Chapter 3: Youth Revisited

Laura walked through the house, turning off unnecessary lights and checking to make sure doors were secure. She'd helped Laurie Beth with her bath and had sent her off to bed with a promise she'd be in to read to her as soon as she corralled her brother and sister into showers and bed as well. She mentally ticked off what she still had to accomplish on the evening before she could take a few minutes to relax. Laurie Beth's story, of course. Dishes washed and put away. Lunches to pack – never mind if Frances's daily schedule, which hung on the kitchen wall, dictated making them first thing in the morning. The coffee maker to set up. Linens and pillow to gather so Remington could make up his bed on the couch.

She wasn't sure if she could do this day-in and day-out… this parenting bit. Especially since in the Piper household it seemed the division of parenting labor was unfairly skewed. True, Frances didn't have a job and Donald did, but, still, the responsibility of the entire household fell on her sister's shoulders with Donald only assigned three tasks each day: Dump the garbage, call home at 1:30 and check the mail. All the rest, her sister: Make the meals, wash the dishes, clean the house, drive carpool, take the kids to all their separate activities, do the laundry, do the grocery shopping, pay the bills… The list was never ending. And this unequal division was one of the reasons she'd vacillated on the subject of marriage for half her life.

She sighed heavily. Not to mention, it clearly did not come naturally to her, running a household and raising children. She'd barely survived Baby Caruso, had floundered with the Gallant children, and tonight? A disaster from start to finish. She was either using the sotto voice Remington had once described as 'treacly,' or, as he'd pointed out again tonight, was screeching at the top of her lungs. It was no wonder the children migrated towards him, given how relaxed he was in their presence.

And dinner? It had been a point of pride, eating every last bite of the spaghetti on her plate, since she'd made it and the children had declared a coup. She could hardly blame them because it had been… awful… and her stomach had been reminding her of the fact ever since. It baffled her how it was possible to create such abominable fare when all she'd done was open a jar and boil some pasta, but she had. That thought was greeted by another frustrated exhale and a pair of fingers taking to her brow to rub.

Now the question was: Where had Remington gotten off to? She hadn't seen hide nor hair of the man since she'd left him with the other children while she'd assisted Laurie Beth with her bath. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, she came to a standstill.

It was immaculate.

The dining room table had been cleared, all the dishes apparently scraped, rinsed and placed in the dishwasher which was currently running through its cycle. She laughed to herself, when she realized he'd also been plotting apparently, for on the counter sat a bottle of wine and two glasses. Exactly what she needed after all that had gone on in the last twelve hours.

She laughed aloud, and smiled a wide, dimpled smile when she tugged open the refrigerator door to retrieve lunch meat and cheese to prepare the kids lunches for the following day. If the three brown bags sitting on the top shelf were any indication, he'd beaten her to that as well. Picking up a bag, she unfolded the top and peered inside. Indeed, a sandwich, carrot sticks and a single cookie were packaged inside. That man.

She had to wonder if he would ever stop surprising her. Closing the refrigerator door, she plucked wine and glasses off the counter, turned out the kitchen light, then set everything on the coffee table in the living room before returning to Laurie Beth's bedroom. She was halfway down the hallway where the children's bedrooms were located when she heard the rich timbre of Remington's voice coming from one of the rooms. Following it, she leaned her back against the wall, simply listening.

"And the princess, seeing her prince locked in the tower, carefully scaled the wall—"

"What's scaled?" Laurie Beth could be heard asking.

"Hmmmm. Have you ever climbed a tree?" Remington asked.

"Yes, where we used to live."

"You know how you have to find a good branch to hold onto and then push your feet hard against the trunk to help you up?"

"Uh huh," the little girl responded eagerly.

"Well, when one scales a tower, they find the perfect rock to hold onto, the just like that tree, find the right place for their feet so they might climb right up," he explained.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she elongated the word, the added sadly. "But a princess wouldn't do that because she's a girl, and girls don't climb or rescue people because they're not big enough or strong enough."

"That's not true at all," he corrected. "I have watched with my own eyes as your Aunt Laura scaled a tower, so to speak, in order to save the woman who works for us - our friend, Miss Krebs. And I can't count how many times she has rescued me."

