The small, brightly colored blocks were called Legos, and truth be told Olivia was having nearly as much fun playing with them as Noah was.
They sat together on the floor in the living room, each of them clumsily, doggedly pursuing their architectural dreams. Noah wanted to build a tower that reached all the way to the moon - the moon, Mommy! - and Olivia wanted, very much, to build a house. A house like this one, safe and warm and cozy, where nothing bad ever happened and no one was afraid.
From the sidelines Malcolm observed them good-naturedly; he asked her once, right when they were getting started, if she wanted his help, and when she said no he said ok, and honored her request, sat back and gave her the space to make her own mistakes, to figure this thing out for herself. If only he would give her that kind of freedom beyond the scope of the Legos. He was still upset with her, just a little, upset because he'd caught her talking on the phone when she was supposed to be resting, upset because it seemed he didn't believe her when she told him she was only talking to Fin. It upset him, her dishonesty, and she was sorry for upsetting him but not sorry that she'd done it. Elliot Stabler was her partner, and he had spoken to her kindly and promised to help her, and he had a deep warm voice that made her feel safe.
And she wanted, very much, to speak to him again.
Tomorrow, she'd decided. There had been enough excitement today already, and now that she and Malcolm and Noah had eaten their dinner they were winding down for the evening. Soon she would take Noah to bed, settle him beneath his blankets and tell him how much she loved him, and then she would go to bed herself. Tomorrow morning they would have breakfast together, and Olivia and Rosie would take Noah to daycare, and Fin would come back and tell her more about her past. It helped, knowing that there was an order to things, knowing what she was doing now and what she was going to do next. The predictability of her schedule provided some relief from her swirling uncertainty.
"I was thinking," Malcolm said, and as he spoke Olivia looked up from her blocks to meet his gentle smile.
"Would you like to go out tomorrow? You've been cooped up in the house for a few days. Maybe we could go have lunch at the club."
The club was not a scary place. Olivia knew that. The club was where Ed played golf, where he'd met Malcolm and Rosie's husband, where Olivia met Rosie and the ladies who'd filled her refrigerator with food. It was a place where friends met and sipped drinks and shared meals and laughed with one another. The thought of going there with Malcolm, eating together and meeting the people who cared for her, should not have frightened her, but it did. She had no desire to leave the sanctuary of this little house just yet, and besides, they'd already settled on their plans for tomorrow. Olivia wasn't interested in changing course.
"Fin's coming back tomorrow," she reminded him.
"Sure, but we can go after you talk to him. Or maybe just take a break for lunch. It might be good for you to learn more about your life here."
Maybe he had a point, but the truth was that Olivia wasn't especially interested in her life here in this quiet town. It seemed to her she knew everything she needed to know already; her life here was small and unremarkable, and her husband was dead, and she was sleeping with Malcolm, and she had a few friends. What more was there to know about her sleepy retirement? What she really wanted was to learn more about before, about New York City and her job with the police, about Fin, about Elliot. She would not find answers to those questions at the club.
"I'm not sure I'm ready for that," she said carefully. "Maybe later in the week."
"Ok, Olivia," Malcolm said easily. "Whatever you want."
He is a good man, she thought. He's just afraid. As confusing as the situation was for her he must have been feeling just as lost, watching his lover turn into a stranger. In that moment she felt a sudden rush of fondness for him, and sitting on the floor was starting to become uncomfortable anyway, so she rose to her feet and went to him, sat beside him on the couch, leaning heavily against his side. As if on reflex his arm stretched out along the back of the couch, wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her closer to the warmth of him.
This is nice, she thought, resting her head on his shoulder. The comforting embrace of another person, a person who was good and kind and cared for her, was nice.
In some of the pictures she'd found Elliot had wrapped his arm around her, too.
Maybe we were sleeping together, she thought. Before. Maybe she'd loved him once. Maybe that was why Fin thought Elliot was too complicated.
Whatever she might have felt for Elliot remained a mystery for now; what she did know was that before the accident she'd been spending time with Malcolm, and right now, in this moment, she liked the way it felt when he held her.
"This is nice," Malcolm murmured, his breath stirring her hair gently. In response Olivia just hummed and burrowed deeper into the warmth of his embrace, and as she did he dropped a tender kiss against the top of her head.
