Thank you so much for the lovely reviews from 32. :) I had a tiny block on this one and they really helped me power through.

well i've had a mighty bad run of luck since you left town
sometimes you hit the brakes but you can't slow down
i know what i want on my damn tombstone
when they put me in the ground
tell them to write it big and tall or not at all
just put i'm good now
Bob Schneider, "I'm Good Now"

She was awake, but she didn't want to open her eyes. She could hear birds in the tree outside. The room was warm as sunlight poured through the window. All the smells were familiar and homey: lavender mint room spray. Clean sheets. Juice.

He was pressed against her back with an arm thrown lightly around her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. She twined her fingers through his and lay still.

Her hip hurt, a sharp stinging pain, but it wasn't as bad as yesterday. The ride home had been pretty rough (not on the back of a bike, of course), but with another oxy on board she'd endured with a sort of fuzzy-headed resignation. She was still hungover from all the drugs. She needed a shower to clear her head, and she wanted to go back to work.

Maybe just a half day, she thought as she shifted and winced.

Juice made an incoherent, sleepy noise and his hand tightened around hers. He lifted his head a little and kissed her temple. "Morning," he said, his voice still thick. "Sleep okay?"

"Considering how much dope I was on? Yeah. Slept like a baby."

He untangled his fingers from hers and skimmed his palm over her leg.

"Not too bad," she said in response to his questioning look. "I think I might live."

He grinned. "That's a relief."

She settled back down and pulled his arm around her again. He traced his nose against the back of her neck to the curve of her shoulder. She let out a soft sigh. She never could have imagined that moments like this—warm, quiet, easy—would be her favorite parts of the day. She held out her hand, palm up, and he rested his palm on hers.

"What?" he said with a hint of puzzled amusement.

"Nothing. I just really like your hands." She pulled it to her mouth and pressed her lips against his knuckles. He had a scrape across one, no doubt from something the club had him doing. She brushed her tongue over it. "I like it when you wear the gloves."

"Oh yeah?" he said.

"Mmhhmm. But I like you even better without them." She sucked his index finger into her mouth and he hissed. She slid it out again and kissed the pad of each finger.

"What's on your mind, babe?" he said, his voice deep and rich against her ear.

"Just thinking."

"I can tell that. About what?"

She used her tongue to trace the length of his life line. "About all the nice things you do to me with these hands."

"Oh," he said. He tugged out of her grip and let his palm fall to cup her breast. "Like this, you mean?"

"Like that," she murmured, a little breathlessly, as he kneaded the soft flesh.

He kissed the curve of her ear and the corner of her jaw. Ran his thumb over her nipple to feel it pucker and firm. Tugged it between his fingers. She made a low noise of pleasure as she pressed back and felt him growing hard against her ass. He nipped the curve of her shoulder with his lips and lathed her with his tongue.

He slid his hand underneath her camisole. Her skin was soft like velvet, his hand callused and just a bit rough. He held her nipple between his knuckles as he palmed her breast.

"You taste so good," he murmured between soft, sucking kisses to her neck.

"Ha," she said on a breathless laugh. "Yeah, like gunpowder."

He went still and his hand slid down to rest on her stomach. "Olivia, you got lucky yesterday."

"You think I don't know that? It's part of why I'm so eager to get lucky right now."

He made a small sound that somehow combined disapproval and lust. She laughed again and his hand moved lower.

"I'm serious," he said. "I was standing on the porch and I saw you go down—Jesus, it was the worst moment of my life."

"I'm okay, though. Hardly any damage."

"I know," he said. "It might not've worked out that way, though, and after the home invasion thing—"

"Hey." She pulled his fingers to her mouth and kissed them. "None of this shit is your fault. I don't blame you for any of it." She guided his hand between her legs. Pressed it against her. "And clearly I'm not mad."

His fingertips dipped between her lips and she let out a ragged breath. "Please, baby," she whispered.

"You're so wet," he rasped. He slid a finger partway into her and pulled it out again as his thumb brushed over her clit.

She bit her lip. "It was scary for me too, Juicy. And now I just want—I want—"

"What do you want, sweetheart?" He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb. She whimpered. "You want to come?"

