Did you know?

Rating: T (ish)

Pairing: Olivia/Peter

Answer: No

Never in her wildest dreams had Olivia expected to be granted a week of vacation by both the Bureau, Broyles, and Walter, not necessarily in that order. She wasn't sure why Walter had suggested the head agent in charge to send her to New York in the first place, but she'd taken the offer nonetheless. Olivia suspected it was because he wanted to do something he knew she wouldn't approve of (and being a federal agent mandated her to report him if she knew of anything illegal, as was most of Walter's many self indulgences). So he was most likely consenting to simply get rid of her, leaving himself with a week's time alone in the lab to synthesize whatever hallucinogenics he could concoct. Of course, he'd sent Peter along for the ride, to keep her company. Again, Walter's words, not Olivia's. Obviously, she'd suspected he had an ulterior motive, as he always did…

So, she stood there, on the bridge spanning a narrow stretch of river, the wind cutting paths through her long silky hair. The afternoon light glinting off the water was beautiful, idyllic in every way. It was the kind of cool, breezy April weather that didn't bear any sort of dress code – she would've been just as comfortable in shorts and a tank top as she was now in her straight legged black pants and semi-buttoned white collared shirt.

Her back stiffened – she could sense someone watching her. Whirling around in shock, Olivia came face to face with none other than Peter, in a plain, navy blue t-shirt, and khakis.

"Walter told me where to find you," he remarked breezily. "You know, you can take the girl out of work, but you just can't take work out of the girl, can you?" he quipped, the familiar cocky grin upon his lips.

It took Olivia a moment before she realized he was commenting on her attire. "I wasn't sure what to expect." She shrugged. "And I'm prepared for Boyles to call me back at any second and brief me for a new case…"

"It's all taken care of. You know Walter. He won't let anything spoil this – it's his vacation as much as yours." At Olivia's questioning glance, he shrugged. "I'm not worried. Astrid will take good care of him."

"You mean Astro, or Asteroid, or whatever he's calling her these days."

Peter laughed. "So, you get to New York an hour earlier than me, with plenty of time to check into our hotel, and you're standing here alone on a bridge, looking into the water." He raised an eyebrow. "Having second thoughts about this whole vacation thing, sweetheart?"

Olivia shot him a withering look at his overconfident grin, but her lips betrayed the expression. "Funny. So we have a week to just do…nothing?"

"Apparently. Seems a little strange, after working with Walter for awhile, doesn't it?" Peter observed. Olivia agreed. Even after working with high priority clearance in what was known as the Fringe Division for the little time she had, Olivia had gotten into the routine of always doing something, always keeping her feet moving. To suddenly have a week at their leisure was like Walter stopping time and leaving them in the in between forever. It was too good to be true, and yet…

The hotel was lavish, expensive, and far better than anything Olivia would have thought Walter capable of booking. It was tucked away on the border of Queens, in an area more peaceful than the city, but still infinitely busier than any suburb. After dropping their bags at the hotel, Peter and Olivia began to explore the allies and cross-streets of the city. Neither one had spent this significant an amount of time before with no excuses to run off crazily to uncover some new piece of evidence or another clue; Peter had never realized how much he didn't know about Olivia, and she the same about him.

"What were you like," Peter asked Olivia at one point, while they perused the shelves of the Science Fiction section of a bookstore, in search of some souvenir for Walter. She looked up from where she sat; book in her lap, her hair tucked behind her ear for convenience. "When you were a kid, I mean."

"Oh." Her face livened with thought. "Stubborn, I suppose. I remember being a perfectionist – everything had to be how I saw it in my head. When I couldn't figure out how to get from Point A to Point B, I would cry. Why?"

"Nothing really…Walter mentioned something about how we had…similar personalities. I think it went more along the lines of 'compatible humanitarian traits that deeply resemble each other's inner tenors' or something brilliantly stupid of the sort."

Olivia cocked her head. "Walter thinks we're 'compatible'? That's…nice. For Walter?"

"Yeah," Peter said vaguely. She smiled beautifully at him, turning back to the book in her lap. He looked at her for a moment longer, and then continued to search for a text on pseudoscience. He owed Walter one.

Peter awoke that first night to a strangled scream. He sat bolt upright out of bed, and looked around for Olivia. His first thought was that something had happened to her while he was asleep, but she was still in her bed. This was comforting until he realized she was tossing in the sheets, moaning softly. A nightmare?

He walked over to her side, kneeling before the bed, and placed a hand on her cheek. She gasped, her eyes opening immediately, and she jerked up, breathing hard. Peter steadied her down with one hand.

"Shh, Olivia, it's okay. It's okay, it was just a dream. It's okay," he soothed, stroking her cheek to calm her down. Olivia's pupils were dilated so that her eyes were coal black; her face and neck were drenched with sweat. Her breathing began to slow down to normal, as he rubbed circles in her arm, trying to bring her back to her surroundings.

