Still in the sad territories, loves, and as the end of s6 approaches I'm not sure it's gonna be letting up any time soon.

how many times can i break till i shatter?
over the line, can't define what i'm after
i always turn the car around
give me a break; let me make my own pattern
all that it takes is some time
but i'm shattered
i always turn the car around
O.A.R., "Shattered"

Tig glowered at him until Juice gave in and followed her. The living room was empty, but he could hear water running in the tiny half bath off the kitchen. He knocked, and a moment later she opened the door. Her eyes widened a little when she saw him, and they widened further when he pushed her in and closed the door behind him.

The space was barely big enough for the two of them. Her back was pressed against the sink and the back of his knees hit the toilet and they were still almost touching. Whenever either one of them moved they brushed against each other. He tried to keep still, because it was incredibly distracting and there were things he wanted to say to her. Like Tig, he'd noticed how wrecked she was over the shooting—but unlike Tig he knew the type of month she'd been having. He wanted to ask her…about a million things. He wanted to comfort her. After last night he had no idea how, or if she would even want him to.

"Are you okay?" he said. It was lame, but it was a start.

"Me?" She let out a disbelieving huff. "What about you?"

"I'm—"His forehead creased and his brows drew together. "I don't want to talk about it."

She lifted her hand but stopped just before she touched his face. "I'm so sorry, Juicy."

The tenderness in her tone made him wince. His eyes flicked away. "I didn't come in here to talk about me."

"I know you didn't. I still wanted to say it."

He took a deep breath and nodded, suddenly too overcome to speak. Of all people, she would understand how hard today had been for him. She would know what the vote had cost him. He wanted her comfort as much as he wanted to give her his, but that wasn't why he was here. Finally he said, "I just—I need to know, Olivia: are you gonna stay in Charming?"

She frowned a little. It wasn't what she'd been expecting. "Would you prefer it if I left?"

"No! I mean"—he pulled a face—"I mean, you need to do what you need to do, I just want—"

"What do you want, Ortiz?" she said, her voice soft. She wasn't sure what she hoped he'd say; maybe that he wanted her. She knew it, or at least she had known it, but right now it would be nice to hear. Because maybe he didn't anymore. After what she'd done. After last night. After today.

He looked up with a brief, sweet smile. "I want you to be happy, Liv. It's all I've ever wanted."

Her mouth opened. She closed it again and swallowed hard. "Juice, listen, about last night…"

"You don't have to say anything, Liv. I get it. It was—it was a real nice dream, you know? But I guess that's all it was."

Whatever she'd been hoping for, that wasn't it. Her lips trembled, and when she spoke again her voice was thick. "It was, Juicy. Maybe the nicest dream I've ever had."

She swiped the heel of her hand against her cheek. "Is that why you cornered me in this bathroom?"

He studied her face. It was still damp from the water she'd splashed on it. Tendrils of hair clung to her temples and the side of her neck. He raised a tentative hand. She closed her tear-stained eyes. He tucked one of the wet strands behind her ear. His thumb rubbed across her lips and they parted on a soft gasp.

"Please," she whispered, her breath warm on his fingers. "Please, Juicy, I can't—"

"I know," he said. His mouth hovered over hers. "Hush, babe. I know."

Their lips met. He held the back of her neck with one hand. His other went around her waist. She gripped the edge of the sink with all ten fingers, so tight they started to go numb. He hauled her in closer and, with a quiet whimper, she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt.

Their tongues brushed; his fingers stroked the soft skin of her neck; she could taste salt on his lips; he could feel everything she was too afraid to say. He mouthed the wetness from her cheeks. She trembled against him and he held her, his cheek resting against the top of her head and his hands warm and firm on her back.

"I don't want to go," she gasped as she cried.

"You don't have to. Charming's your home now."

She pushed away as far as she could, and her tear-streaked face was angry. "I don't give a fuck about Charming, Juice. Charming isn't home. You are."

Hope surged through him and flared in his eyes. "Then don't go, Olivia. Please."