"You know I do."

He ran a finger up and down her slit. Then two, spread, to caress her inner lips. "Play with your breasts for me, baby," he murmured against her neck. "Pinch your nipples the way you like."

She moaned softly at the feel of his hot breath on her skin, his low, rough voice in her ear. She did as he said, pulling the camisole up and rolling first one, then the other nipple between her fingers.

"Like this?" she said, her voice thready.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Just like that." He thrust two fingers inside her and held them there as his thumb flicked back and forth across her clit. She squirmed a little and he bit the back of her neck. "Shh," he said. "Hush."

"I can't—Juicy, please!"

"I got you, baby," he said. "I got you."

He moved his fingers in a slow, steady rhythm that he broke up by pressing them against her G-spot or twisting them inside her. Her head fell back and he ran his tongue up the pale column of her throat.

"Good, Livvie?" he said, and his desperate, edgy tone made her pant.

"Yeah, babe. So good. Don't stop. Fuck oh God like that—!"

Her hand moved down to grab his, to grind it against her, and he drew in a sharp hiss.

"Now who's eager?" he said with a grin.

"That'd—be me," she said between gasps. "Absolutely—me."

He laughed. His thumb flicked faster and harder across her clit as his fingers worked inside her. "You gonna come for me, baby?"

"Fuck! Yes, Juicy, yeah a little more that's so good, baby, so good—!" Her fingers tightened around his wrist as her cunt clenched and sucked him in deeper.

"That's right, Livvie," he whispered. His mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear and he swirled his tongue against it as the orgasm rocked through her. "That's right, baby."

She moaned his name again and again, a sweet litany, until she was too breathless to speak. Her body was taut, her back bowed, and sweat adhered strands of hair to her temples. He kissed her there, flicked the salty droplets with his tongue, and wiggled his fingers inside.

Finally she fell back with a long sigh and he eased out of her. He offered her his index finger and she pulled it into her mouth to lick clean. He took care of the other one with a pleased grin.

"Feel better?" he said.

"Getting there. You?"

"Um. Feeling something, that's for sure."

She laughed and reached behind her, but he caught her hand. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing wrong, exactly, just…" He cleared his throat. "Can I ask you a question?" he said. "It's about—about yesterday."

"Mmmm. Yeah, go for it." She tried to concentrate; he sounded serious; but she could feel his erection, insistent and firm, as he pressed close. It was distracting.

Apparently he thought so, too, because for a moment he seemed to forget his preoccupation and instead concentrated on trying to find a position where she couldn't tease him quite so much—but he gave up when he realized he'd have to pull away completely, and he didn't want to do that.

She smirked and rested a hand on his thigh. "You had a question?"

"Oh," he said. "I really did."

"I believe you," she said and bit her lip as he rocked into her.

He froze. "Did that hurt? Are you okay? Shit, I'm sorry, I—"

She squeezed his leg. "Hush. Just tell me what's on your mind."

He sighed and raised up on his elbow. She twisted a little so she could see his face. "How did you know?" he said after a long moment.

"Ahh…well." She lifted a shoulder. "I hoped I was wrong, but…it just made sense. Clearly she was unstable, and she could do a lot to hurt SAMCRO." Her eyes flicked away. "I thought about what I might do, in Jax's position."

There was an incredulous silence and she sneaked a look at him. "You're kidding, right?" he said.

"I don't mean I would actually do it, Juice—or, well. I wouldn't ask someone else to do it for me. I'd do it my own goddamn self because it's my fucking dirty work. But I knew he wouldn't. He'd want to at least pretend his hands were clean.

"I thought he could ask Happy, but even as much as Happy likes wet work that might be too much for him. And Tig—well. Ever since Dawn, there's no way he could kill an innocent girl like that. Maybe not even before, but especially not since."

He grunted and fell onto the mattress. "But not me. I could do it."

She shifted onto her back and tugged him up to face her. He came reluctantly, and his gaze dragged to hers. "Baby, no. That's not what I meant at all. I knew he would play the guilt card. I knew he'd threaten you if he had to. There's an imbalance of power there that he exploits when it's most convenient for him."

"I don't know," he said, dully. "That just seems like an excuse to me."

