A/N: It's that time of year. Updates will come at irregular intervals until things slow down at work.

"Now what do we do?" Olivia asked, eager and anxious both. She'd placed all her hopes on that little phone, certain that it contained the answers to all of her questions. The names and contact information for everyone she'd ever known, the list of people she'd called and the dates and times of those calls, the messages she'd sent to them, pictures she'd taken, all of that - her whole life - was just there, inside the phone. The only problem was, she didn't know how to access any of it. The phone was foreign to her; she knew what it did, because people had told her - people; the nurses and Malcolm - but she didn't know how and she didn't know how to find what she was looking for. She'd have to continue to rely on Malcolm's expertise, much as it galled her. This was her life, and she wanted to be the one to uncover it; there was no telling how many secrets that phone was hiding, and if she'd had her way Malcolm would never see any of it, but she knew that in this moment she had no choice. Whatever she learned here, Malcolm would have to learn it, too.

"Well, we can look through your contact list. That's the names and numbers of everyone you've saved in your phone. I'm not sure that'll help us much, though."

Because she didn't remember anyone. That's why Malcolm wasn't sure.

"Could we just start calling people?" Olivia suggested. Close, she was so close to the truth she was seeking, and she was so tired of waiting. Whoever she might have been, Olivia Benson was not a patient woman.

"We could," Malcolm allowed. "But you may not want to do that. I mean, I've got my mechanic saved in my phone. Some people I met at my high school reunion five years ago I never want to speak to again. And this," he pressed his thumb against the phone screen, drew up a list of names and began to scroll slowly through them, "is a lot of names. We can't call all of them."

The names flashed by as Malcolm dragged his thumb across the screen, Olivia watching avidly all the while. He was moving too quickly for her to read all of them; she saw Amaro and Barba and Cassidy, Rollins and Stabler and Tucker, and many, many more besides, but she didn't know who any of those people were. What troubled her more than the not knowing, though, was the fact that it seemed to her most of the names in her phone were last names. What sort of person only knew her friends by their last names? What if none of these people were her friends at all?

"Is your number in there?" she asked while she watched.

"Sure it is," he answered easily, scrolled back up so she could see Rosie Townsend and Malcolm Winchester in the list of names. It was a reassurance she didn't know she needed, seeing those names in black and white, proof that she did know these people, in her other life, the life she could not recall.

"Can we see who I've called recently?"

"Sure," Malcolm said again, and then he was pressing the screen again, and everything changed, and the next thing Olivia knew she was looking at the log of all her calls.

"The last number you called was Donato's," Malcolm said, showing her where he got that information. "It's a local pizza place."

That wasn't exactly helpful.

"There's a call to me, and one to Rosie, and one to Noah's daycare. That's it for the whole week before the accident."

The call log wasn't getting them anywhere; it was just the same names over and over again, Malcolm and Rosie and the daycare and the pizza place, and all the elation Olivia had felt at unlocking the phone deserted her, left her feeling deflated and defeated instead. She'd been so sure that they'd unlock the phone and find everything they needed, but all they'd found so far was evidence of a quiet, lonely life. The calls made it look like she only had two friends in the whole world. Made it look like she ordered more pizza than any healthy woman should.

"Let's try your text messages," Malcolm suggested.

I bet he feels sorry for me, Olivia thought. A sad, lonely little woman with a sad, lonely little life; he must have thought she was pitiful. She was certainly beginning to feel that way.

"Ok, the last person you texted was me. This was the Friday before the accident."

Malcolm angled the phone so she could see, let her read the last couple of messages in their conversation.

I'll bring the wine, he'd said. What time do you want me there?

It'll have to be after bedtime, she'd told him. How about 9:00?

Sounds good. Can't wait to see you.

Coming over on a Friday night with a bottle of wine after she put her son to sleep; that little exchange seemed to confirm Malcolm's explanation from the night before. They had been sleeping together.

