Chapter 8: A Kind Year

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," Laura advised Remington, as she lifted the baby off him and cradled her in an arm. Sleep bleary blue eyes rested upon her. Her fingers plucked at his hair which was standing on end, typical of how it looked in the mornings. "I'll take Olivia in with me, and postpone the staff meeting until eleven." He gave her a look of eternal gratitude, then closed his eyes, letting sleep drag him under again. She pressed a kiss to his brow then eased out of bed to feed Olivia before she showered and dressed for work.

The baby fared well during the light of day, cooing, watching her parents' every movement, and sleeping soundly. Each of the last four days, like the three before, that changed with the setting sun, the colic rearing its ugly head between seven-thirty and eight-thirty each evening. At first, she'd grow fussy, then irritable, and before the hour was out, her fists would be pumping, her legs pulling up and her screams would fill the house. By silent agreement, Laura would take the first round, walking, rocking, bouncing, singing and cooing, then, as the night wore on, Remington would take the next. Generally, whatever was amiss in their young child's life was righted between one and three in the morning, but, even then, only when she fell asleep laying against her father's chest. When he'd at last join his wife in bed, Laura would settle her head under his shoulder, and lay her hand upon the baby's bottom, her body and hand providing an extra layer of security for their daughter. For the next three and a half months this would be the new, 'new normal' in their lives.

So, of course, was the difference of routine on a work day. Gone were the days of Laura showering, then nursing a cup of coffee as she dressed, did her hair and makeup. Now there were bottles, diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, burp cloths, and blankets to pack into a diaper bag. Now there was a baby to diaper, feed, burp and dress. All before walking out the front door, of course… with baby, briefcase, purse, diaper bag and cup of coffee in hand. All-in-all, all those things combined added an hour to the morning routine.

But to return to work? Oh, that lost hour of sleep was worth every single second. As Laura stepped off the elevator on the eleventh floor of Century Towers, for the first time in weeks she felt… whole, there was no other word for it. She was no longer the pregnant detective veritable strangers felt compelled to touch and whose condition left clients panicking that she'd be working their case. She was no longer relegated to the role of housewife, watching as her husband left for work each day while she was left to care for home and child. After eight months, it had all come together and she was at long last Laura Steele: Business owner, partner, wife and mother.

Remington had noted the subtle changes in her within minutes of arriving at the office, the realization accompanied by equal parts pride and self-chastisement. The proud tilt of her chin had returned, the same tilt he hadn't even realized had slowly disappeared over the last months. She once again walked with that decisive, long-legged stride that has so quickly caught his fancy many years prior, yet he'd somehow failed to notice had recently gone AWOL. The weariness that had cast a strain about her eyes had vanished, replaced by a fire deep within those brown eyes he adored. She spoke definitively, making decisions without a glimmer of self-doubt. He loathed himself for not realizing the toll being relegated to a desk… or gone from the office altogether… had taken on her, and vowed it would never happen again, not if he had any say in the matter.

Her identity fully back in place, Laura began addressing other parts of herself she'd let go over the past months. When they arrived home after work each day, she'd taken to running again while Remington prepared their dinner, Olivia ensconced in her bouncy seat at his elbow – 'our time', he declared. She'd return home early enough to shower and change, then boost herself up on the other side of the counter, stealing nips of vegetables from plates as they spoke about their day. He relished those times, a tradition that had been years in the making… which he'd also failed to realize had gone missing until it was restored. Unconsciously, she'd taken to brushing back that rebellious lock of hair which insisted on falling across his brow and would often give him a saucy lift of a brow while perching on the edge of his desk in the office. The quiescent need for his wife which always smoldered deep in his belly, flared to life and, in turn, those unconscious touches of his for her, which had been an integral part of their romance from nearly the beginning, multiplied ten-fold.

She burned for him. There was no other way to express her need for him, for itchy had long gone by the wayside. If she believed the four years she'd held him at bay with only midnight fantasies to keep her company had been difficult, it was a thousand times worse wanting him and being unable to have him now. In the wake the girth of her body preventing her from making love with him as she wished for weeks on end, the wait until she was cleared had simply become unbearable. She found herself daydreaming at work about the feel of those gentle hands exploring her body, making her moan and writhe beneath them. As she ran, she remembered the onslaught of sensation caused by his mouth suckling a breast, a tongue connecting each of her freckles together one-by-one. At night, she woke aching for the man next to her, as memories of his skin beneath her hands, his hot breath against her neck, his Irish brogue thickening as he spoke to her in Gaelic… of him filling her in that most unique of ways… plagued her dreams.

