Aaaannnd we're back! I didn't intend this chapter to be so long. It got away from me a bit.

Enjoy, and drop me some more of those beautiful, beautiful reviews if you feel inclined! :D

and they danced in the darkness on the floor
the world kept spinning 'round like it's always done before
the people in the club said "they don't make a pretty pair"
but the tin man and the witch, they didn't seem to care, no
'cause love don't give a damn about what other people say
does what it wants it's always been that way
that's the way it was, the way it will be again
forever and ever and ever amen
Bob Schneider, "Let the Light In"

"You realize if you ship this woman back to Atlanta she probably won't make it there alive!" Eli said. He was furious, up in Toric's face, but the bigger man just smiled a little.

"I think you're being a bit melodramatic, Sheriff. The Marshals would see she got to Georgia in one piece."

"And then what? You got any clue who this guy is who's after her? Because I've done some digging since she first dropped his name, and it ain't pretty."

Toric waved a hand. "Mick Doyle isn't really my concern right now. SAMCRO is. She has an option if she would just take it."

"Right," Eli said. His face twisted in disgust. "You've got about a day and a half left to charge her or I'm letting her go. Got it?"

He smiled. "That shouldn't be a problem."

Eli shook his head and stormed away. Toric watched him go with a knowing little grin before he sauntered into the interrogation room and closed the door behind him. Olivia was seated at the table, and at the sound of the door she raised her head. She looked worn out; her forehead was lined, her skin pale, and deep shadows circled her eyes.

"Ms. Gable," he said, his tone affable. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

"A fucking lawyer," she said for roughly the thousandth time.

He ignored her, as he'd done every other time she'd said it. Instead he opened the folder he carried and dropped a series of pictures on the table. She glanced down at them and back up at him with a bored expression.

"I'm sure you recognize these, Ms. Gable. The crime scene photos from your husband's murder."

"Do you think this will upset me?"

"The problem isn't that you killed him, per se. Battered Women's Syndrome isn't usually an effective defense, especially in the South, but your case is compelling." He pushed one picture closer. "The problem is that after you escaped, you came back. Not only that, but it's fairly clear the first shot was the one to his groin. Those aren't the actions of a desperate, frightened woman. They're the actions of a vigilante."

She made an uninterested noise and her eyes flicked away.

"We have two choices here, and they're really very simple: either you tell me what I want to know about SAMCRO and I get you WITSEC and immunity for this murder, or I ship you back to Atlanta and you get charged."

"I've been sold that song and dance before, Mr. Toric. It turned out to be bullshit. Why would I believe you?"

He tapped one of the pictures with his index finger. His smile was cold and precise. "When you killed your husband, you were a woman on a mission. I don't believe anything could have stopped you from going through with it."

He paused and leaned closer. "Look in my eyes, Ms. Gable. I think you'll recognize what you see there."

"Revenge isn't the same thing as justice, Mr. Toric. I'm sorry you can't understand that." She shoved his pictures at him and bared her teeth. "I'm not saying another goddamn word until I have a lawyer."

He sighed and rose from his chair. His mouth puckered into a regretful moue. "I'll leave you be for a bit. If you decide you want to chat, just knock on the window."

She waited until he was gone to bury her face in her hands. She was fucked. Well and thoroughly fucked. He hadn't started the extradition yet, but it was only a matter of time. He wanted SAMCRO so bad she knew he would put it off as long as possible, but Eli knew she was here. He wouldn't let Toric detain her indefinitely—which meant the situation might force his hand.

There was no way in hell he was going to let her go, but she also seriously doubted he'd actually let her get extradited out of his reach. So what options did that leave him?

The room had no clock, of course, and she never wore a watch. How long had she been here? They'd fed her twice. Not a full day, but surely it was getting close. They could hold her for forty-eight hours without charging her. She didn't know if he'd gotten the DA's office involved yet or not, but she was sure once he did charges would be inevitable.

And then it was back to Atlanta and whatever fate awaited her.

