A/N - Just a random little thing that I started working on. I got the idea when I was watching my sister and her husband in the kitchen the other morning. Then, of course, I thought of Fringe, Peter and Olivia. You know, the natural progression of thought us addicts have.

Enjoy and review.

As always, Fringe is not mine. However, I did discover two more Fringe freaks in my sister and brother-in-law. Perhaps it runs in families? One can but hope.

Morning Glory

The dance was one they had done many times before. Drifting apart before coming together again, their bodies in harmony, their movements timed and beautiful. She had never thought a man could be beautiful but he was. He smelt of home, of all her favourite memories and this was another, this moment that was theirs alone. He drifted past her again, his fingers brushing her hip, caressing the tiny stretch of exposed skin. When his touch was gone she could still feel the imprint there. Sometimes she swore he left marks on her from the heat of his touch. She moved past him, her hand touching his back, feeling the shift of muscles. She watched his lips as he hummed to himself, sometimes forming the words to the tune, other times it was nothing more than the sound. It had become part of her world as well, like his smell and his warm, bulky heat. He caught her staring and smiled; the dazzling one that made her toes curl and her stomach flip. How could he make her feel so awkward and shy and yet oddly empowered?

"What?"

"Nothing. Just watching you hum."

He nodded towards the frying pan in her hands.

"You are going to burn the pancakes."

She shifted her attention and quickly flipped it, the edges only slightly on the wrong side of brown. This time she could feel his eyes on her. She could always tell when her watching her and the blush crept onto her cheeks of its own accord. She didn't understand her own reaction to him. In her experience, it should have burnt out by now, the constant need to touch each other, to always be together but it wasn't that way with Peter. Even on a case, he was always there, either in person or in the back of her mind, toying with her. When she was with him, the world would fall away and she knew that the world could stop and she would fail to notice. He could make her pause, shoulder some of her burden but somehow make her feel stronger for it. He constantly reminded her that despite the horrors that they faced every day, there was still good in the world that made it worth fighting for. One of the good things was this, the moment's in-between the devastation and pain.

"Flip again, Dunham. We're going to end up having charcoal for breakfast at this rate."

He chuckled lightly as she slipped it onto the warm plate in the oven before spooning in more batter. She watched as he started making the coffee, the way he moved around her kitchen, totally at home. He looked like he belonged there. When she had first gotten back from the other side, taking back her rightful place in her own life, she couldn't deal with the feeling of betrayal that engulfed her. She had nodded and ignored the monster that consumed her heart. Then he had shown her what he had thought, how they had almost lost everything because of her. She wanted to hate him, to right off the entire concept but she couldn't. He had started something that she couldn't ignore, that he wouldn't allow her to ignore. His pain was her pain, and her pain was his. And every time she looked at him, she knew that it killed him to have hurt her, even if it was unintentional.

"Ok, you may beautiful but you are so fired."

His hands slid to her hips, gently shifting her away from the frying pan and towards the coffee machine.

"You are very distracted this morning."

He took the spatula from her hand and flipped the pancake with easy precision.

"Sorry, I was thinking."

The corner of his mouth twitched, a smile hidden there.

"Something new for you."

She focused on the coffee, watching it as it perked before pouring it into two mugs. She tapped her foot on the back of her leg impatiently. She heard Peter shift the pan from the element and into the sink, running the water and causing it to sizzle slightly. She smiled as his hands were on her hips again, pausing a moment before winding his arms around her waist, pressing his chest into her back. She sighed and sunk further into him. His fingers drew lazy circles on her stomach and she could feel the familiar butterflies again fighting for space.

"The pancakes are going to get cold."

He pressed a kiss to her throat and she sighed again.

"That's why they invented microwaves."

She shifted in his embrace to face him, her lips finding his with practised ease. The kiss was light at first then deepened quickly, sending fire through her veins and causing her heart to pound an unnatural tempo. His hands tangled in her hair, playing with the strands as her own hands traced his spine, before drifting down and slipping under his shirt, the skin hot against her palms. The kiss slowed, becoming shorter and sweeter before he pulled away with a sigh.

"We are pushing our luck, aren't we?"

She smiled and laid her forehead against his, tracing the stubble along his jaw, the tiny prickles causing her fingers to tingle.

"How so?"

"If we keep going, we will end up back in bed and the phone will ring."

"Broyles does have wonderful timing."

"If it's not him, it's Walter."

"True. At least with Broyles, he's not standing in the doorway naked."

She could feel Peter frown.

"And with that image, I am reminded of the pancakes."

Olivia laughed and moved from his embrace and bent to take the pancakes from the oven. She settled herself at the table as Peter poured the coffee and got the syrup. She smiled at him as he stacked the pancakes neatly on her plate before placing the remainder on his own. This was the reason that they fought. For them and for the little bit of good left in the world. The pancakes, the stolen kisses and the tiny little bubble that they had created for themselves, that's what they would fight for.