"I don't know how to stay," she admitted, her voice small and lost. She held her palms out like they were damaged, dirty things. "I feel so fucking—so broken. Damaged. Everything hurts and everything makes me angry and there's just so much death. All the time! It never ends."

He flinched. He took her hands in his and rubbed them. Raised them to his lips and kissed the center of each palm and the tip of each finger. "Let's go," he said between the kisses. "Right now. We'll get in your car and just never look back. There's nothing left for me here. Clay—" He broke off. He couldn't talk about that yet.

"I'm so tired of running," she said.

"Okay. I'll do it the right way, then: I'll take it to the table. They'll let me out. I'll turn in my cut and black out my ink and—babe, don't look at me like that."

"It's just not that simple, Juice. Not anymore. I fucked everything up, and I'm not sure I can be who you need."

"You're who I need. Just you. You don't have to be anything, and you sure as hell didn't fuck anything up."

They both heard the sound of a car crunching across the gravel outside. "That's probably Tara," she said. She pulled her hands from his grasp. "I need to go help her."

She reached for the door and he tugged her back. "Just promise me you'll think about it, Olivia. Can you do that much?"

She bit her lip. Her eyes traced the lines of his face. Love was like a hot coal against her heart, agonizing and comforting at the same time. She'd meant it when she'd told him all those weeks ago that she needed him. Oh, she could go on without him. She could re-make her life without him in it…but she knew it would never be the same, and she'd never feel again the way she did when she looked at him.

Was that a bad thing—or a good one?

Finally she gave a jerky nod. "I promise. Just—just give me some time, okay?"

"Yeah." He brushed his thumb along the curve of her cheek. "I can do that." He kissed her again, warm and sweet. "I love you, Olivia."

"I know, Juicy," she murmured against his mouth. "I love you too."

That much, at least, she could say with absolute confidence.

Later that afternoon, Tara ducked into the bedroom to check Bobby's stitches. Olivia had done them before she left, and they were perfect. Almost better than Tara's. Olivia was a good hand at suturing, and steady in a crisis. Tara wished she'd had more time to teach her the medical side of things. The club would need a medic more experienced than Olivia and less ham-handed (Lord bless him) than Chibs, and Tara wouldn't be around much longer.

Well. On second thought, if she really went through with the deal then the club wouldn't need a medic at all. The bullet seemed to burn in her pocket, and she imagined she could feel it against her skin.

Jax had thanked her when she spoke to him. She could barely meet his eyes. She didn't know if she were doing the right thing, but she did know she had no choice. She had loved Jax once—still did, if she were being completely honest—but it wasn't enough. His promises rang false to her, empty, and she was so goddamn tired.

In desperation she fled to the porch, and it was only when he made a noise she realized she wasn't alone. She saw the light gleam briefly off his scalp and recognition clicked.

"Christ, Juice, you scared me."

"Sorry," he said and stepped out of the shadows. "I just needed some air."

"Yeah. It was getting close in there." She paused a moment and studied him. She knew he and Clay had been close, and she couldn't imagine what it must be like to vote for somebody's death. "How are you? After—after today, I mean?"

He shrugged a shoulder and looked away, out to the yard that stretched wide to the tree line. "I don't know," he said. "It's kind of a lot to process."

He didn't mention the fact that, in addition to Clay's death and Bobby's injury, he'd killed a cop. He fucking hated killing. Every time he looked down and saw that Men of Mayhem patch he wanted to rip it off his cut and put it down the fucking garbage disposal or something. It made him feel weak—even though, at the same time, he could hear Olivia's voice in his head telling him it made him human, and there was nothing the fuck wrong with that.

His mouth quirked at how clearly he could hear the words. Then the smile faded and he tilted his head toward Tara. "Can I ask you something?" he said.

"More doctor stuff?"

"No. This's personal."

Something about his tone made her wary, but after a moment she nodded. "Go ahead."

"It's about Olivia."

"Hhm." She paused. "Juice, Ollie's my friend. I'm not going to betray—"

"No, Tara, I know. She told me. I mean, she sort of told me. About the abortion. And I just—I want to know if she was alone. Was she—was she alone?" His voice cracked on the last word and he ducked his head.

