Author's Note: Happy February everyone, and welcome! I got this idea because I'm having wicked Fringe withdrawals and needed my favorite characters back on something resembling a screen. I figured this was a good way to do so! I consider this my idea of what season 6 would be like, so there's no inFRINGEment intended in any shape or fashion.

I'll try and update within reason, anyone whose read my works before know that's a hard feat for me to stick to. (But my readers will hopefully agree it's worth every single second!)

Without further adieu I bring you my latest project. I do ask you don't roll your eyes when you read Etta, I find kids who have trouble pronouncing the letter 'R' to be incredibly adorable.

Reviews make the world go 'round! Enjoy!

Chasing Neverland
Fanfiction by: Agent Xero

Chapter 1: Dreaming Out Loud

July 2016
Cambridge, Massachusetts

The summer dawns began just like any other.

Clear, star-sprinkled nights stretched as far as the human eye could possibly comprehend, past the misguidedly thin layers of the atmosphere and straight on past the moon into the dark, deep unknown abyss. Like pinholes in crushing black velvet, they were infinite. Just beyond the horizon the sun began to peak her nose precariously over the far edges of the world- a giant in size, millennial in age, and the curiosity of a child. Navy-blue night gave way to a smooth, pastel orange-yellow that made the sky and earth blend flawlessly, a hint of day for highlights; the sun's delicate fingers extending ever so slowly across the warmed Earth reaching each and every dark corner the night left behind. Perfect pinks, deep, luscious reds and balanced blues painted the utmost tips of the city of Boston, a watercolor masterpiece Mother Nature could sign her name to.

Steam rose steadily from the heated pavement of the city streets, still warm from the swelter of the previous day. Evenly balanced it levitated across the concrete, blanketing the quiet avenues in a thin, cotton-like fog as the night began to fade. Street lights clicked quietly to signal the different directions the day was to take. Dogs howled in the distance, an automatic alarm clock dictating time to begin the morning. Door bells chimed as shop owners began to carry their goods into the sidewalks to sell in hopes the market would flourish. Intersections were filled with different pitched car horns, beeping off rhythm at one another as commuters made their way to their trades of business, or to their beds.

The highways were just as calm as the heart they lead to; concrete veins twisted with stone veins to bring sustenance to a never-stopping-always-going body that craved energy. Each little capillary, each artery began to ebb and flow with the motions of the morning as cars rumbled down the freeway like cells, each pulse of the metal heart sent more and more people towards the center, giving it life, allowing the city to awake and stretch with the morning sun. They came from all over, honking at one another as the day began just like any other: bagel in one hand, coffee in the other and the morning talk show offering the news of the night.

Outside the city limits tranquil neighborhoods began their arousal; alarm clocks chirped, buzzed and hummed, set for well beyond anyone's desire to awake, while others sat quiet and undisturbed for some. Children slept soundly; curled in light sheets as their parents rose to the scent of brewing coffee and the promise of another beautiful day. Showers began and clothes sat laid out in perfect fashion. Some wore business suits, other scrubs, and even a few casual dressers set their attire for the day in hopes five o'clock would arrive even sooner than Father Time would allow. A gentle wind swept through the trees of each house, causing the massive tops to dance gracefully between the houses. Moist dew beads mixed with fresh cut grass and salty sea air gave the air a pleasant aroma as it made its way past every open window and into the homes of those who resided just outside the city.

Rolling on his side Peter Bishop let out a loud snore as the gentle kiss of summer's wind whisked across the bare muscles of his back causing him wake slightly, well before he desired to do so. Curling his pillow around his head he sniffed and buried his face back into the cool cotton, wiping a small line of drool from the corner of his mouth. Across the room the sound of a closing door drew him past the line of unconsciousness and cruelly back to reality, the sounds dancing across his year as he glanced at Olivia's alarm clock.

