"It's ok to be nervous," Malcolm said gently, comfortingly, reaching across to cover her fidgeting hands with his own.

"I'm not nervous," Olivia responded reflexively. "I'm excited. This man is my friend, Malcolm. I have all these questions and he knows the answers."

And Malcolm patently, painfully did not. Olivia had forgotten everything about herself, who she was and where she'd come from, but Malcolm had never known any of it at all. Malcolm was supposed to be her friend, too, but Fin would know things Malcolm could only guess at.

Wouldn't he?

I'll find out soon enough, Olivia thought. Fin had called just after breakfast, told her that he was leaving the station - wherever that was - and coming her way, told her to expect him in about two hours' time. Two hours was long enough for Olivia and Rosie to take Noah to daycare, long enough for Malcolm to shower while they were away - he was insisting on staying for Olivia's visit with Fin - long enough for Olivia to choose a new outfit for the day. The unmistakable reaction her nighttime attire had evoked in Malcolm could not be repeated; she'd chosen a pair of pants and a button down blouse that covered her from her collarbone to her ankles, and while she felt much more restricted dressed like this, at least Malcolm's eyes weren't popping out of his skull anymore.

Even if it had felt nice, his clear appreciation for her body. Breakfast had been an awkward affair Olivia wasn't interested in repeating, and she had no desire to shock anyone else, but a small part of her felt proud, still. Proud of the effect she could have on a man who cared about her. It was nice, feeling pretty, having someone tell her that she was.

The minutes dragged slowly on but finally the moment arrived; Fin announced himself with a powerful knock on the front door, and Olivia vaulted to her feet at once.

"Let's take it easy, here," Malcolm said, joining her for the short walk from the living room sofa to the front door. "I know you have a lot of questions, but let's just take it one thing at a time."

Take it slow, take it easy, that was all Malcolm kept saying. He was worried about her, she knew, worried that taking in too much new information too quickly might be upsetting or might even have some sort of deleterious effect on the memories she did have, but Olivia wasn't interested in going slow. She wanted answers now.

She raced to the front door, Malcolm hot on her heels, and swung it open before he could stop her.

"Fin?" she asked breathlessly as she got a good look at her old friend for the first time.

"That's me," he answered, smiling.

He wasn't what she pictured, somehow. He had a nice enough smile, but his eyes were watchful, wary, almost. He looked to be about the same age as Olivia and Malcolm; there was a little bit of grey in his close-cropped hair and his steps were heavy. He was wearing a black leather jacket and thick black boots, and he carried a cardboard box with the word EVIDENCE written on the side in big block letters.

There was something about him that scared her. Not the man himself; he'd seemed kind enough on the phone and rushed to her side in her time of need, and he had a nice sort of face. No, the thing that scared her when she looked at him was that he seemed so very sad, and she could not help but wonder if she had been sad, too. Olivia was not afraid of Fin; she was afraid of the things he could tell her, the secret truth of who she had been. There was so much she did not know about herself but what she had learned so far made her life seem sorrowful, tragic, even, and she was scared that Fin was about to confirm her suspicions.

"Come inside, please," Malcolm suggested smoothly while Olivia stood staring at her old friend. "Malcolm Winchester," he added, introducing himself and holding his hand out for a shake while Fin stepped into the house.

"And you are?" Fin asked, his eyes narrowed, focused on Malcolm with a laser-like intensity. Funny, that, Olivia thought; Malcolm did not trust Fin, but it would seem Fin didn't trust Malcolm, either.

"He's my friend," Olivia said firmly. "He's been looking after me."

"And he's gonna hang around here while we talk?" Fin asked skeptically.

"Yes," Malcolm answered. "I'm trying to help Olivia, and that'll be easier if I know what she knows."

"Yeah, I bet," Fin said, his tone heavy with an implication Olivia didn't quite understand. His gaze danced briefly around the foyer, landing for a moment on the photo of Olivia and Ed on their wedding day, and as she watched he gave his head a little shake, snapped his eyes back to her face like he didn't want to look at the picture anymore.

"Is there somewhere I can put this down?" He hefted the corner of the box for emphasis and Olivia could've kicked herself; the sight of this man, this dear old friend who knew all her secrets, had shaken her, and she was doing a shit job of welcoming him.

"Let's go into the kitchen," she said.

"I'll make a pot of coffee," Malcolm added helpfully.

And off they went.