"As far as excuses go it's a pretty good one."

His mouth twisted and he snapped back into focus. He ran a thumb down the line of her nose and over her full lips. "Would you still love me if I'd done it?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

He shook his head as his face crumpled in on itself. "Why?" he said. "I don't get it, Liv. Why me?"

"That's a silly question, Ortiz."

"No, it's not. You look at me, and it's like…it's like you're seeing a different person. Someone who's not such a fuck up. Someone who's good and maybe kinda smart and—I don't know. Not me."

She sighed and brushed a tear off his cheek before it could fall. "Do I strike you as the type of woman who invites strange men back to her hotel room?"

"No," he said with a brief shake of his head. "Not at all."

"Then why do you think I made an exception for you that night?"

"I ask myself that all the time."

Her lips quirked. "When I look at you I don't see a fuck up. I see a man who's been through shit. Who's done shit. But who, at the end of the day, always wants to do the right thing. In this life, baby, morality is fucked up and twisted around and doesn't always make sense. That's why it's so hard for you."

"I'm weak," he said.

"No. Listen to me. The guys who can kill someone or watch someone being killed or…I don't know…get blown up and not be affected by it? Those are the guys who scare me. Honestly, until Tig lost his daughter he scared the ever-living shit out of me. I mean, I knew he'd never hurt me—unless the club asked him to. Or Happy. I like Happy; I genuinely do. But don't leave me in a room alone with him.

"Why you? After six years on the run, why do I show up in Charming, California and fall for the cute biker boy with the sad smile and the battered heart…? I don't know. Maybe I'm not as smart as I think I am. Or, at least, not as"—she remembered the conversation with Gemma yesterday—"hard and bitter as I should be."

"That's not a bad thing," he said.

"Oh. It's okay for me to be soft and not for you? That's some double standard bullshit, Ortiz. I might not be the one pulling the trigger, but every time you come home broken, I feel it." She grabbed him by the ears and pulled him down for a kiss. "I don't know why I love you, Juice. What a question. All I know is that I do. Isn't that enough?"

His eyes were wide and he stared down at her in amazement. "Of course it is, Olivia. I didn't mean—"

She kissed him again. "Shut up, Ortiz. Just tell me you love me, okay?"

"I love you, Liv. Like a shitfaced drunk."

She laughed; her fingers danced over his chest. "Wow. So romantic."

He grinned and kissed her nose. "Baby, if I thought you wanted romance I'd buy you the whole fuckin' flower shop." Her chin. "I'd hire a skywriter to write you poetry a mile high." The corner of her jaw. "I'd take you to Paris and get a room with a view of the Eiffel Tower and we'd eat snails and drink wine and I'd make you come all goddamn day."

She giggled. He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it away. She tugged him back down to her, but he just skimmed his mouth over hers. Their breath mingled. They brushed noses.

"That's maybe the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, Juice Ortiz," she said, quietly.

"Yeah?" he murmured. He traced her lips with his tongue.

"Mmhhmm. I'm gonna have to punch a wall just to get some of my old cynicism back."

"Nah," he said. His mouth was warm and easy against hers. "You don't need it anymore."

Her brows drew together. She ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck. "Maybe I don't," she said.

Gemma was wrong: life could make you hard and bitter, but it didn't have to. And just as it dealt you blows and knocked you down, sometimes it could lift you up, and put you back together, and make you feel like the person you'd never thought you would be again.

In all the excitement of…well, getting shot…Olivia had almost forgotten her physical therapy appointment scheduled for later that day. She decided to get to the hospital early in the hopes of catching Tara. She hadn't seen her since she'd gotten out of jail.

Maybe she'd get her to take a look at her leg. Just to be safe. It wasn't that she didn't trust Chibs—and it was too late for stitches anyway—but still. It couldn't hurt.

Phil agreed to cover her shift at TM, but he was surprised she'd even asked. No one was expecting her in today after what happened. She stood by what she'd told Gemma day one, though: she wasn't a flake, and that meant getting her shift covered if she wasn't going to be there.