6:02am

Groaning Peter rolled over and tried to slip back to sleep for a short eternity until his alarm clock as set to go off as well. Just thirteen minutes he thought to himself and tried to force the dream he had been having back, but it was of no use. The scent of Dove body soap and warm vanilla caught him well before the bathroom door opened. He opened one tired eye to catch a glimpse of Olivia standing in front of the wall mirror toweling her hair in nothing but her suit pants and a black lace bra- admittedly Peter's favorite of her collection. Running a brush through her hair she caught him staring steadily in the glass.

Olivia Dunham- Olivia Bishop as she presented herself outside of work- grinned at her husband. "Of all the times you've seen me naked why do you always stare when I'm dressed?"

"I always stare but it's not fair when you do that, you know," he muttered, referencing her morning routine of a shower and standing before him dressed in only half her work attire. Peter huffed into the corner of his pillow, his words thick with sleep. "I'd rather see you take your clothes off than get dressed."

Pressing her lips together Olivia strolled casually over to his side of the bed and pressed her lips together. "Well had someone woken up with my alarm went it off perhaps you would have seen me take my clothes off. So, your loss buddy boy," she playfully poked his shoulder, making Peter roll onto his back, making a face as she placed an arm on his chest. "Besides, you remember what happened the last time we tried that in the morning."

His laugh was slow and deep; lacing his fingers in-between hers he chuckled, "Oh I do. I believe your daughter stammered into the bathroom wondering where her Cheerios were and why Mommy and Daddy were hugging in the shower." Mimicking his laugh Olivia rolled her eyes as Peter grabbed her waist and slowly pushed her into the middle of their bed, her wet hair spayed across the pillows as he kissed her tenderly, his hands finding the loop of her belt as she grinned against his lips.

"Wrinkle my pants, Peter Bishop, and you're walking to work."

"Ymm," he hummed against her neck, "that sounds like foreplay to me." Peter kissed her again, enveloping her bottom lip between his as she tried desperately not to smile.

Down the hallway the dampened sound of size three feet began to trump down the carpet as a small knock came at their door. "Mama! Daddy!" came Etta's muffled declaration as her tiny fist wrapped against the wood, "Are you awake?"

"Foreplay's over, honey, back to daddy duty," Olivia grunted as she kissed him once again, pushing Peter reluctantly off of her. "Come on in, sweetheart," she called. Seconds later the door creaked open as Olivia stood, allowing Etta to climb over the crest of their bed and collapse onto her mother's pillow. Bending down she planted a loving kiss on Etta's forehead. "Someone's up early," she commented as Etta grinned.

"Cuppy is hungry," she motioned innocently to the stuffed dog she clutched in her arms.

Grabbing a deep purple button up top Olivia laid out she grinned at her daughter, buttoning it slowly and raised an eyebrow. "And what does Cuppy want for breakfast?"

Etta beamed. "Cuppy wants pancakes."

"It's always pancakes," Peter said as she cuddled closer to him, but frowned when Peter rolled away. The girl shrugged and let her shoulders shrink is slight disappointment. "I think Etta is the one that wants pancakes." Olivia shook her head to see Etta's small dismay.

Looping her holster around her hip Olivia grinned. "Go get dressed for school and I'll make you pancakes, honey, Daddy needs to get ready for work still."

With her excitement recharged she jumped from the bed, landing expertly on two feet she let out a holler. Had it not been for her balance she probably would have tripped over her feet as she stammered to her room, "Pancakes! Pancakes! PAAAANcakes!"

Olivia grinned as she walked into her closet. "If I could have only a fraction of her energy," Making her way towards the closet she stopped at a dark corner and reached over the dozens of hangers that sat askew on their bar. Punching in the code the safe clicked open, allowing her to remove her gun- always unloaded now. She knew the chamber was clear, but it was a habit since Etta had been born. Checking it she placed the loaded magazine into the butt and clicked the chamber back. Confirming the safety was on she slipped it into the leather and secured the snap around the holster. Grabbing two extra magazines she placed them in her jacket pocket for safe keeping.

