A/N: Apparently I now write for every show. This is my first foray into Fringe fiction, I'm excited :P This will be all Polivia, although if I'm feeling inspired I may throw in some Alt!Lincoln/Alt!Liv. Leave me some reviews and let me know how I'm doing? Also, I haven't been watching the show for very long, so if I get anything wrong, feel free to tell me!

(###)

We now join our twosome. You know them, we do. Let me introduce myself. It's only polite. My name is June. You don't know me, don't try to place me. You know September. I am the lesser known of our kind, yet it falls to me to summarize the tale of our woeful heroes. Not their entire tale, of course. Such individuals cannot be summed up into a short tale such as this. Nonetheless, I have selected an array of moments, both happy and melancholy.

Stay with me, now, as we journey into the past.

Chapter 1: The Very Huge, Big, Enormous Step (AKA Moving In)

It was getting a bit ridiculous. I mean, to the point where Peter was finding bras on his shower rod that he was fairly certain he had never put there (what? When you lived with Walter Bishop, you sort of threw out everything you once thought was weird and crafted a new definition).

So now, after three months of being with Olivia Dunham, spending far more time together then they ever spend apart (Peter had started to wonder if he actually could be apart from her for more than a few hours), Peter was now finding bras in his shower and women's deodorant in the bathroom and her clothes in his closet. Don't misconstrue this as complaining, though. The past few months had easily been the best of Peter's entire life. He and Olivia worked together, same as usual, but now he got to go home with her.

And at the risk of sounding like a woman, the sex wasn't even as important as waking up with her in his bed (not that the sex wasn't incredible).

So no, Peter wouldn't trade Olivia for anything, but constantly being unable to find things because he'd left them at Olivia's was not terribly pleasant. Nor was coming out of the shower smelling decidedly flowery because he had blindly grabbed her body wash.

(You'll be the prettiest girl on the playground was her reaction, and Peter hit her lightly for choosing now to get a sense of humor).

That, as Peter saw it, could only be remedied one way.

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"I want you to move in with me," Peter said. Which, theoretically, could have been said at a better time than at a crime scene. Over a maggot-infested body. But hey, no time like the present. He was a romantic guy.

"I'm sorry, what?" Olivia didn't even look up from her notebook.

"I want you to move in with me," Peter repeated, grabbing her arm and pulling her down to his level.

"You want me to…move in?" Olivia stuttered. "Peter, we've been together for three months."

"Less three years," Peter pointed out. "Then we were just kind of in a sexless relationship, which does seem like a waste when you look back on it."

She smiled. "So you're saying you want to move in because it's the logical next step or because of the faster commute to sex?"

Peter placed his hand over his heart dramatically. "Olivia Dunham, you wound me. The mere suggestions that this could be born out of anything but love…"

She gave a little laugh and even placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Enlighten me then, Mr. Bishop. What is this borne out of?"

Peter gave a genuine smile. "Well, first and foremost, I feel that two hours is way too long not to see you, never mind a whole night. I want to wake up every day with you. If we have a case, I want to be there to hear you groan the way you do when they wake you up at some ungodly hour and you think nobody can hear you. I want your smell to always be on my pillows and I want to have to get a bigger bed and dresser because it can't fit your things. I want you around all the time, Olivia. Please?"

Peter could almost swear Olivia's eyes were a little teary but she looked down quickly and when her head came up again, she gave Peter a bright smile and slipped her hand into his, giving it a brief squeeze.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good," he shot back. "Because seriously, all my clothes are at your place. One pair of clothes can only last so long, woman, get on top of things."

That earned him a punch on the arm, but the smile didn't leave his face for the rest of the day.

(###)

That Saturday, Peter arrived at Olivia's place with Broyles' truck (asking for that had easily been the most embarrassing experience of his life).

Olivia met him at the front and together, they backed the truck in and propped the door open. The clothes (all in the same predictable shade of black) and the furniture were loaded easily, and soon there was only a few boxes left, sitting by the closet.

Confidently, Peter strode into the room and lifted a box.

It was probably less than half a second later that he found himself on the ground, the crash making Olivia rush in.

"Jesus Christ, what's in this?" Peter tore open the box to find shoes. Lots of shoes. In colors. Boots, flats, what he was fairly certain were called pumps and wedges, which always sounded like tire mechanic speak to him, and more.

He lifted himself to the other boxes and opened each of them. More shoes, more color, more styles.

He cast an incredulous look back to Olivia, who was standing in the doorway with a very bemused expression on her face.

"Oh my god, woman…how many shoes do you have?"

She snorted and strode past him, picking up a box with relative ease.

"Different outfits require different shoes, Peter."

"But…" he sputtered as he followed suit. "These shoes have colors!"

"You may never get sex again," Olivia threw out offhandedly.

There was a brief pause.

"Well, it only makes sense that such a beautiful woman would need so many pairs of shoes. I love the shoes. Could there be more shoes, please?"

(###)

Ah, yes, moving in. A first step in every relationship, but it is not like you all don't know where this is leading. September would be halted in stoicism, short and mincing words. Not I. There are people who were not destined to lead a quietly simple life. There are people only destined to save the many, never to have the world recognize their sacrifice. And all that they have lost along the way.

Life ain't always what you think it oughta be, ain't even gray but she buries her baby