmm." She smiled and stroked his head. "You said that already."

"I thought I'd say it again. You know. After."

"So I wouldn't think it was motivated by your libido?"

"Something like that."

They stayed locked together a few moments longer. She kissed his jaw. He ran a hand along her side. Their eyes met and her smile was sweet enough to hurt.

He rolled over next to her and helped her adjust the hospital gown before he tugged his pants into place. He pulled her against him and she rested her cheek on his chest. Their fingers twined together. She sighed.

"You okay?" he said.

"Yes. Better than." She hesitated, and he waited her out. "You gonna tell me what you fucked up?"

"Club stuff," he said with a frown. "Doesn't matter."

"Does it have to do with Clay?"

He stiffened. "How—?"

"Figured it out. And then he admitted it when he was here the other day. Said he killed Greg and GoGo, too."

"Fuck," he muttered. He let out a long breath. "Jax told me I could earn my way back if I found these papers they supposedly stole from Clay and Gemma's safe. Birth certificates and stuff, I guess. He said if Clay were really behind the invasions he'd have all that. Anything else, like jewelry, they probably woulda fenced."

"Makes sense," she said. Her voice was starting to sound sleepy, so he hurried on.

"I found them in a vent in Clay's ceiling. Jax told me to keep him there, and he was gonna bring some of the guys to confront him about it."

Now he had her attention. She raised her head and tapped a finger against his sternum. "So what happened?"

"Jax got picked up."

"By the cops?"

"No. By some guys. Mexicans, I guess. Kidnapped might be a better word."

"Oh. Something new, then."

He huffed out a dry chuckle. "When we got the call I tried to stay at Clay's, but he pushed me out the door. I mean, literally. When we got back later—with Jax; he was fine—the papers were gone. Clay figured out what I did and he covered his ass."

"Hum," she said, thoughtfully. "I know I've only recently suffered a fairly serious brain injury, so maybe I missed something. Explain the part where you fucked up?"

"Jax didn't get the proof he needed to expose what Clay did to the club, and it's because I left Clay alone in the house—which Jax specifically ordered me not to."

"Right. Because he physically shoved you out the door of his home. What were you supposed to do? Shoot him?"

He shrugged restlessly. "I don't know. I think that woulda made Jax happy, honestly."

"What did he say to you?"

He rubbed his face and frowned up at the ceiling. "He tried to punch me, but Chibs held him back."

"Jesus. Trust Jax to think with his fists."

"I deserved it."

"No, you didn't. No one deserves to be treated like that, Juice, and the fact that you think you do shows just how fucked up it all is." She sucked in a breath and tried to relax. Losing her temper wouldn't do anyone any good. "What happened next?" she said after a moment.

"Bobby told him he needed to calm down because he didn't have any proof Clay was behind the break-ins."

His forehead creased. He needed to go back a little for it all to make sense. He told her about the vote that afternoon, that they were officially making a break from the cartel and the guns and going into the escort business. He gave her a nervous look at that last, but she just tilted her head in a shrug.

"Slightly more honest and far less dangerous living than drug and gun running. And I've seen Nero's place; his girls are all there voluntarily and he takes good care of them. That's what matters to me."

"Huh." It always surprised him, her attitude about things like porn and strippers and prostitutes. She had strong opinions about the industries as a whole, and most of them were pretty fucking scathing, but he'd never heard her say anything bad about someone working in that life.

"We all do our thing, Juice. A lot of people who work nine-to-fives in big office buildings seem way unhappier than Nero's girls, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," he said, "I guess so. I hadn't thought about it much before." He waved a hand. "Anyway, Bobby told Jax he'd done a real good thing for the club, but if he kept on after Clay he was gonna fuck it all up."

"Good for Bobby," she said with an appreciative grin. "What did Jax have to say to that?"

"He said—he got real quiet, and he said there was a bunch of other stuff he couldn't prove." He told her about JT and the real reason Clay had killed Piney. "He also said Clay is the one who tried to have Tara kidnapped."

She was quiet, and he craned his neck to look at her.

"You knew that."

She bit her lip. "About Tara, yeah. About Piney? Well. I didn't know all the details, but I knew Clay was lying about it. I didn't have a clue about Jax's dad."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said, softly.

"I guess I should have, but I—" Her mouth twisted. "You trust Clay. You respect him. What's more, I think he values you, too. When I saved his life that night I told him it was to give him a chance to remake himself, to become a better man. I thought you could help him do that. And, more, I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to destroy your faith in someone you love."

"Okay," he said on a long breath. "I get that. But you should've told me, Liv. You should've let me make my own decision."

"Yeah," she said with a troubled frown. "I see that now. I'm sorry."

"Is there anything else you're not telling me?"

"There's plenty, babe…but nothing else about the club." A pause. "This excuse is getting old, I know, but I'm not used to trusting anyone. This"—she gestured between them—"is almost foreign to me. I'm trying, Juicy. I promise I am."

"I know," he said. "It's not the easiest thing for me either."

