Chapter 1: Reflections - Laura

September 24, 1994

It was a beautiful fall day in Los Angeles, more specifically in Redondo Beach where Casa Malaga, the Steele's home for the last three-and-a-half years, was located. Their five bedroom, six bath Spanish style house with two guess bungalows was nestled in a private cove, with no neighbors abutting them. Perched directly on the beach, the house provided the water to which both Laura and Remington were drawn, while offering not only a good deal of privacy but allowing a certain number of security options for their family as well.

And in their line of work… in never knowing who might next have the detective duo in their sites… keeping their family safe was of paramount concern.

Clutching a cup of hot coffee in her hands, Laura stretched out on an Adirondack chair on the back deck of their home, her eyes focused on the surf ahead and below. She cherished her Saturday mornings when Remington would rise early, get all three children dressed, flip on the coffee maker for her, then the brood of four would be off for Saturday morning errands, leaving her to herself in the house. While he'd begun the tradition of errands with the kids when Livvie was just an infant – and immensely enjoyed the time alone with the children – she'd long ago suspected these mornings were also done with a bit of tit-for-tat in mind on his part: She handled transporting the girls to their activities on weekday afternoons, providing him some downtime so he, in turn, offered some solitary time for her.

Not that he'd ever admit as much. He'd see an admission of such as giving her one up on him. Even after eight years of marriage, they still demanded equal footing.

Eight years…

Eight years!

Their personal relationship had sputtered along for nearly four years, each step forward seemingly followed by two steps back. Those four years, when one would step close only for the other to back away – had seemed… interminable. The last eight years, on the other hand, had seemed to fly right by.

Where had time gone? It was a question she often ruminated on, for it felt as though she had merely blinked and suddenly the girls were in second grade and Holt was beginning preschool.

Olivia- The Daddy's Girl, who still believed her father had hung the stars in the heavens just for her, would turn seven-years-old in a little over a month. Remington had once fervently wished for a daughter just like Laura, right down to the very last freckle, had only seen half of that wish come to fruition. With her raven hair, cobalt eyes, and full lips, Livvie was the female version of Remington in all respects but one: She still maintained her petite stature. Whether that would one day change, who knew?

But inside, where it truly mattered, she was all Laura, and then some: Smart, determined, quick witted, curious, with uncompromising loyalty… hard headed with the occasional display of temper. She'd tried to warn him, she really had, to be careful what he wished for, and he'd gotten precisely that, a fact he occasionally lamented.

But there were two aspects of Livvie's personality that were pure him: Her ability to charm the socks off anyone when the mood struck or occasion demanded… and that she knew without equivocation she was able to do precisely that.

Seven-year-old Sophie was – no need to pretend otherwise – Laura's and Laura's alone. Not that she didn't love her Da, for she did, quite deeply. No man would ever compare to her father – not for her. But in the perilous days after her arrival in the Steele's life, she and Laura had forged a bond of… well… steel.

Of the three children, it was Sophie who'd undergone the most dramatic transformation across the last three-and-a-half-years… not withstanding Holt's obvious growth from infant to preschooler. She'd arrived on the Steele's doorstep – quite literally – at three-years-old, the lone witness of the brutal murder of her mother…

Her mother being Clarissa Jensen – Lady of the evening (or love broker as she preferred to be called), former client… and the woman Remington had once attempted to marry in order to subvert the INS's intention to deport him.

To say Sophie had simply been traumatized by witnessing the attack upon her mother would have been a gross understatement, for years prior to that event, Sophie has been regularly reminded by her father, Gabriel Castoro, that he'd never wanted her and as far as he was considered, she was nothing but a nuisance.

A disposable one, at that, Laura frowned.

Castoro was not only the Deputy Commissioner of the LAPD, but he'd also run one of the largest criminal syndicates LA had ever seen. It was on his orders that Clarissa was murdered. Then, later, he'd ordered a hit on the Steele's and his own child, determined to silence them all.

Tall, slim, with strawberry blonde hair and emerald green eyes, the beautiful little girl had been nearly completely mute when she'd come to the Steele's. She hadn't known whom to trust… if she could trust anyone at all –particularly men – despite Clarissa's best efforts to shield Sophie from her father's cruelty, which wasn't limited to only words. In many ways, Sophie's wariness, her feeling of being unworthy, made Laura think of Remington: Had he felt these very same things as a child, as he was being bounced from home-to-home?

