Thanks for all your kind words, and for sticking with me through all the delays and etc. :) xoxo

everything in 2's
you often lose
you make me whole again
everything in 2's
you never knew
you'd make me whole again
Better Than Ezra, "Everything in 2's"

Olivia was so stiff and sore she could barely get out of bed the next day. Opie carried her to the bathtub again, but when he offered to stay with her she sent him on to work.

"You don't need to hover, Ope. I'm fine."

He scowled and helped her tie her hair into a bun on top of her head. "You don't seem fine. You're black and blue all over, and you're walkin' like you're eighty."

"Kinda feel eighty," she said with a brief quirk of her lips.

That didn't help. "Oll—"

"Opie. Sweetheart. It's okay. Go to work. Watch Jax's ass." She paused. "I'm not sure I want to know what happened to Kohn."

"No," he said, briefly. "I'm sure you don't."

She let out a long breath. "I'm just gonna hang around here today. Won't be working, because I'm not sure I could lift the torch. If I need anything I'll call. I promise."

He wasn't happy about it, but eventually he gave in. "Fine. You need anything, Ollie, anything, pick up the phone. Okay?"

"Yes, mother hen. I promise."

He came back in once he was dressed and bent for a long kiss. "I love you," he said, stroking her hair.

"I love you too, big guy. Come home to me."

"Always," he said.

She settled back in the tub and closed her eyes, and a few minutes later she heard the truck's rumbling engine. He'd probably head home to get his bike before he went to the garage. She hoped they didn't have anything too wild on the agenda for today. Opie didn't seem as steady as he would like her to think.

The water was getting cold, so Olivia slowly, painfully lifted herself out of the tub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. The cotton felt harsh against her skin, rougher than it should, and she gave a brief hiss of pain and annoyance before she shuffled toward the bedroom.

She put on one of Opie's big SAMCRO tees and a pair of his boxers—underwear was out of the question—and crawled back in bed. A short search unearthed some old pain pills she'd gotten after an accident with the blowtorch had left her arm a little scorched.

She knocked back two, pulled the covers to her chin, and was asleep almost before she got fully snuggled in.

The sun on her face woke her several hours later. She grumbled, wiggled, groaned at the catch in her side, and tried to ignore her full bladder and empty belly. Her body was insistent, however, and with another groan she dragged herself out of bed. This time after leaving the bathroom she made her slow, unsteady way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

The fridge was largely empty. She wasn't hungry anyway, despite the noises her stomach made. Wandering out of the kitchen, she settled on the couch in a numb, disinterested sort of way. The kettle whistled, but she ignored it. Couldn't quite figure out what it was, really.

She scrubbed both hands over her face, and when she pulled them away again they were shaking. Yesterday's events played over on a loop in her head. They never should've gone in the house. Never should've come home from Florida. Somehow the MC's violence oozed and crept into every crack and crease of life in Charming. Hers. Tara's. Donna's.

All through high school they'd claimed they didn't want anything to do with SAMCRO, and yet. Here they were. Donna and Opie were split, but there was still a connection there and always would be. Tara's first call when things went to hell was Jax. Olivia's was Opie.

And there was Juice, of course. Waited so long to prospect because he was waiting for her, but now full patch and ready to rumble.

She chuckled at the image and tried to snap her fingers, West Side Story style, but her hands felt big and clumsy, her fingers swollen like sausages. She stared at them for a while, but they looked normal, small hands and long fingers and golden freckles. Pale skin and blue veins and bones and muscles and tendons under it all.

Maybe two of those pills had been one too many.

A knock on the door startled her so badly she almost fell off the sofa. She didn't want to answer the door. Didn't want to see anyone or hear anyone else's voice. That weird shriek was still coming from the kitchen, and it was starting to annoy her.

"Olivia?" a voice called through the door. "You okay in there? I hear the kettle."

The kettle! That was it. And the voice…Juice's. What was Juice doing here?

"Liv, I'm comin' in. Okay? Don't shoot me." He pushed the door open and peeked his head in. She stared back with huge eyes, and he frowned when he saw her. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

She just shook her head, silent. Her face was ghost-pale, her eyes dark, and circles surrounded them like bruises. On second glance he thought maybe they were bruises.

