Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or rights to Fringe, its characters or plots that will be mentioned in this story. This is all for fun, and the fact that I am ridiculously in love with this show already. I'd rather not meet any of JJ Abram's lawyers.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing for the Fringe fandom. This will likely be a 2 parter, consisting of switches between the POVs of Olivia and Peter, with some hints at P/O UST sprinkled in. I tease, therefore I am. I live for constructive feedback, so please let me know how I'm doing writing for these characters.

Takes place directly after "The Cure."

Cause and Effect

"Olivia"

She wondered how long it would be until someone finally said something. Until someone noticed. Truthfully, she was hoping it would be longer; that she could sit in the relative safety of the darkened corner of Walter's lab for just a little while longer and be secure in her solitude. She needed to sort out her thoughts, make some sense of the jumbled chaos that kept her up all night last night. Most nights.

Unfortunately, as is always the case in life and in all other things, Fate had something different in mind.

Astrid entered the lab first, pushing through the double doors, balancing a stack of files with a latte perched precariously on top. Olivia watched her from her hiding place, seated in the row of chairs near Gene's stall. The junior agent set about organizing the files in her hand, sipping her latte with a mildly content expression on her face. She'd go about organizing the chaos of Walter's world soon, but Olivia could tell that these moments, when she had the lab to herself, were special to Astrid. God knows, the poor girl had to put up with enough of Walter's eccentricities throughout the day, and Olivia figured that was why Astrid had taken to buffing out the old scientist's brain numbingly brilliant observations with her own subtle wit. She had to have an outlet of some kind. And she had a way of taking the edge out of his bite, without tweaking a nerve.

Astrid and Walter were still feeling each other out. Just like they all were.

The junior agent remained oblivious to the other presence in the room and Olivia was grateful for that. Swiveling back around in her chair, facing away from the lab, Olivia leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees.

She remembered the rhetorical question she'd proffered to Peter the day before: When did it come to this?

That question haunted her throughout the night, but it had nothing to do with shady pharmaceutical companies or doctor's malpractice on a colossal scale.

Now, it seemed to pertain to her life.

When did she reach a point in her life and career that she would risk losing her job to pursue a relationship with her partner? Olivia had begun to realize how much she'd sacrificed for her job – the husband, the picket fence with the 2.5 kids playing with the dog in the front yard. She damned Esterbrook one more time for dredging up that dream – if she could even call it that – from the recesses of her mind. The Bureau was rarely willing to play second fiddle to its agent's personal lives. You could have one, or the other, but not both.

Being young and female in the FBI also meant one had to know how to play in the 'boy's club' – even in this day and age. But she didn't think it meant you had to be better than all the boys… just that if you screw up, you're going to stick out all the more.

So, she'd played it tough, pulling herself up by the bootstraps and making sure that her superiors saw her for her abilities, her tenacity. That she wasn't another repressed feminist with a fire-arms fetish and authority issues.

Although, Olivia thought, with a self-deprecating smile, all the evidence in my past would prove otherwise.

The first person she'd told about her step-father was John Scott. It had taken her over a year of working together to open up to him about it. There had been a case, spousal homicide and kidnapping, and Olivia thought that it was the case that would finally break her. Make her leave the Bureau. And John had offered a no-strings-attached shoulder one night. It was the first time that she had seen her partner in a different light; a light that would cast a warm glow of love, and little did she know, a grey murky hue of deceit and heartbreak.

If she hadn't opened up to him, then maybe their relationship might not have gone too far. She'd have one less scar on her heart.

My kingdom of pantsuits and comfortable shoes for a crystal ball to predict that outcome, she thought dryly.

Surprisingly, John's reaction to her childhood story had been very similar to Peter's. He didn't try to hug her, or wrap an afghan of pity around her shoulders. He'd suggested a way to catch the bad guy, and it had worked.

Olivia didn't know what made her confide in Peter, because, quite honestly, she hadn't had reason to trust him very much since they put together this odd-ball team. She was pretty good at reading people too, and the signage written all over Peter Bishop read: "what's in it for me?"

