Bliss, a pushing daisies fanfic

Title: Bliss

Rating: T

Pairing: Chuck/Olive

Disclaimer: Pushing Daisies is property of Bryan Fuller.

A/N: This is another one I wrote and posted on several sites last fall. Let me know what you think. I appreciate reviews, and constructive criticism.

"What the hell am I doing?" Olive muttered to herself, carefully observing the book in front of her, hoping it would give her some much-needed answers. "What in the world are…bouillon granules? Well, now they're just making things up…"

Olive pondered her predicament, once again recalling the events that led her to be stranded in front of cookbook trying to understand how to make garlic roasted chicken.

She was just minding her own business, sitting down behind the counter at The Pie Hole resting her tired legs and monitoring the customers. She diligently noted how much coffee the caffeine fiends had left, how much milk the kids had left, and how much they were spilling on her clean tabletops. She noticed if anyone looked like they needed sugar, or whipped topping, or more pie, the way Chuck's face lit up as she laughed at something Emerson had just told her, the beautiful look on Chuck's face when she caught Olive watching her.

Olive blushed deeply, suddenly finding the countertop very interesting, hoping beyond hope that Chuck would just keep talking to Emerson; it wasn't that Olive didn't like Chuck, Olive just got all flustered when Chuck was around her. Ever since her first meeting with the brunette woman, Olive just couldn't stop thinking about the enigma that was Charlotte Charles. The two had become friends, spending time together in the evenings, sharing secrets over ice cream and bad television. But Olive constantly found herself watching Chuck a little too closely, or thinking about her a little too in-depth, or dreaming about her a bit too passionately. And once again, she had been caught looking. The Pie Hole Gods were not smiling on her, because no sooner than she had willed Chuck to stay put, the dark-haired woman was standing in front of her.

"Hey, Olive. How are you?" Chuck asked lightly.

Olive shrugged, examining the countertop with renewed interest. "Oh, you know, good. Not bad, nothing bad going on. I'm well, and well, I guess I'm well," she stammered.

She heard the other woman chuckle, and the next thing she knew, Chuck had leaned down next to her, looking at the countertop inquisitively. She observed the table silently for a couple of seconds, and then tilted her head up to look closely at Olive. "Something interesting on the counter?" she asked.

Olive laughed, pushing down feelings of embarrassment. "No, not really, just… you know, looking," she said, her own words sounding strange to herself.

Chuck nodded noncommittally. "Alright. Well, what are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing, why?" Olive asked.

"I'm coming over. We'll do dinner," Chuck smiled. "You're cooking," she told Olive, turning to walk away.

Olive was caught off-guard. "Um, okay, I guess," she said, cursing herself as the words came out of her mouth.

But Chuck had smiled so brilliantly at her she felt she might melt. "Great, it's a date. See you at seven."

And now the Martha Stewart Living Gods were frowning upon her, for it was now 6:30 and Olive had no food prepared.

"Why did I agree to cook?" she asked herself. "I can't cook! I'm lucky if I can bake pre-cooked cookie dough without burning the place down!"

She frowned, finally closing the cookbook, and sighing; she couldn't cook and didn't know why she had agreed to make a meal. She was still very unclear on Chuck's intentions. Chuck had called it a "date" but did she mean a simple meal between friends, or dare she hope for more? Was Olive reading too much into Chuck's word choice? Or did Chuck really mean a romantic dinner "date"?

Olive put the cookbook under the counter, and walked into the living room. She picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. "Hey, John. It's Olive? Can I get two orders of honey-seared chicken and some fried rice? … Okay, sure. .. Yeah, I'll be waiting. Can you hurry? … I do to tip generously! … Well, get it here within twenty minutes and I will give you a generous tip. … Okay, thanks, John."

Olive put down the receiver and smiled, very pleased with herself. It didn't matter what kind of "date" they were having, as long as they had food.

Chuck arrived at Olive's apartment promptly at seven and Olive let her in. Olive led her into the kitchen where she had "prepared" their meal – that is, taken the containers out of the bag and set them on the counter. She had already decided she wasn't even going to pretend like she had cooked anything.

Chuck laughed quietly. "I thought you were going to cook," she teased Olive.

Olive smiled. "If you know nothing else about me, know that I cannot cook to save my life," she said. "I can hardly even boil water correctly."

This time Chuck laughed in earnest. "You're waitress, how can you not cook?"

Olive laid a hand on Chuck's arm lightly and looked at her sympathetically. "Oh, honey, waitressing and cooking are two very different things. With all those books you read, I would've expected you to know that."

Chuck raised an eyebrow at her, and cast a glance at Olive's hand on her arm. "Are you making fun of me and my books?" she asked teasingly. "Because if you are, I may not give you the gift I brought you…"

Olive took her hand away and crossed her arms. "Well, now you're just being mean," she pouted, inwardly questioning Chuck's motives and intentions for what seemed like the millionth time.

Chuck pulled an arm out from around her back, producing a small bouquet of white daisies. "Aw, I'm sorry," Chuck smiled, holding her hand out. "I brought you flowers."

Olive's arms fell, and her eyebrows rose in surprise. Here was yet another piece to the puzzle of whether or not this was some sort of romantic dinner date. Realizing Chuck was still holding the flowers out to her and not wanting to be rude, she forced her thoughts down for later. "Thank you, Chuck," she smiled, taking the daisies. "They're beautiful."