Jail would be a relief. She wasn't afraid of jail. And, like she'd told Gemma, she wasn't even that afraid of dying. What had her scared was what Teddy would do to her before he killed her. And how long it would last.

She shuddered and scrubbed her hands through her hair. The neat crown that she'd braided before leaving for the hospital (yesterday?) was coming undone, so she pulled the pins and replaced it with a simple french braid down her back. The act of braiding her hair was calming. Familiar. She could let her fingers work while her mind drifted, and for the few minutes it took she felt a slight peace.

She spread her fingers and pressed her palms to the table. There was a new scar on the outside of her right wrist from the surgery. She had a nick across the third knuckle in on her left hand. Otherwise her skin was pale and smooth and dusted lightly with freckles. Her hands. Familiar hands. The same hands that had pulled the trigger and killed TJ Flanary.

She refused to regret it. If she hadn't done it she wouldn't be in this mess now, but if she hadn't done it…she might never have come to Charming in the first place.

She would never, ever regret coming here. No matter what happened or how it fell out.

The door opened again, and this time it was Eli. He gestured to the other chair and she nodded. She accepted the bottle of water he offered with a grateful smile.

"Thanks," she said.

"How's it going?"

She shrugged. "So far he's refused to get me a lawyer."

Eli scowled. "I can call you one if you want." He paused. "He can only hold you forty-eight hours before they file charges. You've been here about eighteen."

"Has Georgia actually charged me with this murder, or just issued the warrant?"

"You haven't been charged with anything, Olivia." He leaned forward. "I want to ask you something completely off the record. It will stay between you and me."

Her brow furrowed. "Okay…?"

"Why did you come back to kill him? If you'd done it before you left it would've looked better for you. You could have just shot him and walked away. Instead you staged this elaborate plan that could have failed at any point, and then you risked everything by coming back. I don't get it."

She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. There was no observation window in the room, and if Eli said this was off the record then she trusted him. Still, it was hard to talk about at all, much less to a cop.

"I wasn't going to kill him," she said. "I didn't want to kill him. Of course I hated him and I hoped he'd spend the rest of his days with annoying shit like—when you have an itch on the bottom of your foot and you're wearing shoes, or you have a tiny cut on your finger and get lemon juice in it. You know, little miseries."

His mouth twisted in sardonic appreciation.

"The day before I left I found out he had someone on the side." She waved a hand. "I didn't care. It kept him away from me. But then…" She took a moment to sip from the bottle. "He wanted her to take my place. And, let me tell you, TJ Flanary was not the type of man to get a divorce."

"You think he was planning to kill you?"

"I know it. I mean, there's no doubt in my mind. At first when I realized my plan was going to work I was just relieved. It was over, I was out, I had won. Then I started thinking."

She shook her head and her gaze turned inward. "The new girl was going to take my place. Not just as TJ's wife, but as his punching bag. I thought about her being locked in the same room he locked me in every night. I thought about—well. I thought about a lot of things, and I wondered what would happen when he got tired of her, too."

"Another dead Mrs. Flanary," he said, grimly.

"Right. Dead wives startin' to stack up like fuckin' Bluebeard." She brushed her fingers across her eyes. "Anyway, after that I couldn't just go. I couldn't let it happen to someone else. I weighed what I could live with, and in the end I knew I could live with TJ's death on my conscience—but I could never live with knowing I'd let some other poor girl get trapped in my old life."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was quiet for so long she started to fidget. Finally, "You know I don't want to jam you up on this shit, Olivia. If it were just an arrest warrant and I thought you'd be facing a trial or a plea it would be different. But you say it won't get that far."

"It won't, Eli. I mean"—her lips moved in a humorless smile—"where do you think TJ learned all his tricks?"

"A chip off the old block, huh?"

"You got it. And daddy dearest was always worse. Always."

He hated how she said that as if she knew from personal experience. He didn't ask her to elaborate. Instead he collected the pictures Toric had left and flipped them facedown. "Toric's been given direct authorization from the DA's office to do what he needs to do to take down SAMCRO. Carte blanche, basically. This school shooting bullshit has everyone on the warpath."