"Who else did I message?" she asked. While she wanted, very much, to read through the rest of her conversation with Malcolm, she didn't want to do it with him looking over her shoulder.

"Well, let's see. There's Rosie, and an automated message from Noah's doctor, and delivery confirmations from Donato's. Oh, this looks promising."

He handed the phone over to her, and she took it once more.

"You were texting someone named Fin. I don't know who that is, so it's probably somebody from back home. It looks like there's a lot of messages there."

It was hard for Olivia to tell when the messages had been sent, but she thought they must not have been too old; in the conversation they'd been discussing Christmas.

Come home for Christmas, Fin had said. Let me know when you get here. I'll get the squad together. It'll be good to see you and little man.

I don't know if I can, she'd told him, but I'll let you know if I decide to come.

It seemed like Malcolm was right; this Fin, he talked like an old friend. Asking her to come home for Christmas, talking about their friends, and Noah. Squad seemed like a strange choice of words; maybe he was a cop, like she was. Maybe they'd done the job together. Maybe he'd know how she got her scars.

"I want to call him," Olivia said at once.

"What, now?"

Why did Malcolm seem surprised by that? They had unearthed another clue, had discovered a way forward, a path to the truth. Of course she wanted to take action, now; did he really expect her to wait?

"Now," Olivia insisted. "Show me how."

"Ok. Here's your contacts," he showed her how to pull up the list of names, "here's Fin," he showed her how to scroll down to the F's, "and if you press here," he guided her thumb, "It brings up some options. This one will make a call."

Olivia pressed the little image of the telephone without hesitation, and the phone in her hand immediately began to ring.

And ring, and ring, and ring; each time it sounded her heart pounded faster, and faster still. Pick up, she pleaded within the vaults of her mind, please, please pick up -

"This is Fin," a stranger's voice, eerily distant, sounded through the phone, "sorry I'm not here right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back."

While the voice on the phone was speaking, Malcolm began to speak as well, all in a rush.

"Ok, you're gonna hear a beep, and when you hear it, tell him who's calling and that you want him to call you back -"

A loud beep sounded through the phone.

"Uh," Olivia said, her thoughts racing. What was she supposed to say?

"It's me," she said, holding the phone in front of her face, unsure where to direct her voice. "Olivia. Olivia Benson. I - uh - I need to talk to you. Call me back, please?"

"Ok, now press here to end the call."

She did, and the phone screen switched again, back to showing Fin's name and details.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait," Malcolm said. "He may be busy right now, but he'll get your message, and then he'll call back, and then you can tell him what's been happening."

Then I can tell him that I don't know who he is. How would that conversation even go? Hi, I don't remember who I am, and I don't remember you, but I'm hoping you can tell me everything I need to know about myself. Sorry I was vague about Christmas. I should've just said yes.

Thanks to Malcolm she knew at least some of the functions of the phone, now, and she clicked back over to the contacts, scrolled down to the E's. She did not find an El, or even a single name beginning with those two letters. Whoever the man in the photograph was, it didn't look like she had his number, anymore, and the thought made her sad. How had she lost him? Where had he gone?

There has to be something, she thought. She clicked back to the call log, and immediately noticed something that Malcolm appeared to have missed.

"Hey, Malcolm?"

"Hmm?"

"The accident, it was on a Monday, right?"

"Yeah. The 16th."

"This says I called the pizza place on Sunday. There was another call on Monday."

Malcolm's brow furrowed in confusion, and he leaned over to look at the phone.

"Huh," he said. "I don't know how I missed that."

Neither do I, Olivia thought, but she hadn't seen it the first time, either. Maybe he'd just hadn't done it right, had scrolled too far or not far enough or whatever. But it was right there, under their noses; the last call Olivia made on the day before her accident was to Stabler.

"Who is that?"

"Honestly, I've got no idea," Malcolm said with a shrug.