"Sorry," she breathed. "I had a bad dream."

"What do you have to apologize for?" he murmured. "It's fine. You just had a nightmare. No worries."

Her fingers clutched at his forearm, keeping him by her side. "Don't leave me," she pleaded in a whisper, hair falling over her face.

Peter stayed where he was. "I won't," he assured her. "I promise."

He rose to his feet and slipped into the bed beside her, pulling the sheets around them. Olivia moved over a little, but stayed attached to his side. As Peter lay on his back, she surprisingly placed her head on his shoulder, wrapping one arm around his chest, pulling him closer, as if afraid to let go.

Peter gently smoothed her hair away from her face, keeping his hand protectively over her head. She murmured something incoherently, her lips not even an inch away from his chest.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him with the innocence of a child, yet the wisdom of an immortal. "Thank you."

And her eyes closed, and Peter could feel her heartbeat on his skin, slowly and steadily pounding away his own fears as they drifted to sleep in each other's arms, her breath a sweetly fallen lullaby.

Sunlight, streaming effortlessly through the curtains, danced upon Olivia's face. She moaned, moving her face out of the piercing light. As she tried to roll away, she realized she was on her stomach, half sprawled across Peter's chest, his right arm loosely around her shoulders.

As all the events of the previous night came back to Olivia, she smiled slightly, enjoying the feel of his protective embrace while, at the same time, realizing how absolutely unprofessional it was to be lying in a bed with her civilian consultant (though nothing had happened in it with him).

Then again, Olivia had never claimed to be the best at keeping her personal life apart from her work. It was her character flaw, her biggest weak spot. No matter how determined she was to weed them apart, their roots only became more entangled, until she couldn't tell where one life began and the other stopped.

Still, what would Peter think if he woke up to her lying practically on top of him? Knowing Peter, he'd have some smartass comment. Yet he'd been far from his usual dryly-sarcastic self last night…

As she gently maneuvered under his arm, he subconsciously moved towards her, and before Olivia knew what was happening, they were on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sheets.

Peter, who'd been enjoying the extra sleep, woke up with a start. Taking in the messy scene around him (including Olivia, still in his arms) he exhaled.

"You know, Olivia, most girls try cold water before physical force."

She matched his self-satisfied grin. "Well, I'm definitely not most girls."

He grinned, tucking a single strand of corn silk hair behind her ear. "No, you really aren't."

After that night, Peter Bishop haunted Olivia's dreams.

For the whole next week, after every day spent with him, she'd fall asleep, hoping for blissful oblivion, and was instead reminded of his muscled chest, the way his skin smelled like soap, how her head fit perfectly into his shoulder.

They would spend every waking moment together for those days, and yet she wasn't satisfied. Somehow, he needed to occupy her subconscious as well.

Olivia didn't understand the way she needed Peter. She craved his company so much, because he filled the cracks in her, containing the bits of herself that were leaking out, piecing her together, the glue that kept her whole. He was her perfect match – in him were all the things she wasn't. He was remarkable, she was plain, he was brilliant at science, she struggled to understand all of Walter's tangents, he bent the law to his will, she upheld it to a standard most considered ridiculous, he was charismatic, she was quiet and introspective.

He spoke Walter, she didn't.

All of this only made her desire more of him, to understand him as well as he seemed to understand her. Yet as she rationalized every reason for her attraction to Peter and wrote it off as their friendship, Olivia knew that, objectively, she would appear to be in love with him.

It seemed silly, almost childish to consider herself in love with Peter Bishop. His behavior was wild, reckless, even as unstable as his father's sometimes. Unlike her reserved, controlled, steady demeanor…Olivia didn't fall in love for this. She loved respect, thoughtfulness, and intelligence.

And if you thought of that objectively, she'd just described Peter.

Which raised the question: Was Olivia Dunham in love with Peter Bishop?

Answer: She didn't have one.

Funny how, after a full week, Olivia had wound up right where she'd started. As Peter checked out of the hotel, and loaded the car with their bags, she'd told him she was going on a walk, and somehow, she'd strayed back to the little bridge she'd stood on just a week before.

It seemed crazy to her that in just a day she'd be back, working the same impossible cases, straining to comprehend each new, seemingly implausible theory that was thrown at her, being subjected to the same blurred behavior Boyles projected more and more often each day.

So much had changed in just a few short days. She knew Peter, inside and out. She knew he slept in boxers and a t-shirt, she knew his favorite ice cream, she knew he had bad dreams.

She knew he understood how hard it was to keep up an act for too long.

Olivia sighed, taking one last look at the beautiful water. It wasn't the only memory she'd replay in her mind, for weeks on end, struggling to keep it imprinted on her heart.

Answer: Yes.