"I don't blame them, to be honest. There's nothing worse than dead kids."

"That's the goddamn truth." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't like him, and I sure as hell don't like what's happening here, but right now his vote overrules mine. My hands are tied until the forty-eight hours are up, and if he starts extradition before then—" He broke off with a helpless shrug.

"I know," she said. "I appreciate you trying."

"I can get you that lawyer, though."

"What I really need is to make a phone call. Everyone will be wondering where I am, and I wouldn't put it past Toric to tell them I've turned rat just for shits and giggles."

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for a long time. "You could do it, Olivia. Tell him what he wants to know. You'd get WITSEC and you'd be out."

She sighed and sat back. "Haven't we had this discussion before?"

"Take Juice with you," he said with an impatient frown.

"I'm not sure if he'd go," she said after a moment. Her voice was small and a little sad.

He snorted. "Then he doesn't deserve you anyway."

"It's not easy to ask someone to give up their entire life, Eli; especially when the reason they're doing it goes against everything they believe in."

He drummed his fingers on the table, his face drawn in a glower. Finally he let out a huff of breath. "Okay, Olivia. Let's hope he wants SAMCRO bad enough to keep you here rather than send you to Georgia."

"He's a desperate and angry man. They're the most dangerous kind, but they're also the easiest to read. He won't have me extradited. He won't go to your boss with my file. He'll let the forty-eight hours run out, and then he'll let me go with a whole series of threats and promises and warnings. And once I'm out, he'll harass me nonstop until he gets what he wants."

She said it confidently enough, but in truth she wasn't entirely sure what Toric had in mind. Yes, she was good at reading unpredictable men, but he had an added layer of madness and obsession that skewed her readings of him and informed every decision he made.

"You don't sound too concerned about that," Eli said. He didn't sound like he'd bought her bravado.

She pulled a face. "Harassment—even from a man like Lee Toric—is small potatoes. I just have to make sure the club doesn't think I've flipped."

"It was before my time, but I know what happened to Opie Winston's wife."

"That was Clay's doing."

"You think Jax wouldn't do the same?"

Her expression stilled and her eyes went hard. "Honestly? I wouldn't put a goddamn thing past Jackson Teller these days."

"Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought."

When Jax saw what those neo-Nazi dickbags had done to the garage, his first thought (after making sure Unser was okay) was that Ollie was gonna flip her shit. Chucky told him she was due in later, and part of him wanted to let someone else break the news…but he realized that was kind of shitty (and a little cowardly), so with a grim sigh he dialed her number.

There was no answer, which surprised him, so he left a message. He dialed Juice next, but he said he'd crashed at his place last night because it was so late by the time he got back from Stockton. He said he hadn't talked to her either, but he figured she was just sleeping when he'd called.

"I can run by her place and see," he said, his tone worried.

"Nah. She'll be in in an hour or two," Jax said. "I just wanted to prepare her first. Get on down here. We gotta take care of this shit."

There was silence on the line. And then, reluctantly, "Yeah, okay. I'm on my way."

Mid-afternoon, and Juice still hadn't heard from her. He checked his phone like a worried mother, but nothing. He tried not to read too much into it: he'd seen the garage, and he knew she'd be busy with it all day. But still. It wasn't like her.

After the shit with the Aryans went down he saw he had a missed call fromTM. Probably her, he thought. Jax was in a god-awful hurry to get to the warehouse (something about Phil and the Irish), so reluctantly Juice pocketed his phone and mounted up.

After the nasty scene at the warehouse with poor Phil and Vi-Lin, Jax had been more incensed than ever. He insisted they take care of the Aryans right then, no matter what anyone else said, and so once again they were off to commit some Mayhem.

By the time they finally got back to the clubhouse evening was coming on. Juice noticed her car wasn't in its usual spot. Chucky came out to meet them as they pulled in, and he waved Juice down.

"Did you get my message?" he asked as Juice came to a stop.

"What message, man? It's been pretty crazy."

