Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.
Author's Note: Takes place sometime after '6B'. Enjoy.
Piano Man
Lab rats, they liked to call themselves. Even Olivia fancied herself as one, having spent more time this year than any other in the lab, rather than in her office at the bureau. She preferred it; it was less hectic, more secluded in that side office, and better than having to deal with the agents that scurried past her desk all too frequently. And, it meant more time with those she had come to know as her surrogate (and, perhaps it would evolve into something more) family—Peter, Walter, and Astrid. Even Broyles often fit into that distinctive group, having made his way up from where he had started on Olivia's list of people she strongly disliked.
Though at this time, Walter had dragged Astrid off with him to a variety of stores, claiming he was in need of supplies, leaving Peter and Olivia alone in the lab. The latter stayed at her desk, skimming through the pile of paperwork, while the former was somewhere off in the midst of the chemicals and machinery. That was, until she heard the twinge of a note. They had tucked the piano away in a corner, though it seemed Peter had decided to uncover it. Another few miscellaneous notes sounded, punctuated by a dull moo from Gene, and Olivia stood, her paperwork momentarily forgotten.
She leaned against the doorway. His back was to her; he didn't see her watching. "What're you doing?"
He turned, his brows raised, looking pleasantly surprised. "Playing around. Sorry, did you want me to stop? I know you're doing paperwork."
"Oh, no." Smiling, she moved toward him. His eyes followed her. "I'd like a break."
With an exaggerated gesture, he swung his arms back to the keys. "How about a request?"
"A request? Well, last time I requested a song, you told me it was too 'stuffy'," she teased, though it was all in good fun.
"Well, sweetheart," he said, with a sly grin, "a lot has changed since then."
"Fine." She pursed her lips, knocking her shoulder against his playfully as she sat down beside him. "How about some jazz?"
"Jazz?" he scoffed. "Come on, now."
His hands settled on the keys for a moment, his face screwed up in though. Then, he began to play. It wasn't the sharp, forceful string of notes that were associated with jazz, but a soft, haunting melody. He had never played for her before. It was a contrast to the demeanor he portrayed in public, though very much so correlated with the Peter she had seen when they were alone. His sarcastic tone was eased when they were together, and he was gentler. She enjoyed the variation, knowing that it brought out a difference in her own personality as well. It was a respite from their world of anxiety and unease.
She watched as his hands slowed after a while, and he turned his head to look at her.
"Give me your hand," he said. Without question, she held it up, and he placed his over it, leading it to the piano. "Watch." He played a short tune, then looked at her expectantly. Hers didn't come out sounding nearly as harmonious; rather, it was the opposite. He laughed.
"What do you expect?" she said. "I'm not musical, like you. Can you sing, too? I mean, if Walter's singing is any indication—"
Peter cut her off with a feigned glare. "Ha, very funny," he retorted dryly. "Honestly, though." His hand settled back over hers, and he manipulated her fingers, playing the same melody he had moments ago, though it was by her hand, now. "See? You can play."
She said nothing, and neither did he, as their eyes met. She was enjoying the feel of his touch more than anything else, and then, even more so, as their lips met. His hands were off the keys, reaching around to tangle in her hair.
It was the quiet moments that they enjoyed the most—their own silent harmony.