"She has?" she asked in awe.

"Cross my heart." The little girl's giggles trickled down the hallway.

"If Aunt Laura is the princess, are you the prince?" she asked somberly.

"I'd like to think so, little one," he replied with a serious undertone that saw Laura pressing her back to the wall and smiling.

"Do you like my Aunt Laura?"

"Mmmmm, very much," he confirmed.

"Do you love her, like my Daddy does my Mommy?" she asked thoughtfully. The question left Remington clearing his throat and Laura listening keenly from where she was undetected.

"Well, I think that's a question I should answer for your Aunt Laura before anyone else, don't you?" Outside the room, Laura scrunched her face, the question remaining unanswered even for a five-year-old.

"If you married my Aunt Laura, would you be my uncle?"

"It's how things of that sort work, yes," he answered handily. In the hall, Laura rolled her eyes.

"I wish you were my uncle, Mr. Remington," she told him sleepily.

"Stranger things have been known to happen," he answered cryptically. "Now, shall we finish the story before sleep—"

"What are you doing out here, Aunt Laura?"

Laura started when Mindy's voice called out from behind her, and from within Laurie Beth's room she heard Remington stop speaking and chuckle warmly. That made her blush from head-to-toe. Busted. Damn. And by a ten-year-old.

"Are you alright Aunt Laura?" Mindy asked as she approached her. "You're all red."

Inside the room that chuckle became a full blown laugh. Double damn.

"I'm fine. Just getting ready to tuck your sister in and read her the bedtime story, as I promised," she half prevaricated. "Do you need something?"

"I'm just going to brush my teeth," the young girl answered.

"Have a good night, sweetie," Laura offered, then, taking a breath, stepped away from the wall and into Laurie Beth's room. "Laurie Beth, are you—" She stopped and feigned surprise at Remington's presence. "Here you are! I was wondering where you'd gotten off to." He merely raised a brow at her and smirked. Given there was no use continuing on the farce as he'd called her hand in that one action, she smiled at him. "Are you ready for that story?"

"Mr. Remington told me a story. It's almost over," the little girl answered.

"Alright, then I'll just sit here with you and listen to the end."

"So the princess scaled the castle walls," he continued on cue, "Rescuing her prince and they lived happily, ever after."

"The end," Laurie Beth amended. Remington stood and tucked the covers around the little girl, then accepted the hug she offered him with a smile.

"Yes. Now, off to sleep with you. You've school in the morning," he ordered, bussing her on the top of the head and stepping away. He watched from the doorway as Laura bid her goodnights as well.

"I'll see you in the morning, sweetie," she told the little girl, tucking the sheets a little more firmly.

"Good night, Aunt Laura."

With that, Laura turned off the bedside light and closed the door until it stood only open a crack.

"Danny and Mindy, then?" Remington inquired. Laura shook her head and laughed.

"They're not babies, you know," she told him in the offended voices with which she'd been told the same by the children.

"Ah, there may come a day they regret dismissing the tradition of the 'tuck in' too soon," he mused, as they began walking back to the living room. She turned her head to him and cast it to the side slightly.

"Were you ever tucked in as a child?" Her inborn curiosity wouldn't allow her not to ask the question, but she assumed before it was ever spoken that it would go unanswered.

"There was one family, when I was three, maybe four," he frowned pensively. "Good people, couldn't have children of their own. So, to have me arrive? It was quite the cause for celebration, the child they'd always hoped to have. I lived with them for several months, and had, for that time, what most other children do: stories told while sitting in a lap and being rocked, bed time prayers, evening tuck-ins." He grew somber as he took a seat on the couch, and waited as she took a seat next to his side in response to his outstretched arm.

"So what happened?" she wondered, quietly. He gave his head a shake as though ridding it of the memories, and flashed her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"They discovered she was with child," he supplied. "Times were hard for most families in Ireland during those days. They couldn't afford a second mouth to feed, so sent me on my way." He lifted a thumb to his mouth and worried the nail with his teeth.

"I'm sorry," she told him, her empathy and anger threading her voice.

