I get the sense that you guys are as torn as I am about this fic ending. I've got ideas for, um, supplemental scenes, stuff that didn't make the final cut...like that Thanksgiving scene Olivia was talking about in the last chapter.

Also like a dozen AU ideas but that feels completely self-indulgent.

If any of you are interested in any of the above, lemme know. Maybe it'll happen.

as i'm leaving a change comes on my eyes
these streets persuading me with mumbles strange goodbyes
and through the water, through the ring
to the soul of everything
throw my heart out on the stones
and i'm almost gone
David Gray, "As I'm Leaving"

The Charming Sheriff's station was bustling with activity when Donnelly and Olivia walked in. There were probably five or ten Feds, Patterson, and a tall guy Patterson introduced as Jim Wong, US Attorney for the district. She lifted a brow. Looked like Lincoln Potter had been replaced.

Gloria was with them, as well, but she broke off as soon as she saw Olivia and came to stand beside her. Chibs walked in just behind them, and he and Gloria shared a long hug and quiet words that seemed a little more than just friendly.

Olivia cast him a look and he flashed her a smug grin and waggled his brows. She smothered a laugh behind her hand, and it earned her a glare from Patterson.

"Ms. Gable," she said with a nod. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Mr. Telford is here to sign the affidavit we've prepared about Agent Stephens. I assume you can administer the oath, Mr. Wong?"

"Of course," he said. "Perhaps we should step into Sheriff Donnelly's office?"

"Be my guest," she said dryly.

The statement was simple: at the time of Agent Stephens' death on Monday, June 27, 2011, none of the five witnesses present were aware he was a Federal Agent. He never identified himself as such, and they had no reason to believe he was anything other than what he appeared to be: a bodyguard employed by Theodore Jonathan Flanary, Sr. There was nothing directly incriminating in it; it didn't name anyone as the shooter; and it didn't name Stephens as O'Rourke's killer.

Olivia went first. Put her hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth, then signed her name to a statement that was largely fabrication. Chibs followed, and she wondered how his Catholicism allowed the seeming contradiction.

It was his job to make himself right with God; Olivia just wanted them to be right with the US government and the state of California.

"My client assures me that Mr. Trager and Mr. Lowman will be here before the night is out to sign the statement as well," Gloria said. "Mr. Ortiz, of course, is incapacitated."

"Of course," Wong said with a slight moue of sympathy. "I understand you two are engaged, Ms. Gable. I'm very sorry."

It was the first time anyone involved in this debacle (besides Gloria) had expressed any sort of compassion, and she was touched. He seemed genuine. "Thank you, Mr. Wong," she said. "I appreciate you saying so."

"Shall we get started?" he said to both her and Gloria.

"Once I sign, is that it? I mean…will I have a chance—?"

"You should say any goodbyes now," Wong said. "As soon as you sign we'll mobilize on Flanary and we'll need you in protective custody immediately."

"Right," she said.

"We'll give you a minute," Gloria said.

Wong looked reluctant, but after a moment he followed her out of the office and left Olivia and Chibs alone.

"Well," she said. "I thought I'd get to say goodbye to some of the others. Tig. I haven't seen him since…" She trailed off and her hand fluttered to her face.

"I'll call him, lass. Drag him in while you're talkin'. That way you can at least see him."

She nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry about Gemma, Chibs."

"That's not on you, Ollie. She made her bed. Now she has to lie in it." He took her by the shoulders, careful of the sore one, and gave her a brief, gentle shake. "You're a bonny, brave lass, Olivia Jameson, and it's been a privilege to know you."

"Fuck, Chibs, don't be so nice to me. I'm trying not to cry here."

He pulled her against him with a curse of his own, and she could swear the cheek he rested against the top of her head was damp.

"Hug Chucky for me," she said, her voice muffled by his leather. "And make sure Wade doesn't fuck up the garage. And tell Happy he needs to get that goddamn oil leak looked at because it's a fucking embarrassment. Oh! And help Rat find an old lady, because he's just been a mess since things went south with Pam and he deserves somebody really sweet. A nice girl, Chibs, not someone just lookin' for the status."

He chuckled a little. Typical Olivia. He was surprised she didn't run through the entire club. It wasn't just engines she had an urge to fix. "Aye, lass. Whatever you say. Anything else?"

"Make sure you sell my car to someone who's going to take care of it. Don't sell it to a dumb ass college kid or some yuppy asshole going through a midlife crisis."