It felt important, though. Surely it was important, wasn't it? The last call she made before the accident? What if she'd been on the phone when it happened? The police said the phone had slid beneath one of the seats. What if she'd been talking to Stabler when she crashed, what if Stabler - whoever that was - had heard the whole thing?

"The call wasn't very long," Malcolm said, though Olivia wasn't sure how he'd deduced that. "Maybe Stabler didn't pick up."

And now it was over a week later, and she'd not heard from Stabler at all.

"If they tried to call while the phone was dead, there wouldn't be a record of it, not unless they left a voicemail."

"Voicemail?"

"What we just did, when you called Fin. The person you're calling doesn't pick up, so you can leave a voice message. We can check those."

"Yes, please."

And so they did. A few more taps on the screen, and they were looking at another list of dates and times and numbers.

"There's not a lot here," Malcolm said. "You probably just delete them right after you listen to them. The most recent one is…oh, Olivia." There was a world of sadness in his voice when he spoke her name.

"What?" she demanded, craning to see the phone.

"You kept all of Ed's voicemails. That's all that's here, just a bunch of old messages from Ed."

Try though she might, Olivia couldn't see Ed's name anywhere on the list. All she saw was Tucker.

"Tucker?" she asked.

"That was Ed's last name. Ed Tucker. You met when you were both cops, I guess you never changed it."

What kind of woman still called her husband by his last name?

"Do you…do you want to listen to them? I understand if you'd rather wait until I'm not around."

"I want to hear his voice," she said. It was more than want, though; she needed to hear it. To hear the voice of the man she loved, to remember the sound of it. She needed to know what he'd said to her, and she needed to know how it would make her feel to listen to his words now. Maybe his voice was all she'd need to bring her back to herself. If she loved him, truly, shouldn't that love shake the very foundations of the earth, overpower her injury and her addled thoughts and remind her who she was meant to be?

"Let's just listen to the last one," Malcolm said, and then he tapped the screen, and the message began to play.

Hey, gorgeous, the voice said. Her husband's voice, low and gravelly, accented in a way that was so unlike Malcolm's. It's about…oh, 2:30, or so. I'm going to pick up Noah. Wanted to see if you wanna go out for dinner tonight. We can leave little man with Rosie, have a little date night. Just you and me. Let me know what you think. Love you. Talk to you soon.

That was it. The moment it was done she pressed the button, and made it play again.

Hey gorgeous…love you.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she played the message for a third time. This man, his voice was warm and familiar, gentle and comforting. This man loved her, thought she was gorgeous, wanted to spend time with her. The message was mundane, nothing out of the ordinary, not exciting or revelatory, but she'd kept it, for months. Maybe for this very reason; maybe she'd kept the message for all this time because she just wanted to hear someone say he loved her, even if that someone was dead and gone.

He'd loved her, Ed Tucker. Loved her enough to have a child with her, to pledge to spend the rest of his life with her, and now he was gone, and these few messages were all that remained of him. These old recordings of his voice, talking about nothing. And it was still more than what remained of Olivia Benson. She could not even remember the man who'd loved her.

"Olivia," Malcolm said gently as the message finished. Probably he didn't want to hear it for a fourth time.

"I need to know who Stabler is," she said, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks, unwilling to talk to the man she was sleeping with about her dead husband. "That's the last person I called before the accident. That's what matters now."

"Maybe we should take a break," Malcolm said, easing the phone from her grip. "This thing is already down to 5%, it didn't even get close to a full charge before. You don't want it dying in the middle of a call. Let's plug it back in, and we can go pick up Noah, and maybe Fin will call back tonight. One thing at a time, ok?"

It was a little infuriating, but she had to admit Malcolm had a point. The phone would be no good to her if it died again. She'd already reached out to one person; maybe she should just wait, and hear what Fin had to say. The message from Ed had cut her open; maybe she should wait before she risked wounding herself again.

"Ok," she agreed. It was not over, this exploration of her past, this hunt to find herself; it was only just beginning.