Chapter 12: A Date

Much to Laura's dismay, on Sunday morning she was greeted with a rollicking case of morning sickness. She'd felt so… well… on Saturday night that when she woke with the vague, disconcerting feeling of being seasick, she'd brushed it aside. Until, that is, she stood… swayed… then bolted for the bathroom. She didn't manage to crawl out of bed again until nearly ten-thirty, by then having determined she'd need to set the alarm clock for a full hour earlier the next day if she had any hope of meeting the accountant on time. Remington plied her throughout the day with a steady stream of Elena's morning sickness remedies including a late lunch of ginger papaya soup and a whole wheat turkey pita and a dinner of Rotini with chicken sprinkled lightly with lemon.

By mid-afternoon she'd felt well enough to venture out for some much needed intimate apparel shopping, an endeavor, of course, in which her husband was only too eager to assist. After much laughter and eye rolling inspired by his antics, she'd kicked him out so she could concentrate on the task at hand. Purchases made, she journeyed to the men's department only to find her spendthrift spouse nowhere within. Likewise, a tour through housewares failed to turn him up. With a small laugh as an idea of where she might find him took shape, she rode the elevator up to third floor. There, Laura found Remington standing at almost the center of the infant's department, rubbing at his face.

"It's a good thing I'm a detective or I might never have found you," she teased when she approached him.

"Have you any idea the enormity of the purchases required for an infant who does nothing but sleep all day?" he asked.

"I already told you I have rudimentary knowledge, at best," she reminded him.

"Crib, bassinet, rocker, changing table, dresser, nightlight, baby monitor, bedding with bumpers—" He looked down at her, clearly flummoxed. "What in god's name is a bumper and why would we want it near our child? It sounds positively hideous!" He wiped at his face again. "Pram, high chair, bouncer, swing. A swing? The babe won't be able to sit for how long, so how is he or she supposed to swing?" Her lips began to twitch with amusement as he turned his attention back to eyeing the store. "Diaper pail, diaper bag, receiving blankets, burp cloths. Does Baby Steele actually need a cloth in order to burp? Eh? Nappies, disposable or cloth? Bottles. Glass or plastic? With collapsible liner or without? What type of nipple, because apparently there are a large variety from which to choose, and the choice you make could possibly lead to disaster where the babe is concerned. Nursing pillows, nursing pad, nipple cream… I don't even wish to think about the why for of the last. Nail clippers, diaper cream, thermometer, baby soap, baby shampoo, baby lotion, binkies." He turned his attention back to her. "What in the bloody hell is a binky, Laura? The only Binky I know of is you and you come part and parcel with Baby Steele!" By the time he finished, she pressed palm to mouth to muffle her laughter as her brown eyes danced with amusement. "It's not funny, Lau-ra. What's truly frightening is I've already forgotten at least half of the clerk's litany of needs and must-do's." Clamping her upper teeth on her lower lip to keep the laughter at bay, she took him by the arm and guided him back towards the elevator. Only when she finally managed to rein in her amusement did she speak.

"I'm fairly certain we can put at least one of those questions to rest right now," she consoled.

"Oh, and which is that?" he inquired, as he leaned his backside against the wall of the elevator and dragged both hands through his hair.

"Unless you plan on scrubbing the cloth diapers, we'll be using disposable," she advised. He blinked at her trying to discern what she was saying then turned slightly green around the jowls when it computed.

"You mean after the babe's soiled them? As in…" he waved a hand around "… yeesh?"

"I can't imagine why they'd need scrubbing before…" she imitated his hand gesture, "… yeesh."

"That's just…" he couldn't find an acceptable word. "Disposable it is." She walked over to lean next to him against the wall and patted his arm.

"It'll be fine. We have seven months to figure it all out," she reminded him. "As for the rest of what you've forgotten? I realized last night there is a likely a list of must-have's for first time parents in one of those books you brought home."

"Do you think those books will also tell us how large of an addition our home will require in order to make room for everything?" A dimple flashed in her cheek at the complaint. It was so rare to see the unflappable Mr. Steele completely flabbergasted that she enjoyed every moment of the time when it happened.