Once inside the kitchen Malcolm went straight to the counter to start the coffee while Fin set his box upon the table and looked around thoughtfully. His eyes seemed to take in everything, flickering over every plate, every knick knack, the pile of dishes in the sink, almost as if he were looking for something. Maybe he was. Maybe he was looking for her, for the woman he had known, in this strange new home she'd made for herself.

"Where do we start?" Olivia asked impatiently. She really, really wanted to know what was in the box Fin had brought with him, but she didn't want to start rummaging through it uninvited.

"Tell you what," Fin said, draping his coat over the back of the nearest chair and then sinking into it with a sigh. "Why don't you tell me why you texted Stabler after I asked you not to?"

A crimson blush washed across Olivia's face, embarrassed at having been caught out; Fin was watching her with the lazy confidence of a jungle cat lounging in the sun, and she could feel Malcolm's incredulous stare even without looking at him.

"You said he's my friend," she pointed out defensively. "And he was the last person I called the day of the accident. I thought he might know something about what happened."

"What did he say?"

Definitely a cop, Olivia thought, plopping down in the chair next to Fin.

"Not much," she confessed.

I'm sorry. I did my best. What the fuck did that mean? She didn't know, and she wasn't sure it was the sort of thing she should ask Fin about. It seemed kind of…personal, Stabler's apology. Like whatever it was, it belonged to them, and them alone.

"It's hard for me to text. I didn't get the chance to ask him anything before I gave up."

That was the truth, wasn't it? Or close enough, at least.

"That's probably a good thing. Maybe give it a little more time before you talk to him again."

"Why? You said he's my friend -"

"It's complicated," Fin told her. "And he remembers. You don't. Might be better for you to get a handle on the easy shit before you start digging into the hard shit."

"Fine," she said. In that moment, she would've told Fin anything he wanted to hear just to keep him talking. Whether she'd keep her word and avoid Stabler like Fin wanted her to, she hadn't decided yet.

"Tell me something easy, then," she prompted him.

"How 'bout you ask me something, instead? Where do you want to start, Liv?"

Liv. The second he said it the image of the picture she'd found in her nightstand flashed before her eyes. Liv and El, '99. It was her face in that picture, but not; the girl in that picture was a stranger to her. In this place she was Olivia, but she had been Liv in the city, and she couldn't help but wonder just how different those two women really were.

"Does - does everybody call me Liv? Malcolm never does."

Fin cocked his head to the side, his gaze darting from Olivia's face to Malcolm's and back again.

"Back home, your friends call you Liv," he explained. "You've been Liv a long time. But you're in a new spot, and these people wouldn't know that."

"I like it," she decided. It was nice, having a nickname, having friends who cared enough about her to give her her own special name. It was like a little secret they shared, Olivia and the people who loved her.

"Do my parents call me Liv?"

"No," Fin said, and as she watched he sat up a little straighter, leaned forward and watched her carefully. "I'm guessing you wanna know about your family."

"Yes."

Yes, she wanted to know about her family, her mother and father, about where she'd come from. She wanted to know their names, wanted to know if she had any siblings, wanted to meet them, if she could.

"Hang on a second."

Fin pulled the box closer to him, dug around inside it until he retrieved a framed photo and passed it off to her. There were two people in this picture; one was Olivia, younger as she had been in the photo with El, her hair short and dark. There was an older woman standing next to her, the woman's hair blonde or grey, it was hard to tell, sunglasses on her face.

"That picture was on your desk for years," Fin said. "You left in kind of a hurry, and I don't know, I guess you forgot it. I held on to it for you. That's your mom, Liv."

My mom, she thought in wonder, staring at that face. The sunglasses obscured her eyes, left her a mystery, somehow, but Olivia felt a sudden rush of tears threaten to overtake her. That woman was her mother, a woman Olivia had known all her life, a woman Olivia had loved, who had loved her. Her mother, and Olivia couldn't remember a thing about her.

"Her name was Serena," Fin said, and on the word was Olivia glanced up at him sharply, wondering. "She died," he confirmed in a heavy voice. "Long time ago now. Around the time you and I met, so I guess it's been…I don't know, fifteen years. Something like that."

"How did she die?"

"Before I answer that I gotta ask you something. There's things I've gotta tell you that are gonna hurt when you hear 'em. Are you…are you sure you're ready?"

There was such compassion in him, she thought. The image he presented was grim and tough, and he had from his first interaction with Malcolm carefully asserted control over the situation, refused to let someone else dictate the terms of this meeting, but he was compassionate, too. Kind, really, his concern for Olivia, his desire to protect her, undeniable. She appreciated his hesitation, the way he clearly did not want to hurt her, but she needed to know. Whatever he had to say, however painful it might be to hear, she had to know.

