The heat of him engulfed her like a furnace, his lips searing against her neck while he drove himself deep, deep inside her, her nails tearing at the scarred skin of his back as she cried out her pleasure, and then it came, the moment of his undoing, his hips stuttering, his voice groaning out Olivia, long and slow and deep and dripping in satisfaction, and this is wrong, she thought, it was wrong, because the voice calling her name was not Elliot's. She looked and saw that the man holding her was not bald as Elliot was, was not bearded; his hair was short and grey, his face clean-shaven, though his eyes were still blue, bright and piercing, and Ed, she thought, her fear dissipating like smoke while she sank into the warmth of her husband's embrace, all thoughts of Elliot forgotten. It was just Ed, holding her, at home in their bed, Ed's tender hands tracing the contours of her body, and it was just a dream, she thought, all the madness, the forgetting, the fear, Ed's death and Elliot's return, it was all just a dream, and she was safe at home with the man she loved.

I love you, Ed told her, I love you, Olivia, no matter what -

No matter what.

The world shimmered around her like the ocean in summer, shifting, changing, and I love you, Ed was saying, sitting in the chair next to hers, holding her hand. They weren't in bed; they were in an office, somewhere, a doctor's office, she thought, yes, there was the doctor, the young man in a white coat sitting behind the desk in front of them. I'm sorry, Mrs. Tucker, the young man said. I love you, Ed said. I could get you pregnant, Elliot said. I'm afraid it's just too late, the young man said, the young man with no grey in his hair and no wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the young man with his whole life ahead of him, it's just too late, it's too late, too late -

She woke with a start, gasping for air. She'd been dreaming, a dream that felt so real she found herself confused for a moment, lost, unable to tell memory from fiction from life. What was true, what wasn't; was she in bed with Elliot, or Ed? Was she somewhere else entirely? With some effort she wrenched her sleep-stuck eyes open, and found her heart rate beginning to calm as she looked around her. This is real, she told herself. She was lying in Elliot's bed, wearing Elliot's shirt, Elliot's arm draped over her waist, Elliot's half-hard cock pressed up against the swell of her ass while he dreamed behind her. Noah was still sleeping next to her, holding his little elephant close.

This was real, the early morning sunlight slanting in through the blinds, the scent of Elliot's soap on the pillowcase, the steady rise and fall of her son's little chest as he breathed deep and even. But what about the dream? Was any of that real? Maybe the part where she was having sex with Ed, his voice telling her that he loved her; he had, after all, been her husband, and he must have loved her. Must have told her that he loved her hundreds, thousands of times. But what about the doctor's office? Was that real, too, or just the anxious machinations of a mind facing the brutal reality of starting life fresh in a fifty year old body?

It didn't matter, she supposed, not really; if she'd sat with Ed in a doctor's office somewhere there'd be a record of it, and maybe the occupational therapist and Rosie could help her track it down. Help her find out who her doctor was, what medical history that doctor's office had on file for her, what secrets her own body was keeping from her. That would be a problem for next week. Today was Sunday, and she was comfortable, safe and warm with Elliot and Noah, and she had absolutely nothing to worry about.

She was worried, though. Anxiety skittered through her bones, made it difficult to lie still and enjoy the moment. It felt as if there was something she was forgetting, an urgent hand tugging at the back of her mind, but she'd forgotten so much it was impossible to know where to start.

With Ed, maybe. With Ed, and the sudden wave of guilt she felt. It was only six months since her husband had died, and if it wasn't bad enough that she'd forgotten him completely, she'd already told another man that she loved him. Had already fallen in love with another man, wholly, completely. What kind of woman was she? What kind of woman could do something like that, remember an old friend she hadn't seen in seven years with more clarity than she could recall the husband who'd been by her side until just six short months ago? Elliot was tattooed on her heart, permanent and unfading; why wasn't Ed? Why didn't she love him the way that he deserved?

"Morning," Elliot voice rumbled at her suddenly, his lips brushing gently against the base of her neck while he carefully pulled his hips back, politely spared her the insistent press of his cock against her ass.