She'd never understand how so many people had been so unforgivably cruel to a little boy who wanted nothing more than to know who he was and where he belonged. She turned her head and pressed her lips against his neck, hoping it would both convey her understanding of how that little boy must have felt and provide some measure of comfort. He leaned into the touch for a long moment, then seemingly put it all out of his mind. He poured them each a glass of wine, handed one to her, then reached for the remote control of the television. Easing back, he waited for her to adjust then turned on the telly and surfed through the channels looking for something to watch. He laughed aloud and nodded to the screen.

"Apropos for the evening, don't you think?" Yours, Mine and Ours (Lucille Ball, Henry Fonda, United Artists, 1968) was being broadcast.

"As far as I know, you don't have any children and I know I don't," she pointed out, then added, "Not to mention we aren't married. So, how do you figure that?" He pursed his lips, the corners of his eyes tilting upwards in a smile.

"Well, we do find ourselves surrounded by tykes this evening, do we not?" he proposed.

"I would hardly refer to three children as 'surrounded,' Mr. Steele," she retorted with a smile.

"Mmmmm. Even so I'd say we've done remarkably well when levied against our last two experiences with children, eh?" He mentally gave himself a quick kick in the shin while he watched both her mood and self-confidence plummet.

"You more so than I," she replied, suddenly taking a great interest in the nailbeds of the fingers on one hand.

"Laura, there's more to raising children than being able to toss together an edible pot of spaghetti," he pointed out.

"You're right," she appeared to agree, then added, "Such as not 'screeching', as you put it, or using a 'treacly' voice with them."

"Do you want to be a mother, Laura?" he asked. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, giving the question serious consideration.

"Yeah, I do, someday," she finally answered, solemnly. "One, maybe two."

"Then isn't that all that matters? I've never know you to be less than stellar at anything you've wanted to accomplish." Her lips lifted in a smile and she set the thought aside to ponder later when he shifted in his seat, to face her more fully. "Uh, Laura," he began, his eyes focused on her lips for a long second, until those lips pursed knowingly.

"Yes?" she asked impishly.

"You know how we've… indulged our fantasies from time to time?" She laughed silently.

"Go on."

"Living as I did in my youth, I never had an opportunity to explore one of the taboos of young dating rituals…" A dimple appeared in her cheek.

"Which taboo would that be?" she encouraged, fingering a button on his shirt.

"How did you once put it?" He searched his mind, then smiled when he retrieved the term from memories of their time together. "Necking with the girl I was seeing while she was elsewise occupied babysitting."

"I'm afraid I don't have the appropriate clothing to pretend to be a school girl, Mr. Steele," she flirted, trekking a finger from shoulder to belt.

"I've a vivid imagination," he dismissed, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her lips up to his. He sampled her lips briefly, then pulled away, smacking his lips together and enjoying her taste.

"Mmmm, yes, parochial school uniform it is then." She laughed aloud. It figured the Irish lad would go straight for the image of the Catholic school girl. Well, she knew how to light him up and in a hurry.

"Come to think of it," she began, as his lips lowered to hers again. Freezing, his eyes met hers and he lifted his brows in question. "I seem to recall Mother shipping my uniform to me in the same trunk my Atomic Man decoder ring was kept in." He backed away from her and simply stared.

"Laura, are you saying—"

"We can make that particular fantasy a technicolor reality one evening?" she finished for him. "I am." He growled low in his throat.

"You are truly a remarkable woman, Miss Holt," he praised in a gravely, desire filled voice. Pulling her to him again, he settled his lips over hers.

As their make out session had progressed, their positions relative to what they were seeking had changed. Initially, they'd been seated next to each, but as the kiss turned from tender to teasing, she'd straddled his lap, her fingers trailing whisper soft along his neck, through his hair, over his shoulders, while his hands traced her gentle curves, caressed her back, cupped her face and burrowed in her hair. When the kiss moved from teasing to sensual, he'd easily lifted her and moving with her, they'd stretched out prone facing one another, allowing for better access for lips to admire a neck, hands to roam more freely. And when that kiss had turned from sensual to flaming hot, hungry, he'd shifted to stretch his length over hers.