He snorted and remembered the way they'd bet on her identity the first day she'd pulled in at TM. "Probably won't sell it, truth be told. It's not so bad, for a cage. And Tara might want it. She still misses her Cutlass."

"Not exactly a family car," she said with a frown. But the idea of Tara owning her car thrilled her. Tara would love him the way he deserved.

"Don't die, Chibby," she whispered. "For fuck's sake just don't die bloody."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, darlin', and neither is Juicy boy."

She pulled away and managed a watery smile. "I think I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow." Besides Juice, of course, but that went without saying.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and ran a hand over her hair. "Charming'll be a poorer place for your absence, Ollie lass. Take care of yourself, and try to stop lookin' over your shoulder quite so hard."

"That'll be the day," she said with a twist of her mouth.

Neither of them were sure what else to say, and they both hated goodbyes. She gave him one last hug, squeezed him tight enough to make him grunt, and then fled.

He had figured out that since this was a dream, he could actually get out of the bed and walk around. He hadn't figured out how to make himself appear in anything but the stupid hospital gown, though, so his ass was hanging in the wind as he stood and contemplated the door.

A big stenciled 2 had appeared on it at some point. He still couldn't look directly at the light that oozed around the edges. He touched the handle. It was warm. Almost hot. He pressed his ear against it but couldn't make out any sounds.

"Nice ass, Ortiz," her warm voice said from behind him.

He turned around slowly. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, one leg thrown over the other. She was dressed like she'd been the first time he'd dreamt of her, and he took a moment to get an eyeful from her toes all the way up before he finally looked her in the face. Her expression was wry and knowing, and it made him smile.

"Hey, beautiful," he said.

"Hey, sexy. Lookin' good. You really pull off that invalid chic."

"Thanks," he said with a grimace.

Her head tilted. "Seems like you're making a choice."

"I don't know." He glanced back at the door. "I'm sick of it here. It's like limbo." He frowned. "You're not Catholic."

"I know what limbo is, babe. And you aren't exactly Catholic these days, either."

"I was raised in it. Until my mom died. Some things you don't really forget."

She slid off the bed and sauntered toward him. Her arms went around his shoulders and she kissed him long and slow. "If you need to go, go."

"You mean it?" he said and squeezed her waist.

"It's always been your choice. I'm just the voice in your head."

He brushed her hair back. She smiled at him and wandered away. He watched her go with a poignant ache in his chest. He didn't want to leave her, but she'd been right when she'd said he couldn't stay for her alone. And he was so fucking tired.

"What's this?" she said. A box had appeared at the foot of the bed, an old shoebox with worn corners and a rubber band wrapped around it.

He blinked. "I didn't—"

"Some part of you must've," she said over her shoulder. "Your dream, m'love."

She reached for it, but he surged forward to stop her. "Wait!"

"Your porn stash? I thought I'd seen that."

"No, uh. No it's nothing like that. Just—it's kind of…it's embarrassing, kinda."

She lifted a brow. "Now I'm intrigued."

He sighed and boosted himself onto the bed. Swung his legs around and gestured her closer. "Come here."

She settled down between his thighs, leaning carefully against his chest, and tugged the box closer. The rubber band snapped when she pulled on it. "Ow."

"Sorry, baby," he said. He kissed the red mark it had left and she grinned at him.

"Worth it." She lifted the lid and blinked in consternation. "Letters," she said, nonplussed.

"Yup."

She poked through them. "These are addressed to me. All of them."

He pressed a hand against her belly and kissed the side of her neck. "Uh huh."

"Don't think you're going to distract me, Ortiz. What am I looking at here?"

He drew in a long breath. "When we were in jail for that long stretch, I got kinda…I don't know. Lonely, I guess. So I wrote you."

"I didn't get any of these."

"I know. I didn't mail them."

"Why not?" she said, craning her neck to look at him.

"You made yourself clear before I went in, Liv. You didn't want to be with me. You didn't want me near you. Some of these are sorta…I mean…I didn't think they'd be appropriate." He shrugged a little. "Then I heard you were with Kitty, so I was really glad I hadn't mailed any of them."

"But you kept writing them."

"Well yeah. I was assigned to work in the library because I was good with the computers. Almost every day when I was restocking books and shit I'd see something that made me think of you. I'd write them all down at the end of the week and put it away without mailing it."

