A/N: You guys crack me up, in a very endearing way :'D Here is the fluff you've asked for, but don't be surprised if I balance it up again in a near future with more depressing and dark stuffs :p What can I say, I love angst more than fluff, and I regret nothing.

SPOONING

Olivia woke up to a sensation that was becoming eerily familiar, these days.

Her hair was raising at the back of her neck; it was the kind of prickling feeling that normally would make anybody feel uneasy…unless you were safely cuddled up in your bed, fully aware of what was causing it –or rather who.

She couldn't help but smile. The soft and serene curling of her lips was the only move she made, keeping her eyes shut. "You know, you're gonna have to stop this," she whispered.

From the quality of the light she could 'see' through her closed eyelids, she guessed it probably was well past her usual wake up time again. Lately, she simply seemed to be needing more sleep…not that there wasn't a very good explanation for such occurrence.

"Stop what?"

Peter's voice, always slightly hoarse at this hour of the day, came from behind her. Actually, it came from above her. She could picture him with perfect clarity, his chin propped up in one of his hands, as he looked down at her –or stared, really.

"Watching me sleep like that. It's getting kinda creepy." She knew he could hear the smile in her comment, see in on her lips, too.

He didn't say anything, not yet anyway; he moved quietly instead, bringing his face down. Soon, she felt his nose nuzzling her hair, his weight moving behind her as he pressed himself fully against her back. It caused a shiver to run all the way up her spine, then all the way down, until her every limb was tingling appreciatively.

The feel of his nose now slowly tracing her jaw line was enough to wake up every single nerve in her body, and the warmth of his skin against her own was a sensation she would never get tired of.

She wasn't surprised in the least by his next move, one of his hands slipping over her waist to come press his palm over her lower stomach -which he kept insisting had already gotten firmer. Olivia could only smile a little more broadly, as she rested her own hand over his, intertwining their fingers.

"You can't really blame me…" he eventually said softly, almost directly into her ear. He kept on moving, almost imperceptibly, in a relentless attempt to increase the proximity of their bodies; at that instant, she swore she could have dissolved in his warmth.

His words brought recent images to her mind, though. As always, the fresh memory felt like a sharp and icy thorn puncturing her heart. How she had opened her eyes on the boat, unable to understand neither why she was lying on a table, nor why Peter's face had been tearstained and grief-stricken…or why there was blood all over Walter's hands.

It had come back to her fast, the gunshot and the void, as Peter hugged her to him again and cried his relief in the crook of her neck.

No, she really couldn't blame him.

But they were okay, the three of them. She let him know by pressing his palm a bit more firmly over her stomach, her thumb caressing the top of his hand, and it was her turn to wriggle in his arms, trying to sink deeper into his warmth, always deeper.

The worst was behind them, now.