"Lemme get the tea before it burns the house down." He shrugged out of his kutte and yanked his boots off before he hurried across the living room. A few moments later the awful scream stopped, and Olivia let out a soft sigh of relief. When Juice returned he had a steaming mug in his hand. He set it on the table in front of her and slowly lowered himself onto the other end of the couch.

"Tara called me," he said at her look. "She said she tried to call you but you didn't answer. She was worried. Because of yesterday. She said she thought…well. She didn't tell me much, but she said she thought I might be able to help. Listen, anyway."

Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She didn't seem to notice. "I can't stop seeing it," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"You wanna tell me?" he said. His face was scrunched in concern, his dark eyes warm. "I'm guessin' it's a…a TJ thing."

"Does it happen to you, Juicy? Like when—when you have to do something violent with the club, do you remember that night? It's like I'm back there. The sounds, the smells, everything."

He shifted his weight and scooted a little closer. "My mom made me go to therapy. After. The doctor said shit like that was PTSD. Post-traumatic—"

"I know what PTSD is," she said with a wry smile. "My dad made me go, too."

"Okay then." He pulled the tea bag out of her mug when she made no move to do it herself. She hated bitter, over-steeped tea. "I guess you also know there's not really a cure. You just gotta manage the symptoms best you can."

"None of that really answers my question, Ortiz."

He ducked his head and rubbed a hand over his big gold MC rings. "I think it does, Liv," he mumbled after a while. Their eyes met, and she nodded understanding.

"So how do you do it? The violent shit? The bloody work?"

"There's not a whole lot of that. Not really. And I'm pretty low on the totem pole, so usually it's like Tig or Chibs who handle that sorta thing."

A silence fell. Finally Olivia said, "I took some pretty strong pain killers."

"Ah," he said. "How many?"

"Just two, but—"

"You're pint size."

She flashed him a brief glare, but he just grinned. "Have you eaten?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

"Okay." He went quiet again. Then, "Your shirt's on inside out."

She looked down with a frown. "I didn't notice."

"Yeah, I figured. Whoa!"

She had it halfway over her head (to fix it), and at his exclamation she pulled it off the rest of the way and blinked at him. "What?"

"Jesus, Olivia, put your clothes back on!"

Her expression was genuinely puzzled, and the shirt lay forgotten across her lap. Juice reached to help her. The bruises along her side made him wince, but he tried not to notice the hickeys on her chest.

"You gotta put your clothes on, babe," he said, gently. "Lift your arms." She did so like a doll, obedient and silent, and he got it settled on her shoulders. "There. Better, right?"

"Okay," she said.

Sighing, he took her hands in his and rubbed them, his touch easy and warm, her fingers like ice. "Maybe you should talk to someone, Liv. A shrink."

"Tara sent you here so I could talk to you."

"That's right, but I'm just—" He broke off with a shrug.

"She was right." She reached up to touch his face, the brush of butterfly wings. "She sent the right person."

"You wanna tell me?"

This time the silence stretched so long he thought she might not speak again. Finally she did, and she told him everything. Even more than she'd told Opie. For him she'd left out anything about TJ or flashbacks, but Juice knew. She could tell Juice.

"Christ, Liv," he said when she was finally through. He handed her the cold mug of tea and she sipped with a grimace. "I knew that guy was unstable, but this? He would've killed both of you."

"I know. That's what I said to Tara, but…she wanted to call Jax instead of Hale."

"Can you blame her? After the shit you went through when we were kids? And he's a Fed. That ain't nothin'."

"I know," she said again. She buried her face in her hands and sat like that, unmoving and tense, for several minutes. "I'm so tired, Juicy."

He lifted a hand and let it hover above her shoulder. When she still didn't move, he let it fall, lightly, and squeezed. "Have you eaten today?" he said, again.

"I told you I'm not hungry," she said, her voice muffled by her palms.

"Lemme make you a fresh cup of tea and—" He broke off with a quirking smile. "A grilled cheese sandwich."

It was what they used to make together all the time when they were kids. Olivia had never been able to cook, but she could manage grilled cheese. When she looked up he could tell by her expression she remembered, and the memory had done some good.

