This chapter is quite short by design. I didn't want to jump to anything else after...everything.

Sensitive subject matter ahead, loves. And sadness.

what's so funny is the way things go down
like when a star dies it doesn't make a sound
it's just gone and you can't find it
when you look into the sky
Bob Schneider, "Changing My Mind"

Olivia sat in Dr. Sara Martinez' office and waited. As a favor to Tara she was looking at the ultrasound film and other test results now so that Olivia could get her answer as soon as possible. Olivia'd sent Tara back to her office and told her she'd call if she needed anything. She'd gone reluctantly, but she'd gone.

Olivia fought the urge to pace. She wasn't sure what news she wanted, and that upset her more than anything. She loved Juice. She wanted to be with him…well. For as long as they could make it. But a kid? That wasn't in her playbook. She barely even liked to babysit.

The door opened and Olivia started to her feet.

"No, don't get up," Dr. Martinez said in her warm voice. She took the chair next to Olivia rather than barricading herself behind the desk. "How are you, Olivia?" she said.

"I'm—nervous, I guess. Tired."

"Tiredness is one of the first signs of pregnancy. I'm more concerned that you're not able to sleep."

"It's not any sort of chronic insomnia. I just—recently I was attacked—well. You have my records. It brought up a lot of…issues."

"Hhmm." Her face creased in empathy. "I can understand that. It's important that you try to avoid stress as much as possible, both for your sake and the baby's."

She lifted a brow. "So it's…good news, then?"

"It is. The pregnancy isn't ectopic." She hesitated. "Your medical records don't go back as far as I would like," she said. "For example, there's nothing in here about your ligation."

"There wouldn't be," Olivia said. "The doctor did it sort of on the down low. As a favor, more than anything."

Dr. Martinez settled her glasses on her nose and flipped through the file in her hand. Her olive eyes lingered over Olivia's X-rays. "I see," she said at last. She looked up and met Olivia's gaze. "How many times did you miscarry?"

"Three," she said.

She crossed one leg over the other and tugged her glasses off to dangle from the chain around her neck. "Have you spoken to your partner about the possibility of pregnancy?"

"No," she said. "It's sort of a shock, all things considered."

"Understandable. And it's very rare so long after a tubal ligation." She paused and studied Olivia's pale face. "I am a bit worried about some abnormalities I noticed in the ultrasound."

"Abnormalities? But you said tadpole was in the right place."

The corner of her mouth lifted, briefly, before she went serious again. "The embryo is in your uterus, yes, but I'm afraid there's a great deal of scarring present. Were any of your previous miscarriages later in the term?"

"The last one," she said, quietly. "Second trimester."

The doctor rested a hand on Olivia's. Her expression was full of compassion. "I can't imagine what you've been through, Olivia. I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but—I am concerned that you wouldn't be able to carry this pregnancy to term."

"You're saying my body would kill the baby. Because my uterus is so fucked up."

"That's a succinct way of putting it, yes. Though it's more might than certainly would."

Her lips twisted and tears stood out in her eyes. "It figures. TJ Flanary, still managing to fuck with my life from beyond the grave."

"We can run some more tests. I can take another look, if you like. A trans-vaginal ultrasound would tell us a great deal more."

She winced. "That doesn't sound like a lot of fun."

"I'll be frank with you, Olivia: many women with your history find the experience traumatic or triggering. I see in here that Dr. Rose diagnosed you with PTSD following your recent attack."

"Hum. Doesn't miss a beat, that Dr. Rose."

"He's a very sharp man," Dr. Martinez agreed with a quick smile. "Olivia," she said, "you need to take some time to think about your options. Go home and discuss it with your partner."

She chewed on her lower lip and looked away. "What are its chances?"

"If you make it past week twenty there's a very good chance you can carry to term."

"And the odds of me making it past week twenty?"

"I don't like to quote numbers, Olivia."

"Right." She brushed the heel of her hand against her eye. "So about as good as drawing an inside straight."

"I'm not much of a card player," she said.

"It's a sucker's bet. Trust me."

"You would need to be extremely careful during the entire pregnancy. What do you do?"