Exiting the closet she heard the bathroom door close behind Peter, as her lips flattened, her happy grin disappeared. She could see the dismay on his face despite the sparkle he forced into his eyes. Olivia had dreaded this day for months after… it happened. Biting her bottom lip Olivia slipped on her shoes and exited their bedroom and peaked into Etta's room, chuckling as her daughter pulled a pair of blue shorts and a poked her head through one of her favorite Disney princess t-shirts, echoed by the soft spray of the shower as it turned on in her and Peter's bedroom.

Minutes later she found herself nursing a cup of coffee as she stirred a small bowl of batter and poured another ladle full onto the hot skillet, the thick mixture congealing into pale white circles. Flipping another batch of small pancakes onto a piece of wax paper, Etta entered, fully dressed and pulled a chair out from underneath the table. Balancing on the crest of her knees she bounced it in anticipation and took a gulp of milk from her Sippy cup. Cutting the miniature morsels into smaller bites Olivia expertly drizzled a thin line of syrup across them. Placing the steaming, puffy bites in front of Etta she smiled to see her delight and sat down with the paper for her morning Sudoku puzzle.

"Mama," Etta said between syrup-laden bites, "Is Daddy mad at me?"

Putting her pen down Olivia's brows scrunched together. "No, sweetheart, Daddy's… just-" Olivia pondered quickly, but Etta spoke instead.

"Because i-s okay. I -amember what today is." She swallowed another mouthful of milk. "Gran-pa."

"Remember, honey, and you're right," replied Olivia as she moved closer. "But that doesn't mean Dad is mad at you. Your father's," she paused, contemplating her words carefully, "He does miss Grandpa a lot."

Etta nodded. "I know. I wanna make somefing to make Daddy smile."

Olivia smiled, licking her thumb and wiping a stray bead of syrup from the small girl's lip, "I think Daddy would really love that, Etta, that's very sweet of you." Naturally Etta pulled away and chomped down on another bite of pancake, balancing one carefully on a fork and placed it in Olivia's mouth, enjoying the face her mother made between chewy bites. "I think I rival your father on pancakes, what do you think?"

"You bof make good bweakfast," she smiled, licking syrup off her fingers. "But Daddy puts chocolate chips in his."

Etta slid off her chair laughing as Olivia gave her a soft tap on her bottom with her shoe. The rubber on her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as Etta reached on her tippy toes to let her My Little Pony plate and fork fall into the sink. Pulling her stool over she began to wash her hands as Olivia reached for the faucet. Giggling she sent fingertips full of water flying over to her daughter, who happily returned their water fight. Dismissing Etta with dry hands the girl trumped happily into the living room to watch TV, allowing her mother to finish the dishes and prepare her lunch for the day.

A deeper set of footsteps walked slowly past the hallway as Peter entered, grabbing a spare to-go mug and poured himself a large helping of coffee. He yawned and popped a few spare pancakes into his mouth, chewing quietly as Olivia spread peanut butter onto a piece of bread. She could see the deep circles underneath his eyes as he popped another spoonful of sugar into his mug, yawning deeply again.

"You didn't sleep last night again, did you?"

Peter shook his head. "I think I fell asleep around four." Grabbing a dish towel he began to dry the plates she set to rest.

"You could have woken me up, Peter," Olivia said, cutting the crusts off Etta's sandwich, "We could have talked about it."

He shrugged in order to avoid her gazing eyes. "I can't-"

Placing her hand on her hip- a sign Peter knew all to well- Olivia sighed, "Can't or won't, Peter?" she asked sharply. "Etta came downstairs this morning asking if you were mad at her, I feel you should know." Peter finally made eye contact with her and pressed his lips together, "But she knows you're not."

He nodded once as Olivia traced his tense jawline. "We can talk about this later if you want, after she goes to bed. Let's just get through today, okay?" Peter nodded again, giving her a small, emotionless smile. "You are a man of many mysteries, Peter Bishop; romantic, exotic prince one minute, emotional, life-hating teenager the next."