It had been heart wrenching to watch Sophie try to find her way, and at times they'd been left fearing she never would. But, much as Marcos had predicted, the past and her fears were powerless against the unrelenting constancy of the Steele's – and their extended families – deeds. When she was frightened, there was a pair of willing arms always prepared to offer her shelter in their warm embrace. When she felt lost, there was a hand waiting to guide her way. When she questioned her value, her place in this new family, she was showered with love and approval. And like the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly, Sophie had transformed from Sophia Alexis Jensen – terrified, traumatized and withdrawn child – into Sophia Alexis Jensen Steele – joyous, secure and confident little girl.

Last, but not least, there was Holt, Remington's little doppelganger in every way – both inside and out. From his birth, Holt had been a remarkably placid, undemanding infant and that hadn't changed as he'd grown into a preschooler. He was bright, gregarious, naturally optimistic, almost always of good humor, unwaveringly curious and prone to a quick smile. He'd sailed through the terrible twos without so much as a single stomp of a foot. He loved Laura and Remington wholly and equally, and, unlike the girls, showed favoritism toward neither, utterly content with whoever's company he found himself in.

A smile played on her lips. God, she loved watching Remington and Holt together. It was as though she was watching past and present collide: Remington now and Remington as he might have been as a child, had life not dealt him the hand that it had. There were times that watching the two of them together simply took her breath away: Watching Remington patiently showing his son how to kick a 'football' in the yard; seeing Holt lounging in his father's lap as they watched a movie; watching Holt sitting on the island, conversing avidly with Remington as the latter prepared the evening's meal. Regret would tug at her heart, in moments like those, that Remington had never had the opportunity to share moments similar to those with his own father when he was a child.

As could sometimes be the case on quiet mornings, such as these, reflections on her children saw her thoughts eventually meandering to consider their father.

And what an incredible father Remington had turned out to be. From the time they cared for little Caruso, she'd suspected he'd make a good father one day. That he'd be spectacular? She could honestly say she hadn't expected it. Grouse, though he might, from time-to-time, one could never question what his children meant to him. He glowed with pride when they appeared as a family in public, and at home the children's waking hours were devoted to them.

But those hours after the children went to sleep? Those hours were for the two of them. They'd both abided faithfully to their pledge, before Olivia came along, that they – Laura and Remington as a couple – had to come first. It was their relationship that would set the tone for the household, that would determine the success of their family… and it was their relationship that their children would later look upon as an example of for their own.

Their marriage had come upon troubled times right after Holt was born, she reflected. Felicia's reappearance in Remington's life – along with a repeat performance of her blackmailing him – coupled with Laura's bout of post partum depression had tested their relationship to its breaking point. A creative kidnapping orchestrated by Mildred, Bernice and Melina, had left them stranded, literally, on a deserted island, forcing them to tackle their issues head on: Each misunderstanding clarified, every injury they'd done one another addressed. Their marriage had not only survived, but had strengthened.

They had a good marriage, a sound one, and unlike those early years of their perpetually frustrating romance, she knew without question that Remington Chalmers Steele loved her with every single fiber of his being.

But old habits were hard to break, and when significant milestones approached, she'd often find herself wary, some small part of her worrying if this was it: The point at which this life he'd built no longer appealed to him and he walked away.

1992 had been a particularly trying time for her, those doubts clamoring for her attention. In honor of Remington's fortieth birthday, she'd borrowed a move from football: the screen play. She'd fully involved him in his party plans – or so it had seemed – consulting with him on the guest list, the location (White Oak Country Club), date, time, menu. And while he'd looked long, she'd thrown short, scheduling the celebration a week earlier – four days prior to his birthday, as opposed to three days after… at L'Orange, not the Country Club. It had been just another Saturday 'date night', as far as he'd known, with a stop by the office on the way, so that she could pick up a 'crucial file.'

He'd been so shocked by the rollicking "surprise" shouted on his arrival, that he'd stumbled a step backwards, then looking around had rubbed a hand over his mouth in disbelief. The entire Androkus clan had traveled from Oia to celebrate the occasion, while Thomas and Catherine had set aside duties in England to do the same. Even Murphy and Sherry had made the trip up from Denver. The stunned look he'd bestowed upon Laura when he spied Livvie, Sophie and Holt in their special occasion best, had been priceless.