And when a little voice called, "Aunt Laura" from the hall entryway? A healthy shove had sent Remington to the floor, as Laura popped up into a sitting position and peered over the back of the couch.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"I'm thirsty," Laurie Beth implored. Carefully climbing over her partner who lay at her feet quirking an upward brow at her, she took the little girl by the hand, accompanied to her the bathroom, then watched over her as she drank some water from the glass left there for just such a purpose.

"Where's Mr. Remington?" the child asked as she drank her fill. Laura chuckled a single, silent laugh at the image of him lying on the ground and the surprise written all over his face.

"He had a pressing matter to attend to but he'll be here when you wake up in the morning."

"I like Mr. Remington," Laurie Beth offered. A smile lifted Laura's lips.

"So do I," she answered. Taking the glass from the little girl's hand, she emptied it and set it on the counter. "Now let's get you," she ruffed her niece's hair, "Back to bed."

After tucking the child in, she returned to the living room where Remington now sat on the couch awaiting her. In no time at all, she was once again beneath him and he'd settled between her legs.

"An excuse me would have sufficed," he scolded, drawing a quiet laugh from her.

"I panicked, so sue me," she retorted with a pert grin. "Now, shut up and kiss me."

"That I can do."

His lips covered hers and in no time at all, they'd returned to the point where they'd been interrupted. Shirts were tugged out from under waistbands, hands explored warm flesh, and a pair of talented fingers easily released the clasp of a bra, baring even more skin to seeking hands.

"We have to stop," she murmured, then sought his lips again, humming against them when he searched for and found a pert nipple, teasing it. His lips left hers to blaze a path down her throat. Her hand clutched at his head, keeping him close.

"Or we could take it to the bedroom," he suggested, then lathed the sensitive hollow of her throat with his tongue.

"Oh, God, Remington," she moaned softly. "In Donald and Frances's bed? We can't…" He suckled at the nape of her neck for long seconds, until her fingers dug into his back.

"You don't imagine they're playing pinochle in your bed, do you?" he challenged. Her hand stroked down his back then slipped under the tail of his shirt before dipping beneath belt and waistband to tease.

"I try not to imagine it at all." She scraped her nails lightly up his back making him tense, then exhale harshly.

"More like tiddly winks," he added, as though she'd never spoken at all. "Laura," he breathed her name, feeling a bit desperate at the moment. Her lovely body beneath his, his hand toying with her breast, her hand caressing his bare skin, her fingers playing in his hair, her savory skin under his lips… all of it combined to make him burn with need for her. With great resolve, she slipped from beneath him, stood and took several steps back from the couch.

"Take your shower, Mr. Steele," she said by way of refusing his suggestion. "Use the bathroom in Frances and Donald's room so you don't wake the children." He rolled to his back and scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying with all his might to calm his breathing and to not be annoyed with how far along things had progressed before she'd put a stop to them. "I'm going to go check on the children." She wasn't unaffected herself and if not for the children in the house, she would have gladly taken him right there on the couch. But there were children… and a very frustrated man still lying prone, most of his face concealed by those wonderful hands. Releasing a harsh puff of breath, she left the room.

Laura checked on Mindy and Danny, then tucked the clearly restless sleeper, Laurie Beth, back under the covers. When she entered the master suite, the pit-pat of the water in the shower hitting the tiled floor could clearly be heard. Sitting down at the end of the bed, she drew both hands through her hair. It was at times like these that she wished she could release the 'old' Laura and allow her to come out and play. That Laura wouldn't have thought twice about playing the naughty babysitter and shagging the man right there on the sofa, never mind the bedroom. That Laura wouldn't have packed her man off to the shower where he could work out his frustrations in whatever manner he needed to, while she herself sat strung tight as a piano wire from unfulfilled need. That Laura wouldn't be worried about any explanations she might have to make, as she'd proudly own it.

Where was this Laura getting her? Nowhere but itchy, irritable and feeling more than a bit like a tease for encouraging him then directing him to shower.

She slowly stood. Then, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms against her pants, walked across the room and closed the bedroom door. In short order, she'd silently slipped into the bathroom, and shed her clothes. Remington looked up from where he was leaning against extended arms supported by palms to the shower stall wall, shocked by her arrival. Stepping under the spray with him, she let out a surprised yelp.

"It's freezing!" she objected, immediately adjusting the shower knobs until steamy water was streaming down upon them from the shower head above.