"You're welcome," Chuck answered, looking shy all of a sudden.

Olive cleared her throat. "Well, how about if I put these in some water, and you start unpacking the food?"

Chuck nodded. "Okay," she answered, brushing past Olive to the counter where the Chinese containers were stacked. "Why are your cabinets so low?" she asked, looking at Olive.

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow and glanced down at herself, giving Chuck a dubious look. "You can't take a wild guess? None at all?"

Chuck smiled sheepishly. "Right, because you're short. I forget sometimes because you always wear heels and they make you practically my height."

Olive unwrapped the daisies from their wrap and cut the bottom of the stems off. "I am not short; I'm petite, thank you very much."

Chuck took plates out of the cabinet, and started to put the Chinese food on them. "Oh, forgive me, my petite friend."

"You are forgiven, my... brunette friend," she answered, arranging the flowers in a pink vase. "But only because you brought me such beautiful flowers," she teased.

Chuck picked up both of their plates. "Well, maybe I'll start bringing you flowers more often, but only to see your gorgeous smile," she answered Olive.

Olive blushed, rearranging the flowers again, even thought they didn't need it. "Um, what can I get you to drink?" she asked.

"Soda will be fine," Chuck answered. "I'll meet you in the living room."

Olive sighed heavily as she poured them both drinks. It was getting ridiculous. Chuck brought her flowers and complimented her; Chuck smiled brightly at her, and seemed to be very at ease. Chuck was incredibly sweet and flirty, and it was driving Olive mad.

"Just what kind of game is she playing here?" Olive asked herself. "It's always the brunettes that are ridiculously ambiguous," she muttered, pasting on a smile while walking into the living room.

Her breath unexpectedly caught in her throat when she walked into the room. Something about the sight of a casual Chuck sitting on her floral couch, legs tucked underneath her, plate of Chinese food in one hand, and the other holding a fork halfway to her mouth stirred unexpected, though not completely unwelcome, feelings inside her.

Olive felt herself blushing again as she sat next to Chuck, who handed the blonde a plate of food.

Olive dug into her food, devouring it in an attempt to keep her mouth constantly and completely full. She reasoned that if her mouth was full, she wouldn't have to talk.

She also reasoned this wouldn't sit with Chuck because no sooner had she started on her chicken had Chuck started talking. "Are you alright, Olive? You usually talk more; I normally have a hard time getting a word in edgewise," she teased.

Olive swallowed slowly. "Oh, I'm fine," she lied, smiling sweetly at the concerned-looking brunette.

Chuck shook her head slowly. "Liar," she said. "You've been acting weird all day."

Olive frowned. "Well, so have you!" she snapped, feeling uncomfortable and uneasy that Chuck had been able to read her so easily.

"No, I haven't. I have been acting completely in-character. You, on the other hand, are so far out-of-character, you're practically a different person," Chuck answered smartly.

Olive sighed heavily and put her plate down on the table in front of her. "Okay. You've been in-character," she admitted begrudgingly, turning to face Chuck fully. "But that's what makes you so infuriating. You're just so ambiguous and mysterious!" she said loudly, her voice rising higher. "I never know what your intentions are, or your motives. I mean, you say things or do things that are so sweet and adorable and I want to swoon, but I have no idea what it all means! Are you just being friendly or...," she paused, her face bright red. She shook her head, upset with herself for such an outburst.

Chuck looked undaunted. "Or what?" she asked quietly as she set her own plate down on the table, unconsciously turning her body to face Olive fully.

Olive breathed deeply. She had noticed the subtle shift in Chuck's body towards her, the way her breathing had become deeper, and the probing look in Chuck's deep blue-green eyes. "I never know if you're just being friendly or more than friendly," she whispered, "romantic, even."

She watched as Chuck licked her lips. "Well, what if my intentions are more than friendly?" Chuck whispered back slowly, moving closer to Olive. "What if they are romantic? What then?"

Olive watched her carefully. "Well," she started softly, her own body moving forward, "I would expect you to do something after all this; I mean it's...," Olive started, but was interrupted by a soft brush of pliant lips against her own.

The blonde woman gasped at the sudden contact, and saw Chuck immediately pull back, looking suddenly unsure of what she was doing. Olive put her hands on Chuck's biceps and pulled her closer. "Oh, no you don't," she said, bringing Chuck's lips against hers again, this time with unbridled passion.

The kisses became more ardent and enthusiastic quickly as Olive ran her fingers through Chuck's thick brown hair, and Chuck ran her hands up and down Olive's back softly, eventually resting them on Olive's waist.

Their passionate kisses eventually turned more chaste as the need for air became an immediate issue. Simultaneously, they pulled back from each other, but stayed in each other's arms.

Chuck smiled at her. "Well, I think I made my intentions clear," she laughed.

Olive giggled. "So did I," she said. When Chuck looked at her inquisitively, she smirked. "I did make dinner."

And Olive watched the way Chuck's face lit up as she laughed wholeheartedly, and noticed the beautiful look that Chuck gave her just before pressing her lips against Olive's and kissing her again. "I'll definitely bring more flowers next time," she muttered into Olive's mouth.

The End