And only five weeks later, already silently fretting that Remington might find himself in a 'midlife crisis,' another big occasion arrived: The decade mark of Remington's arrival in Laura's life. When it came to the man who'd once vowed to never bind himself to one place or one person, the heralding of two such significant occasions coming so closely together, seemed, in her eyes, to be the perfect storm. She'd believed she had hidden her increasing anxiety from Remington well until he'd joined her on the deck one evening. Stepping behind her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his cheek against her side of her head.

"I won't hazard a guess as to what is you've been masticating upon these last weeks," he murmured, "But whatever it is, don't borrow trouble where none exists, love." The endearment sent a shiver up her spine, and unconsciously she leaned into him as she closed her eyes.

It had been exactly what she'd needed to hear, even if he hadn't known what he'd said.

In the early part of their marriage, they had tried any number endearments for one another. A teasing 'darling' had earned her the cold shoulder, the word one tied to any number of women who'd manipulated, blackmailed… betrayed to him. He'd called her babe, and while the term hadn't, surprisingly, annoyed her, it had never really taken hold. She taken to calling him 'Rem,' but it had never really suited him – he was Remington, and she hadn't missed the warmth in his eyes when she'd increasingly – then permanently – had referred to him as such. 'Love' had been the term he was most inclined to use towards her – or the variation of 'my love' when he was feeling particularly tender - while from her 'sweetheart' had been the most suiting, appealing to the romantic in him with an occasional, teasing 'big guy' – and she wasn't referring to only his significantly taller stature - tossed in when she was feeling a bit playful.

As they'd grown in their marriage, even those three favored terms had become less used, not because they felt less connected to them, but more. The endearments were implied in their absent caresses of the other's shoulder, hand, arm or back. Thus, when they were used, they meant so much more.

She laughed silently to herself, unknowingly nodding her head at the same time.

And who needed those small endearments, when one was married to an Irishman prone to making proclamations in Gaelic when they made love? Proclamations she'd learned to interpret across the years.

She rubbed at her arms as a shiver of pure pleasure scattered goosebumps over her arms.

After that evening on the deck, those dogged old fears stayed at bay for more than half a year. Then, their anniversary arrived, and with it, yet another one of those mile markers: The seven year itch. This time, she'd admirably managed to hide her trepidation from Remington, although her success might have had more to do with its brevity than her acting skills, she admitted to herself ruefully.

They'd celebrated their anniversary in Oia at the Androkus family home where they'd wed, as they had every year since they'd married. The large family home was filled to capacity, as it often was, with family members and friends. The terrace where they'd exchanged vows was swathed in candlelight from candelabras adorning tabled bedecked with white table clothes and standing lamps scattered around the edge of the terrace. They danced together under twinkling stars while light sparkled off the Aegean below.

"Seven years," Remington mused, "We'll be celebrating our silver anniversary before you know it, perhaps even with a grandchild or two toddling about or feet." It had been precisely what she'd needed to hear to set her worries aside, for a man who was growing discontent would not be daydreaming of the grandchildren they'd have eighteen years in the future. She slid her hands over his shoulders, then clasped them behind his neck, a smile playing on her lips and merriment in her eyes.

"Certainly an improvement over what you'd once feared," she reminded.

"At the rate we're going, we'll be celebrating our silver wedding anniversary by the time we consummate this relationship."

Cocking his head to the side, brows furrowed, he dug through his mind for the point she was referencing. When he found it, a wide smile lit his face.

"Mmmm, yes, significantly so," he agreed. As his smile faded, intense blue eyes met hers. "But rest assured, we will be consummating this marriage on our silver anniversary." Her eyes sparkled with humor.

"I believe that ship sailed a little over seven years ago, unless, of course, you've discovered a way to turn back time," she teased.

"No need to," he quickly replied, while reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I need only to marry you all over again." Her lips twitched with a suppressed smile, as she realized he had romance on his mind.

"Are you saying there's a divorce in our future, Mr. Steele?" A corner of his mouth tipped upwards, and he gave her a look that suggested she's taken leave of her senses.

"Don't be ridiculous, Laura," he dismissed with amusement, "I've won't be letting you go so easily." The fingers of his hand whispered over the small of her back. "A reaffirmation of our vows, followed by a reception." He waggled his brows at her. "Then the honeymoon." She had to admit, he'd stirred her own romantic nature and found the suggestion held a great deal of appeal.

"You'd better be careful," she warned. "I might hold you to that."

"See to it that you do," had come his quick reply.

