Disclaimer: I own neither Fringe nor the song.

Author's note: The song that inspired this fic is Take That's Ain't No Sense In Love.

####

The first time Peter Bishop laid eyes on Special Agent Olivia Dunham, he thought she was beautiful. There was an almost ethereal quality to her beauty, in the way that she seemed to see him and everything else while staying detached from it all. Then she told him who she was and he realised that she was Trouble with a capital T. In hindsight, he should have realised that she was bad news, for her outfit alone should have sent alarm bells ringing in her head. When she begged him to go with her back to America, something about her elicited compassion, although he quickly buried it in his mind and sternly walked away. Not that he got very far before she played her trump card and he could almost feel shackles closing around his limbs. Cursing under his breath softly, he followed her out of the hotel and into the midday heat.

Peter's eyebrows rose when he saw the private plane that was to transport him back to the country of his birth. "Either the US government is desperate for my father, or you have some serious connections."

Olivia only shrugged nonchalantly as she boarded the plane and strapped herself to one of the luxurious leather seats. She picked up a casefile from a stack nearby and started to read, completely ignoring him. Peter found this slightly amusing, but was not in the least bit upset by it, as it gave him a great opportunity to study the woman before him. Her hair was tied up, accentuating her cheekbones, and the light made the blonde strands gleam. He frowned at the cut on her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes. She was tall and thin, but with enough curves to make her feminine, even in the military-style clothes she was currently wearing. When she glanced up and caught him staring, he saw that her eyes were a curious combination of green and brown and the fascination from this made him want to keep looking deep into them. Olivia, however, raised an eyebrow and returned her attention to the file on her lap.

"Are you not aware that staring is impolite?" She asked without looking up.

"Are you not aware that it is impolite to drag a person half way across the globe to visit a mental health institute?" He quickly countered. He was rewarded with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and he felt a flare of pleasure at this.

"Touché," she conceded.

"So I feel like I'm at a disadvantage here," Peter continued the conversation, "since you've read my file and yet I know nothing about you." Olivia finally looked up, regarding him thoughtfully.

"Not much to tell, really," she said eventually," I work for the FBI, having moved over from the Marines. I live and work in Boston. My boss in the current case doesn't like me much." She smiled ruefully as she said the last bit.

"That can't be it." Peter pushed.

"I suppose I work too much." She shrugged.

"In that case, I'll just have to fill in the blanks by myself."

"Is that so?" Olivia looked at him, intrigued.

"I bet I can guess what your favourite drink is, aside from coffee of course." Peter smiled confidently.

"Go on."

"Let's see," Peter's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded her thoughtfully. "Champagne is too insubstantial. Liqueurs are too sweet. Rum and Coke is not right either, because you like to get your caffeine from coffee. I expect you enjoy a glass of red wine every now and then, but it's not your favourite." Olivia's amused smile gradually showed hints of surprise as he talked and he knew instinctively that he was right.

"Scotch on the rocks," he declared and her eyes widened. "It's straight to the point and packs a punch. I can see why you like it."

"Not bad," she had to admit and he grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "How did you know?" She could not resist asking.

"People often prefer drinks that remind them of themselves," Peter shrugged, "and you've certainly made an impression."

Olivia flushed a little, as much from his words as from the hint of darkness she saw in his eyes. She got up from her seat under the pretence of putting away the files. A couple of photos slid out of the folder and fluttered on the floor, partially under Peter's seat. He rose to pick them up and handed them back to Olivia, their fingers briefly touching. Olivia blushed a little more at the contact, but he seemed not to notice as he continued past her towards the toilet. She took advantage of her momentary solitude and found the satellite phone, dialling Charlie's number to get an update on John.

Later, when Olivia had somehow managed to blackmail him into not only speaking to his father but also releasing him from the asylum, Peter is furious with her. Part of it is because of having to deal with his father after all the years of absence, but he knows that part of it has nothing to do with Walter Bishop and his newly discovered past. Part of his anger is about Olivia and directed towards himself. He can see she is in love with her partner, this John Scott who is rapidly becoming translucent. Olivia is in love and he cannot help feeling a little jealous. In the quiet moments in the plane, something passed between them, a connection or a current of electricity when their hands touched fleetingly. He can see how much her partner means to her and yet he cannot help himself from pushing her, challenging her, and feeling a jolt of triumph every time she rises to the challenge. They spar verbally, his eyes dancing with dark promises, but she holds his gaze coolly, almost untouched by the game he is playing. Almost, for he can see a hint of something unspoken in her eyes and he feels a small shiver run down his spine. Peter Bishop does not need anyone, but here is a woman he wants more with every moment they spend together.

After she risks her life in the tank, Olivia sits on a plastic chair, dressed only in her wet underwear and a spare white lab coat that Astrid has managed to find for her. She is still recovering from her experience in the tank and the drugs coursing through her veins, waiting for her strength to return so that she can head out to get a picture made of the man whom she saw in John's mind. Peter approaches and hands her a fresh cup of coffee. He has forgiven her deception, still impressed that she had managed to con him into going with her, and he sits down next to her.

"Thanks," she nods and takes a sip of the hot, strong liquid. She immediately feels better.

"I'm glad you're okay," he smiled, a glint of humour in his eyes, "although I do think you should be wearing a warning sign."

"Saying what?" She frowns, confused.

"Beautiful trouble." She blushes furiously and he walks away, a deep masculine laugh echoing in the otherwise quiet lab.