Title: A Very Fringe New Year

Pairing: Olivia/Peter, Walter/???, Astrid/Walter!Lite

Characters: Astrid F,Olivia D, Peter B, Walter B

POV: Walter, Peter, Olivia, Astrid

Genres: Holiday, Family/Friends, Angst, Humour, Romance,

Spoilers: You have to pretend 1.10 never happened because I want this to work with the rest of the "A Very Fringe Holiday" series. So yes, Liv is here, Fringing it up.

Warnings: None

Challenges: New Year's, Time stamps, Numbers, Gene

Part of a Series?: Yes, "A Very Fringe Holiday"

Word count: 2230

New Year's Eve 10:46 pm: Olivia let out a nervous sigh as she checked her appearance in the hallway mirror for the 42nd time that evening. Walter had just called, for the sixth time since she had left the lab this afternoon to confirm that she was indeed coming to the New Year's party he had planned.

"Yes, Walter. I'm coming to the party," she had said, rolling her eyes as she put earrings on—it wasn't like she had friends to visit anyway. John's death and her heavy involvement in her new job had alienated her from the acquaintances that might have invited her to any celebrations being held tonight.

"And for the love of God, Agent Dunham, put on a dress. It's a holiday, not a funeral," Walter had snapped before hanging up.

So here she was, wearing a black dress under her wool pea coat, standing in the hallway, looking at her reflection in nervous apprehension. Was it too formal? Not enough? Would her legs get cold in the drafty air? Would Peter show up in jeans while she had made her face up with cosmetics? She glanced at her eyelashes. Did this much mascara make her look like a whore?

Olivia had curled her hair and looked dejectedly at the way the curls now hung limply around her face. Hair styling had never been on her list of abilities, so she pulled a hairtie out of the shallow bowl on the table beneath the mirror and wrapped the blonde locks into a bun just above her neck. She studied it once more, tilting her head to the right, then to the left, and finally decided she liked how it looked.

She looked down at the dress watch on her left wrist, the silver metal confirming she had just spent another eight minutes procrastinating. She had no idea why she was avoiding getting into her vehicle to drive to Harvard again and she took a deep breath, butterflies fluttering violently in her stomach. Walter was waiting for her, as was Peter—her hand clutched at her stomach as the butterflies rioted once more and she groaned at the realisation that it was Peter that was causing these feelings.

She glanced at her watch again and faintly decided that she ought to head over to the laboratory already.

New Year's Eve 11:22 pm: The official festivities of the New Year's party that Walter had arranged were officially supposed to start at 10:30 pm but Olivia kept apologising to them when Walter called, giving excuses of "not finding car keys", "someone called", and "traffic". They were the lamest defenses that he'd ever possibly heard, but when she finally walked in the door of the laboratory, her cheeks pink and her eyes staring at her shoes, he realised she was just as nervous as he was and that she had probably been contemplating whether or not to even come to the Kersage building in the first place. Peter had poured her champagne in a flute and brought it up to her while she took her coat off and hung it up next to his. Their eyes finally met and she gave him a sheepish smile.

"You're wearing a dress shirt," she said, her voice sounding much higher than he'd ever heard it before and he'd returned the smile.

He shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. "Yeah, well, Walter insisted I look nice for the party. Which you can see is a smashing success."

She seemed to relax a little and looked out over the quiet laboratory. "Where is Walter?"

"He was tired of waiting for you and decided to go to sleep."

At this her face fell. "Oh, I didn't mean to be so late—"

"He's in Gene's stall in the hay," he quickly explained, then offered out his arm. "Shall I lead you to the celebration?"

Her grin became a little wider and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "You may."

As Peter escorted her town the steps, he stole a glance at the FBI agent. He had never seen her look like this and he thought she looked…nice. He was afraid other words might sound too formal or too interested, so "nice" was the best he could come up with at the moment. He quickly sipped at his champagne, blaming his observations on the alcohol.

"Here's Mister Carson Daly, our host for the evening," Peter said with a gesture to the television, which was quietly playing NBC.

"Hello," she greeted with a giggle and a nod.

He then directed her to a card table supporting a few plastic platters of hummus, vegetables, pita triangles and 100-calorie packs of chocolate chip cookies. "And here's the amazing catering, provided by the vending machine on the main floor and Whole Foods."

"Fancy," she snickered.

He handed her a small paper plate of strawberries. "And I'm your company for the night until Walter wakes up or someone wanders in."

She moved to the folding chairs he had set up in front of the TV. "Astrid's really not coming?"

"She said she had a party she'd already made for." He shrugged. "And I can't blame her. It's got to be more interesting than here."

"I can't believe that Broyles made us all come in today to work on those files," she said before taking a bite of one of the strawberries.

"They had to be completed and submitted by the first of the year, so I guess none of us really had a choice." He raised his champagne flute to her. "To Agent Dunham, the best agent in the bureau."

Olivia smirked and drank to the toast.

"To Peter Bishop, the best civilian consultant I've had the pleasure of working with." She took another drink and then raised her glass towards the television. "And to Mister Carson Daly, for being able to stand Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" for so long."

"Here, here," Peter agreed. "To Astrid, for being the bravest assistant ever."

Olivia laughed again and said playfully. "To Walter, for arranging this amazing party."

He grinned and kept his flute raised. "To Broyles for giving me another day in the laboratory with you."

Peter realised instantly that he had misspoken and he looked away from her as his face became hot. Olivia's mouth opened a few times as if to say something, but no words ever came out and eventually he watched her out of the corner of his eyes as she downed the rest of her champagne.