She touched his shoulder. "No, Juice. I was with her. She wasn't alone."

He nodded and drew in a long, shuddering breath. "She assumes I'm pissed at her, but I'm not. I just wish I'd been there. Maybe if we'd talked about it we could've figured something else out. I wouldn't want her to keep it if she didn't want to, but if she did it at all because she thought I didn't want it—" He broke off and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Tara shifted her weight and her face scrunched. "Juice—did she tell you why?"

He looked up and blinked. "She just said she never planned to have kids, which I knew already. She told me she had her tubes tied, and I know she was young when she did it, but she's always said she never regretted it. She doesn't want a kid in this life, or I guess while she's still looking out for Doyle."

Her mouth twisted sardonically. "Common sentiment." She hesitated a moment. Then, "She didn't tell you what the doctor said?"

"The doctor? She didn't say anything about a doctor."

"Shit." Tara pressed her fingertips against her brow. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but she's apparently too damn stubborn to do it herself, so here goes." She took Juice's hand and pulled him down to sit in the chair next to her.

"You know about her previous miscarriages, right?"

"Her husband caused them," he said with a scowl.

"Right. Apparently the circumstances—the violence, I mean—caused damage to her uterus. Scarring. The embryo hadn't attached to the uterine wall, and the doctor was afraid if it hadn't already, it wasn't going to."

His frown deepened as he did a mental review of all the information he'd absorbed during his web trawling. "There's no way it could survive like that," he said.

"Exactly. And if it did attach, it was going to be a very at-risk pregnancy. Considering what this life can be like—and what it's been like for Ollie the past several months—Dr. Martinez was extremely doubtful Olivia could carry to term."

He fell back, eyes wide and mouth open. "I don't understand," he said. "Why didn't she tell me any of this?"

"I don't know, Juice. I think—I honestly think she was ready to keep it until she heard what Dr. Martinez had to say. I don't think she could've stood losing a baby she actually wanted. A baby that she…that she could love."

Tara ducked her head. Shame was like the sting of a thousand needles. She hated what she'd done to Jax. She even hated what she'd done to Gemma. She pushed the feeling aside and focused on her children: Abel and Thomas were who mattered now. She shifted in her seat and felt the bullet dig into her thigh even through its swaddling. Or maybe that was only in her head.

He slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. Tara rested a hand on his back. "She's hurting a lot right now, Juice. She begged me not to tell you, and I promised her I wouldn't. I think she didn't want you to know because the whole thing made her feel—"

"Damaged," he interrupted in a hollow voice. Her words from the bathroom echoed in his mind, and now he understood them in a whole new way. He remembered what he'd said last night about her killing his baby. He hadn't meant it, not really, but in light of everything he knew now, the memory made him want to beat his head against the wall.

What a fucking shithead. He knew her. He knew how stubborn she was. He knew how she felt about him—or he thought he had. Apparently he was the one without any faith. He'd lost faith in her when she needed him the most. No wonder she'd drifted. No wonder he'd lost her. Hell, he'd practically thrown her away.

"I should've known," he said in a strangled voice.

"No, Juice, how could you? You're not psychic."

He waved that away. "I know her. She's stubborn and she can be hard, but when she decides on something, she fucking well decides. I shoulda known she wouldn't do it unless something was wrong."

Tara couldn't think of anything to say to that. She thought he was being too hard on himself, but maybe he was right. Maybe he should have known. She couldn't help but think that there was a great deal these men missed because of their single-minded focus on the club. It wasn't possible to be completely devoted to two things at once, and most of them chose MC family over actual family. It's why so many of them were divorced.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you," she said with a sigh.

"I'm glad you did." He ducked his head and swallowed back tears. "She's just…it's like part of her's gone. Or buried so deep it might as well be gone. She's back to the way she was at the beginning, only about ten times worse. She acted like I was gonna attack her last night, and we were just talking.

