Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

Author's Note: I usually don't like to work on two projects at once, but this popped into my head and wouldn't leave, so I'm going to run with it.

Takes place the morning after '6B', and before 'OS', to explore the beginnings of Peter and Olivia's romantic relationship. Let's say it's a sort of 'lost episode'. Hope you enjoy.

Disaster Postponed

I.

Morning came, and the sun warmed their sleeping bodies. It was welcomed, because today, instead of signifying another day of work, it revealed that the night before hadn't been just a dream, a concoction of their imagination. He woke first, and was surprised to find his chest acting as a pillow, his hand resting on her hair, the other splayed across her hip. Not a bad pose to wake up in, if he were to say so himself. He took in a deep breath, her scent lingering in his nostrils after the fact, allowing his eyes to drift shut again, reflecting on the night before.

Their clothes were strewn along the floor, breadcrumbs tracking their movement hours ago. To think that barely a day earlier, he'd thought he'd never get her out of that damn pea coat. He felt something deep in his stomach, a warmth that hadn't been there before, that hadn't been there even when he'd thought he'd been with her, in a similar situation. It was as if his body had known what his mind had not, and now that it truly was her beside him, his body was drawn to her as a moth is drawn to light.

She stirred, stretching, and he felt the muscles of her back, taut against his hand, her hair tickling his chin. Then, she froze, as if having to recall exactly where she was, and why. His lips brushed the top of her head, and he murmured,

"'Morning, 'Livia."

Her leg brushed against his as she moved, now lying alongside him; the contact still burned his flesh, in such a good way. "Good morning, Peter." She was grinning, the largest grin he'd seen from her in a while. He reached forward, cupping her jaw, swooping in for a kiss, his arm wrapped around her waist. The air was sweet, her lips sweeter, though he drew back, if only to stare at her.

She propped herself up on one elbow, sheet tight against her chest, almost shyly, her smile coy. "What is it?" With his tiny bed, even with her next to him, there was no space between their bodies. It was making it hard to concentrate on anything else, though he managed to form the words,

"Just…you."

It was hard not to compare, having made the mistake of being with her alternate, and now, having been with her as well. But it was different, completely and wholly different, being with Olivia. This morning, for one, waking up beside her. Her alternate had often drifted away from him in sleep, and that was only the start of the contrasts.

"I'm flattered." Her tone was dry, but he knew she was merely playing with him, though there was an edge to her voice. She paused for a moment, then added, her fingertips trailing along his shoulder, "Is there something else?" He knew why she was asking; of course there was something else, and she knew it would be on both their minds. There was that little furrow in her brow, the twitch in her lips. "…Was it…different?"

He made a big deal of rolling his eyes, and then maneuvering her onto her back so that he was hovering above her, looking down. "Different?" His mouth was on her neck, and she felt his words as much as she heard them. "It was no comparison, Olivia. You are no comparison, and don't ever think differently, because I certainly won't."

She shuddered beneath him as he moved lower, and he took that as consent, that she had truly listened to his words. He would've gone on, if she hadn't brought him back to eye-level, her hands steadied on his arms. He'd always been fascinated with her eyes, how she could show such emotion without moving any other part of her body, and now, he focused on them, knowing she was wanting to be serious for a moment.

"This was a big deal, you know that, right?"

"Of course." Monumental, in his thoughts. To think that she'd been able to take down her walls, to make herself vulnerable to him, was incredible. She was incredible. If he could've spent the rest of his life with her, in that tiny bed, pressed together, he would've. They'd always had a way of being able to communicate wordlessly, the night before making that clearer than ever before, and now, they took advantage of it again. She trusted him again, and had made it quite distinct that she was willing to allow their relationship to continue to grow; no holding back anymore.

He was all smiles again, almost like an eager child, as he sat up, moving toward the edge of the bed. "I'd love to stay here all day," he said, "but I don't think either of us has had a proper meal in almost twenty-four hours. How about some breakfast?" She too sat up, running a hand through her hair, though he loved it, mussed as it was. "We have quite a variety downstairs. Last time we took a trip to the grocery store, Walter nearly bought the entire inventory." She laughed.

"Surprise me."

Peter stood, pushing himself off the bed with an enthusiastic spring, not the least bit self-conscious in front of her. He'd never been before, and simply being with her felt like the most natural thing in the world. He made a show of pulling on his boxers, enjoying the stifled laughter drifting from the bed. He hadn't heard her laugh like that—he'd never heard it ever, as it came to him. It was a nice sound; almost as nice as the sounds he'd heard the night before…

She didn't follow him immediately, and he assumed she needed to gather her bearings, and he would give her time, if that was what she wanted. He was glad that Walter wasn't yet home; it gave them time to themselves, without his prying words. Though, he would likely be ecstatic, because he'd been rooting for the two of them for years. Truthfully, so had Peter.

He rummaged through the cupboards, looking for something suitable. Often, Walter was the one making breakfast, but Peter had a knack for cooking as well, and he wanted this morning to be special. He was in the midst of cracking a couple of eggs when he heard her pad into the kitchen, felt her arms wrap around his waist, her lips against the back of his neck.

"I'd make pancakes," he said softly, the undertone of his voice hinting at a joke, "but I'll leave that to Walter. Mine are no match."

Her lips grazed his ear. "Oh, I'm sure they're wonderful."

He turned to face her, pinned between her and the counter. She'd put on the sweater he'd been wearing the night before, and it hung mid-thigh. She wore only underwear beneath, which he found as he slid his hand up the back, pressing it against the small of her back. "We're never going to eat if you keep this up."

"What a shame." Her face said the opposite, her eyes dark. This was such a change from the past weeks, when she'd been focused on avoiding him. Now, she couldn't get enough, and neither could he. For these short hours, they could pretend that they had no problems, that there was no alternate universe. They were just Peter and Olivia, enjoying their morning together, without a care. That, for Olivia, was especially hard. She was so used to being buried up to her neck in conflict and anguish, that now, she reveled in the positive emotions more readily than he would've expected.

This was all he wanted, to be with her, for her to be happy. And she was, at this moment, seemingly quite content, judging from the way she pressed her body to his, twining herself with him. He drank it in, knowing that they wouldn't often have times like this, to be alone. That is, until the incessant beeping of a cell phone began, brutally ripping them from their illusion. Olivia groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, as if to block the noise. An expletive or two slipped from Peter's lips as her warm body left his, to take her phone from the counter and answer it,

"Dunham." Immediately leaping right back into work-mode, of course. She looked incredulous; the same way he felt. They'd helped keep the universe in order, for now—didn't that warrant a day off, at the least? He didn't hear what she said, more engrossed in watching her as she paced the length of the kitchen as she spoke, just as upset as he was about the interruption. When she disconnected the call, she turned to him, one hand on her hip, the other tangled in her hair. "We have a case."

"Really? I thought Broyles was calling to say hello."

She cocked a brow, then gestured toward the stove. "We still have time to eat. I'll make sure Walter is driven back from New York, he can meet us at the scene."

He titled his head, pouting, but she would have none of it. With an amused quirk of her lips, she turned, headed back upstairs. "I'm going to go get ready."

And as much as he wanted to join her, they would've never made it out of the house if he had. Instead, he focused back on his cooking, and the warmth in the pit of his stomach was still there, strong as ever.