"Um. I'm a mechanic."

"An auto mechanic?"

She smiled. "That's the one. But, uh. You might've heard about the little…accident? We had at the garage recently. These days I'm doing a lot of…not exactly construction work, but repairs. Welding. That sort of thing."

"I did hear, yes." She paused. "Are incidents of that nature common?"

"It, er. Well. It happens."

She let out a long sigh. "I have to tell you it deeply concerns me. You work in a profession that is potentially harmful to an unborn fetus, and you're exposed to constant stress. In the past month you've been brutally attacked and nearly blown up. Also, what exactly happened to your leg?"

"Tiny hunting accident. Nobody's fault, really."

She made a low noise of disapproval. "You don't smoke or use drugs, which is good, and you say you only drink occasionally, but overall your lifestyle combined with the problems I'm seeing make me fear for the health and viability of this pregnancy. I know that isn't the news you were hoping for, but—" She spread her hands with a rueful look.

"I could—I mean, I guess I could quit my job." For the next ten months, plus maternity leave, she thought. And then what? Baby Bjorn while she worked on a transmission?

That image actually brought a little smile to her face.

"Honestly that's a minor issue in relation to the rest. I'm sure there are tasks you could do around your workplace that wouldn't endanger the fetus. No more welding, for a start."

"Assuming I didn't get shot or blown up or smashed into a bathtub."

"Assuming all of that, yes."

She leaned forward and dropped her head into her hands. Tara had Thomas. But most of the club had been in jail during her pregnancy, and Tara at least…Olivia worked right there. There was no separating her life, as it was now, from the club.

She had loathed TJ with every ounce of her being. She could never have imagined bearing his child, much less having to raise a kid in those conditions. Her miscarriages—despite the trauma that had accompanied them—had almost felt like blessings.

This was different. Yes, she was scared half to death. No, she wasn't sure if she were ready for a baby, or if Juice was…but she loved Juice. He loved her. She pressed a hand to her middle. As much as she hated the idea of ending it, she also didn't think she could deal if she lost it. And from what Dr. Martinez was saying, that loss seemed almost inevitable.

The silence stretched and lengthened as she wrestled with it. At last Dr. Martinez said, "Olivia, do you want to terminate?"

"From the sound of things it'll happen whether I want it to or not."

"That's—likely, I'm afraid."

She drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. "Could you please call Dr. Knowles?" she said. Her voice was thick, her eyes red. "Tell her I'll need a ride home, and I'd like her to—to be with me. If she can."

"Very well, Olivia. I'll have my nurse make the call and draw up the paperwork." She rose, but she stopped at the door. "You can change your mind at any time. Okay?"

"No," she murmured. "No, I really can't."

When Tara heard what Dr. Martinez had to say (and Olivia suspected she'd been a little more direct with Tara, while she'd been trying to cushion the news with Olivia), she had agreed with Olivia's decision. She did think she should call Juice first. Give him the chance to be there. But Olivia refused.

So it was Tara who held her hand and Tara who was with her during her brief time in recovery. She assured her repeatedly that she wouldn't tell Juice or anyone else—except Lyla, Olivia said, because she knew Lyla would understand.

Back at Olivia's house, Tara helped her out of the car and back into the bedroom. Helped her change into some pajamas (she was amazed she had any; must've bought them on the same ill-fated shopping trip that got her boyfriend jeans) and tucked her in bed.

"I'll go make some tea," she said.

Olivia nodded. Her eyes drifted to the window. Tara watched her a moment, concerned by the blankness in her gaze. She let out a short breath and went to put the kettle on.

She hadn't moved when Tara got back. "I made chamomile. It'll help you sleep."

Her mouth moved in the ghost of a smile and she took the mug Tara offered. "Thank you," she murmured. "For everything, I mean. You didn't have to—"

"Of course I did." She climbed into the bed next to Olivia and sat with her legs crossed. Sipped at her own tea.

"Please don't tell Juice," she said for probably the tenth time.

"Ollie, I won't. I promise I won't."

"Or Jax. He doesn't need anything else to hold over Juice's head."

