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Come With Me Tonight	By : copperleaves Category: S through Z > Sons of Anarchy Views: 2631 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Sons of Anarchy, and I'm sure as hell not making any money off of this. I do own Olivia Gable and any characters associated with her history.

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pretty little dirtmouth, higher than a kite rail

thinner than a ghost rail, sweeter than the sea

i can't see inside you but i'd like to try to

it would be so nice to, i believe

Bob Schneider, "Dirtmouth"
Juice bided his time in the clubhouse, shooting pool and screwing around with the security feed. He tried to do some digging about Zobelle and his crew, but as usual came up with squat. When he figured it had been long enough since Olivia had left that he wouldn't arouse suspicion, he wandered toward the office. He poked his head around the door and Gemma glanced up from the stack of invoices she was wading through.
"Hey, baby," she said. "What's up?"
"Not much. Finally gettin' around to that computer. You said it was freezing?"
"That was last week, Juice."
He shrugged a shoulder and shut the door behind him. "I've been busy. Want me to look at it now or not?"
She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the desk. Gathered the pile of papers and moved everything to the sofa. He turned the machine on and settled into Gemma's recently-vacated chair as he waited for it to boot. A silence fell, punctuated only by the hum of the computer and the scrape of Gemma's pen. He drummed his fingers against the desk until she glared at him over her glasses and he subsided with an apologetic smile.
"It's been a real pain in the ass doing all of this by hand, you know," she said. "Now I'll have to go back and enter everything in or the books'll be a mess."
"Nah, it's okay. I can do it. I'll come in early tomorrow and get it done before we open."
"Great. About time you boys learned to clean up—oh, fuck."
Juice looked up, a crease between his brows. "What? I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner, but I—"
She waved him away and rubbed a hand across her forehead. "It's not you, babe. I've got the new girl coming in at eight tomorrow and I told her I'd get someone to show her around."
He was suddenly engrossed with whatever was on the screen in front of him. "New girl?" he said, struggling to keep his tone casual. "A new crow eater?"
Gemma snorted. "You know, I almost wish. No. This one's a mechanic." She pinned Juice with a shrewd look that he pretended not to see. "I'm sure you ran into her out in the parking lot. You boys were practically jizzing yourselves over that car of hers."
He shifted in his chair and let out a huff. "It's a nice car," he said. "I mean, for a cage." He punched a few more keys. Then, carefully, "Who're you gonna ask to give her the tour?"
She tossed the invoices aside and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Her glasses dangled from one hand. She studied him keenly, but he ducked his head and tried to look busy. "I guess you can do it, if you're gonna be here anyway," she said at last.
"Oh, yeah, sure," he said as though that weren't what he'd been angling for all along. "I could do that."
Gemma sat back, her mouth twisting into a smile. "I just bet you could." A pause. Then, "You listen to me, Juice Ortiz. That girl? She's off limits. She's here to work, not to fuck around. She's made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with the club, and I told her she wouldn't get hassled. You got it?"
"Yeah, Gem, I got it." He made a face. "Jesus, you make it sound like I was plannin' to jump her or something."
"I figure some things are better over explained. That way there's no confusion."
He hesitated. Fiddled with the computer a bit even though he already had the problem figured out. "She seemed pretty nervous. I mean, she was trying to hide it, but she was kinda freaked by all the attention."
Gemma was quiet so long he thought she wasn't going to answer. "She's been through some shit."
He expected her to say more, but the grim set to her mouth made it clear the subject was closed. "Yeah," he said. "She has that look."
"Don't we all?" She sighed and shook her head. "Just remember what I said, and pass the word along."
"No problem. We all saw those pictures, the before and after of her car. I don't think anybody'll be confused about why she's here."
"Good," she said. Then, "I'm tired, Juicy." She pushed herself to her feet and handed him the invoices. "I'm goin' home."
