She couldn't stop looking at him.

It had been about an hour since they'd left her little house, an hour of sitting in the passenger's seat of his car watching the world fly by on the other side of the window, and for all that time the only thing she could see was him.

We did love each other, Liv. We did.

Friends don't sleep together.

Two voices, two ideas in impossible contradiction, were tearing at her heart. When he spoke to Olivia, Elliot swore to her that he loved her - not like a brother - that the connection they shared was special, transcending any attempt on his part to describe it. When he spoke to Rosie, he swore to his feelings of a chaste protectiveness for his old friend, and nothing more. Maybe he was only trying to placate Rosie, to reassure her that he could be trusted with Olivia's safety, with her heart, but somehow Olivia didn't think so. Somehow she thought he'd been telling the truth both times.

We did love each other, he'd said. We did.

Did, and did no longer. He'd loved a woman she could not remember, a woman she did not know how to be, and when he looked at her now he saw only a child, someone he had to defend from her own ignorance, a duty to uphold, a burden to carry. Oh, he'd been kind to her, endlessly kind, and he'd helped her in so many ways. But had he been kind, had he been helpful, as a man might be to a woman he loved, or as a father might be to a child in need of guidance? When he looked at her, what did he see? That night on the sofa he'd kissed her passionately enough, his hands, his eyes, devouring her whole, but he had stopped short of really acting on that passion, told her he didn't want to give himself to a version of her who didn't remember him. But what if she never could? Would he hold her forever at arm's length, and never again love her the way he once had done?

It was a mystery, the truth of his feelings for her, but what was not a mystery, the truth that sat heavy as a stone in the center of her chest this morning, was that she loved him. What else but love could make her stomach twist in anticipation every time he smiled at her? What else but love could make her long to be near him, even when the nearness of him broke her heart? What else but love could make the sight of his face, his warm eyes and bushy beard and gentle smile, so compelling that she could not look away? She wanted to hide from him, ashamed to long so deeply for a man who did not return those feelings in kind, but she could not bear the thought of being parted from him.

It hurt, sitting next to him, thinking only how he did not want her. It hurt, but she'd had no other choice; he was her only way out, his sudden departure her only chance to return to the city of her birth. Once there she could connect with other people, begin rebuilding her own understanding of herself, and Elliot, Elliot who loved her once and did not love her anymore, was the only person who could get her there. To take the next step towards her own emancipation from ignorance she would have to continue to spend time in close proximity with this man, and truth be told she wanted that. Wanted to hear his voice, telling her who she was, sharing the old stories with her; wanted to watch his hands, steady and capable on the wheel; wanted to see him smile, though that smile was tinged with grief, mourning for the woman she could not be, no matter how hard she tried.

"Did you text Rosie?" his voice rumbled at her suddenly, starling her out of her maudlin thoughts.

The morning had begun well before dawn for the pair of them. They'd had to pack up Noah and Olivia's things, get the car seat fastened into Elliot's car, make breakfast for the three of them, and then ready the house to sit empty for a few days, and they'd had to do it all before 7:00 a.m. It was just after 8:00 now, and Elliot was right. It was high time Olivia checked in with Rosie; she just didn't want to. There was no telling how Rosie might react upon discovering that Elliot had whisked Olivia away - at her own request, of course, but still. It might be hard for Rosie to understand, the way Olivia trusted Elliot, Olivia's steadfast faith that if she could only set foot in New York City again she would remember who she was supposed to be. These weren't the kind of things that could be explained; faith, and trust, and hope, these things could only be felt.

"I'll do that now," she murmured, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

A text would be easier than a phone call; she didn't want to hear the alarm in Rosie's voice this early in the morning, didn't want to get roped into a conversation with yet another person determined to parent her. She pulled up Rosie's name in her contact list, and began to type.

Good morning, she wrote. We're all fine. Elliot is taking me to meet my friends in the city. Please don't worry. I'll be safe with him, and I won't be gone long.

She sent the message, and immediately tucked the phone back in her pocket. She was dreading Rosie's response.

A minute passed, then two, the early morning sunshine streaming in through the windows, casting everything in a cheery golden light, when suddenly, without any prompting whatsoever, Elliot jerked his head sharply towards her, confusion written all over his face.

"Wait a second," he said, looking quickly back at the road, then back at her, then back at the road. "Did you just text her?"

"Yeah? You told me to."

"Yeah, but didn't you say you couldn't remember how to type?"

Holy shit.

He was right. One of the many things she'd lost was the knowledge of how to type, how to write, how to build the words she knew how to read. The texts she'd sent to him had required laborious effort; it had taken her ages to build those messages one letter at a time, using older texts as a guide. But this, just now, with Rosie, she'd typed without thought, fired off that message in seconds. It had come to her so easily, so naturally, that she hadn't even noticed.

"I couldn't," she said faintly. "But I…I can now. I guess I remembered."

"That's great, Liv," he told her warmly, his blue eyes sparkling with something like relief.

"It is, isn't it?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it great, wasn't it a blessing, that she'd remembered something? If she could type, wasn't she one step closer to her own independence, her own reclamation? Wasn't she one step closer to being the woman he wanted her to be?