It took her longer than usual to get dressed, and not just because she was moving slowly. In the end she chose an above-the-knee length green dress, sleeveless and high cut. She skirt was flared so that it didn't brush her thigh. She reluctantly passed over a pair of candy red wedges and went instead for black and white Mary Janes with the lowest heel she owned that wasn't a pure flat. After she put them on and walked from her bedroom to the front door, she turned around and changed into white Keds.

She called Tara on her way to the hospital, and once she got there she went straight up to her office. They exchanged hugs and Tara immediately led her to a chair.

"How's your leg?" she said as she watched her limp.

"It's nothing. Hurts, but that's about it." Olivia cast a meaningful glance at the wrap around Tara's palm. "How's your hand?"

"He said as long as I quit hitting people with it it'll be fine."

Olivia's mouth quirked. "That can be a hard urge to ignore. Especially when they really deserve it."

Tara acknowledged that with a wry tilt of her head before her expression turned solemn. "Portland pulled their offer."

"Shit. So what's plan B?"

"For that? I don't really have one. Right now I'm concentrating on making sure my kids are safe if I go to jail."

"Tara, you won't—"

"I might." She hesitated. "It wasn't Gemma who ratted me out to the cops."

"I didn't really think it was. Didn't seem like her style. Who, then?"

Tara let out a long breath. "The nurse Otto killed? Her brother is a retired US Marshal."

She fell back in the chair. Winced as her hip bumped it and sat up straight again. "Some days it really feels like you can't win for losin'."

"He's out for blood, Ollie. He wants to end SAMCRO."

"Can you blame him? The club's the reason his sister's dead. I might feel the same way in his position."

"True," Tara said with a grimace. "But, I don't know. There's something about this guy—he just gave me the creeps. He offered WITSEC for the boys and me if I agreed to testify against the club."

Olivia's brow furrowed. "What did you say?"

"I told him I'm not a rat. I don't want Jax or Gemma to have my kids, but I also don't want their father in jail."

"Yeah, about that." She leaned closer. "If not Jax and not Gemma, who?

She looked away and Olivia frowned. "Wendy," she said. "Still? Even after the way Jax reacted before?"

"She's the only choice left. And she is Abel's mother."

"You're Abel's mother. Wendy just gave birth to him—and almost killed him with drugs."

"You think I don't know that? I'm the one who put him back together again." She ran shaking hands through her shorn hair and shook her head. "She's clean now, and she's sincere about staying that way. She wants to help."

"Okay," she said with a flick of her brows. They were Tara's kids, and if she thought Wendy was the best choice, Olivia didn't have room to argue. "So how are you gonna convince Jax?"

"First I have to get Gemma out of the way."

"Uh. We aren't talkin' about killing anybody are we?"

Tara waved a hand. "Not exactly. Look. I've got a plan, but it's…it's out there. If you don't want to help, I would understand."

Olivia tugged at her lower lip a moment. "No. Tell me."

She lined it all out: Wendy's faked attack to get close to Gemma. Tara's faked pregnancy. "She's punched me in the gut before. I can goad her into doing it again. I know I can."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Olivia said and rubbed the space between her eyes. "Tara—"

"Like I said, Ollie, if you're out, I understand."

"I'm not out. I just…are you sure about this? Jax will think he lost a child. Gemma will think she killed her own grandkid!" She paused. "Have you told her you're pregnant?"

"Right after I got out of jail."

She made a doubtful noise. "It's gonna be hard, Tara. Gemma might be dangerous and kind of unhinged, but she wouldn't do anything to purposefully put her family at risk. Not like that."

"She got high and drove with my children in the car," Tara snapped.

"I know that, and it was a stupid mistake—"

"Because she's unstable, Ollie! Unstable enough that I can push her into making another one."

Olivia held up her hands. "Okay. It's your plan, and I'll go along with it. I'm not sure what I can do, though. It sounds like you and Wendy have things under control."

"You're closer to the club than I am. Jax doesn't tell me things anymore, not like he used to—and, honestly…" She trailed off and dropped Olivia's eyes. "I can barely stand for him to touch me. I can't even look at him. He tells me he loves me, and I just…"

"You don't have to explain, Tara. I get it." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Juice tells me what he knows, but who knows how much that is. I'll pass along anything I can. What are you looking for specifically?"

