I can't believe this is the last chapter! It's been more fun writing this than I thought it would be. I'm happy many of you enjoyed it. :)

Remember I still own nothing. Mistakes are mine. I worked hard to keep this a 'T,' sorry if that disappoints anyone.

I love undercover P/O fics and encourage you reading to try writing one. Would be fun to see one in with a fall, maybe even Halloween theme *hint*

Olivia can't sleep and goes to Peter. Jones' message is revealed.

Rouge-Chapter 10

Olivia stared toward the front of the small military plane, her mind was slowly being lulled into nothingness by the drone of the engines. She sighed as she looked out of the corner of her eye at the empty seats next to her. A half hour prior, Peter Bishop, in his own clothes but still with his spiked dirty blonde hair sans the skull earrings, had unbuckled his seat belt and risen.

"I'm going to try to stretch out in the back and sleep. You should try to too, up here."

It was the most he had spoken to her since Jones had been cuffed and dragged out of the night giving her a chance to respond he moved out of their row to the last of the plane. It was small enough that she could hear him re-buckle his seat belt in his new position.

Olivia sighed again, wishing sleep to overtake her, but her thoughts were spinning. She knew why he had moved. It wasn't to sleep. He was angry. Angry at her for going through with it, but especially angry at Jones. She figured he was pretty angry at Broyles as well and hoped when they got back to the Federal Building in Boston that Peter waited until she was gone to have that discussion with her boss.

She felt moisture on her face, and while it was unwelcome it didn't surprise her. Stress and jet lag, and the let down that came at the end of any ops let alone an undercover one were enough to do that to an agent. Who are you kidding? Her own voice in her head made her choke on the sobs. Olivia worked to keep them back. She was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hear her crying with the noisy engines, but she wouldn't take the chance. The two of you just need sleep. You'll sort it all out after that. That part of her brain that always reigned her back in on the job kicked in. Olivia took a deep breath and thought back on the debriefing in Paris's Interpol headquarters.

It had gone well enough. Predictably. Jones was in custody, hopefully for more than a few hours this time. Interpol's top scientists had the USB and were working around the clock to try to break some secret code with which Jones had encrypted the information it contained. They were hopeful there was information on it about the bioweapons he was set to sell to Landon. Eyewitnesses in Pandora's Box stated they had seen a dark-haired man acknowldege Jones before he headed upstairs, but there had been no more information than that. The contact had vanished. Peter and Olivia had both given their accounts. Olivia had seen Peter's eyes widen slightly when she recounted Jones' whispered words which had led her to open his trousers and follow his command to reach for the USB stick. Olivia stared at Peter as Agent Michaud described Peter's initial reaction to Jones placing his hands on her. She kept staring at him as Michaud continued, recollecting the redness in Peter's face and his frantic shouts in English when they couldn't hear Jones. Looking back she was thankful Peter had not kicked the door down before she had the USB in her hand.

The dull throb of a headache started on the side of her head. Olivia shut her eyes and tried to relax.

Olivia Dunham was still tired as she opened the door to the lab trying to balance her coffee in one hand. It had been two days since they'd returned. Except for the meeting in Broyles' office the previous afternoon she hadn't seen Peter. Olivia had cried a couple of times since they had returned to US soil, mainly because she just plain missed him. She missed being with him, she missed talking with him, and she especially missed sharing a bed with him. That thought led to the memory of him carrying her to their Parisian bed, and how happy they'd been before Michaud had interrupted them for a meeting.

The elder Bishop's words brought her back to the present.

"Agent Dunham! How lovely to have you back! Astrid told me you and Peter had been successful. Congratulations on recapturing that dreadful man Jones!"

Olivia just looked at Walter Bishop. She didn't feel very successful. And where was Peter?

As if in reply to her query, the lab door opened and closed. Peter Bishop stopped mid-step, carrying a styrofoam container with four cups and a brown bag. He looked at Olivia and gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Morning, 'Livia. You already got your coffee? Well, you can have this one later then. Morning, Astrid, Walter." Without waiting for a reply he walked down the stairs to his area of the workbench.