They'd both reached a state of perpetual sexual frustration by the time Laura's appointment arrived. Months before, the couple had made a wager: if the baby was a girl, Remington would choose where they'd spend the weekend after she was given clearance; if it was a boy, she would choose. But, given Olivia's nightly difficulties, both agreed being gone for one night, let alone two, simply was not an option. Mildred had excitedly jumped at the chance to have the baby all to herself for nine hours on Saturday, and Frances had been equally thrilled to spend the whole of Sunday with her niece. So, when Laura had stepped into Remington's office on Friday afternoon and closed the door, then leaned against it, his eyes had lit upon her trying to read her expression. When a wide, dimpled smile spread across her face, he sprang from his chair, and within four long strides, he'd captured her against his body and lifted her to her tippy toes to devour her lips.

Remington had chosen the location with nearness in mind. Olivia was six-and-a-half weeks old, and both were reluctant to leave her this first time, worrying before they even departed about all the what ifs: What if she fell ill? What if she simply didn't adjust to being with someone other than them? What if the colic struck earlier in the day? There were simply too many ways their wee one might need them in little more than an instant, so he'd settled on simplicity: The Rossmore, the place where they'd nurtured a romance across the years then had first lived as husband and wife.

He'd arranged for Maria to clean the apartment and for Pierre to deliver a tray with assorted pastries, cheeses and fruits, as well as a bottle of Dom Perignon – 1976 of course. When the door to his old flat closed behind them, however, they hadn't the slightest interest in either eating or imbibing. They never even made it past the entryway after having been deprived of one another for so long. Clothes were peeled off, tossed aside and kicked mindlessly away, while hands roamed a bit frantically and lips sought lips with urgency. She wrapped her legs around his hips when he lifted her by the waist, then pressed her back to the wall.

"Now, Remington," she moaned, needing him too badly to concern herself with all the niceties that normally accompanied his lovemaking. He took her at her word, positioning himself then pressing inwards, groaning as her exotic warmth enveloped him.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked, clenching his teeth as he tried to hold onto his dubious control.

"I'd be fine if you'd get a move on," she panted, while thrusting her hips at him.

He chuckled a raspy laugh, then withdrew and pressed forward again as he covered her lips with his own. Their rhythm was fast, urgent, his hands and mouth wandering aimlessly, settling in no one place. She was equally fraught with the need to feel him beneath her hands, clutching his back, streaking her fingers through the thick mat of hair on his chest, dragging them through his raven hair. Very soon, he felt her legs tighten around his hips, then moments later she arched her back, calling out his name as her body quaked and her muscles clenched around him, sending him soaring as well. He buried himself deep within her, breathing her name against her neck. Only when her lips began trailing along his shoulder, her fingers stroking his back, did he disengage his body from hers to swing her into his arms and carry her in to bed.

Their immediate need answered, they made slow, lazy love throughout the morning, reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies, giving and taking pleasure without apology. She took her fill, greedily, of his body, soaking up the feel of his skin beneath her hands, making up for those weeks when her burgeoning belly prevented her from doing so. He in turn hid nothing from her, letting her know in the way his fingers grasped sheets, pillows… as his body twitched, arched and quaked… exactly how much he'd missed her touch. It was one of the things she adored most about him: this willingness to utterly surrender himself to her, heart and body. As were the words he'd speak against her lips, when his hand tangled in her hair, drawing her down to him for a kiss: Mo chuid den tsaol… Tá mo chroí istigh ionat. And always… always… intense blue eyes stayed upon her, in whose depths she found his love for her, burning desire, utter vulnerability and deep, abiding gratitude that she'd at last allowed them to have the life they now called their own.

When she'd taken him to the very edge, she eased off to him and lay on her back, tugging his hand until he stretched his lean frame over hers. As she drew her hands down his back and spread her legs in invitation, a shiver traipsed over his skin. He took her over that most sought after peak, twice, joining her the last. Afterwards, he tucked his face into the crook of her neck as her hands caressed his sweat soaked back, and soothed back his damp hair. It was exactly the contact she'd been craving those last weeks of her pregnancy and she reveled in it.

The weekend had proven to be just what they'd needed to fully restore their easy intimacy as well as to recharge their batteries, so to speak. It also bore out what Laura had proposed when they were considering branching out into parenthood.

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"If…. When … we do this, you and I… our relationship, our marriage has to come first… before everything, even our children. You and I, our relationship, will determine how our children see their home, how they view their future relationships, it will determine if they grow up secure and happy, or reach adulthood remembering unhappiness and loss as we did."

