Malcolm heard her before he saw her. The gentle patter of her bare feet on the hardwood, the slow creak of Noah's bedroom door opening, the soft murmur of her voice as she spoke to her son. It was a nice way to start the morning, he thought; Malcolm had risen with the sun, started a pot of coffee and stood for a time on Olivia's back porch, watching the dawn break over the trees with a warm cup of coffee in his hands to ward off the autumn chill, and now Olivia was awake, too, and coming to join him for breakfast. The nice thing about retirement was that he got to wake up every morning and spend his time exactly how he pleased, and this, this quiet, easy routine with Olivia, pleased him immensely. He'd missed this, he thought; since his wife had died he'd missed this, the quiet, unmistakable shuffle of another body in the house, the comfort of sharing his life with someone else. Having just gotten a taste of it after so many years on his own he was not planning to let go of it any time soon. Who was to say when Olivia's memories would come back, if indeed they ever came back at all? She needed someone to help her, someone to help her make sense of the world around her, and Malcolm wanted, very much, to be that someone for her.

While she got Noah out of bed Malcolm made a start on breakfast; he dropped a few slices of bread in the toaster and laid out some bacon in a pan, and he was watching the stove fretfully when at last Olivia came to join him, and stole the breath from his lungs.

What is she thinking? he asked himself as he stared at her in wonder. Was she thinking at all, about the way she looked, the picture she presented?

She was leaning in the kitchen doorway, watching Malcolm fondly, cradling Noah on her hip. The boy was still sleepy, clutching his stuffed elephant with his face buried in his mother's neck. A neck that was stunningly, shockingly bare; Olivia had come to breakfast in fucking lingerie. She looked like something from a magazine; her hair was fluffy and wild, teased from sleep - had she styled it at all since she'd come home from the hospital? Malcolm didn't think so - and there was no makeup on her face, just the natural light of her gentle smile. She wore a short, strappy black negligee, the hem of it barely brushing the tops of her thighs, the heavy weight of her breasts threatening to spill out of the deep V at her throat, the silky fabric whispering gently as she shifted on her feet. Even from a distance he could make out the hard points of her nipples, and as he watched, mouth agape, heart pounding, she began to walk, and the movement of her body beneath the black silk was nearly enough to strike him dead on the spot. She wasn't done, though; she walked right by the stove, heading for the kitchen table, and as she passed Malcolm caught a glimpse of the pink lace that hugged the curve of her ass beneath the negligee.

Fuck's sake, he thought faintly; it wasn't even 7 a.m., and his cock was halfway to hard just from looking at her, and does she know, he wondered; did she have any idea the effect she was having on him?

"Smells good," Olivia said lightly as she buckled Noah into his booster seat at the table the way Malcolm had shown her.

"Be ready in five," Malcolm managed to choke in response. She must have noticed how strained his voice sounded; she turned to face him, her brow furrowing with concern, but the view of her was so lovely he could not find the words to reassure her. Two weeks ago he would've told her how sexy she looked, would've gone to her, wrapped her in his arms, tried his luck and kissed her, but now he was utterly at a loss. She didn't remember him, didn't remember the time they'd spent in bed together, didn't remember how it felt when he touched her, and he had no reason to expect she'd want to explore that now.

But he wanted, very much, to touch her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked him earnestly.

"Just a little surprised, is all," Malcolm said as carefully as he could. "You look…you look very nice, Olivia."

"And that's a surprise?" If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that she was teasing him. Was she? Did she remember how?

"You - uh - usually you don't - uh -" Christ, he was making a mess of things - "you usually wear more clothes around the house."

"Oh," she said, crestfallen. He watched it happen, watched the uncertainty darken her eyes, watched her smile fade away, and kicked himself for having hurt her, however inadvertently.

"You look beautiful," he rushed to say. "I like it. But Rosie might have a coronary if she sees you in that."

But Rosie wouldn't be coming by for at least an hour, and Malcolm dearly hoped Olivia would spend that hour with him just like this, half-naked and happy.

"Have a -"

"She'll be surprised."

"I'll find something else to wear before she gets here," Olivia said, worrying the fabric of her nightgown between her fingertips.

That's a shame, he thought. It was a shame that she felt ashamed; she was so lovely, and he didn't want her to feel anything but proud of her appearance.

"No rush," he said earnestly. "I want you to be comfortable."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked him, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

Truth be told his pants were a little uncomfortable, just now, but it was a discomfort he was willing to live with.

"No," he said. "I'm happy to see you. Would you like some coffee?"

It figured; his first full day off in six months, and the shrill ringing of his cell phone woke him before 7:00. Elliot groaned and swatted at the bedside table until he caught hold of the phone, answering it without bothering to check who was calling.

"Yeah?" he grunted.

"Where you at?"

"Fin?" That woke him up faster than anything else would've done; he sat straight up and rubbed at his eyes, his heart racing in his chest. "I'm at home. Everything ok?"

