A/N: Since you guys are being so incredibly sweet (AND THAT FRINGE IS BACK TONIGHT AND I'M HIGH ON FANGIRL!ENDORPHIN), here's another fluffy one :) Enjoy it while it lasts, tonight's episode is probably going to make my muse depressive all over again. Also, this was typed on my phone while a 2 year old 'combed' my hair, so don't hold it against me.

SCRUFF

Olivia wasn't exactly sure how they had come to be here, doing this, particularly in their state and at this hour, but it had started with one common realization:

The scruff had to go.

She wasn't mad at him, of course; she knew the rash would disappear soon enough, and there didn't seem to be any pain associated with it. But no matter how many times she told him so, Peter was just inconsolable, overtaken by so much guilt that you would think he was responsible for someone's death, instead of the faint redness his facial hair had caused on tender skin.

After witnessing him nearly have a breakdown about it right there in front of her, he had almost run to the bathroom, and she had known at once what he was going to do -or attempt to.

She had also known that letting him hold a razor in his state of exhaustion was more likely to cause him to slit his own throat than successfully shave his face.

And sure enough, by the time she was able to join him, a few minutes later, he was standing in front of the mirror, with too much cream on his face, and a few trails of blood already running down his skin.

This was when she had scowled him disapprovingly, forced him to sit down on the edge of the tub, and taken the razor out of his hand.

"If you're trying to off yourself so you can get out of this situation, think again. There's no way I'm doing this alone, so you let me handle the sharp objects from now on."

"Obviously, you should also exclusively handle the delicate ones, because I suck at this."

"Peter, it's just a small rash," she repeated for the hundredth time, as patiently as she could, focusing on shaving his left cheek without cutting him more than he already was. "It will be gone by tomorrow, if not before."

"It starts with a rash, and next thing you know, there are knives lying around, and small objects to be swallowed all over the place."

"You are being overly dramatic," she chuckled softly, and oh, so very tiredly. Still, she was doing a much better job with the razor than he had been, proceeding slowly and delicately. "She is fine, sound asleep again for at least..." she actually looked away from his cheek to glance at her wrist watch. "...one hour and twenty-four minutes. Give or take an hour, obviously."

This caused him to let out a chuckle that sounded more like a strangled groan of despair.

"I don't even know if it's night or day," he admitted. "I lost track about seventeen diapers ago."

"According to the time and the absence of light outside, I'm gonna say it's almost dawn. But don't take my word for it, it's December, so it might as well be 6pm."

As he let out a long, long sigh, he looked ready to fall asleep, sitting on the tub. Truth be told, he was incredibly endearing; his hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and there was a very strong smell oozing out of him, resulting from all the patches of regurgitated milk decorating his shirt -and from his lack of showering, too.

But Olivia couldn't have cared less, because she was in no better shape, and smelled almost worse.

Despite years of insomnia and working cases for three days straight instead of sleeping, she felt so exhausted she could actually have fallen asleep right on the spot, too. She wasn't even mentioning how raw and painful her nipples were, or the soreness in some very intimate parts of her body that still hadn't subsided completely.

And yet, she couldn't have felt more at peace.

They had no any idea what they were doing, but they were doing it together, as a family; and the tiny, beautiful, perfect human being who was currently sleeping in her cradle outside this door was worth every ache.

She was even worth the fact that they had to get rid of his scruff, when Olivia had always been so fond of it.

'That's alright' she thought then, as Peter actually dropped his heavy head to rest his creamy cheek on her swollen bosom, none of them caring because her shirt was already ruined anyway, tenderly threading her fingers through his hair and resting her own cheek on the top of his head. 'We have years ahead of us to let it grow back.'