He was there to watch over and interpret the scientific gobbledygook that spewed from his father, and possibly, make sure the old man didn't blow the college to kingdom come. Peter accepted his credentials with a promise to stay, but Olivia wasn't naive enough to believe he was staying for her. In the back of her mind, she wondered if there weren't a set of packed bags stashed in that beat-up station wagon; ready to go if Peter should decide to pull a disappearing act.

Perhaps that was why she'd never allowed herself to warm up to the younger Bishop. He was a loose cannon, unpredictable. And unpredictable meant dangerous. Meant that he could hurt her. Maybe even get her killed.

She'd had enough of that from men for one lifetime. Keeping him at arm's length seemed safest.

Perhaps she'd told him simply because she had been at the end of her frayed rope – out of necessity, not kinship. The case was horrific, another woman was being tortured; she was at a stand-still in breaking Esterbrook, and her birthday and all the shit that came with it had rolled around again. To top it all off, she'd had enough of Peter's snark. Olivia was dangerously close to throwing all her files on the floor and screaming for the world to stop, she wanted off this fucked-up ride!

The emotions flickering over Peter's face as she relayed the awful truth, that he wasn't the only one in the lab who'd had a crappy childhood, chipped away at the mortar of her inner walls. He felt for her. He actually seemed to hurt for her – for the little toe-headed nine-year old who picked up a gun and shot the man who was hurting her mother. As he confirmed that it was her birthday - with one look, one all-knowing, weary sigh - Peter Bishop had tried to shift some of the weight off Olivia's soul. She should be grateful for that.

Or maybe, he was just glad to finally find out why she'd been Agent Bitch to him all day. Chagrined, Olivia knew she shouldn't have allowed the emotional wagon load of crap she dragged around to spill onto his shoes.

If she hadn't told Peter, then maybe they'd have been too late to save Claire. Some things actually work out in the end, she guessed.

But for all the warmth and empathy Peter bestowed on her that night in front of his hotel, for all the curious feelings churning in her chest as she sat, laid-open and vulnerable under those intense green eyes, Olivia still couldn't help the feeling of dread as she heard the unmistakable sound of Walter's voice outside the lab.

She had no intension of telling Peter that his well-wishing and gentle, altruistic favor were all for naught. The card came anyway. And Olivia's once strong wall, paved in steeled inner strength and self-reliability, crumbled a little. No one needed to know that silent tears of frustration wetted the cheeks of an FBI agent whose internal mantra was 'I can take care of myself' the night before.

The footsteps outside the lab's doors grew louder – she could hear Peter saying something, probably admonishing his father – and Olivia tried to school her features. She'd try to put up her mask, and hope the truth didn't show through the cracks.

"I was just telling those astronomy students that it is, in fact, possible to alter the gravitational pull of a moon, or some other large celestial object if, you can determine the exact gravitational mass of the object and thus, be able to manipulate it with the right technology." Walter was attempting to walk and talk to Peter over his shoulder, and nearly fell down the steps into the lab.

Olivia felt a smile crease her lips when she saw the bag of blue cotton-candy stuffed under Walter's arm. Astrid was there in an instant to steady the elder Bishop, reminding him that gravity would work just fine on his mass if he tried to walk down steps while turned around talking to someone behind him.

Peter ambled in behind him, coffee in hand and a smirk on his face. "Yeah, Walter, but the people over at Star Trek haven't released the patents on that kind of technology yet. And your fervor describing what you could do with Trek technology was scaring the kiddies." Peter followed his father down the stairs.

"Star Trek," Walter exclaimed. "What a wonderful program! Back in the 60s, I used to think that show had such visionary ideas about the future… technology and such. It was quite a trip!"

There was a laugh in his voice when Peter replied, "Knowing how you like the fun drugs Walter, I have no doubt that whole decade was a trip for you."

Olivia bit her lip to keep from laughing. Some of the things Walter knew would make science fiction writers check into their own psych wards.

She watched Walter shuffle toward his lab table, fiddling with paperwork and glass pipettes as he went, with Astrid close on his heels to keep things from being knocked on the floor.

"Oh," he said, turning toward the junior agent, "I have some wonderful cotton candy here, Asteroid, would you like some?"

Shaking her head, Olivia closed her eyes and grinned, causing the muscles in her face to ache. It had been so long since she smiled, it seemed.

"Oh God, Walter. I really hope I didn't just hear you call AS-TRID," Peter enunciated her name very slowly and succinctly, "…Asteriod. Geeze."