"I called earlier. Left you a message."

He pulled out his phone. There was still just the one missed call. "This you?" he said.

"Yeah, that's it. I was wondering if you'd heard from Ollie today."

Juice froze. "What do you mean, heard from Ollie?"

"She was supposed to work today and she didn't show up or call or anything. That's not like her. I tried to call her a couple of times but it just went straight to voicemail."

The others had joined them by this time, and Juice and Chibs' eyes met over Chucky's head. Juice felt like his heart had turned to lead, and fear crawled across his skin like a thousand scuttling cockroaches.

"When was the last time you talked to her, lad?"

"Yesterday," he said. "She'd gone to physical therapy, and she called me just before she left the hospital."

"Not since then?" Jax said with a frown.

He held up his hands. "It's been a weird day. How often do you talk to Tara on days like this!?"

Jax conceded the point with a grimace. "Take Rat and head out to her place. I'll call Roosevelt and see if he's heard anything."

"Don't think that'll be necessary," Tig said and jutted his chin toward the gate. "Looks like our good Sheriff makes house calls now."

"Fuck," Juice muttered.

He should've gone to her place last night. He should have followed up after she didn't call. How could he have been so fucking stupid? Doyle was probably looking for her, and she was driving injured. Plus there was this shit with the Irish, and both Mick Doyle and Teddy Flanary were two of the most Irish names Juice had ever heard. A thousand awful scenarios passed through his mind, each one worse than the last.

"Chin up, lad," Chibs murmured. "It might not be as bad as all that."

"When the fuck is it ever not as bad as all that?" he said.

Roosevelt pulled to a stop and got out of the car. He made a placating gesture as they went to meet him. His eyes found Juice's, and his face was grim. "First of all, she's fine," he said as though he could read their minds.

"She might have a pretty serious problem, though, and I'm not sure how much I can help her."

"Wait, okay, explain it again," Tig said. "You can't charge her with anything in California?"

Happy rolled his eyes. "Tig, you got that warrant on you from Oregon. Shouldn't you know these things?"

Eli eyed them sidelong. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. The crime was committed in Georgia, and it's the Atlanta PD that issued the warrant. While she's here we have nothing to charge her with. Toric would have to have her extradited to Atlanta, and they would charge her there."

"But you don't think he's gonna do that," Juice said.

"I doubt it. He wants the club, and he knows once she's gone, that's it. He's lost his chance. He has forty-eight hours to get something out of her before he has to release her."

"She hasn't flipped yet?" Jax said. It was the third time he'd asked it.

Eli glared at him. "No, and she says she isn't going to. I know I don't know her as well as you guys do, but I believe her."

"Does Toric know about Mick Doyle?" Chibs said.

"He doesn't care. He's like a dog with a bone on this thing."

"Otto killed his sister," Tig said. "I'd probably be the same way."

"You're saying at this point Atlanta doesn't know you have her?" Jax said.

"That's right. They would've filed the extradition papers by now. An old murder like this? They want it down."

"Shit," Jax said and scrubbed a hand down his face. He had way too much on his plate right now—the Irish, the Aryans, a dead brother and a dead prospect—to deal with even more bullshit.

"So what can we do?" said Juice.

Eli lifted his hands. "I honestly don't know. At this point it depends on Toric. If he lets the forty-eight hours lapse without filing the paperwork she's free to go. But even if he does that I don't see him dropping any of it. And, of course, if he goes to the DA—well. She would probably order us to call Atlanta anyway."

"So you're saying Ollie's life is in the hands of a madman hell-bent on avenging his sister's murder at the hands of one of our founding members," Chibs said, his voice laced with a healthy dose of irony.

"That's the sum of it, yeah."

There was a long, tense silence. Juice paced away and gripped his head in his hands. They all exchanged nervous looks, and finally Jax said, "I'll call Lowen. At least it'll be something."

Tig glowered. "Maybe we can distract Toric somehow. Keep him busy until the time runs out."

"Like how? Slash his fuckin' tires?" Happy said.