It was only six months since Elliot had come home, six months since Kathy had signed the papers - for good this time - and told him good-bye, six months since he'd taken the job at OCCB, six months since they'd put him under with the Albanians. For six months he hadn't been Elliot Stabler; he'd been Eddie Wagner, arsonist and career criminal. For six months he'd barely seen his kids, and had instead immersed himself in someone else's life. The case had come to a head about three weeks ago, and he'd spent every minute since tying up the loose ends. Taking statements, writing reports, catching up on all the phone calls he should've made when he came home. Including a phone call to Fin; he'd reached out to his old friend as soon as he was allowed, and Fin must've told Liv because she'd left him a scathing voicemail a few days later. Left him that voicemail, and refused to answer when he tried to clal her back, until last night, last night when she'd sent those accusatory text messages he was still trying to understand.

Who are you?

He was asking himself that question a lot, these days.

Elliot was finally back in his own clothes, using his own name - he hadn't gotten around to shaving off Eddie's beard yet, though - and using his own phone, and it seemed like a bad omen, he thought, the texts from Liv last night and then a phone call from Fin so early this morning.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Fin said. "Listen, you talk to Liv lately?"

"She texted me last night. Did something happen?"

It had been about seven years since Elliot had last seen Olivia, since she'd given up on trying to call him, since she'd faded from his life entirely, and it was strange, having her back. Not that she'd ever left him; really, he'd carried her around with him everywhere he went. There was no corner of the world where he could escape from her, no darkness so impenetrable that the memory of her could not find him, but until her voicemail they had not spoken to one another, and he hadn't really believed they ever would again. But she'd called him, sent him a few texts, and now Fin was calling to talk about her; this is real, Elliot told himself, and you're going to have to face her eventually.

"You could say that," Fin said vaguely. It was a typical Fin response; the man saw everything, heard everything, knew everything, but he was never one to share, never one to say a single word more than what was absolutely necessary. "Your UC op's wrapped up, right?"

"Yeah, we closed it down last night. It's all in the lawyer's hands now. I'm on leave for the next two weeks. Seriously, what's going on?"

"Liv was in an accident. She's ok," Fin added before Elliot had a chance to ask, "but she…hell, man, I know it sounds crazy but she doesn't remember anything."

"She doesn't remember the accident?" Elliot asked, alarmed. "She hit her head or something?"

"No, she doesn't remember anything. She doesn't know who she is, she doesn't know me, doesn't know you."

But she texted me, Elliot thought. Just the night before she'd texted him, wounded and lashing out, running away when the conversation got hard the way she always did.

Who are you?

Jesus Christ. He'd thought that was an accusation, thought she was throwing it in his teeth, the way he'd left her, the way he'd come back without telling her, thought she was damning him for his uncharacteristic disregard for her. Never, not for a second, had he even dreamed that she genuinely didn't know who he was.

"Look, I'm going to see her today. I'm gonna talk to her a bit, see how bad things are. She might try to call you -" too late for that, Elliot thought, she'd already texted him - "but just…let me see where her head is at before you say too much to her, ok? I'm gonna see if I can talk to her doctors while I'm there."

"Where is she?"

"Upstate. She retired to some little town when she got married. Real Stepford shit."

"She got married?" It shouldn't have hurt, the thought of Liv getting married, but it did, just the same. She'd gotten married, and Elliot had no idea. Didn't know it had happened, didn't know who the guy was, had never dreamed, even for a moment, that she might have found someone she loved enough to settle down with. But she had. She was married, and retired; it was fitting, he thought, that she didn't remember him, because the Olivia Fin was describing wasn't the woman Elliot remembered, either.

On the other end of the phone he heard Fin swear once, softly.

"Just sit tight, ok?" Fin said. "Let me run point on this. I'll call you back after I talk to her. Just…if she calls you, don't say too much, ok? We gotta be careful here."

Fin was right about that, Elliot thought. If Liv had really forgotten everything, that meant she had no idea what had happened to her mother, what a monster her father was. She didn't know about her brother, or her work with SVU. She didn't know about all the times she'd been hurt, the people she'd killed, the things she'd lost. Serena and Calvin and Sealview and Elliot, the way he'd loved her and the way he'd left her. Was she happier like this, he wondered; were her steps lighter, her shoulders unbowed by grief? What would it do to her, to place those burdens on her heart once more?

Better Fin than me, Elliot thought; he wasn't sure he had it him, to hurt her like that.

But this was Olivia, and she had forgotten where she came from, and if she was going to remember she was going to need Elliot. There were things he knew that no one else ever had, things only he could tell her. And besides, she was his partner. It was his job to look out for her, his job to take care of her when she couldn't do it herself.

"Thanks for doing this," Elliot said. "I'll wait 'til you call me back, but, Fin…I wanna see her. I have to see her."

"I know," Fin sighed. "I'm not gonna try to keep you away from her. I know that wouldn't work anyway."

It really, really wouldn't; now that Elliot knew what had become of her he was desperate to see her, and if Fin wouldn't tell him where Olivia was Elliot was determined to find her himself.

"Just give me a little time, ok?"

"Ok," Elliot agreed.

"And don't call her."

"I won't," Elliot promised.

But if she calls me, if she texts me again, I'm gonna fucking answer this time.

He'd ignored too many of her calls for one lifetime; the next time she reached for him, he would take her hand.