"We've both been through some shit, kid."

"You got that right." He leaned closer to kiss her, but before he could the door burst open. He almost fell off the bed in his surprise, and she smothered a laugh.

"What is going on in here?"

It was the hatchet-faced nurse, the mean one.

"Nothing," Olivia said, all big, innocent eyes. "I was cold."

"Hhmm," the nurse said, skepticism ringing through the small noise like the clang of a church bell. "You could have asked for an extra blanket." She pointed at Juice. "You, in that chair, or I throw you out right now."

He slunk guiltily from the bed and sat. She took a moment to check Olivia's stats and then fixed each of them with a baleful glare. "If I come back in here to find you in that bed again, young man, I'm banning you. If you think I can't do it, try me."

He nodded, she narrowed her eyes even further, but then finally she hustled out. The door closed smartly behind her and Olivia couldn't hold in her mirth any longer.

"It's not funny!" he said. "I feel like your mom just caught us making out in the basement!"

"At least she didn't come in twenty minutes ago," she said through her giggles.

"Don't even joke, Olivia. She probably would've done that thing with the ear twisting." He mimed what he meant and pulled a face. "I hate the ear twisting."

She stopped laughing, but her lips still twitched. "Poor baby," she said. "If she'd twisted your ears I would've kissed them better."

"Ha. You're a cunning temptress, Olivia Gable, and this is all your fault."

She smirked. "Guilty as charged, sugar."

She'd spent another three or four days in the hospital—almost four weeks, all told, but that was mostly because of the therapy for her eye—and she'd been out nearly a week. Her cast was set to come off in a few days, and then she'd start physical therapy on that. She was just glad they hadn't had to use pins or plates. She was lucky, really: the cut on her forehead had healed nicely and there would barely be a scar. The skin covering the bur hole above her temple was healed, and the doctor said the hole itself would be gone within another month or so. The bruises were reduced to shadows now, and she could easily cover those with makeup.

Eli had delivered her car the day after she got out, but she wasn't cleared to drive it yet. Bright light still bothered her left eye, but she'd been told that would correct itself in time. There wasn't any permanent damage to the eye itself. She was anxious and annoyed at not being able to drive, and she filled her time doing small things that she could mostly accomplish one-handed. The Cougar had never been so shiny.

She had been nervous about going home, and she'd almost asked Juice if she could crash at his place for a while. But then she remembered what she'd told Gemma: if she were going to stay in Charming, she was going to stay in her home, not anyone else's.

Once Gemma recovered enough from the wreck and the crime scene tape was down, she led a small team of crow eaters through the place and scrubbed everything from top to bottom. The books were returned to the shelves (in alphabetical order). The floor was polished. The bathroom was cleaned and bleached and cleaned again to within an inch of its life. She even got someone in to repair the broken locks on the front door and did her best to patch up the damage to the afghan.

Olivia, much to her embarrassment, cried when she saw what they'd done—tears of fury and sorrow and relief and, finally, joy. Juice was the only one to witness it, because despite Gemma's desire to have a welcome home type bash, he was shrewd enough to know how much Olivia would hate that. He drove her home from the hospital and held her while she sobbed, and it wasn't until the next day that people started to drop in.

The one perk of the whole thing: they brought food.

She was home alone for one of the first times since getting out of the hospital, and it was beautiful. She had spent the morning consolidating and repackaging leftovers (Gemma had also bought her baggies and an obscene amount of Tupperware), and after a quick lunch of a ham sandwich and carrots, she stood on her front stoop sipping lemonade. She wondered how much longer this precious solitude would last.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a familiar SUV appeared down the block. Her mouth quirked. If she had to have company at least it was Tara. Olivia waved as the car got closer, and she walked out to the driveway to meet her.

They shared a brief hug and Tara ran a hand down her hair. "What's going on here?" she said. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear it down."

She made a face. "Juice helped me wash it before he left this morning, but I can't braid it with one hand."

"Hhhmm," she said as they headed inside. "Maybe I can help with that."

"Speaking of hands, how's yours?"

"Getting there," she said. She kicked off her shoes and hung her purse from the coatrack. "The doctor said he doesn't think there'll be any permanent nerve damage."

"That's great! So you'll be able to operate again?"

"Yeah, looks like."

Olivia grinned and motioned for Tara to have a seat on the couch. "Can I get you anything? I have lemonade and tea and so much food I could feed an army."

She waved a hand. "I'm fine. I mostly just stopped by to see how you're doing."

Olivia's brow lifted and she studied her friend with shrewd eyes. Something was up. Tara's smile was shadowed and there was a heaviness to the cant of her head. A tightness around her eyes.

"I'll be right back. All my hair ties are in the bedroom."

Tara nodded and Olivia left her there. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but she knew she would probably dodge the question. Everyone (except Juice, and even him a little bit) had been walking on eggshells around her since the attack. They'd all been so careful not to tell her anything that would upset her. She'd only found out Lyla had been shot when she showed up at the house with a casserole and a limp.

