She noticed him out of the corner of her eye. Well, it was her job to do it, but today was especially important that she did. She was supposed to be a bystander, oblivious to the two men in the middle of the crowded plaza. Every nerve in her body, however, adjusted itself according to any movement they made.

One of them was a bio-chemical weapons dealer. Tall, lanky, with greasy black hair. Russian and malnourished looking. The other, the one she really focused on, had baby-blue eyes, deep set under a pair of arched eyebrows. Very mysterious. His hair was brown and there were a signs of a 5 o' clock stubble on his chin. He held himself with an easy confidence, kingly and defiant in blue jeans and a pea coat, collar turned up against the bite of the wind.

There were very specific reasons why they - the division - had chosen Peter for this particular assignment instead of a trained agent. It wasn't safe to expose someone like him to such a dangerous criminal, but it had to be done. Whatever those reasons might have been, Olivia found herself overpowered by the one counter reason foremost in her mind. Despite her rational, military thought process, she couldn't help it. "Anyone else, but don't take him."

She wanted to reach out, pull him inside an all-protecting shield she wished she could have conjured. They had done this before, hadn't they? None of those other times had felt to crucial to her. That alone - that she had not realized how much was at stake sent a spike of panic up her spine. How could she not have known? Why was this coming to her now?

She saw the Russian pull something out of his pocket, a small card, and hand it to Peter. Then they shook hands - Olivia cringed - and the man walked away. Peter went in the opposite direction, heading for Olivia's car as soon as the coast was clear. She almost sprinted to the vehicle. She hated leaving him exposed like that.

"Olivia," he said, as soon as they were both in the car. "What's wrong?"

She blinked. The mission had gone according to plan. She hadn't said anything, what could he possibly...

"You look tense," he continued, "is everything OK?"

Oh. Damn. Cover-up, quick. "Everything's fine." And it was, it really was. He was safe. That's all that mattered. She was caught off guard by the stunning realization that no amount of Marine training could have prepared her for this. Then there had been panic. Why hadn't she seen this coming? Put up barriers? Guard herself, somehow? She couldn't breathe, but she tried to pretend that she could. She needed time to think, get a strategy together, deal with this.

"Olivia?" he said again, alarm and concern in his voice. "What's wrong?" Tell me! I can see that you're not fine."

His hands, they were on her. Touching her face, her neck. What was he doing? Baby-blue eyes faced her, searching her face, so full of concern. There were so many secrets there. So many things she didn't know.

A shiver ran through her and he noticed. Of course he noticed. "Peter," she breathed, "I..."

His hands were strong now. She didn't know what he was doing, but he took her hand and guided her to the back seat. She hadn't realized she was still shivering. The engine was on, a tune playing on the radio. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her skin.

His arms went around her. There were tears on her face, tears she didn't remember shedding. "Shh..." he was saying, "It's OK. You're alright now."

Somehow, through the haze of her panic, his message got through. Nothing, absolutely nothing was wrong. He was here, solid, tangible, alive. And yet the tears didn't stop. As if sensing the desperation he could not possibly know about, he held her tighter. It felt so good to have him so close. But now she knew, without a doubt, and there was no going back.

Peter Bishop was in her heart. Not like love, not like John, not like anything she had known before. Something more permanent, more concrete. As if there had never been anything there but him. Her defenses crumbled when he was around, leaving her bare, exposed. It felt so different. John had been love, sure, but it was a simpler kind of love. There were understandings between them, barriers they knew not to cross. With Peter... Well, she didn't know if there were any.

---

As soon as she recovered, Olivia felt newborn. Perhaps, she reasoned, something had finally snapped in her to make her forget, or let go of, past ghosts. Peter's hand stroked her hair lightly. The rhythm of his movements matched her heartbeat. She felt calm, refreshed.

He felt her considerably relax in his arms. "Liv?" he whispered, as if he was afraid a louder noise would break the spell.

Olivia took in a deep breath to steady herself, then sat up.

"What happened?" he asked again, concern shadowing his features. Concern and something else. He was trying to read her. Get information from her face that she was not telling. She wondered what he saw.

"I, um, realized something. That's all." She would have looked away, but a good liar never does that. "About the case. It reminded me of something. Personal." She paused, for effect. He seemed to buy it.

"Care to share?" He was being himself again. He had a twinkle in his eyes - his tell tale sign that he enjoyed not knowing. He liked the chase, this looking for information.

She gave him her best 'Olivia is being charming' smile and shook her head. Coyly, playfully, she looked away. "No, not really."

"What are you not telling me? I know there's something. I just can't quite put my finger on it."
He was taking in her tell tale signs. Probing. Trying to see what he could get out of her.

"Don't worry about it," she patted his knee, "I'm all good now."

Her hand was on the door and the lock clicked. She was ready to go back to the driver's seat and head back to headquarters.

His arms went around her waist. He pulled her back in the car, refusing to let go. "Now wait just a minute - "

If he was anyone else, his nose would have been punched in and he would have been screaming bloody murder. Holding down a federal agent isn't the best idea int he world.

Except his breath was close and she could smell his cologne. There's something to be said about designer labels. They're not as ineffective as some people take them to be.

"Go ahead," he threatened, "Fight me off."

"Peter..."

She was looking at him now. She knew that expression. Was he following a hunch? Had she been that transparent? This wasn't the first time she had had nervous breakdowns around him. It wasn't exactly news.

She attempted to squirm away, careful not to hurt him. His grip tightened. "Come on," he said, "Get away."

She couldn't brink herself to throw a hit. She imagined it causing amplified physical pain to herself. But if she didn't, he would know.

There was no time to think things through anymore. He was winning, and his mouth on her own was just the beginning. She resisted,at first. But he was so insistent and so damn good at what he was doing. The combination of rough and smooth was driving her mad. He held her upper lip with his, then her bottom and then - his tongue - it just brushed the rim of her lip. Nothing atrocious. Just a light touch, fleeting, barely felt. Then he pressed his face against hers, crushing their lips together. When she began to respond, to demand more, he complied all too easily.

Olivia Dunham - Marine trained, FBI special agent - to brace herself against the seats when he took her face in his hands and parted her lips. There was no mistaking the thoughts going through their heads as they finished off that kiss.

Her eyes, she was sure, were wide when he finally opened his eyes. They had remained closed, as if he was concentrating very hard a while after their kiss had ended.

"You looked scared, when we walked away from the deal with the Russian. Were you afraid - for me?" He wasn't trying to read her anymore. He just looked surprised, but still on guard.

"I..." she really didn't know what she was supposed to say. His intuition was dead on.

"Now listen to me," he began, then kissed her, before continuing, "I am the last thing you should worry about when we're out there, OK? I can take care of myself. Now granted, you have the fun. But that's for your protection. You look after yourself first, do you understand me?"

He fixed her with an expectant glare and did not release it until she nodded. "If you ever get hurt because of me..." He shook his head, as if he couldn't bare the thought. He was holding her tightly against him, not so much as if he was afraid she was breakable, but as if she would shatter before his eyes if he let go.

"Peter," she said, "I think we have a lot of things we need to sort out."
He chuckled drily.

"However, right now we have to go back to headquarters and deliver a report of what we did today."

He nodded, not meeting her eyes. They both got out of the back seat.