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Twice a week they began surrendering Olivia over to the capable hands of Bernice or Mildred, so that they could lunch behind closed doors, taking a few precious moments to simply enjoy being Laura and Remington – friends, partners, lovers and husband and wife, nothing else. As the months wore on and Olivia's colic waned, they made it a point to have a date night each week: dinner, followed by dancing, the ballet, a movie or even simply a walk along the beach. But it was, more than anything, their evenings at home that cemented their relationship more with each passing day: a glass of wine as they talked softly before a fire; dancing in the living room or terrace as quiet strands of music filtered through the lower level of the house; frolicking in the pool or making love in the hot tub; or simply going over case files as they sat together on the couch, a movie playing, volume turned down, in the background.

By no means, did their focus on one another lessen the place of importance their baby daughter held in their lives. They were utterly captivated by her and spent every moment they could bonding with her while marveling over her latest developmental skills. It was not uncommon to find Remington at his desk of a morning, feet propped up on the corner, newspaper open before him as he enjoyed his morning tea, with Olivia reclining against him as he read to her aloud. Nor was it uncommon to find Laura setting aside budgets and case files in order to rock and sing Olivia to sleep in her small but warm office nursery. It had become a common occurrence for Bernice to yell after one or the other Agency owner to remove the burp cloth from their shoulder as they were walking out the door.

As for Bright Beginnings daycare? While the tuition was paid faithfully each week, by her six month of life Olivia had spent nary a minute there. Bernice and Mildred were tickled whenever they had the opportunity to spend time with the little one, quickly volunteering their services when Laura and Remington had a meeting or needed to leave the office. And the biggest surprise? Marvin T. Slottman, Jr. It turned out the nerdy white-collar investigator-in-training not only had a knack with children, but truly enjoyed them and Olivia gurgled and cooed whenever he held her. Thus, if clients were expected rendering Bernice unavailable and Mildred was otherwise engaged, he'd become, across time, the caregiver in waiting, a responsibility he eagerly took on.

As Olivia's first Christmas approached, Laura worried incessantly that Remington would go overboard, as he'd been inclined to do the Christmas prior with her nieces and nephews. Several times she'd attempted to indirectly address her concerns only to be blithely ignored, so she'd finally taken the straightforward approach one afternoon, three weeks before the holiday, as they'd eaten a quiet lunch in his office.

"We need to discuss Christmas," she informed him, before taking a bite of her enchilada. Bent over his tray of food, he looked up through his lashes at her.

"Oh? What've you on your mind?" he asked around the mouthful of burrito he was chewing.

"Restraint," she answered bluntly. "As in you, not getting carried away where our daughter is concerned."

"Don't be absurd, Laura," he smiled, before taking another bite of food. "Olivia will barely have reached her seventh week by then. There'll be plenty of time for that in the years to come." She nodded her head, then, setting her fork down, leaned back in her chair, stroking her throat.

"Do you recall two years ago when you and I sat in this very room discussing Christmas memories?" she finally asked. He flashed her a smile before sampling a taco.

"How could I forget?" She nodded then stood. His eyes followed her as he continued to eat.

"What was my fondest Christmas memory?" she prompted. His brows drew together as he tried to speculate on what she was about.

"Your family, getting along, even your mother," he provided. He gestured with his hand. "Of how your received a box of Parlays each Christmas, which is, of course, why I've given them to you since."

"And you followed a little boy with a sled, hoping for just a glimpse of the home, the family you never had at the holidays," she reminded him.

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"I remember one. I saw this father and his son. They were walking in the snow, hand in hand. The boy was about my age, ten or eleven. He had a sled, and, I don't know why, I followed them. I told myself it was for the sled. I was going to snatch it from the boy, sell it for a couple of quid, see if I could buy myself a place to kip that night. But that wasn't it at all. I just wanted to see…"

"What?"

"They went up the steps. Small house, nothing fancy. If I hung over the railings, I could look into the front room. There was a Christmas tree. Presents. Not a lot. People. Smiling. All warm and…loving."

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"Yes, yes," he agreed, waving his hand a bit impatiently.

"My point is, our memories weren't about what we did or didn't receive," she pointed out. "They were about home and family, love and tradition. You, wishing for those very things. Me, regretting the loss of them when my father left." She threw out her arms. "That's what I want Olivia to remember: A home, filled with love, warmth, tradition."

"As do I." He emphasized his words with a wave of the fork.

"Then we don't spoil her!" she insisted. "So that when Olivia's daughter asks her thirty years from now what her favorite present ever was, she remembers the year she got that Barbie Dream House she'd been wishing for every night before she went to bed for six months… Or the art set when she was eleven, after she'd left notes all over the house for us, so we wouldn't forget she needed it because she wanted to be an artist just like her father. When you bury a child in things, they fail to truly appreciate what they have!" Her voice rose throughout her speech, drawing him to lean forward and lay a shocked look upon her.

"Laura, what has gotten into you?" Across the room, she rubbed at her brow and let out a long sigh.

"I just think it's important that we come to an understanding now," she answered, the wind gone out of her sails. He stood and rounded the desk, leaning his backside against it.