Tara frowned. "I wouldn't tell Jax. Jax and I barely speak these days."

"Hhmm." Her chin tilted in Tara's direction. "Listen. You know how much I appreciate this, and I'll never forget it, but I…I can't help you with your plan."

Tara grabbed her hand and squeezed. "I wouldn't have expected you to, now. It's okay."

"I won't tell anyone. And if I can help you with anything else, you can call me anytime. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do." She looked away and tears shimmered in her dark eyes. "You must think I'm some sort of monster."

"No. No, Tara. You're scared and you're desperate." She waved her left wrist under Tara's nose. "Look what I did when I got scared and desperate."

"I hate Gemma. I do. But I loved her once, and you're right—it's going to destroy her to think she killed her grandchild."

"At least you're not gonna shoot her dick off."

Tara stared at her a moment. Her mouth twitched and she let out a short bark of laughter. "I guess that's a silver lining."

"Yup." Her head lolled the other way and the moment of levity passed. When she spoke again her voice was choked and halting. "This is my fault, Tara. All of it."

"No! Hey, no, don't say that." She ran a hand up and down Olivia's arm. "Sometimes these things happen, Olivia. Your previous miscarriages—"

"Are my fault! When I found out I was pregnant the first time I should've left. Packed a bag and just taken off. But I didn't. And I didn't go after the second one. Or even the third! What kind of coward am I?"

"Stop that right now. Where would you have gone? What would you have done for money? If you'd left while pregnant it would've been dangerous to work in a garage. How would you have taken care of your baby?"

She seized Olivia by the shoulders and made her face her. "What your abuser did to you is not your fault, Ollie. This is not your fault. I know you know that."

Her head bobbed up and down like a rag doll's. "I know," she said. "I do know." She pulled out of Tara's hold and rested her forehead in her hand. "I do know. It's just so hard to remember sometimes."

"Maybe you should go see Dr. Rose. Talk some of this out. Or, if you didn't like him, there's a woman who works at St. Thomas I really like. I can get you an appointment."

Her face furrowed, but after a moment she nodded. "Maybe that's a good idea."

The sound of a motorcycle drifted from down the street.

"That's probably Juice," she said. She wasn't as familiar with the noise of his new bike as she'd been with the old one.

"Should I go?"

"Might be better."

"What will you tell him? About why I gave you a ride home?"

"Um." She rubbed her temples. "He knows I haven't been feeling great the last few days. I'll tell him I'm sick, and you thought it would be safer if I didn't drive."

Tara had no room to talk about lying, so she just nodded. She pressed a kiss to Olivia's forehead and slipped out of bed. "If you need anything, call me. I'll call Lyla and tell her what's going on."

"Okay, Tara. Thank you."

"Of course." She gave her a doctor look. "Take your antibiotics and don't stop until they're gone. Get lots of rest and plenty of fluids. And no sex for at least two weeks."

"Dr. Martinez said all of that."

"Yeah, and it's important. Drink your tea."

"Yes, mom." She sipped obediently and Tara rolled her eyes.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

Juice stared at Tara's SUV in confusion. Where was the Cougar? Olivia had said she was going to the hospital to see Tara—she hadn't gotten arrested again, had she? Well at least this time Juice would know it had happened.

He started toward the house when the door opened and Tara stepped out. She waved at Juice and he waved back.

"What's up?" he said. "Where's Olivia's car?"

"We left it at St. Thomas," Tara said. She held up a hand at his startled look. "She's fine, but she wasn't feeling well. I didn't think it was safe for her to drive."

"Oh. Is she okay?"

"Like I said. We got her checked out, and it's a minor infection. She has some antibiotics, and as long as she takes those and gets plenty of rest she'll be fine."

He frowned. "I knew she'd been run down lately—"

"That's probably why. All the stress she's been through just wore down her immune system." She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry, Juice. Just keep an eye on her, and if she spikes a fever call me. Okay?"

He gave a stuttering nod. Tara turned toward her car, but Juice stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "Hey, hang on. Could I ask you—um. Could I ask you a doctor question?"

Tara crossed her arms and cast him a wary glance. "Sure, Juice. Shoot."