Juice brushed a lock of hair off her face. "You're the strongest person I ever met, Liv. You're gonna be okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not sayin' it's gonna be easy, but…" He shrugged. "It'll happen."

Her bright eyes studied his face, a look so deep and probing he wanted to squirm. "Juan Carlos—"

"How 'bout that sandwich, huh? I'm starvin'."

"Juice," she said as he pushed himself to his feet. "Sit down, please." She grabbed him by the hand and tugged him down again. "There's something we need to talk about."

"I should feed you first," he said, uneasily. He didn't like the look on her face, the quiet intensity of it. Whatever she wanted to talk about wasn't going to make him happy, and he'd had enough blows for one day.

"Food can wait. Please, just…" She looked away. "Opie and I had a long talk last night. About—us. Him and me, I mean. Our future."

"Ah," he said. He'd been right. He shifted and scrubbed a hand over his mouth, ducking his head so he couldn't see her face. And she couldn't see his. "Did you, uh—" He had to break off and clear his throat. "Any conclusions?"

She touched his knee so that he would look at her. "He's leaving the club, Juice. Patching out. Jax asked him to wait until Abel is ready to come home, and he said he would. After that, though…" She lifted a hand and didn't bother finishing the thought.

Juice stared at her, uncomprehending. Opie was leaving SAMCRO? How could that—Opie was going to be Jax' VP when Jax took Clay's place. It was—it was practically gospel. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing happened. His mouth was parched, throat tight, tongue swollen. He swiped for Olivia's forgotten tea, but instead of grabbing it he just hit the mug. It tumbled to the floor and they both stared at the mint-scented puddle in consternation.

"I'll get—" he said.

"No, it's—" she said at the same time.

They both surged to their feet, and in their dismay and confusion somehow ended up tangled in each other: her leg between his feet, his hands grabbing so she didn't fall, then lurching away when she hissed in pain. They went down, a jumble of limbs and clothes and cursing. He managed to cushion her fall so that she landed on him rather than the floor, and he felt cold tea soak into the back of his shirt. He rolled, still cradling her, and now her back was against the sofa, and he had her sort of pinned there.

"You're leaving Charming," he said, breathless from the fall and—everything else.

"I didn't say that."

"Didn't have to. The club's the only thing keeping you here. Ope in the club."

"That's not true. There's Tara. Donna. Jax and Piney and Opie's mom. Other—people." She wouldn't meet his eyes, and when she tried to move he wouldn't let her. "Juice! We're on the goddamn floor!"

"I noticed. Olivia—"

"He's doing this for me, Juice. He's leaving because it's violent and dangerous and he doesn't want to end up in jail again. Or worse."

"Of course he's leaving for you," he said as though he never doubted it. "He'd do anything for you. Leave the MC, leave Charming, fly to the fucking moon."

Something about his tone made her think he wasn't talking about Opie. Or, at least, not just Opie. She shoved him away and struggled to sit up. When he offered to help she ignored him, and finally she sat propped against the couch, her hair tumbled everywhere and the big shirt twisted around her like a shroud. There was color in her cheeks now, and her eyes snapped with temper. He scrambled to his knees opposite her. They stared at each other like gunfighters.

"You don't have any right, Juan Carlos. None at all!" she said in a shaking voice.

"I know that! Fuck, Olivia, you think I don't know that? If I could stop lovin' you I would. It's tearin' me up inside. I've got a good woman, Liv. She's smart and gorgeous and she makes me laugh." He paused to scrape his hands over his face and the curve of his skull. "But she ain't you! She'll never be you. I know I blew it. I know I had my chance when you came back to town, and I acted like a fuckin' asshole instead. I just thought—I guess I always thought…"

"You thought there'd be time," she said.

He raised his palms before he let them fall to his thighs. "Yeah, Liv. I guess I did."

Her mouth quirked in a bitter moue and she dipped her head to study a pattern of freckles on her thigh. "I thought the same thing. When I left you that morning. When I stayed in Portland long after I knew it was time to pack my bags." She looked up at him. "When I got back here. But there wasn't, Juice. Not for either of us. I blew it for both of us."