"How did you know I was awake?" she murmured back, trying not to speak too loudly, not wanting to wake Noah, not yet.

"I could feel you thinking," Elliot answered. "You wanna talk about it?"

There were a million things on her mind, but no, she didn't want to talk about any of it. About the guilt she carried, the way she felt like a failure of a wife. About the grief she felt for Ed's passing, and the grief she felt at the absence of that grief, which was not half so devastating as she thought it ought to have been. The fear that Elliot might've gotten her pregnant, and the fear that he couldn't have. The resentment still bubbling in her belly at the thought of her friends' cold silence. And through it all, that burning question: what do we do now?

Where would they go from here, Olivia and Elliot?

I always thought if you and I ever…if we ever did, that'd be it. For both of us. It'd be just you and me, forever.

Did Elliot still want that? She wondered. Did Elliot still want forever; did Elliot think she had just given her forever to him? It felt like forever, her desire for him, the comfort she drew from his presence, but she'd only known him a bare few days. Was she being reckless, jumping headlong into sex with him when she knew sex was not the only thing he wanted from her? It was reckless, she knew that, but it felt good, too, the risk, the wild impulsivity of it, and she wanted to keep chasing that feeling, the feeling of invincibility Elliot gave to her. Like whatever she wanted she could just reach out and grab it, like no matter what she did she would not fail, so long as he was with her.

No, she didn't want to tell him any of that.

"I'm fine," she said. "I feel…this was good. Last night, with you, that was good."

"It was," Elliot agreed, his arm tightening around her waist. "But, look…no pressure, Liv. You don't gotta do anything you don't wanna do."

"I wanted to," she assured him, running her fingers gently over the back of his hand. "And I think I'm gonna want to again."

Ellot laughed, and kissed her again.

"Good," he said. "You stay here with Noah, I'll go make us some coffee, see if I've got anything for breakfast. You come out when you're ready."

It was funny, she thought as he rolled away from her, as she watched him shamble out of the room yawning and scratching his chest; funny how different he was from Malcolm. How easily he gave her space, didn't try to control her or watch over her every minute. Malcolm never seemed to trust her with herself, and Elliot trusted her with everything, and that made all the difference in the world.

It would have to be peanut butter crackers and coffee for breakfast. Not exactly a balanced meal, but it would be enough to get them by for now, to hold them over until they ventured out into the world. A little snack to keep Noah from getting hangry, and in an hour or two they could duck into a cafe and get something more substantial to eat. He started the coffee and then went to the pantry, pulled out the crackers and the peanut butter, thinking about Liv and the way he loved her, thinking about Liv and the way she'd let him touch her.

All these years he'd spent believing that the second he let himself touch her, really touch her, he'd lose himself completely, and now he saw the truth of it for himself. One taste of her was not enough; he wanted her with him, always. His hands felt empty without her body to hold, and his thoughts kept drifting back to her, wondering what she was doing behind the closed door of his bedroom, wondering what she was thinking, wondering what the fuck they were going to do next. It was insane, really; he'd stumbled back into her life in the wee hours of Thursday morning, and by Saturday night she was in his bed. Seven years without a word, and it had taken him all of three days to abandon every principle he'd ever clung to, and drown in her.

It was always gonna be this way, he thought as he smeared peanut butter on crackers for Olivia's son. All those long nights he'd spent alone, undercover, thinking about Kathy saying you love her, El, thinking about what he'd do, what he'd say when he finally saw Olivia again, when he walked into the 1-6 with his badge back on his hip where it belonged; he'd spent six months preparing himself to see Olivia again, and this, what was happening between them now, was everything he'd dreamed of. Not the amnesia, but the rest of it, her forgiving him, her loving him, the two of them partners again, taking on the world together.

But he'd had six months to get ready for this, and Olivia'd had no time at all, and take it easy, he told himself. Take it slow.

They had all the time in the world, didn't they?

He was just finishing up the last of the crackers when his bedroom door creaked open, and Olivia came dancing into view.