"Yep. That's what you heard," Astrid confirmed, but Olivia could hear the amusement in her voice.

"What? I was close…wasn't I?" Walter asked, oblivious.

"Sure. You were close." Peter chuckled under his breath.

He really had a nice laugh, Olivia realized. And while she knew how Walter could try the patience of Job, she was glad to see Peter lightening up a little. His admonishments had softened lately, losing the frustrated animosity they once held. And that seemed to do wonders for Walter's moods.

Olivia leaned back in her chair and rearranged the papers in her lap. Everyone seemed to be falling into their assigned places in the team. But seeming and actually being are two separate things. She still wasn't completely sure that Peter wasn't just sticking around to see if something came up that would benefit him down the road. A man with debts to mobsters named Big Eddie always had a system in play, a back-up plan to fall on.

She wasn't entirely sure that Broyles wouldn't yank her off this project for good if she stepped over his thin line of rules and regulations. She wasn't sure that Walter wouldn't suddenly remember everything and prove what he was really capable of. That thought alone was more terrifying than anything the Pattern could come up with.

If everything seemed to be going well now, then when was it all going to blow up in her face?

"Olivia?"

His lowered voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Peter standing over her, coffee cup still in hand, and a quizzical look on his face. She watched as the curiosity in those green eyes melted into concern.

God, she didn't think she could take that look from him anymore. It was dangerous. Made her feel exposed. For Peter Bishop – genius, nomadic loner, secretive, and generally hid his feelings behind his wit – to look at Olivia like she was about to turn to dust at his feet…her mask must have craters in it instead of cracks.

Get moving, Liv. "G'Morning," she stood up abruptly, offering a smile to reassure him. The events from the night before showed through on his expression. The last thing she wanted was to rehash all that again. "Walter didn't fall asleep in your bed again, did he?"

Peter tilted his head as if to say 'you suck at deflection'. "No. Actually I fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Walter counting out all of the prime numbers…between one and about nine-hundred thousand or so. Very restful." He took a step toward her, and pinned her with a look. "You wanna tell me how long you've been here this morning?"

Olivia could see him studying her camouflage, looking for signs of weakness. It was her own fault really, she let him peek into the chest where she kept her past sealed away. From now on, it seemed, he'd try to pick her locks to get back in.

"Not long. Really. Just came in to get my paperwork on the last case together."

She started to walk past him, but froze when she felt his hand on her forearm, lightly holding her beside him. Peter tilted his head down toward her ear, much like he'd done just before they'd said their goodnights at his hotel the night before. His voice was soft, meant only for her, but tinted with worry.

" 'Livia."

Sometimes, when he drawled her name, it sounded like he dropped the 'O'. Somehow, it made it more intimate…which gave her a thrill of fear and something else she'd rather not deal with.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Peter watched her profile, the line between his brows deepening with concern. "Did something happen?"

Olivia was careful not to look him in the eye. She pulled away, turning causally and answering as she hugged her files to her chest, "I slept fine, Peter." She tried to smile again, but from the look on Peter's face, it wasn't working. "Really. Everything's fine."

Saved by her chirping cell phone, Olivia nearly heaved a sigh of relief when Charlie called, telling her to return to headquarters because Broyles wanted to see her. She could deal with her superior. Broyles wasn't going to worry over her cracking cover-up, her over-burdened soul or the demons that came calling once a year like clockwork.

She nodded to Astrid as she left. Walter didn't even look up from his microscope to acknowledge her comings or goings.

Maybe Walter had a point that day back at St. Claire's Asylum. Maybe he wasn't as oblivious to things as everyone assumed.

Perhaps it was all just a matter of a simple "if – then" equation.

If she hadn't accepted the presence of the Pattern, accepted Broyles' offer, fallen in love with John Scott – then she wouldn't have been where she was, working with two geniuses on cases that blur the line between science fiction and science fact.

Every effect had a cause… didn't it?

TBC…

In character? Totally off? What did you think? Let me know and REVIEW!

Next up will be Peter's POV on things, so stay tuned. Huge and unending thanks to betas Celia Stanton and Chichuri for putting up with my new obsession with Fringe. It's rather unhealthy, I admit.