He watched as she gathered her purse and searched it for her keys. There'd been something different about her recently. A sort of…he wanted to say sadness, but he couldn't reconcile his brain to that word and Gemma Morrow.
"You doin' okay, Gemma?" he said. It was inadequate, but he wanted her to know he'd noticed. That he cared.
She gave him a sharp look and pulled a face. "We gonna have a moment, Juicy?"
He raised his hands in surrender. "It was just a question."
She found her keys and jingled them in one hand. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Thanks for asking."
He wanted to say something else, reassure her somehow, but by the time he'd sorted himself out she was gone. The door swung shut behind her and she didn't look back. He sighed, started a defrag on the computer's hard drive, and sat back in the squeaky office chair. How did he always manage to say exactly the wrong thing? Was he just destined to have his foot permanently planted in his mouth?
He let out a snort of disgust and shoved away from the desk. Gemma was right about one thing: Olivia was off limits. She'd made her position clear, and the way she'd acted toward him earlier only confirmed it. Whatever he thought he'd felt that night was apparently one way.
Except he couldn't quite buy that. He hadn't imagined it. There had been something there—something more than just a run of the mill one night stand. He'd had enough hook ups to know the difference.
So she had secrets. Fine. Didn't everyone? She had baggage. Yeah, join the club.
He drummed his fingers on the desk again. He didn't want to fuck this up, and that meant being careful. He could do that. He wasn't a complete idiot, contrary to the club's general opinion. He would talk to her tomorrow, maybe figure a few things out, get a few answers. He wouldn't push her. He was pretty certain she'd just run the opposite direction if he tried.
He wasn't sure what exactly he wanted, but he knew it wasn't that.

When Olivia pulled into the parking lot at five till eight the next morning, the place looked deserted. Gemma's big black Caddy SUV was nowhere to be seen. Most of the cars scattered around looked they belonged to customers, and there was only one bike in the reserved section. She pulled into a spot in the employee area and cut the ignition. Ran a hand over her hair and took a deep breath.
New town. New job. New life.
"Don't fuck it up," she muttered to her reflection in the rearview mirror.
She hopped out of the car and locked it behind her. Started toward the clubhouse, but at the last minute veered off toward the garage office. She'd start there. She wanted to avoid the clubhouse if possible.
The door was locked, and the sign was flipped to "closed." She knocked on the glass panel and waited. She was about to give up and try the clubhouse anyway when she heard the lock flip. The door opened and she swallowed what she'd been about to say.
"Oh," she finally managed.
"Good morning to you too," Juice said with a crooked smile.
She lifted a brow and resisted the urge to cross her arms. "You're my tour guide?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "Gemma asked for volunteers." Sort of. But he didn't want to tell her the exact truth of it.
"Mmm," she said, a low noise of disapproval.
"Don't worry. She gave me a very stern lecture about keeping my hands to myself and showing respect." He paused. "I guess you didn't tell her everything, huh?"
"It wasn't her business," she said coolly as she brushed past him.
"Just like it wasn't my business that this was the job you came to town for."
She whirled around, but he let her glare slide off him. He closed the door and flipped the lock. "Did you know?" he asked and leaned back against the doorjamb. Crossed one leg over the other. "Did you know I'd be here?"
She opened her mouth to lie, to tell him of course she hadn't, how could she possibly have known? Instead the truth tumbled out almost without her consent. "I recognized your ink," she said.
That startled him, but he tried not to show it. "How? You said you're not from Charming."
"I'm not. I worked at a garage kinda like this one in New Mexico. The president of the Las Cruces Sons charter owned it. He basically got me my job here."
He looked away. Back. A muscle danced in his jaw. "Were you his old lady?" he said.
Her face twisted and she jerked her head in a sharp denial. "What—? Why would you even think—? No, Juice. I wasn't his old lady. I was his employee."
He sighed and ran a hand back and forth over his scalp. Pushed off the door and took a step closer. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"I didn't want to get into it. I didn't think it mattered."