He grabbed a letter from the top of the pile and opened it. "Oh, this's a good one. I read this one a hundred times.

My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the blood,
we have found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.

But wait for me,
keep for me your sweetness.
I will give you too
a rose."

He dipped his head as he finished reading it. "By a guy named Pablo Neruda. It just—like how he talks about them hurting each other? But he wants her to wait for him. Because despite that, he still loves her, and he knows she loves him."

"They're better together," she said, softly.

"Yeah. Exactly." He dug a bit and examined another one. "Oh, I found this one online somewhere:

You should know…

between your legs,
lies a garden of
tulips,
And I can't wait to kiss your
(tu)-lips,
Water you until wet,
And lay over you
like the Sun."

"Sexy," she murmured.

"See why I couldn't mail them?"

She took the letter from him and read it over again. "I wish you had. I would've loved this, Juicy."

"I never thought you'd be the type of person who wanted…poetry, I guess. That sorta thing. Romantic shit."

She grinned. "I'm not. Never have been." She twisted around to face him and pressed her mouth to his. "I don't want romance. I didn't then and I don't now. What I want—and wanted back then—is you. Practically the minute I told you to stay away I regretted it. That last conversation before you went in was agony. These would've given me the excuse I needed to quit being so fucking stubborn."

He cleared his throat and dropped her gaze. "Babe—"

She grabbed his face in her hands. Her bright eyes were pleading. "Come back to me, Juicy. Please. It's supposed to be you and me. I don't know how to do this without you."

"You told me I could go if I wanted."

"You can. Of course you can." She laughed, jangling and strained. "I just don't want you to."

"You always get what you want, Gable?" he said, his mouth hovering just over hers.

"Hardly ever," she said and flicked her tongue across his lips. "Except when it comes to you."

"That's because I'm a sucker for a redhead with a nice rack," he murmured just before he kissed her.

She brushed her nose against his as the kiss broke. "Any redhead with a nice rack, or a particular one?"

He tangled his fingers in her hair and stroked his thumb down her cheek. "Just one."

Her face clouded. She cast a glance over her shoulder. "Fuck," she muttered. "I've gotta go, baby."

"What? Why? Isn't this my dream?"

She smiled at him, but it was sad and haunted. "It is. But I'm leaving."

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

She pulled away and slipped off the bed. He reached for her, but she stepped back. The pain in his chest hit him harder than ever, and he fell back against the pillows with a strangled gasp.

"Olivia, what—?"

"Open your eyes, Juicy. Wake up. It's better. I think it's better. It can't rain all the time."

"You said you'd stay!"

"Things change. I love you, baby. Always will."

The tightness in his chest was growing, overwhelming him, and when he opened his mouth no words came out. She brushed tears off her face. Suddenly the room was flooded with so much light it hurt. He screwed his eyes shut.

Open your eyes, fuckin' coward, he told himself. Just do it. She's right.

His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Even heavier weights were tied to his limbs and he waded through thick, sucking sand. Slowly, achingly, he forced them open.

He forced himself awake.

Chibs was half-dozing when he heard the noise. He sat up straighter and peered at the still form in the bed. Except it wasn't still. That's the noise he'd heard: Juice's hand moving against the sheets. His eyes were open and they roved the room. He reached for the tube going into his mouth and Chibs stopped him.

"Whoa, Juicy boy," he said. "Hang on a mo'. Good to see you decided to join us."

Juice blinked at him, and then his brow furrowed. He moved his chin a little and Chibs nodded.

"You were shot, lad. Try to stay still. They've got you on this wee breathing machine. I'll go get the doctor and we can get it out."

He patted Juice's shoulder and turned away. Paused a moment to bury his face in his hand and pull himself together. He had tried to put on a brave face for Olivia, but in truth he wasn't sure Juice was going to come out of it at all. He loved the boy dearly, despite all his fuck ups, and he'd been sick at the idea of him going out like this, wasting away in some hospital bed somewhere while machines kept him going.

Chibs cleared his throat and hurried to grab a nurse. She paged the doctor—Bryant, the one who'd talked to them that first day—and soon he and two other nurses were crowded around Juice's bed checking vital signs, listening to his chest, and poking and prodding.

"Mr. Ortiz," Dr. Bryant said, "can you hear me?"

Juice nodded a little. His hand moved to his chest and he squinted.

"I can imagine it hurts. After we get the tube out we can give you something for the pain." He carefully stripped the tape off Juice's face. "Cough for me."