Olivia lowered her head and walked to her office. She gave an involuntary sigh that she thought no one heard. Once her door closed fairly loudly Walter moved closer to Astrid putting his mouth near her ear.

"What's gone wrong, Asterix? I thought they would have had sexual relations in Paris and come home all happy, finally being a couple..." Walter stated sadly.

"I don't know, Walter," Astrid said puzzled. "That case is confidential, you know, so I don't know any of the details. But you're right. Something most definitely did not go well. I'll see if I can talk with Olivia. You try talking with Peter. OK?"

'It's a deal!" Waltered answered excitedly. Then they both turned in different directions to get back to their work.

The clock on his nightstand read 11:30PM. Peter was no where near sleep despite having listened to an entire CD already. He thought he heard a sound downstairs, but dismissed it as either a squirrel or acorns hitting the house. The oak trees all over Cambridge were loaded with acorns and it wasn't uncommon to hear one at night. He closed his eyes again and tried to settle down. He picked up his head phones and just as he was about to put them back on his head he heard a soft rap on his bedroom door. Was he imagining things? He had fantasized of her knocking on his door and coming to apologize for days now. Apologize for what, genius? She did her job and did it well. What does she have to apologize to you for? For you acting like such an ass? For Jones touching her? Kissing her? She's not responsible for his actions. No one needs a 190 IQ to figure that out. The part of his brain was talking that always told him off when he acted stupidly. The interesting thing was he was actually giving it his undivided attention these days. His mind was getting ready to launch into a whole new lecture when he heard the knock again.

Peter got out of bed, dressed only in his plain navy boxers, and went to the door. With curiosity winning over trepidation, he opened it to see Olivia standing there in a navy blue trenchcoat, and that red wig on her head. She was in full make-up, but not wearing the blue contacts.

'They were making my eyes burn, sorry," she told him in greeting, as if knowing what he was thinking.

Peter stood there for a moment, stunned. Not only that she had picked her way through the front door lock to get to his bedroom door, but she had on parts of her undercover costume. In his room.

"Come in," he said with a voice that didn't sound like his. She noticed that he was swallowing madly as she walked into his room and he closed the door behind her, his hand lingering on the knob. A second later he locked the door.

Peter saw the shiny patent leather material of the thigh-high boots she had worn in Paris where her coat ended, as she walked past him. He didn't know what to do or say as he stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. Then it hit him like a thunderbolt.

"I'm sorry, 'Livia. I overreacted. I-everything...got to me, I guess." He was quiet for a beat but she knew he wasn't finished. "I've missed you," came out as a loud whisper. He swallowed again.

"I've missed you too, Peter," she said, the depth of her feelings almost palpable. He wanted to touch her, to fold her into his arms and chase away the sadness he saw on her face and in her words. Sadness he had put there. The thought made him swallow harder. But again curiosity won out.

"Why are you wearing this?" Peter asked her gently, gesturing toward her with his hands. It suddenly dawned on him what was under her coat. Never had a realization both excited and repulsed him at the same time.

"It took me a little time to figure out why you were so mad, Peter. But I did. You wanted me like this. Just for you." She took a step closer to him and he blinked. Olivia untangled the belt of her coat and quickly undid the buttons, taking it off and throwing it to the floor. She stood there before him in the full set of black lingerie, with the garteer belts and the little clips, and the gloves. Peter was speechless. If it was possible, she looked even better than she did that night in the club.

Olivia took one of his hands and laced their fingers. "Just for you." Her gentle, unselfish words echoed in his head. Part of him wanted to take her that moment and throw her on the bed and have his way with her until she couldn't walk straight. But he knew what he really wanted. The silence in the room was thick as he guided her into his bathroom.

