I'm having far too much fun with these little 'moments'...again, I don't own Fringe or anything associated.
Critiques and comments highly appreciated, and I might add more of these little snippets once I revise them...
Ch.1 - Visuals
"Undercover, huh?"
Olivia just nods, digging her way to the bottom of a large box of clothing. Shirts, jeans and jackets are tumbled haphazardly across the length of the small office desk, a stray piece now and then finding its way to the floor.
"Why not wear your own clothes?"
Peter thumbs through a few articles beside the box, and she misses the puckish glint in his eye as he tugs a lacy black bra from the maelstrom.
"I don't like wearing my weekend clothes on the job. It just feels…a little weird, I guess."
"Like everything else we do here isn't a little weird," he chuckles.
A smile curls the corners of her lips. "Yeah. I just hate to think someone might recognize me later." She holds up a light blue blouse, shakes her head, sets it aside.
"What? Like, awkward run-in at your local coffee shop kind of recognition? 'Hey, you're that badass FBI chick I saw the other day, can I get an autograph?'"
She swats him playfully with a tee-shirt and they both laugh. "Yes, that kind!"
He holds the bra up to himself with a wicked grin. "Hey, Olivia. How about this?"
The straight-laced FBI agent takes one look at the garment and shakes her head slowly. "I hate to burst your bubble, but…I think that's a little big for you, Peter."
"You think?" he pouts teasingly, and she's not sure she's comfortable with the sparkle in his eyes.
"Well, I think it'd be a perfect fit for you, then," he continues, smile stretching dangerously.
She glances away and is silent for a moment. He can sense he's crossed one of those little red trip lines, but he waits for her to respond anyway, just in case cracking a joke to save his ass isn't necessary.
He thinks the moments have ticked by just a little too long when she speaks, her voice a slow, soft murmur.
"Problem is...I'm looking for something I can wear in front of the suspect...and last I checked I wasn't getting dinner and a movie out of the deal."
The caution in her tone tells him to stave off now while he still has both legs to walk on, but her expression - queer and not quite decipherable - suggests she might be willing to play along.
Hell, he has faith in subconscious behavior.
"Is that a maybe, Agent Dunham?"
A smirk is the only reply he receives, but it's enough to tempt him to test the boundaries again. After all, she isn't shying away or threatening to kill him - for the first time since they've met, she's playing nice.
"In that case...well, not that I condone use of the tank, mind you, but-"
"Not in your lifetime, sweetheart."
Her tone is a swift dose of weed killer to his growing audacity as she brushes past him, bundle of clothes tucked under her arm. Were he a blind man, he would call this game over on that alone, point Olivia, but by the look she's giving him he swears he can hear Dirty Harry somewhere in the background.
Only when she's safely out of earshot does he mutter his tart thoughts aloud, still contemplating the lacy garment now very much haunting his minds eye.
"This to the guy who's had to drag your ass, soaking wet and practically naked out of that thing on several occasions - the guy who told you it was a bad idea in the first place - and you blame me for the visuals?"