Yeah, she thought. This is nice.
She lingered in Noah's room for a time, just holding her son. Just holding him, breathing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo and him, listening to the soft, snuffly sound of his breaths as he drifted off into dreams. He really was a sweet little thing, her Noah. Calm and quiet, thoughtful already, at not-quite 4 years old. He loved music, and elephants, and his mother, and she adored him, with everything she had. All her memories of how he had come to be, his conception, his birth, his first steps, first words, all of that was lost to her now, but it didn't seem to matter; all that she remembered was the last few days with him, and that was enough. It was enough the moment she first saw him, enough for her to know that he was hers, that she would love him always, guard him and guide him, devote herself to him. Maybe, she thought, maybe that was why she'd chosen to retire. According to Fin she lived and breathed for her work, but perhaps she'd chosen to live and breathe for her son instead. Olivia could understand that. If she had to choose right now, she'd choose Noah.
But Noah was fast asleep now, and the time had come for Olivia to seek her own bed. She disentangled herself from him as carefully as she could and picked her way out of his bedroom on silent feet. She'd no sooner closed the door behind her than Malcolm appeared; it was late, and it looked like he was heading for the spare room, thinking about sleeping himself, and he smiled when he caught sight of her.
"Hey," he said, slowly closing the distance between them, coming to a stop an arm's reach from her. "He asleep?"
"Yes," Olivia answered. It wasn't terribly late but Noah was sleeping, and she kept her voice very low. "Are you going to bed?"
"Yeah. Yeah, in just a second. I wanted to check with you first, though. Are you ok? I know it's been a big day."
That was one way of putting it, she thought. Today Olivia learned that her mother was a drunk, that she'd died because of it. Learned that her father was a rapist who'd killed himself. Learned that she had a brother with a long and complicated history, a brother with an addiction problem who never spoke to her anymore. Learned that she'd spent most of her life investigating sex crimes. Learned that she'd had a partner, once.
It was a lot to take in, and her head was still spinning. Fin had told her so much already, but there was still so much left for her to learn. Tomorrow would be another day of revelation, and she was eager and frightened both, desperately wanting more and yet terrified of what she might find.
"I'm fine," she said. The truth was much more complicated but she didn't really want to start picking apart her anxieties in front of Malcolm. It would be easier on both of them, she thought, if she kept that door closed.
Evidently Malcolm disagreed; he frowned then, as if he'd seen right through her.
"We can talk about it, if you want," he said. "You don't have to hide from me, Olivia."
His eyes were bright and earnest, pleading, almost, begging her to let him in, to share herself with him, not to shut him. Offering her the support and the comfort she so desperately craved.
There was such kindness in him, she thought. From the beginning he'd been nothing but gentle and patient with her. Protective, maybe, maybe even over protective, but that was just another form of kindness, wasn't it? All he'd tried to do was keep her safe and help her navigate the unfamiliar waters in which she'd found herself. Had hardly ever left her side, despite the fact that he had a home and a life of his own, choosing instead to stay beside her so that she wouldn't have to be alone, so that she wouldn't have to worry about how she and Noah were going to manage. If it weren't for Malcolm, she would never have found Fin, wouldn't have even known how to begin piecing her life back together.
And he was handsome, and she liked how it felt when he held her, and he had been her lover once, even if she didn't remember it.
She did not want to share her thoughts with him, too afraid of the questions in her own mind to dare give them voice, but she did want to thank him, wanted, very much, to find some way to show him how much she appreciated his efforts and his quiet, steady presence.
So she reached out and took his hand, held on to him while she lifted herself up onto her toes and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you," she said. "For everything."
"You don't have to thank me," he said, lacing his fingers through hers so that they were holding hands properly now. "You can kiss me any time you want, though," he added, and his eyes sparkled when he said it.
Why not, she thought. Why not kiss him? They'd been sleeping together before, surely they'd kissed.
And she didn't remember what that felt like. Kissing. She wanted to know.
"Maybe I will," she said, and then she leaned slowly forward, uncertain but determined. Maybe she didn't know what was going to happen next, but she was pretty sure that if she just made a start, Malcolm would show her the way.