Juice did, and the doctor pulled the tube clear. A nurse stuck a basin under his chin and he spit up all sorts of interesting things. Finally he subsided and fell back against the raised head of the bed. Every inhale made him wince. The nurse offered him a sip of water, and he accepted gratefully.

"Your throat's going to be sore for a bit, but that's normal. Can you tell me what you remember?"

Juice glanced at Chibs, his look questioning. "It's all right, Juicy," he said. "Tell the truth."

He frowned, and when he spoke his voice was thick and damaged-sounding. "I got shot," he said. "I'm in the hospital."

"The lad isn't wrong," said Chibs.

He rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. "They had a gun in the chicken."

Dr. Bryant glanced at Chibs. "The chicken, Mr. Ortiz?"

"Juice. Just call me Juice."

"Seems to me like his memory's pretty good," Chibs said. Thanks to Olivia they were immune from any sort of prosecution when it came to the kidnapping, but that didn't mean he wanted Juice to spill the entire story in front of the well-meaning, earnest Dr. Bryant.

Juice swallowed another sip of water. "Chibby—" He coughed, gasped in pain, and tried again. "Chibby, where's Liv? Is she here?"

"Ahh…" He looked away.

Dr. Bryant shone a light into each of Juice's eyes, but he knocked his hands away. Something about Chibs' face scared him. "She's okay, right? Nothing—nothing happened to her?"

"She's fine, lad. Healthy as could be."

He should feel relieved, but he couldn't help but think Chibs wasn't telling him the whole truth. The pain was distracting. Agonizing. He couldn't remember pain like it before. He opened his mouth to ask again, but he could only pant.

"All right, uh, Juice—try to relax. Dr. Henry will be here soon."

As if conjured by Bryant's words, Dr. Henry bustled into the room with speed and sprightliness that belied his age. "Mr. Ortiz! So nice to see you awake. I imagine you're hurting a bit, aren't you?"

"A…little, yeah."

He took Juice's chart from Dr. Bryant and flipped through it. "Any allergies?"

"Pumpkin," he said through gritted teeth.

"That must be inconvenient at Halloween, but it shouldn't be a problem for us." He handed the chart back. "Prep Mr. Ortiz for an epidural, Dr. Bryant."

"Epidural? Don't think the lad's havin' a baby, doc."

"No, of course not," he said. "We've found that an epidural is the safest and most effective means of pain management following surgery like Mr. Ortiz's. It will stay in for a week while we monitor him, and then we'll address the issue of discharge."

"If you'd like to wait outside, Mr. Telford…?" Dr. Bryant said.

"Aye." He touched Juice's shoulder. "I'll be back, Juicy. Try to listen to the good doctors."

Juice grabbed his arm with surprising strength. "Olivia, Chibby. Where…?"

Dr. Henry cleared his throat. "Ms. Gable stepped away, but I'm sure she would be thrilled to know you're awake. Mr. Telford?"

"I'll—I'll call her, lad. Tig took her home for a shower and some fresh clothes. You know how she is."

He smiled a little. "Hates wearin' the wrong thing."

Chibs patted Juice's hand where he held on, and gradually his grip loosened. "Y'okay," he said. "Prob'bly had to drag her out."

"Aye, lad, we did. Stubborn, our Ollie."

"I'll walk you out," Dr. Henry said to Chibs. Over his shoulder to Dr. Bryant, "Page me when he's ready."

They stepped out into the hall and Dr. Henry closed the door behind them. "Mr. Telford, I'm sure I don't have to explain to you how delicate Mr. Ortiz's condition is."

"You think we shouldn't tell him about Olivia."

"Not just yet. Give him some time. We'll get the epidural in and his pain under control, and then you can break the news."

"I don't like lyin' to the lad."

"It's for the best, Mr. Telford. Think of it this way: what if Ms. Gable had been killed? Would you want to tell him that as soon as he opened his eyes, or would you wait?"

He scraped a hand over his chin and shook his head. His expression was grave. "I'll pass the word amongst the lads. But he'll get more insistent, doc. Those two…they don't stray too far. Next time he wakes up and she's not here, I can't imagine we'll be able to put him off."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, let him heal."

Chibs was right, of course. When Juice woke up several hours later the epidural was working and he felt sort of floaty and happy. But Olivia still wasn't there. Bobby had taken Chibs' place in the bedside chair, and he was the one who broke the news. He did it as gently as he could, explaining how she'd waited until the last minute and they'd almost had to drag her away before Carmichael's window closed.