"Cold showers normally are," he groused, all not forgiven yet. She glanced down at the impressive erection he was still sporting.

"Do cold showers actually work?" she asked out curiosity, for current evidence suggested otherwise. He gave her an exasperated look.

"I was just about to take matters into my own hand, so to speak," he informed her, by way of answer.

"Working independently, then?" She took a step closer to him, and ran two fingers up the underside of his shaft, before taking it firmly in hand. "You know we always obtain the best results when we work as a team." He needed no further encouragement, and wrapped her in his arms.

After, dried off and fully clothed in pajamas, they lay in Frances and Donald's bed, Laura's head nestled beneath his shoulder and a leg entwined with his.

"You can't stay here all night," she reminded him for the third time. She'd set the alarm for 4:30 a.m. as soon as they'd climbed into bed and had declared he'd be banished to the couch when it sounded.

"You have my word. And we both know Remington Steele's word—"

"Is his bond," she finished for him, then poked a finger at his chest. "I'm not prepared to make the type of explanations Donald and Frances would demand should we get caught in a compromising position by the children… and I don't think you are either."

"Yes, yes. So we've agreed. Will you please just relax?"

She concertedly drew in a breath then let it out slowly. She'd agreed to this possible folly for no other reason than she enjoyed sleeping with the man and had found, in recent weeks, it was more and more difficult to live with her 'not on worknights' edict. She wanted more, as he'd expressed himself on more than one occasion, but had no idea how to give in to it without losing the increasingly fragile control she had over this relationship... not to mention her emotions. Another thought occurred to her, taking her mind off all the complications of them.

"Speaking of the children, where did you take them to lunch?" she wondered aloud.

"After a… vigorous… exchange of ideas, McDonalds was settled upon."

"Oh, my," she drew out the words around her laughter. Pressing upwards, she looked down at him. "That must have been a sight to see. You, amongst the throngs of the meek and ordinary." He gave her a face.

"I'm glad you find my discomfort so amusing," he responded, drily. "I'll have you know, I blended in quite well, given I'd three tykes of my own accompanying me." Her brown eyes twinkled gaily at him.

"Did you eat?"

"I didn't have much choice in the matter, given it was my sudden craving for a Big Mac which drew a détente across increasingly hostile lines." She looked at him askance.

"How do you know about the Big Mac?" she asked, curious. "I haven't known you to haunt fast food joints."

"Now, Laura, my knowledge knows no bounds," he prevaricated, straight faced. "It's practically an American Institution, to say nothing of its catchy slogan: 'two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions and a sesame seed bun.'" She stared at him and began to laugh again.

"Fred," she accused.

"Fred," he confirmed, with a grin.

"And did you actually eat one?"

"Everylastbite." She burst out laughing again, her eyes sparkling in merriment. "With great relish, I might add." Rather like that heaping forkful of spaghetti at dinner this evening, he thought, but wisely kept to himself.

"And your delicately honed taste buds didn't lodge a protest?" she choked out. His eyes twinkled up at her.

"To the contrary. I found it positively… intoxicating." He lifted her hair over her shoulder, and studied her for a long moment, staggered, as he still was on occasion, by her loveliness. He grew serious. "But not nearly so much so as the taste of your lips."

Cupping the back of her neck, he drew her down to him, humming when their lips connected. For a fleeting moment, she forgot where they were, and shifted to stretch atop him as naturally as if they were in her loft or his flat. With that movement, his hum turned into a soft grunt of pleasure, as his lips took his pleasure of hers while her fingers dove into his hair. They savored one another for long seconds, before he chuckled low in his throat and drew away.

"Laura, unless we plan on a second shower this evening…" he left the thought unfinished. Nodding sagely, she tapped her lips to his a final time, then tucked herself back up against his side. Bussing her atop her head, he asked, "Do you think Frances will settle down?" She gave a sputtering, aggravated sigh.

"Donald's always been able to handle her in the past, so I hope so. I'd like to think she wouldn't put the career he's worked for in jeopardy…"

They spoke quietly until first she, then he fell asleep. And true to his word, when she woke at six-thirty to prepare the children for school, he was gone.