Her lips brushed his very, very gently, and she smiled at even that light contact, a feeling warm and hopeful blossoming in her chest. It felt so nice she went back a second time, and this time Malcolm caught her, slipped his hand up the back of her neck and into her hair and held her close, his mouth opening against hers, drawing this second kiss out, longer, warmer, wetter than the last, and together they lingered in that moment. Olivia's heart was pounding, faster and faster with each passing second, heat building like a fire in her belly, and when Malcolm wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in closer she went with him willingly. It just felt so good, and she wanted more of that. More of that goodness, that heat and that heart-racing excitement. That kiss went on, and on, his tongue tentatively slipping alongside hers, and that was even better, if such a thing were possible.
Anything was possible, she supposed. That's what she felt when he kissed her; she felt as if a door had opened into possibility. Anything could happen next. This kiss felt like the first step on a journey towards something, and she didn't know what that something was but she knew she wanted him to take her there.
Malcolm had other ideas, though.
He slowly eased away from her, brushing her hair back from her face with a gentle hand.
"Why did you stop?" she asked, trying very hard not to pout. She wanted him to kiss her again, wanted to get lost in that feeling again, and she didn't understand why he didn't want the same thing.
"I didn't really want to," he confessed. "But this is all new to you, isn't it? Do you remember kissing anyone before?"
No, she didn't remember any kiss before this one. She didn't want to tell him so, but she didn't have to; he knew the answer already.
"That was your first kiss, Olivia," he told her. "A first kiss is special. We don't need to rush. I want you to be comfortable and I want us to take our time. Ok?"
Why does he always know what to do? She wondered. Every time she started to run away with herself he brought her carefully back down to earth, shielding her from her own reckless impulses.
"Ok," she agreed. That first kiss had been so sweet, and maybe he was right, maybe she ought to savor it.
"Good night, Olivia," Malcolm murmured, and then he kissed her cheek, and left her alone in the corridor, her heart awash with sensation.
She couldn't see, could hardly breathe; it was dark, dark like nothing she'd ever known, dark like the sun itself had died and left behind an impenetrable, endless night. The weight of that darkness sat heavy on her chest, and with no light, no sound, there was nothing to distract her from the pain.
All she knew was pain, every part of her body crying out in agony, but she could not move, not her arms, not her legs, could only lie there, crushed in the darkness. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth; the darkness had stolen her voice.
Just when she thought she could bear no more, when she was certain that death must surely take her, the world exploded in light, searing heat burning, burning, burning everywhere. There was sound now, as well as light, the sound of a man's laughter, but that laughter was not a joyous sound. It was evil, she thought; it was the laughter of an evil man.
Faces swan before her eyes, the faces of people she did not know, could not even begin to name. The face of a child, a little girl, terrified and voiceless. A dark haired man with violence in his eyes. The images flashing through her mind paused on that man; he loomed over her, a gun in his hand, and the last thing she saw before the gun crashed into her face was the glint of something gold fastened to the bottom of the gun.
She woke with a start, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. It was just another nightmare but it felt so terribly, undeniably real that she began to weep, tears coursing down her cheeks while she trembled in her own bed. Though she could not say how she knew she felt certain that these dreams were memories, the buried remnants of some horrific wound she could not remember. The scars on her body had to come from somewhere, and she was certain that the dark haired man with the hair-raising laugh was the key to unraveling that mystery. If she could only learn the truth, if she could only discover exactly what had been done to her, maybe the dreams would stop.
But how was she supposed to learn? Malcolm said he didn't know where her scars had come from; Malcolm said she never talked about it. If she went to him now, if she woke him, he could do no more than hold her. His embrace might have been a comfort in the moment but it would not bring her salvation; Malcolm could not save her from her dreams.
Maybe Fin could. He was coming back, in the morning, but morning was hours away. Olivia needed help now.
Her hand darted out from beneath the bedsheets, scrambling for her phone. Her fingers skittered anxiously across the face of the phone, pulled up the list of her contacts, people who knew her, people who could help her.
Probably she should call Fin, but it was very very late, and she was very very scared, and she acted on impulse, calling someone else instead. Someone who had been her partner once, someone who'd promised to help her, someone who'd know.
She called El.