She didn't understand why he was walking her into his bathroom until he reached in her hair for the pins attatching the wig to her own flaxen locks. Peter threw them one at a time onto the bathroom floor, and placed the wig clumsily on top of the toilet seat. Then he turned on the hot water, grabbed a washcloth and washed the makeup off her face as best he could. Still wordlessly he reached for a towel and dried her face, admiring his work.

Peter turned her so she could see herself in his bathroom mirror. "This is the woman I want, 'Livia."

He couldn't control his hands and gently put them on her waist and moved tham around as he watched them in the mirror. "You are so beautiful."

She watched their reflections as he touched her. It had been too long. She had missed his touch.

Without warning Peter spun her around to face him. "'Livia," was all he said. It was urgent. His message unmistakable. He leaned down toward her and their lips touched. The kiss was light and sweet but like a lit match it quickly changed as his tongue lapped at the gap between her lips, begging admittance, which she quickly enabled.

They stood like that lost in each other. Their tongues and mouths exploring each other, the neediness extreme. Peter scooped her up in his arms, his mouth never leaving hers, as he carried her out of the bathroom to his bed. He plopped her down which broke the kiss. Olivia watched as he pulled her boots off as quickly as he could throwing them hastily to the floor. His hot hands moved up her legs and unclipped the delicate garders as she gave a happy sigh, which further excited him.

His hands continued their journey north as he latched back onto her lips sucking hungrily. His busy hands found the front clasp of her lacy bra and he undid it in a moment, freeing it from her arms and throwing it hapahazzardly to the floor. He returned to her breasts cupping them gently, eliciting a moan form both of them. He twirled both her nipples into stiff peaks and then started south, as Olivia got restless. Moving steadily, Peter grabbed the thin lace panties on both sides and dragged them down quickly, admiring her beauty as he did. He pulled them past her feet and trew them to the floor.

Peter crawled up to her face and held it in his hands as he lay on her, trying to balance most of his weight on his arms. "'Livia," was all he said roughly as they kissed again. She encircled him with her arms, pulling him as close as she could as his hands again moved south. They became one and stayed that way for as long as they could, reaching the edge at the same time together. Peacefully, they lay entwined until Peter had to move. He lay next to her and pulled Olivia as close to him as physically possible, his head resting on top of hers.

He pulled back several inches to look at her. She was smiling at him, relief glowing on her face.

"I love you," he told her honestly, not caring if she responded or not. He had been carrying it around on his heart for a long time and it was a relief to get it out. Now he wanted to tell the world.

Olivia reached out and touched the stubble on his cheek. "I love you, too."

Peter hadn't expected her reply and exhaled loudly. He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. When it ended they both pulled back and stared at each other. It was then that Olivia noticed he had dyed his hair back to its origianl color although it was still shorter and spikier than normal. She eyed the small holes in his ears and chuckled.

He raised his eyebrows in question. "Maybe I should buy you a single earring," she teased him.

"I don't know..." he answered, pretending to consider it. They both laughed, relived to know that things were going to be all right.

The chief Interpol scientist scratched his head and spoke in polished English. "Not what we were expecting. I bet the Americans weren't either. I'll enlighten Specail Agent Phillip Broyles," he said as he dialed Broyles' private number.

The other scientists re-read the deciphered note in fascination:

Dear Interpol, FBI of the US of A, and Special Agent Phillip Broyles,

If you are reading this message it means two things:

1. You have successfully deciphered it with your fancy intergovernmental software programs and 2. Agent Olivia Dunham has successfully completed her task.

Agent Broyles, you should really be quite proud of Olivia Dunham. She's a special girl, of whom I am quite fond.

As a thank you to her for sharing her generous time and talents with me I have given you one of the two formulas I was going to sell to Monsieur Landon(Not his real name.)

The second formula is the nastier of the two. Being in a generous mood, again thanks to Miss Dunham, I have given you all the ingredients except the most important one. If you want that ingredient you will have Miss Dunham come to me at a later time, on my terms. Is that simple request worthy of hundreds or perhaps thousands of US lives? Let me know. You know where to find me when you decide...if I'm still there.

Fondly,

David R. Jones

The End

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