"Well, considering that was you four years ago, I guess I did learn from the best," he muttered into her palm as she pinched his cheek, her eyes shrinking in non-amusement.

"I also carried a twenty-two pound infant in my stomach for nine months, and one I would suggest you apologize to before we leave." Patting Peter on the shoulder he muttered something underneath his breath as Olivia tried to slap the back of his head, missing him by micrometers as he ducked and skipped towards the living room. Plucking Etta from her spot he kissed her and settling her into his lap as they watched Dora and Boots work out where Swiper had hidden his latest piece of thievery.

Minutes later the family found themselves heading out the door, a prompt seven-thirty leave time as Etta ran to Olivia's SUV and opened the back door, climbing with help into her car seat, backpack in hand. Child seats were not government issued, Peter would joke, but Broyles had made an exception for his unofficially adopted niece. Ten miles down the road they turned into the day care and released their daughter to the skill of Miss Emily and Miss Jessica, two of Etta's favorite teachers. Kissing their precious baby goodbye for the day they continued their drive north and like clock-work, Olivia's phone rang the word Broyles blinking across the screen.

"No rest for the weary," she said and press the send key, "Dunham." She nodded once and listened intently. "Yes, sir, we're on our way." Peter reached down and flicked on the lights, writing down the address in a notepad Olivia kept in her glove box. "Body found at the pier."

Peter huffed, "Sounds normal."

His wife laughed, whaling the siren at an intersection until it was clear to pass, "Broyles says wait 'til you see the body."

Harvard Lab
4:30pm

Flipping through her file Astrid sighed, pulling her lips to one side in contemplation and nibbled on her pen cap. "The coroner said he thinks the cause of death is drowning, but that seems too obvious. If there's one thing I learned about working in Fringe Division it's that the obvious answers aren't always the right ones."

Across from her, Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Look at the autopsy report. Normally when someone drowns their color's dusky, almost grey and their skin tone, especially around the lips is purple, not pink. Pink indicates good blood flow to the skin, not the opposite."

"Not just his lips all of the victim's membranes are a pinkish color, not blue. His nail beds, the inside of his cheeks, hell even his feet were warm to the touch, despite the water still being a balmy fifty degrees. A bit cold for my taste," the young agent said. Olivia chuckled in agreement. Biting her lip Astrid hesitantly shifted the subject. "How's he holding up?"

Olivia's smile relaxed as she shifted in her seat. "As well as expected I suppose. He's always been good at hiding what's bothering him but I can feel it. He's distracted, withdrawn. Even with Etta this morning, she came in all cheery and Peter kind of shrugged her off." Astrid frowned. "But I think she knows more than what we give her credit for. Even she remembered a year ago today Walter…" she sighed, unable to finish her sentence.

"It's been rough for all of us," Astrid agreed, her tone dropping as she sighed. "It's strange not walking in here each morning to find him making chocolate milk over a Bunsen burner or trying to make strawberry milkshakes." A tear came to the corner of her eye as Astrid wiped it, suppressing the want to let her emotions get the best of her. "I think what I miss most is all the crazy names he came up with for me. I can hardly begin to imagine what Peter's going through, what you all are going through."

Reaching across the table Olivia squeezed Astrid's free hand, "What we're going through, Astrid. You're a part of this family as much as Walter was. Besides, Rachel hasn't been to visit in a while; someone has to spoil my four year old."

Astrid sniffed and laughed, returning Olivia's gesture with her own, clasping Olivia's hand between hers in thanks. "So we're not thinking any sort of drowning death, are we?"

Happy for the distraction Olivia nodded and glanced over her shoulder to where Peter sat quietly in front of the metal slab, an apron tied around his neck and a scalpel in hand. Diligently, and distractedly he worked to continue the autopsy he began. To his left sat Walter's ancient record player as the needle scratched the groves, emitting an aria from Carmen. He remained quiet as he worked, humming lowly and keeping to himself mostly all day while Astrid and Olivia began their investigation. Every now and then he'd scribble a note down on a pad or rise to change his blood-covered gloves and begin another of Walter's records.