So, on Sunday afternoon until twilight, they'd lounged on the hammock reading those books and looking for the answers to those questions. The day sped by, as did the night and it seemed in only the blink of an eye the alarm was blaring, demanding they rise for work. Remington's hand had smoothed down Laura's arm, halting her from getting up.

"I'd like to try something this morning. To see if we might dispel the morning sickness first thing, eh?" Rolling to her back she looked up at him quizzically as he turned and picked up something off his nightstand. "Ginger lemon lozenge," he explained, handing it to her. "Let's wait twenty minutes or so and see if you can take to your feet without a mad dash to the bathroom immediately following. Hmm?"

"I guess it couldn't hurt to try," she shrugged, popping the lozenge into her mouth then rolling back to her side. He wormed his way back around her body and settled in to doze. "You're really are going above and beyond, Mr. Steele," she yawned.

"You know me, Mrs. Steele, anything for another wink or two," he answered dismissively. It was too much. Her warm little body tucked against his, her scent surrounding him. He slept. Only to be roused scant seconds later, he'd swear, by a fully dressed wife. Rolling to his back, he scrubbed at his beard with a hand.

"Thirty minutes until you need to leave, sweetheart," she informed him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing. He glanced at the alarm clock, confused. Seven-fifteen? Last he'd looked it was five-thirty.

"I can afford to be a few minutes late," he told her, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You, however, can't afford not to put something on your stomach lest you become ill. I won't be a moment."

"I'll be fine. I made myself a cup of tea for the ride. I left the kettle warming on the stove for you," she advised as she turned to leave. He captured her hand in his.

"Laura," he drawled, concern etching his words.

"I said I'll be fine, Remington." Her tone made it clear she wouldn't argue the point further. "The lozenge worked. I'm a little queasy but I haven't gotten sick. I put a couple more in my purse along with two peanut butter oat bars. If you want to pick up lunch for us…" she allowed the suggestion to stand. Surprisingly, he shook his head in the negative.

"As enticing a thought as having lunch with you is, since we're rescheduling all appointments until week's end, I thought I try to visit the remainder of the Fournier stores. If I put in a late evening, I could very well have all the systems planned by night's end." She gave him a sidelong glance.

"What's the rush? We have until month's end." He nodded in agreement.

"We do. And a slew of potential clients wanting the same. I'd prefer to get ahead so I can reconvene my partnership with a certain lovely young woman." The thought brought a smile to her lips that reached all the way to her eyes.

"A worthy endeavor then." She pressed up on her tiptoes and tapped her lips to his. "I'll see you this afternoon for the interviews."

"Laura," he called just as she prepared to cross the threshold of their bedroom. She turned, giving him a questioning look. "You'll call your doctor and make an appointment?" he asked anxiously. She gave him a dimpled smile as her face lit up.

"I will. As soon as I get to the office," she promised.

"You'll call and let me know?" She crossed the room, returning to him.

"As soon as I know." She brushed her lips across a cheek then departed.

Monday was as busy as they'd be forewarned it would be. Laura checked in with the office on the way to the accountant's, instructing Bernice to reschedule all appointments until Thursday and beyond. She and Murphy returned to Morton's neighborhood and canvassed it for anyone currently home that might have seen something two days prior. They'd had as much success with finding a witness as they'd had at zeroing in on a suspect so far: absolutely none. The neighbors whose backyard abutted Morton's were on vacation. The neighbor to the right of his house was deaf as a doornail, and the neighbors on the left appeared not to be home. The neighbor across the street did recall hearing what sounded like gunfire, but hadn't witnessed anything out of the ordinary. Their luck held when they drove out Inglewood to Jim Carstair's last known address, only to find the small, Spanish style cottage vacant and with a sale's sign on the lawn. A call to the realtor also netted nothing of help: Carstairs was not the listed owner, the owner was out of country, the property was a rental investment, and no, the realtor wasn't privy to information on tenants. A canvas of the working class neighborhood found no one at home, or at least no one willing to open a door. Frustrated they returned to the office. With Laura and Remington tied up in interviews which would start in under an hour and extend the remainder of the day, Murphy took his leave, pledging to check in on Morton on his way home.