Fourteen month later, she was no less enchanted with the idea.

A smile on her face, she rose from the chair and went inside. A quick refill of her coffee for energy, and she gathered together cleaning supplies for her Saturday morning tradition: Dusting and vacuuming the first floor of the house before Remington and the children returned home.

They had a good life… a solid life, she reflected. A life she couldn't have imagined in her grandest fantasies. But then again, unlike him, she hadn't done a lot of daydreaming about the future in those years of their convoluted courtship.

"Do you ever have dreams, Laura? About us? About our lives?"

"I suppose. Sometimes."

In truth, it was difficult to dream of a future when you were never quite sure if there would be a tomorrow, let alone a next year. Hell, a goodly portion of those first years, it didn't seem wise to fantasize about their dinner plans…

"Do you honestly believe that all the time we've spent together means so little to me, eh?"

"How can I answer that when I have no idea what came before? Or what you're feeling now?

It was only in the last handful of years that she'd found herself imagining six months, a year… two even.. down the line. So what did it say about her… them… that she was now envisioning eighteen years in the future even as those olds fears of waking and finding him gone still plagued her from time-to-time?

Something good, that much she was certain of. Her hand paused where she was dusting the mantle. And frightening, in a way, reminded that nagging voice. Dreaming of the future, the possibilities of that future, meant relying on a good deal of optimism and faith, two things she didn't come by naturally… and two things that would make the fall all the more painful, should the worst come to pass.

Just as his habit of bending rules, acting on impulse, could be contagious, so could be his vision of their lives together, especially when she looked at where they were now, much of it by his design. A beautiful home on a private beach that accommodated the interests and demands of the family: Adjoining bedrooms for the girls; a playroom and large yard in which to play for the children; a gourmet kitchen and home theater for him; a home office and close proximity to the Agency for her; guest homes for the nanny and Melina; and a large terrace and pool, replete with hammocks and outdoor kitchen for the entire family.

And Casa Malaga wasn't their only home. There was the house in Oia and their two homes in London where they stayed during their annual June Pilgrimage between Ireland, England and Greece. There was Daniel's villa in Theoule-Sur-Mer, where the family vacationed each year during Spring Break – also Remington's idea. They had the house in Vail, where each year the Steele's spent a week first with the Henderson's, then with the Piper's, giving the children their fill of snow play while Laura and Remington enjoyed a bit of skiing. And lastly, there was Ashford Castle, where they'd found a way to repair the hurt they'd afflicted on one another during a particularly difficult span of their relationship… and had, at long last, opened their hearts fully, dared to believe in love, and had finally consummated their relationship.

She laughed softly as she crossed the living room to the coffee table to dust.

Where their two, young, princess besotted daughters could feel like princesses for a week each year.

Yes, the number of homes in their portfolio was absolutely obscene, yet , as Remington had predicted, they had their benefits – which were put to a good deal of use. There was no need to make hotel reservations. The children always knew what to expect, as they arrived to the familiarity of home. When the family opted not to dine out, Remington could relax in his own kitchen as he prepared their meal. There were never complaints of 'too much noise' when the children were particularly rambunctious, as they never had to share walls with others…

And, when the Steele's were not in residence, they welcomed friends and family to utilize their properties for vacation. That, alone, had allowed Donald and Frances to realize their lifelong dreams of seeing more of the world than just the United States. With Danny and Mindy now in college and the financial demands of Laurie Beth still at home and the adoption of six-year-old Alejandro, such travel wouldn't be possible if not for the cost-free accommodations.

She couldn't help her smile, as she stepped into her home office to dust.

Donald and Frances were parents again. Inspired by Sophie – and with empty nest syndrome approaching too quickly for Frances's comfort – they'd decided to open their home and hearts to a child with no family to call their own. Two years ago, a little orphan had stolen their hearts. Alejandro – or Alex, as he preferred to be called – had lost both his parents and an older sister in a fire. With no known family members, he'd been made a ward of the Court. The adoption process had been lengthy, but last April, Alex had officially become a Piper.

Returning to the kitchen, Laura put away the cleaning supplies, then fetched the vacuum from the utility room. After plugging it in, she flicked on the stereo, tuning the radio to KROT. Tapping the on button the vacuum with her foot, she set aside her thoughts to dance and sing along with the radio…

"It's Friday night and the weekend's here
I need to unwind, where's the party, Mr. DJ…"