He told him about Gemma's arrest, too, and how he, Tig, and Chibs had agreed to leave Juice's name out of it. Enough damage had been done; they didn't need to add to it.

Juice absorbed all of it in silence, his expression flat, his eyes distant. She'd done this before. But that had been different, and he didn't think there would be any last minute reprieves this time. She'd said goodbye; he just hadn't been awake to hear it. He asked Bobby if he could have some time alone, and Bobby had acquiesced with a worried frown.

Now, two days later, Juice was alone. Really alone, because the one person who had made him feel otherwise was gone. She wasn't coming back. It had been four days since she'd made the deal. Teddy was in custody and Olivia was…who knew where. Federal protective custody and well beyond anyone's reach.

He'd sent Chibs to his house to search the hall closet for the shoebox from his dream. Now it was on the bed beside him, and he dug aimlessly through the letters. He should have sent them. If they'd made her mad or upset her she would've said so and he could've stopped—but at least she would've known. It had been important to him to her respect her wishes, but he should have at least told her.

He'd also asked Chibs to call Olivia's lawyer for him. The enthusiasm with which Chibs greeted the request made Juice wonder, and he was looking forward to seeing what all the fuss was about. She was due in ten minutes or so. Juice tried to fight the effects of the drugs and keep his eyes open. It wasn't easy.

His chin dropped and he dozed. He didn't dream of Olivia. He hadn't dreamt of her since the day he woke up, when she'd told him she had to go. Weird, but he didn't believe in freaky shit like psychics or mind reading or anything. Just a coincidence.

He jerked awake and flinched. There was a knock at the door and he called for the person to come in. He knew it wasn't a nurse; they never asked first.

The door opened and a woman just this side of drop-dead gorgeous walked in. Was this a joke? Had the guys…?

"Mr. Ortiz?" she said. "I'm Gloria Lopez, Olivia's attorney. Mr. Telford said you wanted to speak with me."

He swallowed hard. Wow. No wonder Chibs had looked so excited. "Um." He shook his head a little. "Um, yeah. You can sit down if you want."

Her mouth quirked and she perched at the edge of the uncomfortable bedside chair. "How can I help you, Mr. Ortiz? If you're looking for legal advice—"

"No," he said. "No, thanks. I did one of those power of attorney things the other day. The hospital had a fit about it. Also a living will so if I go to sleep again they can just pull the plug."

Delicate brows drew together over luminous ochre eyes. "If this is about Olivia, I can't answer many questions."

"Chibs told me you can't say where she is."

"I don't know where she is, Mr. Ortiz," she said, gently. She hesitated. "She clearly loves you very much. She was…heartbroken…about having to go without speaking to you. I tried to talk them into extending the deadline, but they wouldn't. The doctor was too unsure about a timetable for your condition, and—"

"It's okay."

He couldn't hear anymore about how it had been that last night. How he'd slept as she'd cried. What a fucking asshole. It wasn't his fault, and he knew that—but he still felt like shit about it. No one would talk him out of that.

He put the lid back on the shoebox and slid it toward her. "Is there any way you could get this to Olivia?"

She took it from him with a curious look and opened the lid. Poked through the contents and lifted her head to study him. "Letters, Mr. Ortiz?"

"I wrote 'em a while ago, and I should've given 'em to her before…but I'd like her to have them now. If that's okay."

"I can ask her Marshall if she can pass them along. There's no guarantee, though."

His head fell back against the pillows. "Yeah," he said. "I get it."

"Mr. Ortiz," she said after a moment, "this question is probably inappropriate, and you don't have to answer, but…would you have gone with her?"

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "I'd still go with her. She walked into this room right now and told me to get outta bed in this stupid fuckin' gown with my ass hangin' out, I'd follow her anywhere. She was it for me. Endgame."

His speech was starting to slur. Gloria ducked her head to hide a smile and rose to her feet. She took the box and touched him lightly on the arm. "Get some rest, Mr. Ortiz. I'll see what I can do."

The next time Juice opened his eyes he turned his head and blinked. There was a well-dressed Asian man in the chair, and he had papers spread all over the little tray table that was usually across the bed. His first thought was Asian mafia, and that was no good considering how they'd left that relationship.

"Who the fuck are you?" he said.