"The clock—" she whispered and suddenly he found himself putting his fingers on her lips to silence her.

"I know you're not one for sappy things—" he started.

"Neither are you," she pointed out, his fingers moving up and down with her words.

He shrugged, feeling slightly helpless, then pulled his hand away. What could he say to that? In truth he was a hopeless romantic, and he knew she was, too, but both of them had simply spent too much time with lovers who didn't appreciate their understanding of courtship between two people, which had left them fearful of using emotions and expressions that might have them regarded as weak.

So Peter leaned in.

The clock reached eleven fifty-nine.

Their lips connected.

The clock struck twelve.

He watched her eyes roll back into her head before they closed. His own eyes closed as well and he felt his hands cupping her face. She tasted like strawberries and champagne, hints of a breath mint and her tongue was exploring his hesitantly.

He released her from his hold and pulled away. They were breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed a soft pink. He could see that her pale, professional lipstick had been smeared slightly and he momentarily realised that he'd got the rest of it on him.

Her hands darted out and before he could react, she pulled him back to her, her lips crushing against his. 'It's midnight! It's midnight!' his mind screamed in joy.

They both turned to look at the fireworks on the television.

New Year's Day 12:02am: Walter startled awake in a soft warm stack of hay inside Gene's stall to hot breath blowing across his face. Large brown eyes stare back at him and he sat up as the beloved bovine gave him a curious look.

"Whhhha…?" He looked down at his watch and scowled. "Damn, I missed it."

The New Year had come and gone without him to witness it. He lay back into the hay and sighed. If he had his assistant here, she would have made sure he was awake to see it, but she was gone, away… his hands searched his trouser pockets to find the amazing "cellular phone" his son had given to him. Blast. If only it was moving right now—he was sure he could talk it into calling his lovely assistant.

"Call Astringent," he ordered the blue device, then thought for a moment. "Wait, I mean…her name is…"

He rested the phone against his chest momentarily to think about what her name was. A, A, A, it started with A. Two-dollar espresso hair…no, not Asterisk, that was a star-shaped symbol he could find on the "eight" key on a computer's keyboard.

His finger pressed the "eight" button on the phone, then the "two" button because that was were the letter "A" showed up. He added a "one", a "five" and a "seven" because that's how tall she was in centimeters. Maybe it was Asthma? Or Astigmatism? Astrology?

Wait, what time was it? The New Year was arriving soon—

He glanced down at his watch again. "Damn! I missed it!"

He pressed the button that showed a speaker emitting sound.

"Speakerphone activated!" a feminine voice said cheerfully and he tossed the phone into the hay, feeling disgusted.

"I have no one to kiss, Gene," he said sadly and the cow licked the side of his face. He let out a gleeful noise, wiping the gooey saliva off with the back of his hand. "Ooh! You dirty flirt! All right, but no tongue."

Taking the cow's head in between his hands, he planted a big kiss on her nose. She mooed loudly and he gently patted her neck.

"It's all right, dear. I don't think we'll work out, either—let's just stay friends."

The cow licked him again.

New Year's Day 12:13am: Across town, Astrid sat in the windowsill of Becca-K-from-Accounting's upscale apartment in the downtown region. Floor fifteen, apartment 1512…she sighed, holding her champagne glass between her to hands as she gazed out the window into the cold night. Sure, everyone in the office had been dying to be invited to this New Year's party and when Becca-K-From-Accounting had hand delivered her invitation, Astrid had nearly gone into frenzy she was so excited. Becca-K-From-Accounting had married into New Money, so the party had a DJ and extravagant lighting, expensive hors d'oeuvres and Cristal, hot bodies and big name players. Astrid had actually gone out and bought a champagne-coloured shift dress for the occasion to compliment the heavy gold bangles and earrings she had adorned herself with.

But as she sat in this room full of people, she felt cold and out of place. To be perfectly honest with herself, she would have much rather been at the lab, wearing basic jeans and a warm sweater.

Sixth months ago she would have been happy to have some of the FBI's up and coming stars flirting with her, but now it made her feel uncomfortable; she suspected it had something to do with the fact that she had grown so used to the way Dr. Bishop slipped her offhanded remarks. And the way he'd forget her name. And how he'd share his Sichuan chicken with her. And how—

She leaned her head against the cool glass and thought about what all of this meant. Dancing with Agent Bradford-From-Homeland-Security was much different than dancing with the doctor. Drinking wine from a crystal goblet was much different than drinking eggnog from a Styrofoam cup. Listening to dance remixes from booming speakers was much different than listening to Bing Crosby on an old record player. And frankly, she wasn't the same girl she had been sixth months ago. Had she grown as a person? Had her tastes changed? It really didn't matter, she just knew she'd rather be across town, somewhere else.

She pulled her cell phone out of her clutch and desperately dialed out the number to the laboratory, but paused before she hit send. What exactly did she plan on saying?

"Gee Olivia, I want play more games of poker with you, even though I know you're counting the cards."

"Boy Peter, I'd rather be mixing up store bought eggnog with you in that old thermos."

"Walter…Walter, put on that Charlie Parker record and ask me to dance."

She closed the phone and placed it back into her lap.

Astrid returned to her vigilant watch of Boston from the windowsill.

A/N: Originally Astrid wasn't supposed to be part of the story at all and Walter was going to call her cellphone though not get an answer, but as the author I knew what she was up to and I couldn't keep that side of the story away from mah readers.

And originally Peter and Liv weren't going to kiss at all. Surprises all around!