He hesitated. Looked back toward the house and then at her again. "Besides something obvious like implants, what could cause a woman's breasts to get bigger? And, like, hurt?"

She kept her expression neutral. This could be dangerous territory, and the last thing she wanted to do was give away Olivia's secret. "A few things. If we're talking about Olivia, I'd say the most likely explanation is just pre-menstrual symptoms."

"Huh. Why would it be different for her?"

"She had her tubes tied, Juice. I know she told you that."

"Yeah." He shook his head and his mouth twisted. "Yeah, of course. Thanks, Tara."

"You're welcome. Remember what I said about a fever, or if she gets to feeling much worse." She paused. Then, "She might act a little strange. Some people have weird reactions to antibiotics, and you know how cagey she is about her medical history. If she's crying or upset, that's probably normal. Just make sure she's…safe."

He blinked at her. He'd never heard of a reaction like that, but he wasn't the doctor. "Sure," he said, doubtfully. "I'll watch her."

Tara waved again and climbed up into the car. Juice watched until she was out of sight before he went inside.

Olivia was in bed, and though she was dozing when he walked in, the sound of his footsteps roused her.

"Hey," he said with a soft smile. "Tara told me you were feelin' kinda shitty."

"Kinda," she said. She tried to return his smile, but she only managed a feeble curve of her mouth.

He frowned and brushed her hair back from her pale cheeks. "Anything I can get you? More tea? A cookie?"

"I like cookies."

"I know you do. I think there are some of those chocolate chip left. The ones Gemma baked."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not hungry."

"Okay," he said. Something about her face made his breath catch in his throat. She didn't look sick so much as…sad. Her normally bright eyes were bleak and haunted, and the pallor to her skin had a different cast than it had yesterday when she'd claimed she was just tired.

"I know this's a stupid question, all things considered, but…babe, are you okay? For real?"

She opened her mouth to lie, but the words died on her tongue. "I don't know, Juicy," she whispered. Her face crumbled and she covered it with her hands. She was silent, wracked, and for a moment he was frozen in horror.

His brain kicked in and he got in bed next to her. He started to put his arm around her, but she pushed it away.

"Please don't," she whispered. "I couldn't stand it."

He sat helpless, his hands curled in his lap, and watched her sob. "Olivia—"

She grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. Unsure, frightened, he wrapped his arms around her like she might shatter if he moved too fast. She pressed her face against his chest and he stroked a light hand over her hair.

Antibiotics. Right. Something was going on, something Tara and Olivia didn't want him to know about, and for now he'd accept that. He could let it go and just be there for her, but eventually he would want to know what had her sobbing in his arms like she might die from the pain.

He kissed the crown of her head and rested his cheek against it. "I love you, Olivia," he murmured. "No matter what, I love you."

She let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I know, Juicy," she said, her voice made raspy from weeping. "I know you do."

Okay. *deep breath* This chapter actually made me cry while I was writing it.

Believe me, I understand what a sensitive issue this is. I do 100% believe in a woman's right to choose, but I also believe it's an incredibly difficult decision for any woman to make. I wanted to make it clear that Olivia didn't make her choice just because a baby might be an "inconvenience" (even though I hate that idea, and mostly hear it from men who have no CLUE what carrying a child is actually like), but instead she made it from a place of desperation. The dangerous lifestyle combined with the risk of losing the baby was too much, and I hope that's understood. Honestly, there's only so much loss and trauma a person can take before they break from it.

Having said that, I TRIED to do research on the lasting physical effects of miscarriage via violence, but I could find BASICALLY NOTHING. I did find that only 17% of women are screened for domestic violence when they have a miscarriage, and only 10% after the second miscarriage. Other than that, I combed probably a dozen sources for information about miscarriage, and NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM listed violence as a cause. Way to make women who've been victims of violence feel marginalized and less important than women who miscarry by other means.

In other words, I have no idea if her previous miscarriages would have caused the scarring Dr. Martinez describes. I know that miscarriage via other means doesn't cause permanent damage, but. Well. Violence leaves all sorts of scars. So.