"I have a huge amount of evidence from both Wendy and me about Jax's violent history, but Ally Lowen says I'll need some current examples, too."

"Hum." Olivia shifted her weight. "How about a mechanic with buckshot in her hip?"

"Couldn't hurt. If you wrote down everything that's happened to you, personally, or that you've witnessed since you've been in Charming—"

"I thought you weren't ratting."

"No, it's not for criminal charges. It's just to establish a pattern, so he'll be deemed an unfit guardian."

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "Yeah, I can do that." She hesitated. "Do you really think—assuming you're convicted, which I don't think you will be, but just for argument's sake—that Jax will just let Wendy ride off with his kids? Don't you think he'll try to get them back?"

"Legally he won't be able to. And, yeah, he's got no problem breaking the law, but kidnapping is something else altogether."

"What if he killed her?"

Tara stared. "Wendy? He wouldn't—"

"Tara. Let me tell you what happened yesterday." She started at the beginning, with stuff Tara already knew, and told her about Darvany and Arcadio and the kid, Matthew. She told her about how she got shot and how strung out Darvany was. When she got to the part about Juice, Tara held up a hand to stop her.

"Jax ordered—he ordered him to kill her?" she repeated, disbelieving.

"Yeah. Threatened him with…well, that's another topic that I'd rather not get into, but let's say Jax has some dirt on Juice. He threatened to spill it—virtually ensuring Juice's death—if he didn't kill the girl."

"Did he?" she said, her voice strained.

"No, but only because Chibs got there in time." She paused. "Chibs killed her, because otherwise Jax would've made good on his threat to Juice."

"Holy shit," she murmured. Her skin was pale with two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. "Holy Mother of God."

By the time Olivia was on her way out of the hospital it was almost dark. She and Tara had talked for nearly an hour more, but they hadn't come up with a solution to the "what-if" Olivia had proposed. If Wendy were dead (or seriously hurt), who would take the boys then? She partially thought they were making trouble where there wasn't any, but these days there was very little she trusted about SAMCRO.

She was lost in her musings and bumped into a man coming in as she was going out. "Sorry, excuse me," she said and started around him. She didn't look up. Didn't look him in the face.

"No, my fault, excuse me." He paused and put a hand on her arm. "Do I know you?" he said. "You look so familiar to me."

She froze and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. He was big and bearded, with a long brown ponytail. His expression was friendly enough, open and bland, but something about his eyes chilled her.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't think so." She flashed a brittle smile and walked on.

He got a few steps away before he stopped and turned. "Wait!" he said. "I know! Audra! Audra Munro! Wow, how long's it been?"

Terror flashed through her, hot and white and crippling. She spun toward him, and he was still looking at her with an easy grin. He moved closer and she fell back. He lifted a hand.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Munro. Did I startle you? My mistake. I should introduce myself." His smile deepened and his cold dead eyes practically sparkled with faux bonhomie. "I'm Lee Toric. Federal Marshal, retired."

He stepped closer still and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know what marshals do, Ms. Munro?"

She was almost panting with fear, and her face was parchment white. "They—um—fugitives."

"I'm sorry?" he said and cupped his ear. "I didn't quite hear you."

She cleared her throat and tried again. "They apprehend fugitives."

He clapped his hands together and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "That's right! That's exactly what they do. Or, at least one thing that they do. That's the thing that matters right now, isn't it?"

"You're retired," she said.

"That's true. I am. But I have friends, Ms. Munro. I have quite a few friends."

"It's Gable," she spat. She swallowed down the hard lump in her throat and glared at him. "It's legal and everything. Surely you know that, what with all the research you've clearly done."

"I do know," he said. "But, Ms.—ah, Gable, forgive me—maybe we should find some place a little more private to speak?"

She closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again her gaze was clear and cool. "What do you want from me, Mr. Toric?"

He dropped his hand and shrugged a shoulder. "It's simple. I want the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. I want to rip it apart piece by piece. I want to burn it to the ground and dance on its ashes." He grinned and tapped a finger against her wrist. "You, Ms. Gable, are just the woman to help me do that."

I'm gleefully excited, you guys. You've got no idea.