She wanted to believe it was a good thing. She wanted to be happy. And she was, in a way, was relieved that it would no longer take a herculean effort and a half hour to send a five word text, relieved that this new discovery would make reconnecting with her old friends that little bit easier, but relief was not all she felt. There was sorrow, too, sorrow because she had not remembered an event, a person, a piece of her own soul, that she had only remembered how to perform a mundane task that any child could do on their own. Sorrow that this was all she had to look forward to, Elliot's effusive praise as she performed for him like a child just learning how to walk, Elliot's palpable joy at the thought that the woman he remembered was coming back to him as the woman in front of him faded away.

Maybe it was a bad idea, taking this trip with him. Not going to the city, she was certain that being in New York would help her, but going with him. Staying in his home with him, spending every moment in the shadow of his memories, feeling herself a failure for not living up to those memories. The sooner they got to the city, the sooner she'd meet other people, and maybe those people would make her feel less incomplete, but oh, what if they didn't? What if everyone she met looked at her like Elliot did? With affection, and lament?

The apartment was different from her house. It felt more open, less an endless warren of walls. The kitchen and living room were not separated from one another; instead the main living area of the apartment was one big open space, allowing for ease of movement from one end to the other, heavy beams crossing overhead in a charming sort of way. Two big glass doors led out from the living area to an overgrown patio where Olivia longed to sit with Noah in the sunshine, but before she could explore the patio Elliot meant to give her a tour of the apartment; their last stop was the bedroom where he intended for Olivia and Noah to sleep.

"This is Eli's room," he said, opening the door wide and ushering her inside. "He's my youngest. He stays with his mom most of the time, so there's not a lot in here."

That was true; there was a bed, a dresser, and a connected bathroom, and very little else. A hamper for dirty clothes that sat conspicuously empty, a framed soccer jersey on the wall, a lamp and a bedside table. With Noah on her hip Olivia studied the room, searching for things that might present a danger to her son should he get his hands on them. If he tugged on the drawers of the dresser could he pull it over on himself? She bumped it with her hip to test it, and the thing seemed sturdy enough. There was nothing on the floor for him to get into, no knicknacks on the bedside table or dresser he might be tempted to put in his mouth. He would be safe enough in here, she thought, but the room was depressing; a child's room, without a child's things. A place for a child to sleep on the rare occasion he ventured to this place that was not his home.

"This will work," she told Elliot. The bed was big enough for her and Noah to share it comfortably, and low enough that in the event Noah rolled out of it - she thought that unlikely, as he was sleeping in his own bed in her home without issue - he wouldn't be hurt. "I'm going to put him down for a nap."

The early start had left Noah out of sorts and unhappy; he'd not rested in the car, and now his little head was heavy, drowsing on her shoulder.

"I'll let you get him settled," Elliot said, dropping their bags by the door. "I need to leave in about half an hour, so we've got a little time. Come find me when you're ready, and we'll talk about what happens next."

With that he left her, and Olivia went to the bed, pulled back the covers and laid Noah down there. His eyes went wide and his lower lip began to tremble as if he were on the verge of tears, and so she laid down right next to him, wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. He was clutching his stuffed elephant close to his chest, and with Eddie the elephant and his mother to hold him he began to settle almost at once.

"It's all right, sweet boy," Olivia murmured, kissing the top of his head. "We're all right."

She began to hum, softly. The song that Malcolm had played for her had been stuck in her head since she'd first heard it, and she hummed the tune, closed her eyes, and thought about all she'd seen on their journey in today. About the dizzying height of the skyscrapers, the dazzling pulse of life in this city, the noise from the cars and the people. She'd seen so many people, rushing along the sidewalks like a river, each with a destination in mind, each with their own life, their own struggles to face, their own joys to chase. It was as reassuring as it was overwhelming, the thought of all those people; it made her feel small in a way, small because she was only one of a countless number of souls in this place, but there was relief in being small. Her problems were not insurmountable; hers was not the only broken heart in the world.

There was heartbreak in this apartment, she thought. In Elliot, who had apparently been married for thirty years and lost that marriage, who had five children and yet only had a room in his apartment for one of them. What about the other four, she wondered; Eli was the youngest, but did Elliot see his older children at all? He talked about the inevitability of the job taking him away from his life, from the people he cared for, told her that job had come between himself and his wife. It was a choice he'd made, to put his work above all else, and that choice had left him with an empty apartment and very little else. Seeing the apartment and everything that wasn't inside it helped her to understand something that had been bothering her for days now; looking around Eli's bare bedroom brought her own decision to leave the job and the city into focus. Olivia did not recall the exact circumstances of her departure, but seeing now what the job had taken from Elliot she could understand why she and Ed had taken their son and fled to safer quarter. To a place where ghosts did not haunt them, where their son would be safe and they would be with him always. Until they weren't, until Ed left them both behind.