"Tell me, in the four years I lived at the Rossmore, how many 'things' did I accumulate? Hmmm?" he questioned. She thought it over at length.

"Other than your movies, cookware and a few posters? Nothing I can put my finger on," she admitted.

"And have I ever bestowed an avalanche of meaningless gifts on you?" he pressed.

"Well, no," she conceded, "But you said—"

"Oh, I imagine we'll have many an argument in years to come," he acknowledged with a grin, "But not because of excessive quantity."

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously, as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She automatically lay her hands on his shoulders.

"Oh, a pony, I imagine, should she wish to learn to ride…" Her eyes narrowed. "A pair of tasteful diamonds when her Mommy decides she is old enough to get her ears pierced…"

"Remington…." She drew out his name in warning. He only smiled and drew her closer.

"An appropriate car when she begins to drive…"

"Mr. Steele…" His smile only widened as one arm slid up her back to circle her shoulders.

"As I said, many an argument," he reminded her without apology, the leaned down to taste her lips. She laughed and smacked his shoulder playfully.

"What am I going to do with you?" she wondered aloud while giving a rueful shake of her head.

"Don't you know?" he asked with lifted brow, before bending his head and stealing another kiss.

Olivia's first Christmas within the Steele household was kept simple. She received, per the Holt tradition, her first ornament: a baby rocking in a cradle. Her Da presented her with a new sketch of she and her parents snuggled up together on the hospital bed right after her birth, which would be added to the nursery wall while her Mommy bestowed on her a couple of new dresses. To Laura from Remington: scores for the piano, a silk robe in red, and a pair of diamond and golden citrine earrings with a matching necklace, designed by his own hand to commemorate Laura's first Christmas as a mother. She wasn't to be outdone, for she'd presented him with more movies for his library, of course, and a new, top of the line camera to replace the seven-year-old model he'd been using, as he'd taken a shine to commemorating Olivia's constantly changing image to film. It was the last present that had his brow and temperature rising at one: a scant piece of red lace and silk that had his fertile imagination driving him mad until Laura had at last donned it for him in the near dawn hours when their daughter permitted him to move her to her bed.

Despite Laura's efforts, their little girl was deluged with presents, albeit not at her father's hands. A handmade quilt in creams and dusty pinks from Elena and Marco; yet more clothes from Thomas & Catherine, Zeth & Calista, Bernice & Jason, Monroe & Jocelyn, Frances & Donald and Abigail; a music box from Christos & Helena to lull her on restless nights; a porcelain doll featuring black hair and bright blue eyes from Melina; a pair of satin trimmed blankets and a cozy bunting from Mildred to keep her snuggled warm on rides to work with Mommy on crisp, winter mornings; a soft, squishy, stuffed bunny from Murphy & Sherry which she'd drag around by the ear for years to come; and every teething ring, rattle and crinkling infant toy in existence, it seemed, from Fred, Brandon, Zack, Marvin, Danny, Mindy, Laurie Beth, Veronica, Maxie and Weasel.

Still, as the old year ended and the New Year arrived, her body tucked against Remington's, her hand resting on Olivia's diapered little bum, Laura couldn't help but conclude 1987 had been truly kind to her little family. Remington had finally found the answers to his past, while gaining a father in Thomas, to whom he grew closer each day. He'd saved the life of their unborn child, and survived Anna's murderous intentions. Roselli had been given a long sentence in Greece, and would not darken their doorstep again. The Agency had tripled in size, personnel wise, and doubled in size space wise. The friendship and marriage she shared with her partner and husband had only grown stronger. Then there was the biggest blessing of all: the baby who would turn two months old with only a few more flips of the minute tiles on their alarm clock. As the clock turned to midnight, she pressed up on an elbow and laced a hand through Remington's hair.

"Happy New Years, Mr. Steele," she whispered down to him, so as not to wake the sleeping baby. Her brown eyes shimmered and a smile danced on her lips. He cupped her neck with the hand not securing their child where she lay against his chest.

"Happy New Years, Mrs. Steele," he returned the greeting with a wide smile, then tugged her head downwards, sealing his lips over hers. What was meant to be a chaste kiss quickly took on a life of its own, until she pushed up and away from him. She blinked hard, her eyes remaining wide after.

"Apparently, the New Year will be coming in with a bang, after all," she murmured.

"I'd like to think there will be an explosive moment…" he waggled his brows at her, "…or two." She gave him an impish grin, before bending down and touching her lips to the top of their child's head.

"Happy birthday, sweet girl," she murmured, then settled back down in her husband's embrace.

If the year ahead was only half as perfect as this moment which ushered it in, she couldn't help believing 1988 would be a very, very good year.