Her scent woke him first.

Powerful but not overwhelming. Not unlike the woman giving off the scent. Something floral; light but there all the same and Peter had never been sure if it was deodorant, lotion or perfume but it had always been there. That scent. Hell, it had been one of the first things he had noticed about her – she smelt good. She looked good, too. At least until she had dropped that entire FBI bomb on his doorstep and dragged him out of Bagdad. Still, just because she was the fed escorting him back to Boston to deal with his deranged, negligent father didn't make him blind for god sake. She was attractive.

To say the least.

The memory was as fresh as the previous night but these days Peter preferred the real world to his past and when he opened his eyes, the reason lay, or sit, rather, right in front of him. On the side of the bed, her back to him, sat Olivia. Long, blonde hair cascading down her back and falling over her shoulders as she hunched over her own legs. Peter knew long before trying to work it out that she was tying her shoes, and since they were at her apartment she couldn't be running back home. It only left one option; Broyles had called and Peter had slept through the call. And she was going to let him.

Pulling himself up from his back, Peter rolled onto his stomach before scooting his way to the side of the bed. Still low and laying down, he reached forward, his fingers slipping around her sides and holding her as she laced her boots.

"You are supposed to be asleep," Olivia said without turning to face him, her voice as light as the air in the room and Peter knew even without face-to-face contact that she was smiling, hopefully glad that he had woken up before she snuck away.

"And you're supposed to be in bed." Peter's hands, still squeezing her sides slightly pulled up on her shirt; she was already dressed but it didn't stop him. His fingers pushed up the fabric of the white button-up to expose her spine and lower back, pale and beautiful and his for the taking. And, god, how he had been taking.

His lips pressed to her skin, finding the slight concave of her lower back particularly alluring as his tongue rippled up her spine, tracing the pattern and tasting her skin as he moved. Feeling the shiver run throughout her body only pressed him forward and his hands slipped against her, warming her always cool skin while he began to slide back against the mattress a little more.

"Come back to bed," He demanded softly, feeling the arch of her spine against his lips and already taking her answer for a 'yes.' He was sorely disappointed and surprised when Olivia stood up instead, turning to him quick on her heels.

God, she was smirking.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Peter stared at her, his features forming a pout as he rolled over again onto his back, settling under the sheets as he raised both his arms behind his head, tucking them against the pillow as he stared at Olivia. "Where are you going anyway? I didn't hear your cell."

"Yeah, you were pretty out," Olivia smiled back at him despite the pout, almost bouncing over to the chair to grab her suit jacket which she slipped on easily and buttoned. "Broyles called, but he didn't ask for you or Walter. You get to stay in so far."

"Sure you don't want me to come?"

When she looked up, she brushed the bangs out of her eyes. The corners of her mouth came up into a quick smile.

"How many suspicious looks would we get then?" Her question brought a smile similar to hers to Peter's face. How many, indeed. Since he had been back – since they had been back, they hadn't exactly been open about the steps they'd taken together. Peter, drawing back on his conning roots had told Olivia it wasn't lying, it was withholding information. And Olivia, instead of telling him how honest they should be after what had happened before, what had always happened, had quietly agreed that withholding, for the time being, seemed like the best idea.

"All right. You go alone, I'll go home and check on Walter. I always get a little worried when he only calls four times a night anyway."

Olivia smiled, and Peter realized how fond he had grown of that different smile. More lopsided than before but fuller, too. She was quicker to grin at him than she had ever been before. Olivia the girlfriend was different, so different, from the Olivia he had known for two years. No change went without Peter's notice; everything from the way she held herself, to the way she walked, even to how she opened up to him had changed. But sleeping together did those things to a person. Spending nights together, going on dates, things were going to change and things had. Every change was justifiable.

She crossed the room, leaned over the side of the bed and through the hair that had fallen between them, met his lips for a kiss. "Good morning, Peter."

"I'll call you later." And he smiled back, glad to be with her. He watched her straighten herself up and turn on her heels once more. When she put a little something extra in each step as she exited the bedroom his eyes stayed on her figure, and long after she was out of sight he listened to her grab her things, her gun, her coffee, before the door clicked shut behind her.

Goddamn, Peter was happy.

When the door clicked behind Olivia's back, she pulled her phone from the purse and dialed without hesitation, waiting to walk down the hallway until the other end had been answered.

"Okay," she said into the receiver. "What do I need to do?"