Things hadn't been the same, true to Astrid's observations. Even Gene's change in demeanor was palpable for the loss of her companion. Here one moment, then gone the next, they hadn't realized how empty the lab felt without him until Walter really was deemed missing in action. The clang of medal pans was absent when he had an idea that struck or the way his deep voice bounced from wall to wall as he sang along with his favorite operas during an autopsy. The lingering smell of taffy cooking did not hang in the air, nor did the cakes he and Astrid would concoct in the middle of the day. Boxes of Red Vines did not stack in the trash. Even the dry erase markers he loved to sniff remained untouched and capped at their station.

Every now and then Olivia felt the need to turn her head and roll her eyes as Walter would reveal his secret stash of some blend of marijuana he created; his recent favorite was one he deemed reminiscent of cotton candy. Walter would swear what he smoked tasted of blueberries. Every now and then Peter would catch him trying to make root beer, or creating his favorite drink. One morning they found Walter experimenting with Cola and Mentos, a mess Peter and Astrid spent half the afternoon trying to clean, and the one crazy afternoon he felt the need to let Gene roam free in an attempt to train her to bring his morning paper.

Drawing in a deep breath Olivia let her eyes linger to where Peter sat, quiet and alone with the body he dissected his only means of companionship for the day. Nibbling on the inside of her cheek she put her focus back to work in an attempt to finish out her day. They'd be leaving soon to pick up Etta, putting their progress to pause for the evening and return to their normal lives. Instead of paying attention to the case her mind lingered even further past work.

Perhaps they'd make Peter's favorite meal this evening, and she and Etta could bake a tray of brownies. Maybe they could relax on the couch and watch movies like they did on rainy weekends. Maybe Peter would stay here all night and work, deciphering the means of the latest blood work and medical charts the victim had. It would be anything to get his mind away from today, to press it into the past just like any other and move on pretending it never happened; pretend like Walter was just around the corner fighting with the vending machine to give him back his dollar when it wouldn't drop his Snickers bar.

Decidedly Olivia closed her file and called it quits for the day, with Astrid happily agreeing. Her and her fiancé needed to figure out wedding plans so Astrid gave no qualms in that area. Leaving Olivia to organize their work Astrid informed Peter of their early dismissal, as well as called Broyles who did not argue, knowing the circumstances already behind Astrid's request. She helped Peter place the body in the freezer and clean up. An hour or so later they departed, going their separate ways, with Peter trailing silently behind them.

Bishop Residence
2:37am

Sitting alone, a glass of chilled bourbon in one hand and the remote in the other, Peter sat immovably still. Quiet. Secluded; his silhouette outlined on the wall behind him by the pale glow of the TV. The only sounds audible was the gears in the VCR player and the clinking of the ice cubes in his glass as they melted against one another. Black pressed around him, surrounding Peter as he sat like a stone on the couch downstairs, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the TV, never blinking in fear of missing a single frame of it- despite the fact he knew it by heart. The picture was fuzzy; pixels illuminated the small space around him in hints of pale gray and a sorrowful navy blue. Hitting rewind, Peter looped the scene again and swallowed a stinging gulp of his drink.

"I was here one moment then vanished from the face of the Earth the next."

Swallowing down another mouthful one his hand shook against the glass, the alcohol created a welcoming burn in his throat.

"You will never see me again."

His lower lip trembled slightly as he allowed the video to continue to play.

"It had to be this way to ensure the future of our humanity."

Solemnly he hit rewind again, the tape scratching against the player.

"It had to be this way."

Shaking his head he wiped the tears from his eyes. "No," he whispered into the darkness around him. "It didn't have to be this way."

"I don't want to say goodbye," the tape continued, "But I will say I love you, son."

Once more he rewound the tape.

"I love you, son." The tape scribbled backward. "I love you, son." Again. "I love you, son."