"I don't know, man. He keeps puttin' pressure on Clay, right? What if Clay called him up and said he was ready to talk? And then, like…demanded a bunch of shit that would keep Toric runnin' for a while?"

"That's…not a bad idea, actually," Jax said. He sounded surprised enough that Tig looked a little insulted.

"I can get you in to see him," Eli said.

"Juicy," Chibs called. "Get back over here. We're workin' out a plan."

He wandered their way, but he kept casting glances over his shoulder, back toward his bike. It was clear where he wanted to be.

Jax jerked his head and the guys followed him away from Roosevelt.

"Okay, here's what's gonna happen," he said in a low voice. "Tig and Chibs, stay here and organize everything for the lockdown. Contact SAMBEL and the other charters to let them know what's up. Happy and Rat, hit the warehouse and take care of Phil and Vi-Lin. I'll call Lowen and get her down to the station for Ollie, and then I'll go talk to Clay."

"What about me?" Juice said.

Jax made a face at him. "Go be with your girl, Juice. We're gonna get this asshole off her back, and in the meantime you need to stick as close to her as you can."

He stared at Jax with an incredulous look. "You think she might rat."

"I don't know, Juicy. People've flipped for a lot less than this."

"Not Olivia," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah," Jax said with a snort, "I guess I must've had her confused with someone else."

Juice started toward him, but Chibs stepped between them and pressed a hand against Juice's chest. "All right, lads, enough. None of us really think Ollie's a rat. Do we, Jackie boy?"

He took his eyes off Juice long enough to flash a baleful look over his shoulder. Jax looked away, suddenly ashamed. It had been a low blow to call Juice out like that, even if the others hadn't known what he meant.

"No," he said, gruffly. "She's tough and she's smart. She's not gonna let Toric get to her."

Except even as he said it he wasn't completely sure he believed it. Ollie was tough, there was no doubt about that, but he'd seen her terror the night she'd learned the truth about Potter's deal. It was one hell of a motivator, fear. It could make even the strongest person lose heart. He trusted clear-headed Olivia—but frightened Olivia? She was an unknown quantity.

These days there were very few things Jax hated more than uncertainty.

When Eli and Juice got back to the station, Eli's first stop was the interrogation room. When he found it empty he felt a momentary lurch of fear. "Hey!" he said to one of the deputies. "Where's Olivia Gable?"

"Oh. That Marshal took her back to holding. She's in the cells."

He sighed a little and gestured for Juice to follow him. She looked up when she heard the door, and an expression of pure relief washed over her.

"How'd it go?" she said.

"They're working on something. And I brought you a visitor."

Juice appeared in the doorway and she jumped up from the bench. A smile spread across her face. Tears sprang to her eyes. She thrust her hands through the bars and he gripped them hard with one hand while his other arm snaked through to cup the back of her neck. He pulled her as close as he could and their foreheads met.

"Hey, babe," he said, his voice thick and rough.

"Hey yourself," she murmured. "I've never been so relieved to see anybody in my life."

"I'm an asshole, Liv. I didn't even realize you were gone until half an hour ago. I crashed at my place last night, and then—fuck, it's been a crazy day."

"It's okay, love. You're here now. That's what matters." She pulled away and brushed the back of her hand across her cheek. She tugged him down to sit with her, and once they were settled their fingers tangled again. "Tell me what's happened."

He drew in a deep breath. "It started first thing. Gemma got to TM this morning and somebody had trashed the garage and beat up Unser."

"Holy shit," she said. "Any idea who?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "The swastika they cut into his chest kinda gave it away."

"Nazis? Seriously?" Her brow furrowed. "Is he okay?"

"Tara stitched him up. He's in pain, but she said he'll be fine. Anyway, Jax had us go hunt down the assholes who did it, and things went kinda weird there. We got away from 'em, though, and then Phil called and said Galen and his boys were at the warehouse."

"I didn't think you did business at the warehouse."