I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive, he thought as he watched her. She was still wearing his shirt, had pulled on her shorts, her hair big and messy from sleep, her eyes soft and warm, and she was carrying her son on her hip. Noah was almost - almost, but not quite, not yet - too big for her to hold, but she held him anyway, and Elliot couldn't blame her for that. It was the curse of parenthood, he thought; just when he seemed to get a handle on his kids they grew up a little bit more, and left him behind. As soon as he got used to infancy they were walking; as soon as he got used to toddler-proofing the house they were talking; as soon as carrying them on his hip had become second nature to him they were too big for it; as soon as he'd figured out the elementary school problems they were off to middle school and a whole new world of complications to navigate. Maureen started life so little that he could cradle her whole body in his own two hands, and now she was married. Olivia seemed determine to hold on to Noah as long as she could, and Elliot wasn't about to try to stop her.

Besides, she looked too pretty like this, the two of them too sweet like this, for him to feel anything but affection for them when he looked at them.

"You hungry, Noah?" Elliot asked as Olivia carried him into the kitchen. There was no high chair at Elliot's table; they were going to figure something out for him.

"Here, let's just sit here," Olivia said, apparently having recognized the same problem. She gently set Noah on the floor at her feet, and Elliot passed her a plastic cup of apple juice and a handful of crackers, and she in turn passed them down to her son. The kid seemed happy enough, so while Noah tucked into his breakfast Elliot retrieved the coffee cups from the counter, and handed one off to Liv.

"So," he said. "What do you want to do today?"

"You said there's a carousel in the park?" Olivia answered. "I think that would be fun for Noah. He hasn't had much fun recently."

No, Elliot imagined he hadn't. Left alone with the neighbors while his mother was in the hospital, not going anywhere but home or school for weeks, and now waking up in a strange place, with a strange man hanging around his mother. Central Park would be good for Noah, Elliot thought. It would be good for him to run and play, and it would be good for his mother, too, good for Olivia to see her son happy, and well.

"Sounds good to me," he said. "We can take turns in the shower, pick up some breakfast, and head over there. And after that, we can do whatever you want to do."

"It's not like I've got any plans," she said, a dark cloud drifting suddenly across her face. "It's not like anybody's called me back."

"Have you checked your phone this morning?" Elliot suggested half-heartedly. "Maybe somebody reached out overnight."

Surely they would, he thought; surely anybody who cared about Liv would be eager to see her, to help her, as eager as he had been himself. Why would they ignore her?

"I haven't looked," she said. "Can you watch him for a second? I left my phone in the other room."

"Course," he answered. After raising five children of his own Elliot could handle a minute alone with a toddler, and Noah was an especially easy kid. All he wanted right now was to eat, so Elliot leaned against the island and watched him until Olivia came back with her phone in her hand and a frown on her face.

"Something's wrong with it," she said. "It won't light up."

"Lemme see," Elliot answered, holding out his hand. Olivia passed the phone over and he fiddled with it for a second, but sure enough, it wouldn't turn on for anything. There was a charger in the kitchen near the sink and so Elliot took the phone there, plugged it in, and watched as it began to cycle on.

"It's ok," he said. "The battery was just dead. When was the last time you charged it?"

She was doing that thing with her face, that thing she did when she knew she'd fucked up and she didn't want to admit it.

"Not since we left home," she admitted. "I forgot."

It shouldn't have been a relief, her forgetting, but it was, just the same. People forgot to charge their phones all the time, and Elliot figured that wasn't anything to be worried about; instead he was relieved, because if the phone had just died that meant maybe her friends hadn't abandoned her, after all. Maybe they had tried to reach her, and found that they couldn't. Maybe her life before the accident wasn't as sad and lonesome as it seemed.

"Can you see - are there any messages or anything?" she asked him hopefully.

"Hang on."

It took a second for the phone to finish booting up, but eventually it did, and it began to vibrate madly as text after text came in. The phone was locked, so Elliot couldn't read the full messages, but a preview of each flashed across the screen.

"Amaro, Carisi, and Fin all sent texts," he told her, watching the little boxes pop up and then disappear. "Oh, and you got a voicemail."

"Yeah?" she said, crossing the kitchen to stand beside him.

"Yeah," he said. "From Barba."