"She probably never woulda told me. I let her walk out. I knew I shouldn't, but I was so pissed. The way she shuts down—the way she won't let anyone in—I thought we were passed all that. I thought she trusted me."

"I don't think it's about trust."

"Yeah. I guess I get that."

"Have you talked to her since?"

He jerked his chin toward the cabin. "Earlier. Before you got here. She asked me to give her time."

"Will you?"

He rubbed the heel of his hand against a spot of blood on his pants. "I told her I would."

"That's not what I asked," Tara said, shrewdly.

"She won't come to me with this, Tara. I gotta talk to her."

"She asked for time, Juice. Give it to her.

He scowled down at the blood stain, but at last he gave a short nod. "Yeah. I'll do whatever she needs."

Tara smiled at him, but before she could say anything Rat poked his head out the door. "Bobby's awake," she said. "You wanna—?"

"Sure," she said. She rose and gestured for Juice to come with her. "Come on. You should see him too."

"Me?" he said, confused. "Why me?"

"You helped save his life, Juice. He'll probably want to say thanks, don't you think?"

Go home and fuck Ollie, Bobby had said. You're makin' everybody nervous. Especially me.

If only it were that easy. He'd love to go home to Olivia. Sex didn't even have anything to do with it. He just wanted to hear her voice. Make her laugh. Smell her hair and feel her smooth skin beneath his hands. Taste her mouth and—

Well. Maybe sex had a little to do with it.

He scrubbed both hands over his scalp and tried her number again. Still no answer. He could just show up. Except she'd asked him for time, and he wanted to follow Tara's advice. He tucked his phone away and put on his helmet.

He made it twenty or so miles before he pulled over and called her a third time. Maybe she was in the bath. She kept her phone with her in the bathroom these days—ever since the attack—but if she had her earbuds in or the ringer turned off or both…

He sat on the side of the road straddling his bike (the old one; he loved the improvements she'd made on it) and pressed his hands against his head. He needed her. He'd tried the entire day not to think about Clay, but now it was catching up. He couldn't stop thinking about that hug. Clay had thanked him. After everything he'd done—the betrayal—both betrayals—and the first vote on Mayhem—and now, this, Clay's death warrant.

And Clay had fucking thanked him. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He couldn't make it right. There was a scream buried deep in his chest and it was trying to work its way up and out. He bit down on it. Swallowed hard.

He pulled out two of the oxy he'd taken from Bobby's nightstand and popped them into his mouth. The bitter flavor made him wince, but he thought it was appropriate. He chewed until they were dust. Chewed until his teeth ached.

He stared down at his phone. No. He didn't deserve Olivia right now. She'd been right to walk out on him last night. She'd been right about everything except one: he was the broken one. He was the one who had brought all this death to her door, and he destroyed everything he touched. He turned the phone off and shoved it in his pocket.

He gunned the bike and headed for the nearest liquor store. He wanted to forget all of it—Clay, the club, Olivia—and for once just be numb.

After Olivia pulled herself out of the bath she spent a long, leisurely time drying off and applying lotion. She combed out her hair and French braided it into one long rope. After that she cleaned the kitchen counters and rearranged her mugs to group them by color. Then she messed them up and did it again. She wandered back to the bathroom and scrubbed out the tub.

Finally, after all of that, it occurred to her to check her phone. Tara had been acting strange all day, and when Olivia finally called her on it (while they were in the middle of fishing the bullet out of Bobby's shoulder), she'd said she was working on something. Olivia had offered her help, again, and Tara said she might need it this time.

She had three missed calls from Juice, but he hadn't left a message. He had refused to talk to her about Clay, and she was worried about him. The last time he'd voted on Mayhem it had nearly killed him, and this time they'd actually gone through with it. He'd been instrumental in the death of someone who'd been like a father to him.

She bit her lip and called him back, but it went straight to voicemail. She almost hung up, but at the last minute she decided to leave a message.

"Hey, Juicy, it's me. Liv. Olivia." She rolled her eyes. She fucking hated voicemail. "Right. I see that you called. I'm sorry I didn't answer, but I had the ringer off and—listen, call me back, okay? And if you need to come by, you can. Remember what I told you? You can always come home to me. That still stands." She hesitated. What else was there to say? "Call me back, Juice. Let me know you're okay."