The man looked up and pulled off a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses. "Mr. Ortiz. Finally. I was told you were in and out, but I didn't realize it was more out than in. I'm a very busy man."

"Uh huh," Juice said, unimpressed. "Who the fuck are you?"

He cleared his throat and smoothed his tie. "My name is Jim Wong, and I'm the US District Attorney for the territory that includes both Stockton and Charming."

His eyes narrowed. "You know Lincoln Potter?"

"I did, yes. He resigned several months ago."

"Asshole tried real fuckin' hard to ruin my life. Guess I can't hate him too hard, though, because he's the one who sent Olivia back to Charming." He paused and tried not to hope. "That why you're here?"

"Ms. Gable will never be able to return to Charming, Mr. Ortiz. The FBI is doing their best to dismantle Teddy Flanary's organization, but there's no way to know what sort of failsafes he might have built in in case of his arrest. There is a clear and present danger to her life, and there probably always will be."

He drew in a deep breath—it hurt, but the physical therapist had told him over and over how important it was to keep breathing as deep as he could—and let it out slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I guess I knew that."

Wong rested his fingers on a small stack of papers in one corner of the table. "It isn't possible for her to come to you, Mr. Ortiz, but it might just be possible for you to go to her."

His head shot up and his eyes went big and round. "What are you talking about?"

"She's currently in Federal Protective Custody, and it's impossible to reach her; however, when Flanary goes to trial, she will perforce have to be moved to San Francisco, where the trial will take place. At that time, if you would still like to join her before she enters WITSEC, that would be an option."

He stared. He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly, and part of him wondered if he were dreaming again. "I could go? With Liv? I could go be in Witness Protection with her?"

"That's right." He paused, and his look was serious. "I understand you're on a lot of pain medication at the moment, and you've just suffered a grievous injury. Witness Protection is not something that should be entered into lightly or at the spur of the moment. It is an entire reset of your life. You will of course have to leave your Motorcycle Club. Your tattoos will have to be removed—not blacked out, as I understand is the custom when someone leaves an MC. You will have to grow your hair to cover the tattoos on your scalp and never shave it again. Of course you'll have to move, and you'll have to choose a new name."

He began to pack his things into a black briefcase, and when he was done one document remained. "You'll want to go over this with a lawyer, and probably discuss it with your club and any family you have. Once you join the program, you're in. You cannot have any contact with anyone from your old life. Do you understand, Mr. Ortiz?"

"Um." He shook his head, still reeling. "Yeah, I get it. It's huge."

"An understatement, but close. I'll leave you to think it over. My card is stapled to the agreement. Call me when you've made a decision."

"Wait, hang on," Juice said.

Wong stopped and turned back with an inquisitive tilt to his head. "Yes, Mr. Ortiz?"

"How long?"

"The rest of your life."

He waved an impatient hand. "No, man, I understand that part. I mean how long until Doyle's trial. How long until I could see her?"

"Oh." He paused to think it over. "Right now it's scheduled for December. His legal team has already filed for an extension, which I'm sure will be granted. Honestly? At least a year. Maybe longer. That might be something else to consider as you make your decision.

"Anything else I can answer for you?" he said after a moment.

He had no idea what to say. Everything sounded inadequate and stupid. "No, not right now. But thanks. I mean—thanks for waiting. And for doin' this."

"Don't thank me, Mr. Ortiz. Ms. Gable's attorney is a formidable and relentless woman." His mouth moved in a brief smile. "Rather like the lady herself, wouldn't you say?"

He didn't give Juice a chance to reply before he was out the door and gone. Juice stared after him, stunned. A year. No contact. A year without her, and then the rest of his life with her. But no club, ever. None of his brothers. None of his family here at all.

He glowered and reached for the agreement. He'd been right about one thing: it was a huge decision, and Juice had to make the right one.

No fuck-ups this time. It was too important.

The two poems are "Absence" by Pablo Neruda and "Tulips" by Dean Steed. You can find both of them (along with pics of Mireille Enos, some fashion insp, tattoos, and a bunch o' other stuff) in the "fic insp" tag on my tumblr.

I don't know why I decided to make Juice allergic to pumpkin. Random.

ANYway, one more to go. POSSIBLY two, but more likely one. :)

eta: so I'm in the middle of writing ch61 and I realize there's gonna be a ch62. Otherwise it'll be an embarrassingly long chapter than unbalances the whole thing. So. Two more!