Drawing in another deep breath Peter sighed, refilled his glass and played the tape from the beginning, the words he had memorized months ago. The tone is Walter's voice, each minute wrinkle as his father spoke and the reflection of the movement of his eyes against the light of the camera. The indentation Walter made his each word, every syllable he spoke, the decrescendo in his voice Peter had committed to memory in the dozens of times he watched it. He hoped each time it'd help the pain.

All it did was intensify it, magnify it in a way Peter could not understand. Walter was here one moment, then, simply, gone.

It wasn't until a few days after Walter was declared an official missing person did Peter find the tape in the lab and watched it, clutching the drawing of the flower Walter had sent to him. What Peter found however, was unfathomable.

The tape, they had decided, was not a suicide tape, in fact quite the opposite. It led Peter to search every part of Massachusetts, every crack and crevice he knew Walter would- or wouldn't be. He sat through thousands of hours of security camera feeds from all over the state. The FBI had put out a BOLO describing Walter to every police department and airport in the country; his likes, dislikes, favorite foods, things that would attract his attention in hopes to find his father but nothing worked. Even Olivia drew a likeness sketch that went along with each and every piece of information they passed out, but Walter was gone with no trace left behind. Like Walter's mysterious tape described he had done that.

He simply vanished.

In true fashion Walter gave no clear explanation as to where or why he had disappeared. What boggled Peter's mind the most was the notion Walter gave of living in the future. He had always talked about being among time's greatest minds but unlike crossing universes, time travel was a feat Walter could truly only dream about, and Peter knew that. The future of humanity, Olivia and Etta, that part Peter could not postulate why Walter would say something like that, for what purpose? What did Walter know that Peter didn't? What did he not tell Peter about their time together?

There were too many questions, and the answers Peter desired never came. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and before Peter knew it he sat here, in his living room one year after his father had gone. Peter refused to let Walter be declared deceased because he knew. He knew part of what Walter had said in the tape, about being someplace else was true; Walter was alive, and hopefully well, but the acceptance was the hardest part. Trying to explain to his daughter where Grandpa went was harder, but thankfully Olivia was able to step in and try to explain it.

The explanation, Peter decided, truly was the irony of it all.

He swallowed the dry lump that formed in his throat and glanced down into the empty glass in front of him. The sound of a creaking floorboard caught his attention as he turned slowly to his right shoulder and found Olivia leaning on the wall in nothing but a pair of his shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back into a lose ponytail, the end draped over her shoulder. She stood silently as Peter nodded- a wordless permission to enter his space. Slowly she moved, and sat next to him, one leg folded under her as she sighed with him.

Moving closer to him Olivia kissed his temple softly, running her fingers through his hair and lacing her other hand through his. "You don't have to go at this alone, Peter," she whispered sweetly into his ear.

"I know," he said his voice tense and gravelly, tears choking back words. "I just- I can't explain it. All my life I've been able to make sense of things, that's been my job for the better part of ten or so years but this," Peter shook his head, "This is inexplicable and it bothers me- because I don't know where he is, Olivia, and it's-"

"- Unsettling, Peter, I know." She nodded, tracing the back of his neck with her palm. "But Peter if you let this get to you any more than it has you're going to become obsessed with it, like when Walter lost you in the beginning. His obsession broke him and deprived him of some of the most beautiful things in his life. His wife, his son," she cocked her head to one side as he finally made eye contact, his pupils shimmering in the low light, "I just don't want to see you end up like that; to have to watch you struggle, fighting for something well beyond your reach. I don't want you to miss Etta growing up, to miss our family grow up," she licked her lips, "Peter, I don't want to miss you." She paused. "Wherever he is, Peter, he wouldn't want to see you like this."

He blinked twice as her words sunk in.

"It's okay to grieve. Its okay to want him back, but not like this- drinking yourself into oblivion each year on the anniversary of his disappearance. Instead celebrate him. Walter had a dream of seeing his family happy, and that was a dream he never let go of. Peter, we're living his dream. Honor him by doing that, by dreaming out loud. I think that's what Walter would have wanted."

