Back with another chapter. Sorry it took a little longer to update. Your reviews to this chapter may make the next one post sooner.

Thanks to those who continue to follow this, and review and favorite it. You make my day!

EnsignRo-thanks for your advice regarding the accent. I'm working in OpenOffice. Maybe I should switch to Word...

I own nothing. There's a little French in this chapter. I've put the English translation at the bottom.

Have you heard about the timely 'Alias'-related Fringe spoiler? If you're interested, PM me and I'll direct you.

Peter and Olivia unwind after the first night of their 'op.'

Rouge-Chapter 6

Olivia watched as Peter and Interpol Agent Michaud, now known as Guy Desmond, manager of the nightclub called Pandora's Box, discussed the stage details, exits, and second floor party rooms in French, as smoothly as she would have in English. She was still in wonder of the how and why Peter Bishop seemed to be fluent in so many languages. French, Cantonese, Farsi, German, and now French added to the list. Standing there listening to him from the side of the stage she marveled that his French accent was spot-on. The combination of the flawless French coming out of his mouth and the way he looked all punked-out made her knees weak and her heart beat a little faster.

As if sensing her, Peter Bishop stopped talking and looked over at her. His brown eyes were full of something she couldn't make out. He called her to him in French, asking Guy to repeat the party room rules. For 500 US dollars, or 2418 francs, a patron could request a private 10 minute 'party' in one of the upstairs rooms. Whether Olivia accepted the business deal or not was up to her. Whenever the performer accepted, the house took half. What transpired in that 10 minutes was up to her. Guy raised his volume at this point, repeating that the club strictly forbid any actual sexual intercourse, as Pandora's Box was in very good standing with the police and other authorities. Olivia wondered just what kind of crazy international agents Interpol worked with that they had to lecture on that.

Guy finished his lecture and looked at Olivia. She shook her head in understanding. And then it hit her. This is how it will play out, she thought to herself. Sometime in the next few nights, hoepfully sooner than later, Jones would watch her show and then request a 10 minute party, she was sure of it. The thought made her stiffen and more determined than ever to make his arrest a reality.

"Rouge? Rouge! Comprends-tu?" Peter's words pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Oui, Blade. Je le comprends."

"D'accord." Peter walked up to her until he was well within her personal space. He seemed agitated, his nostrils flaring a bit. Olivia caught a whiff of coffee and his cologne. "Ma cherie, fasse attention ce soir," he told her in a voice tinged with uneasiness. Olivia didn't miss the intense look in his eyes as he stepped away from her, and neither did Michel Michaud. He wondered exactly who he was working with here. Were they a husband and wife team? The last he had heard the FBI frowned upon that. He made a mental note to ask Phillip Broyles the next time they spoke.

The clock behind the bar read 01:35. Olivia and Peter sat next to each other on bright red leather bar stools in their street clothes nursing a double scotch. Jones had not shown, as Guy had predicted.

A few minutes earlier he had debriefed them on the evening, singing Olivia's praises on her three number set. Peter had made it through somehow, standing at the front right in the audience, trying to look unaffected, but not succeeding. She was good, kept repeating in his mind. He was still trying to figure out how she knew the second song. Entirely in French it was a song he'd never heard before. He had a feeling someone at the Bureau had taught it to her earlier that morning. What a day, he thought to himself as the jet lag seeped into his body. Peter looked over at Olivia and they shared a small, tired smile.

Peter lay in his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. His body exhausted but his brain too wired to sleep. He worried about the following night, when Jones would likely show. Could they really pull it off? Could he keep Olivia safe? He ran through the game plan again when he heard his door open. Shooting a look toward it he saw Olivia Dunham making her way to him in the near dark, clad only in a tank top and shorts, her natural hair disheveled around her face. She looked unsure.

"'Livia? You OK?" he asked sitting up, shirtless.

"I-I couldn't sleep. Thinking too much. I figured you'd be up too, or did I wake you?" She looked ready to bolt.

"You were right. I was awake. C'mere." With permission granted she got into his bed.

A minute passed and then she spoke. "I think we're doing OK, but I just wish this was over already, and Jones was in custody," she said awkwardly, playing with her hands.

"Hey," Peter said softly, pushing her face up so she was forced to look at him. "We're doing great, and soon, maybe tomorrow we'll catch him, and then we'll go home."

Olivia shook her head unable to turn away from him with his fingers still on her chin. Peter leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss, lingering a bit. When they pulled apart she gave him the best smile she could under the circumstances.

"Sleep," was all he said. His command for her to stay with him was simply understood. She moved down onto the pillow to his right and pulled the covers up. Without thinking his arms pulled her up against him, her back to his front, holdering her in an embrace. In another place and time Peter was pretty sure this would have led to more. But this was now, and they were dead tired. His face was against her hair and he got lost in the lovely scent. "Night, 'Livia," Peter whispered to her, but she was already out.

Comprends-tu? Do you understand?

Oui. Je le comprends. Yes, I understand it.

D'accord. OK.

Ma cherie, fasse attention ce soir. My dear, be careful tonight.