As she stepped back into the living room she caught Tara in an unguarded moment. Terrified was how she looked. Distraught and at a loss. Her eyes were trained on the window but her gaze was far away. Her hands hung loosely in her lap and her skin was pale. Olivia paused and stepped back. Shuffled her feet to make some noise and give Tara time to collect herself.

Now she had a smile pasted on, and she held out a hand for the hairbrush and small pile of hair ties. "How many braids do you think I'm going to do? My styling skills are pretty basic."

"Oh, it's in case one breaks or runs away or whatever. They have a mind of their own most of the time."

She sat on the floor in front of the couch and Tara scooted forward. Her touch was gentle and soothing as she brushed out Olivia's hair, and after a moment she closed her eyes like a contented cat.

"How have things been going with Otto?" she asked without opening them again.

Tara went still. Bingo.

"How did you know about Otto?"

"Jax told me. He said you were trying to talk him into recanting."

She let out a long breath and began to separate the hair into sections. "The club's safe from RICO. At least where Otto's concerned."

"So he recanted?"

"Not exactly." She frowned at the top of Olivia's head and told her what had happened with the cross and the nurse. She had to stop as soon as the words were out and press a hand against her mouth. "What have I done, Ollie? He killed an innocent woman to fuck over Jax and the club, and now I could go to prison for conspiracy."

She pulled away, her hair half-done, and pushed up to sit on the couch next to her. "First of all, it wasn't your fault. You had no idea what he would do."

"But legally—"

"I'm not talking legally right now. I'm talking for you, in your mind, to make it right." She brushed her hand across Tara's and the other woman gripped her fingers and squeezed. "He conned you, plain and simple. That isn't your fault."

"I feel like I should've seen through it. He was so angry. I should've picked up on it."

"You're not psychic, Tara. You're human. You were trying to help the man you love and his family."

"So I did the wrong thing for the right reasons," she said, dully.

"That's generally the order of the day around here. But, no, that's not exactly what I meant. It was maybe poor judgment, but, fuck. I left my door mostly unlocked when I knew my crazy ex-father-in-law was hunting me and there'd been a series of home invasions against people associated with SAMCRO. Talk about poor judgment."

Tara snorted out a laugh through her tears. "Please, Ollie, no victim blaming here."

"Okay, then. Don't blame yourself for what Otto did. You were his victim, too."

She rubbed a hand across her face and shook her head. "I was offered that position in Portland despite my hand. I told the woman today I would take it—but I don't want Jax to know."

Olivia paused. Her voice was careful when she said, "What's your plan?"

"I don't know. I don't know yet. If I can get through this Otto thing I—I've gotta get out, Ollie. I've got to take my boys and get as far away from Charming as I can."

She chewed her lip. A crease formed between her brows. "Tara—"

"I don't want to put you in the middle of anything."

"No," she said, quickly. "Listen to me. This stays between us. Juice has no reason to know; it would just make him even more conflicted. You want out? I'll help you get out. Any way I can."

Tara's chin fell to her chest and she choked out a sob. Olivia wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"This place kills everyone. It destroys everything."

"I know, sweetheart. Take your boys and put this hellhole of a town in your rearview mirror. Maybe one day I'll even follow you."

"You could come to Portland," she said as she sat up and shook her hair back. "I'm sure they need mechanics there, too."

"Yeah, I'm sure they do. But you know I can't. Not until Juice is ready to go." She hesitated. "In a lot of ways he's not cut out for this life. I mean that in a good way. He's too good for it. But he's caught up in it, and he doesn't understand that family shouldn't hurt."

"Jax does, but he doesn't know how to change it."

"So which is worse do you think?"

She brushed away the tears and her red-rimmed gaze was thoughtful. "I don't know. I think the worst is being us. We're the ones left holding the pieces when everything falls apart."

Olivia made a low noise of agreement. "One day there won't be enough pieces left."

"I'm getting out before that happens, Ollie. I'm not going to let Charming and SAMCRO do to my boys what it's done to their father. I'm getting the fuck out."

Sooo Olivia asking Juice his age is me getting a little meta. As I've complained about before, we never see birthdays on SoA, so I have no idea how old he's meant to be. I think it's safe to say Juice is younger than Theo, who just turned 39 a few weeks ago, because I don't think they would've cast such a young-looking actor in the role if they'd intended him to be in his late 30s (Theo does not look 39). Anyway. Based on his behavior and the way they treat him, I'm kind of assuming he's a bit younger than the others (except Jax, who I think is meant to be Charlie's age), so. Thirty-four. *shrug* And to explain why she didn't know after this long, I had both of his birthdays occurring while they were in jail, which added up to July. Plus duh Juice is a Cancer.

And, of course, I changed some of the events re: the documents. As we know Jax DID punch Juice, but c'mon. It was bullshit. Also, he didn't tell Juice about JT or any of that, but. It's better for my purposes that it fall out this way.