From his lap he lifted a piece of paper, and Olivia recognized it immediately. Walter had sent it to Peter the day he disappeared- a drawing of a white tulip. "Walter sent me this, and it took me a while to understand why. When I was a boy he engineered a field of them near our house at Reiden Lake; they were his favorite. He would tell me they represented forgiveness and hope, and he wished for a sign from God that He could forgive Walter for stealing me. He waited for years, and then he got this in the mail. He kept it for all these years, and I had no idea until it showed up this time last year."

"Perhaps it's his way of asking you to forgive him," suggested Olivia, raising an eyebrow. "Of telling you everything's going to be fine. You told me years ago Walter once believed he could play God. Perhaps this was his grand performance."

Turning his gaze to her once again Peter sat still, searching her eyes for something. "Be a better man than your father," he muttered.

Olivia smiled. "I haven't heard you say that in a while." Keeping his gaze locked with her Peter sat back into the sofa.

"I haven't had to say it in a while," he shrugged and sighed. "Do you really think he's someplace happy, Liv?"

She nodded once. "I do. I imagine him sitting around an autopsy table, chomping on a Red Vine, having a conversation with some incarnation of the greatest minds of our time. Einstein, Schrodinger, Edison, those guys that discovered DNA, perhaps even Oppenheimer himself."

Peter raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Now that's impressive."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "There's this crazy ex-conman I married whose sort of a genius; it just kind of rubs off on you after a while." Peter laughed with her and let the tension roll off his shoulders as his head fall backward onto the cushion. "Speaking of which," she patted his shoulder playfully, "You should probably go so you don't wake my husband."

He laughed again, adjusting his seat to level his shoulders with his, "He must be rather buff, handsome man for that declaration, Mrs. Bishop. I'd imagine some strapping gentleman with a rounded chin and soft, yet chilling baby blue eyes."

She shook her head, her eyes shining and spoke slowly, "No, actually he's a scrawny, nerdy little guy-"

"Scrawny?" he blurted out louder than intended and wrapped his arms around her waist, causing her to bite her lip and smile, "Really of all the words you think of scrawny? I'll show you scrawny." With ease he lifted her onto his lap, peppering her exposed neck with soft, tender kisses as she fought to break free from the strength of his arms. Refusing to give in she clutched his shoulders as Peter's fingertips spayed across that one place on her body that was the most ticklish, and a discovery she let incidentally let Peter make the night of their honeymoon. Wiggling his fingers over that small patch of skin she writhed against his touch, laughing into his lips as she tried not to burst into a fit. Finally crying uncle he stopped, his cheek resting against her breastbone. For a few minutes they lay together, locked in one another's arms and kissing lightly until Peter spoke, nuzzling her exposed neck with his nose. "Thank you," he whispered delicately across her skin, his stubble tickling her chest as she let out a throaty laugh.

She replied as she always did with a tender, gentle caress of her lips against his. Patting his cheek she stood and turned off the TV before taking his hand in hers once again and led him upstairs, past where Etta slept curled in her sheets with her precious Cuppy cuddled up against her shoulder. Slowly Olivia climbed onto her side of the bed, Peter mimicking her every move until he pulled the sheets over his bare shoulders. Giving him another quick peck she smiled as Peter curled up beside her into the crook of her arm, securing him in for the night. Almost immediately he fell asleep, snoring softly as Olivia ran her fingers through his hair again; luring him deeper past the realm of unconsciousness and into the dreams she hoped he was having.

With her free hand she silenced his alarm clock. Hoping Etta would be quiet in the next few hours she closed her eyes in thought. She would call Broyles in the morning and tell him Peter would be late, letting him get some rest before trekking out for the day and the awaited horrors they would be investigating; she and Astrid could handle it without a doubt in her mind. Letting Peter sleep was probably the benefit he needed. Besides, she mused, one glass of bourbon and he was out for a few hours. The living dead could not bring him back to life.

Taking a deep breath she sighed. It wasn't long until she too, was fast asleep.

Chapter two in the works! Reviews always appreciated.