She shut the phone with a frown. Why had she turned the ringer down? She knew Tara might call, and she'd been thinking about Juice all day. And why had he turned his phone off? She knew he wouldn't let it die, so it had to be deliberate.

She paced around the living room and fretted about it. Was he still at the cabin? Maybe he just wasn't getting good reception up there. It could be spotty. She'd decided to call the cabin's landline when the phone in her hand rang. The caller ID displayed Tara's number, not Juice's, and for a moment she hesitated to answer.

"Fuck," she muttered as she flipped the phone open. "Tara. What's up?"

There was a pause. "You sound tense. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Where are you?"

"At the cabin." She lowered her voice. "Gemma brought me up here, so I don't have my car. Can you come get me?"

"Yeah, of course, but—"

"Ollie, please. I can't talk now. I'll explain everything when you get here."

She was already on her way back to the bedroom to get dressed. "I'll be there in two hours."

"Thank you. Oh, wait!" she said before Olivia could hang up. "Don't pull up the driveway. Call me when you're here and I'll come out to you. Okay?"

She let out a little sigh. "Stealth approach. Got it. See you soon." She hit end and let out a long stream of curses. Tara was getting out. Tonight. The worst fucking timing—

Juice was a grown man. If he really needed her, he'd call again. He could've left a message, after all.

She tried to comfort herself with that thought as she drove the long, lonely road up to the cabin, but it rang cold and hollow. He was hers. She was his. And on a night when they were both hurting and confused and angry, they were apart.

It didn't seem right, and she had a feeling this night wasn't going to end the way either of them would want it.

Juice wasn't even sure how he'd gotten to Diosa. Everything from the last hour was a sort of tequila-scented blur. He'd almost gone to Olivia's, but at the last minute he'd changed his mind…and somehow he'd ended up here.

He didn't want to fuck somebody else. He didn't want anyone else to touch him or even look at him. But Olivia was impossibly far away, and all he could think about was what they'd said in the bathroom:

It was a real nice dream.

Maybe the nicest dream I've ever had.

He stripped off his clothes and peered at his wavering reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back at him. The stranger wore his face, and had his tattoos, but the eyes were tired and stunned and dead, like a beaten animal. He scrubbed both hands up and down his face and shook his head.

The room spun around him.

He ran a hand over the ink on his chest. She'd asked him what they meant, but he hadn't told her. In truth even he wasn't completely sure. You could either be a Son or live in the light, but you couldn't have both. She'd been his light, and he'd fucked that up, too.

He shoved the rest of the oxy in his mouth and swallowed it down with a hard chug of tequila. The pills stuck in his throat, and for a moment he thought he might cough them up. Then they went down like a painful lump. He choked a little and cleared his throat with more liquor.

What if she could see him now? What would she say to him? She told him once she knew all his secrets and loved him anyway. She knew he'd taken a swing from that branch. She knew he'd betrayed the club and murdered a brother. She knew he'd betrayed Clay over and over.

And she said she loved him anyway.

He couldn't forget the feel of Clay's hug. The scratch of his stubble against Juice's cheek. The firm grip. Thank you for today, brother.

Two people in this whole God-forsaken, fucked up world who loved him, who genuinely cared what happened to him, who tried to look out for him—and he'd killed one of them and turned his back on the other.

The room took another alarming swing. He thought maybe he should go lie down. He stumbled toward the bed, but when he tried to sit down it moved and he fell.

He muttered something—maybe a curse, maybe a prayer, maybe just nonsense—and then everything went black, like a velvet curtain falling.

He didn't even fight it.

So in my original plan Olivia was NOT going to get pregnant, but the more I thought about it, the more I needed a way to get Juice to Diosa that night. If he could go to Olivia, like I'd already established, why would he go there instead? I couldn't get it to make sense. They needed a reason to be apart, and there was no way I was making one of them cheat (way too ooc at this point), soooo...here we are. :/