"Maybe now's not the time," Malcolm interrupted, making his way across the kitchen with two cups of coffee in his hands, setting them down on the table while he frowned at Fin. "She only just got home from the hospital -"

"I'm fine, Malcolm," Olivia said, a little more harshly than she intended. "I feel fine, and I need to know. This…this is my life. Whatever happened, it happened, it doesn't just go away because I don't remember it."

There was grief in her story, she knew that now. Her mother dead, her husband, too, her departure from her old life so sudden she'd left a cherished photograph behind; she had forgotten so much grief, but she could not see the point in refusing to remember it. Whatever course the story of her life had taken, it was her story, and she needed to know it. Maybe she'd regret it later, but she was certain she'd regret not knowing more.

"It's her call, man," Fin said.

"All right, but she gets upset, you need to stop. You don't have to do everything all at once. A little at a time might be the way to go."

"What are you, her doctor?"

"Listen," Olivia snapped, frustrated by their bickering. "Talk to me, not to him. Tell me what happened to my mother."

And to her surprise, Fin actually laughed.

"Shit," he muttered. "You might not remember much, but you're still Liv. You've always been bossy."

"Fin -"

"All right," he said, his good humor disappearing as quickly as it had come on. "So your mom. She…you had a complicated relationship. You never wanted to talk about it much and I don't blame you for that but you and me go way back and I know enough. She was a drinker. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Alcohol," Olivia answered slowly. "You mean she drank too much alcohol."

"Yeah. And sometimes when people drink too much they get sad, or they get mean, and they do shit they'd never do sober. She had a hard road and she was trying to cope and you got hurt in the process. That enough for right now?"

"Yes," Olivia said. It was enough, for now, to know that her mother had been sad, or mean, or both, that her childhood had been fraught. Enough for her to know that she did not want to hear the tragic memories of her youth relayed to her secondhand from Fin; whatever had happened between them, however she'd felt about her mother, that wasn't something she wanted to be told. That was something she wanted to remember all on her own, a private pain she wasn't interested in sharing.

"She had too much to drink one day, and she fell, and she died. Just a few years after that picture was taken."

Olivia glanced back at the photo in her hands, the photo of her and her mother. They were neither of them smiling, not really; they were almost smiling, but their mouths were closed, not blown open in laughter, and there was something aloof about those smiles, something detached, almost as if something was missing. As if joy were missing. But it was the only photo of her mother she'd ever seen, and she'd kept it on her desk for years, long after her mother was gone, kept it somewhere she'd see it every day, and remember.

"I'm so sorry, Olivia," Malcolm said from somewhere close behind her, his hand settling heavily, comfortingly on her shoulder. She itched to shake him off, but she knew he was only looking after her, and resisted the urge.

"And my father? Is he…is he dead, too?" she asked Fin.

"About that," he said slowly. "I don't think your friend needs to be here for that."

"Excuse me?" Malcolm snapped. "I don't know you - "

"No offense, but I don't know you. I do know her, though, and I know she wouldn't want you hovering while we talk about this. Some shit is private, man."

"Malcolm, please," Olivia said softly, glancing back over her shoulder to pin him with a pleading gaze. "Just please, give us a few minutes? I think…I think he may be right. I think I want to do this alone."

She'd take her cue from Fin; if he'd been willing to discuss her mother's unpleasant demise in Malcolm's company but was unwilling to discuss her father, it seemed to Olivia that whatever he had to say would be dark and heavy, the kind of thing she might not want Malcolm to know. The kind of thing she might not want to know herself, but unlike Malcolm she had a stake in this story. She had to know; he did not.

For a moment it looked like Malcolm meant to protest, but he seemed to decide against it, and his shoulders sank in defeat.

"Fine," he said. "I'll be in the living room if you need me. I'm going to come back and check on you in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Olivia said sincerely.

Fin watched Malcolm depart in silence, waited until they were properly alone before he turned his attention back to Olivia.

"That dude gives me the creeps," Fin said darkly. "You sure you're ok with him hovering like that?"

"He's been good to me. And I know he's a friend, Fin. I've got my phone now, I saw the texts and the calls. I trust him."

"I don't." If nothing else, Fin seemed to be honest, and Olivia appreciated that about him.

"So, my father?"

"Yeah," Fin said. "Here's what I know."