"What did you think was gonna happen when you showed up here, Olivia?"
She stepped up to him and lifted her chin. "I didn't bother to consider what effect my job would have on you, Juice Ortiz. Pardon me, but fuck you and your precious ego. Did you ever stop to think that maybe the other night had absolutely nothing to do with you at all?"
He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think it had at least a little bit to do with me."
"Only in that you were there."
He stared down at her, and while part of him wanted to be angry, the bigger part realized that's exactly what she wanted to happen. She wanted to fight about it so that she could tell him to fuck off and use it as an excuse to never speak to him again. He wasn't interested in letting her.
"Look me in the face and tell me it meant nothing to you, Olivia, and we won't ever talk about it again. We'll be like strangers. Tell me it was a one night stand, no big deal, they happen every day. Say it and this becomes a non-issue."
"That is not at all fair—"
"Fairness has fuck all to do with it."
She spun away. "I told you the other night what I wanted. I never lied to you about that," she said in a low voice.
He let out a frustrated sigh. He was being a fucking jerk and a bully and he knew it. She hadn't lied to him, not really. So she hadn't wanted to tell him TM was the garage she meant. What did it matter, really? Obviously she knew he'd find out pretty fast. And why was he so pissed anyway? He'd wanted to see her again. Now he could see her every day. She was right across the parking lot.
So why did that feel further than across town? He was fucking everything up, and if he didn't do some serious damage control she probably wouldn't speak to him again.
"Fuck. Olivia, listen, I—" He reached out to touch her arm, and the second his fingers brushed her skin she whirled around and went for her back pocket. He raised his hands to show he hadn't meant anything by it. "Whoa, hey, it's okay. I didn't mean—"
"Don't do that," she said. Her voice was soft but coated in steel. "Don't lurk behind me—"
"You turned your back on me!"
"And then touch me without my permission," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "Just. Don't."
He remembered, then, how she'd positioned herself at the bar: bottom part of the U, where she could see the room. He recalled the way her eyes had constantly scanned the place, and the way she'd never seemed fully relaxed. How spooked she'd been in the parking lot yesterday. What Gemma had said about her: she's been through some shit. He knew what she'd been reaching for: that big knife with the brass knuckles. It wasn't exactly a girly knife, and it was a little more proactive than mace.
"Jesus, Olivia," he said, brow furrowed, "what happened to you?"
Her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head and the silence stretched taut between them. "I don't need a hero, Juice." She pronounced each word with perfect, precise care.
"The way you handle that knife, I never really doubted it." He said it lightly, with a little shrug, and slid his hands into the pockets on his cut.
The off-handedness of it broke the tension, and she let out a confused laugh. Ran trembling hands over her face and shook her head. "Fuck, I'm acting crazy."
"Nah," he said. Grinned. "I was bein' a dick, so you weren't really out of line."
She blew out a long breath and fiddled with the wide, tight leather cuff she wore around her left wrist. He'd noticed it before and had almost asked about it, but something stopped him. Now when she caught him looking she let the hand drift behind her back and tucked the other one in her pocket.
"I meant what I said the other night. I had a good time. I'm pretty sure you did, too. But I'm here to work. I'm not a sweetbutt, and I'm sure as hell not an old lady. I'm a mechanic. That's it."
"No, I get that. I really do," he said with a sigh. "I'm not an asshole, Liv. I promise."
Her mouth quirked. "I have pretty good asshole radar. You wouldn't've made it back to my room, much less into my pants, if you'd set it off."
"No flies on you," he said. He dropped his chin to his chest and eyed her sidelong. "Can I ask you a question? Feel free not to answer."
She hesitated. Then, "Yeah, sure, why not?"
He took a step closer and she didn't shrink back. There was a challenge in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. He wondered, briefly, if he was about to make the type of blunder that you didn't come back from, but he decided to go for it anyway.