"We don't. We got there as fast as we could, but—fuck, Liv, we were too late. They fucking killed Phil and Vi-Lin." He didn't tell her about their hands. She didn't need to know about that.

She let out a sharp gasp and pressed a shaking hand to her face. "What the fuck, Juice?"

"Yeah. We're on lockdown now and everyone's tense as hell. Chibs is pissed at Jax about the way he's handling things with the Irish, and after all that Jax flipped his shit and we shot up the Aryans and burned down their place. We dumped all the KG-9s on them to try to throw that DA off the club."

"Um. Wow," she said, stunned. She didn't really have an adequate response to all of that. "It, uh. It has been a wild day."

"Uh huh." His mouth twisted. "Not really an excuse, though. I shoulda tried harder to get you on the phone."

"Don't, Juicy. Come on. You had other things on your mind."

"Yeah. I guess." He paused to study her. Took note of the dark circles and pale cheeks. "What's he offering you?"

She hitched a shoulder. "Same old: immunity for TJ and WITSEC if I roll on the club. I've told him to go fuck himself in a dozen creative and colorful ways."

He flashed a brief grin. "You do have a way with words."

"Under the right conditions I sure as fuck do." She licked her lips and pulled him a little closer. "I'm not gonna lie, babe. I'm scared. I don't think he's gonna send me back, because then he loses his chance at SAMCRO—but if he gives my file to the DA I'm fucked."

"Roosevelt doesn't think he'll do that."

"I kind of don't either, but I can't stop thinking about it."

"Try not to worry, Liv. I know that sound stupid, but try. Jax said he'd call Ally Lowen, and we've got a plan to keep Toric occupied until your forty-eight hours run out."

"Occupied? What're you gonna do? Slash his tires?"

His brow quirked in appreciation. "That's what Happy said." He filled her in on Tig's idea and how they were going to run it, and by the time he was done she wore a thoughtful look.

"That's actually kind of a good plan. I mean, it could work. You think Clay will go for it?"

"He told Jax he wasn't gonna sell out the club. Jax didn't believe him, not really, but I…"

She smiled a little and touched his cheek. "You still have faith in him."

"I know he did a lot of shitty things, Liv," he said in a rush. "I'm not trying to excuse any of them, least of all the home invasions. But I think—near the end I think he realized how bad he'd fucked up. I don't think he'll flip. I really don't."

"I don't either," she said.

He looked up, eyes wide, and she grinned. "Baby, if you believe in him that strongly then I do, too. I trust you."

"Hum," he said, a short, doubtful noise. He wondered if he'd ever have as much faith in himself as she seemed to have in him. Somehow he didn't think so.

She sighed a little. "I've got another twenty-four hours here, more or less."

"What will you do when you get out?" he said.

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated. His eyes fell to their linked hands. "Seems like the heat's been turned up around here."

"If you're asking if I'm going to run, you might as well just say it."

He met her stormy gaze and his face was still and calm. "I just wanna know if I should start packing."

Her mouth fell open. He thumbed away a tear before it could fall. "I told you, Liv. It's you and me. You wanna go, I'm with you."

After a moment she shook her head. "Not yet. Not until I know Tara and the boys are safe. It matters."

"I know it does." He bent low enough to kiss her fingers, and when he straightened again his eyes were bright. "You're mine, Olivia," he said.

She laughed, a soft, surprised ripple. "That's good, Ortiz, because Lord knows you're mine. Anything less would be fucking embarrassing."

I've chosen to leave out Erin-the-girl-from-Diosa's death for several reasons. 1) see my previous monologue about violence against women; and 2) it was a red herring that went nowhere and bugged the bejeezus outta me. Of course, Toric's entire storyline was a red herring, but that's another subject.

Also, Juice's recounting of their day really boggles my mind. ALL OF THAT LITERALLY HAPPENED IN ONE DAY WHAT EVEN IS THIS FUCKING SHOW?! Normally I would've spaced those events out a bit, but honestly a day like that is pretty much the only excuse I could come up with for it taking Juice over 18 hours to notice OLIVIA WAS GONE.