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she did not reach to wipe them away, did not want to disturb Noah on his journey into dreams. It was all running together, the love she felt for Elliot, and for the husband who had left her, the anger she felt for both of them at their departures. It became impossible to tell the difference, between an old memory and a new, between one man and another. She just felt, and the feelings overwhelmed her, and for a few minutes she lay there and let the feeling take her over, tears slipping silently down her cheeks to land in Noah's soft hair. When at last she was satisfied that Noah was really asleep she slipped away from him, scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to bring herself under control.

You can do this, she told herself. All she had to do was go out and talk to Elliot, and after that he would leave her alone. She was looking forward to that, to having a few hours to herself, to gather her thoughts, to formulate a plan for her own next steps. There was no telling yet how Elliot intended for them to spend their time, but Olivia had come to this place with her own agenda, and she would not let him stand in her way.

Resolved, then, she left Noah to his dreams, and ventured out into the apartment. She left the bedroom door open, in the hopes that she would hear Noah the moment he awoke, would be able to swoop in and take charge of him before he got into mischief. The open doorway was clearly visible from the main area of the apartment, and so was Elliot, over in the kitchen, leaning against the island and sipping slowly from a thermos of coffee.

It was a shame, she thought, that he was such a handsome man. The sight of him lit a longing in her blood, a longing he had no intention of satisfying.

"Hey," he called to her hoarsely as she approached.

"He's asleep," she told him. "I'll give him a few hours, and if he's not awake by noon I'll get him up for lunch."

"You know what time noon is, now?" Elliot asked hopefully.

How about that, she thought. Another memory restored to her, quite without her realizing it. When had she recalled how to tell time? Had it only come to her now, just this morning, or had she remembered it yesterday, or the day before, and just not noticed its return?

"12:00," she said, pointing to the little clock on his oven that currently read 9:54. Elliot was meant to leave at 10:00; they had six minutes left.

"That's great, Olivia," he told her warmly. "I've got to get ready to go -" he'd already changed his clothes and made a cup of coffee, already had his shoes on and his keys close to hand, so she wasn't sure what else he needed to do to prepare. What else besides lecture her about safety - "so I just want to run through this with you. Keep the door locked, and don't open it for anybody."

"Yes, sir," she muttered tartly. As if she'd just go letting strangers into his apartment!

"Don't go anywhere by yourself -"

"I'm not a child, Elliot -"

"And please don't turn on the stove."

"Noah and I are going to have to eat," she reminded him. "Do you have eggs in there?" she pointed to the fridge. Elliot had already taught her how to make eggs, and surely that would be enough for a light lunch, enough to get them through until Elliot returned.

"No, actually," he admitted sheepishly. "I wasn't staying here while I was undercover, there's not a lot in the fridge."

Olivia frowned; that wouldn't do. Elliot would likely be gone more than two hours, and she would need to feed her son.

"But there's a lot of stuff in here," he said, pushing up off the island and leading her to a little closet off to the side. When he opened the door she saw it was full of food, cans and boxes and bags of all sorts of different things.

"This is macaroni and cheese," he said, pulling out the item in question. "You can heat it up in the microwave. Just follow the instructions on the package. You know how to do that?"

"I can work a microwave," she told him, chafing under his paternal condescension.

"Sorry," he said, though he didn't seem sorry at all. "There's some crackers here, and some peanut butter. This isn't the healthiest food, but we'll make sure Noah gets some vegetables for dinner. I can get some groceries tomorrow. Yogurt and bananas and stuff."

"That sounds good."

"Ok, then. You think you're gonna be ok here? Is there anything you need?"

"Is there enough coffee for me?" she asked, pointing to the thermos in his hand.

"Yeah," he answered, smiling. "Cups are in the cabinet above the coffee maker, and there's plenty in the pot."

That would do nicely, she thought. She could pour herself a cup of coffee, and take it out on the patio, and sit in the sunshine for a while. She could text a few of the people whose numbers were saved in her phone, maybe flip through some of Elliot's books. When Noah woke they'd have macaroni for lunch, and she could bring out the toys they'd packed for him, watch him play on Elliot's beautiful rug for a while. If the patio looked safe enough she could take Noah out there for a while, too. And then Elliot would return, and then…well. That was a problem for later.

"I'll be ok, Elliot," she told him. "We won't go anywhere, and we won't burn your house down."

"I just…I just need you to be ok," he told her. "I wouldn't be able to take it if something happened to you."

I'm not a child, she thought darkly.

"We'll be fine, Elliot. Go, have fun at work."

"Yes, ma'am."

He lingered for a second, a look in his eyes like he was trying to decide what to do. Trying to decide whether to kiss her, to hug her maybe, to tell her good-bye the way a man might say good-bye to his lover, but ultimately he decided against it.

"Take care of yourself," he murmured. "Text me if you need anything."

"I will," she promised.

"Ok. Bye, Liv."

"Bye, Elliot."

He walked away, and she did not follow him. Instead she went to the counter, opened the cabinet above the coffee pot, and pulled down a mug while the front door opened and closed behind her. She clearly heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place, and breathed a sigh of relief.

For the first time in two weeks she was well and truly alone, and though she was stuck in this apartment for the foreseeable future she could taste the sweet intoxication of freedom on her tongue. For the next few hours no one would be watching her, and she would not have to try to be anything other than what she was. Just her, just Olivia.