"Is Olivia Gable even your real name?" he said.
She looked up at him. Held his gaze without blinking for a long time. Finally her lips twisted in an ironic smile. "Olivia de Havilland and Clark Gable."
"From Gone With the Wind," he said.
Now she blinked. People rarely surprised her, but it seemed like Juice was a shock a minute. "Yeah. But I liked her better in The Heiress and him better in It Happened One Night." A pause. "This stays between us, Juice."
He frowned. "C'mon, Liv, don't insult me."
She wondered when he'd started calling her Liv. She hadn't even noticed it happen.
"I'm not trying to insult you," she said. "I just…" She trailed off and bit her lip. "I'd like to stay here awhile. Do you understand? I'd like to make something of a life for myself."
"You wanna stop running from—" He gestured toward her side. Her tattoo.
She nodded, visibly relieved. "Yeah." A pause. "It's like…I'm not even thirty and I'm already so tired. I don't want to end up one of those people you see who are all used up and spent by thirty-five. Eighty percent dead by forty. All because they didn't ever bother to stop and—breathe, I guess. Just breathe."
"I get it," he said after a moment. "I love this life, you know? I wouldn't choose anything different. A fucking nine to five and a tie and a cage? I'd die or go nuts, shoot the place to hell or something."
His mouth twisted in a bemused grimace and he ran a hand over his head. "But at the same time…sometimes I feel like I'm just fumbling around. Like, groping in the dark." His brows drew together. "Does that make any sense?"
"We're all groping in the dark, Juice. It's the human condition."
"Is it, though? I mean, really? Because some people just seem to belong, like a lego snapping into place. Or like when you play Tetris and you've got everything all stacked up and you're just waiting for that one long piece…" He trailed off with a helpless little shrug.
His analogies made her want to grin, but she thought he'd take it wrong. Instead she said, "You have your place, though. Don't you? Here in Charming with the MC. You've got a family here."
"Yeah," he said, "yeah of course I do."
But his voice sounded hollow, and they both heard it. She understood, then, why he'd been in that bar the other night, alone and without his cut. He was almost as lost as she was, but there was a difference: he couldn't understand why he felt that way because by all rights he shouldn't. And so he stumbled.
She skimmed her fingers over the back of his hand, soft as a whisper. "My middle name really is Jameson. It was my grandfather's name. My dad's father. We were really close when I was a kid, so I kept it."
He looked up at her and his expression went through a swift series of transformations. "When I first read your license," he finally said, "I thought maybe it was a maiden name."
"Ha!" she said and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes danced with mirth. "No. Not a maiden name. Marriage has never really…" She trailed off, laughing. "Just. No."
"Never met the right person, huh?" He said it lightly, with a grin.
"Something like that," she said. "That and I'm completely…" She shook her head. "I'm not the type of person people stick with."
"I find that hard to believe."
She lifted a shoulder. "I don't mean it in a self-pitying way. I usually don't let them stick. A side effect of the running thing, I guess."
"Yeah," he said with a bittersweet smile, "that I do believe."
Somehow they'd drifted closer as they spoke, but he hadn't realized how close until she touched him. He lifted his hand—slowly, so she could stop him if she wanted to—and brushed his fingertips along the line of her jaw. Her eyes were a storm, but she didn't pull away as he raised her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips met, soft and achingly sweet, but when he would have deepened the kiss she pulled away.
"Please don't," she murmured.
"I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"I know. It's okay. I just can't—"
"I know. You don't have to explain."
He searched her face. Her fingers gripped his cut. She let out a long breath and pushed away. "I'm sorry," she said. "Let's just—let's just do the tour thing, okay?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, Liv. That's cool." He shook his head and managed to dredge up a smile. "I guess we'll start with the office."
There passed between them then a moment of such perfect understanding that they might as well have spoken aloud:
Thank you, she said.
For you? he said. Anything.
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Come With Me Tonight