"No, babe, no—"

"If I'd told you about Ben, you never would've acted the way you did when I moved back."

He gave a quick jerk of his chin. "I'm an adult, Olivia. A grown ass man. I know how to act. I chose to behave like a spoiled kid. That ain't on you. It's on me." He reached for her, his big hands closing gently around her upper arms. "Opie's who you want. I know that. I know he makes you happy and makes you feel safe, and that's what matters to me.

"But, Olivia, I'm gonna love you till the day I die. Nothin's gonna change that. I'm gonna love you, and you're gonna love me, and all the Opies and Yvonnes in the world ain't gonna make a damn bit of difference."

"I loved you so much, Juan Carlos," she said, tears once again spilling down her cheeks. "I loved you so much and you were so goddamn mean to me. Then Opie was there. He's always been there. He always will be. He's—he's my always, Juice. You're my—"

"Almost?" he said, hoarsely.

"No. God, babe, no. I don't think there's a word for it, but it sure as hell isn't almost."

His hands slid up to curl in her hair, and their foreheads tipped so that they met.

"You've got to try, Juicy. Try to love her. Or if not her, someone else. We can't keep hurting people, or ourselves. She can't be your Ben."

"You're so deep in me, Olivia," he said. "So fucking deep. I don't think I can get you out."

"I know. You think I don't know? Of course I do. I love Opie so much. I want a life with him. But you're always there. The sound of your voice and the way you smile when you're so happy. Your laugh and your touch and your scent. All of it."

She scooted closer to wrap her arms around his middle. His body was warm and familiar and comfortable against hers; she melted into him and he cradled her like she might disappear. He shifted and fell back against the sofa, then pulled her close so that she was draped across his lap. She gathered handfuls of his shirt and he stroked her hair.

"People change," he murmured.

"They do. We've both changed."

He gave a low, humorless laugh. "But here we still are. Butting up against each other like—like bumper cars."

"Both too stubborn for our own good," she said with a tiny smile. She pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point in his throat. "Do you think maybe it's time to stop?"

"Don't know how. Do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe if we stayed—"

"Away from each other. Yeah. We tried that. Remember?"

"Mmm. Ended up fucking all night and getting into a huge screaming match the next morning."

"Or, more recently, dancin' around each other like idiots until everyone was ready to knock our heads together."

She settled against him more comfortably. Minutes ticked past and her breathing fell into line with his. His heart beat beneath her cheek and she thought of Opie.

"Juice—"

"I know," he said. He kissed the top of her head and let her go. She pushed to her feet and offered him a hand, which he accepted with a snort. They stood watching each other, and after a moment he brushed his thumb against the soft curve of her cheek. "I'll always love you. No matter what."

"I know," she murmured in echo. "I'll always love you too, Juan Carlos. The whole of my life."

"Just be happy, Liv. That's all I want for you."

"I will if you will."

"I'm tryin'. But you know me."

"I do." She smiled and poked his shoulder. "You've got potential, kid. Don't let the man get you down."

"Damn the man," he said with a grin.

She cupped his face in her hands and went up on tiptoes to kiss him, her mouth soft and sweet and loving. "Come on, Ortiz. You owe me a grilled cheese."

"Go call Opie," he said. "Let him know you're okay. I'll hit the kitchen."

After a brief pause she nodded. "Thank you, Juice. For coming today."

He hitched a shoulder and offered a sheepish smile. "You needed me, Liv."

"Yeah," she said, softly, "I really did."

They watched each other a bit longer, his eyes dark and deep, hers bright and sad. As she studied him she felt the jagged tear in her heart knit closed. Not neatly. Not perfectly. The stitches were crooked and sloppy and painful, but they were there. She could love Opie, love him the way they both deserved, and still love Juice in a hazy, soft way, like a chalk drawing left in the rain.

He smiled like he could read her mind, and she could see her own thoughts reflected in his face.

She gave his hand one last squeeze and they both turned away.

I'm getting a little blogged down to matching this story's timeline to canon, and like. I really just want to let that go and write, but I'm STRUGGLING. It's an au. It's not SUPPOSED to match canon.

Sometimes I miss the forest for the trees tbh.