But, there had been at least one ray of light on the day thus far, Laura admitted to herself as she sat behind her desk, feet propped on the corner and tapping her fingers together. When she'd arrived at the offices at nine-fifteen, true to her word she'd shut herself behind closed doors and called the offices of her OB/GYN. For the first time in the dozen plus years she'd been a patient, she hadn't been drolly informed the 'next available appointment' was nearly a month out. Instead, while Dr. Adam's schedule was packed, Dr. Miller had an appointment cancellation for the following morning at eight-thirty. She eagerly scheduled herself in then picked up the phone and called Remington's car phone.

"How does eight-thirty tomorrow morning sound?" she asked without preamble, tapping a pencil against the desk absent mindedly as she smiled into the phone.

"It sounds as though my wife's powers of persuasion are as sharp as they ever were," he answered, raising his voice to be heard over the wind and traffic around him.

"No persuasion needed. Like whoever benefited from the numerous appointments I cancelled last year, we are benefitting from someone doing the same. Do you want to go?" she queried, suspecting he would.

"Ah, Mrs. Steele, need you even ask?" She laughed warmly, leaning further back in her chair.

"No, I don't think that I do, Mr. Steele." Her words went straight to his heart and a smile lit his face for the remainder of the drive to the next Fournier site.

Remington, unlike his partner and wife, had encountered great success throughout the day. Despise legwork he might, but given the proper incentive he could accomplish it with aplomb. And wrapping up the evaluations of the stores and putting into place the layout of the upgraded security systems? As it meant the return to his partner's side, incentive it certainly was. He'd already scheduled a meeting with Monroe for eleven the following morning, to review the upgrades and changes to the remaining stores. By the time he climbed into bed at slightly past midnight, snuggling close to Laura's delectably warm form, he fully believed by week's end the Fournier stores would be complete.

"Are you done?" she asked sleepily, tangling her fingers with his and drawing their joined hands to rest between her breasts.

"Mmmm," he hummed, nuzzling the top of her head with his chin, "That I am."

"Get some sleep," she managed, before she let sleep take her away again. He chuckled quietly at the 'wifely' order but none the less settled in to do just that.

When the alarm went off the following morning, Remington pressed a ginger-lemon lozenge into Laura's hand, then climbed out of bed heading directly towards the shower. Yesterday, for the first time in more than a week, she'd made it through the day without emptying her stomach. Just a good day? Maybe. But if a day of relative comfort was at all due to Elena's recipes, it seemed wise to continue employing them. Thus, by the time they'd climbed into their respective cars to drive to the doctor's office, Laura had her second cup of tea on the day in hand, and a purse filled with lozenges, sugar coated ginger drops and peanut butter vanilla oat bars.

By eight-twenty they were ensconced in the waiting room as Laura filled out a sheath of paperwork, pausing frequently for her brows to knit and to tap pen against paper.

"Do people actually know all of this?" she finally asked, frustration peppering her voice. Remington peered over her shoulder at the lengthy list of questions pertaining to family medical history. He gave a shrug of his shoulder.

"Not I. Truth be told, it never even occurred to me we might need information such as this or I'd have asked Thomas for a bit of background," he admitted. "Leastwise we know we've suffered from none of the maladies listed. You'd think that would count for something, eh?"

"I suppose," she agreed half-heartedly. She blew out a puff of air, feeling inadequately prepared… again… for parenthood in the wake of being unable to even provide a complete medical history. Winding his fingers with her free hand, he brushed his lips over her knuckles.

"All will be fine, love," he assured her in an undertone. Uncertain brown eyes lifted to meet his. "All things considered, I suspect we're yards ahead—"

"Mrs. Steele," a voice called as the door leading to the exam rooms opened.

"Yes," Laura acknowledged, standing along with Remington. He kept his hand comfortingly on the small of her back as they were taken to a room.

The nurse pulled a cotton gown out of a drawer and lay it on the exam table.

"Strip down all the way and leave the gown open at the front. I'll be back before you know it to take your vitals," she instructed, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

Remington puttered around the room while Laura undressed and put on the far too large gown. Hands shoved in his pockets he took a great deal of interest in the instruments laying on a tray atop a rolling table.

"Fitting for the Marquis de Sade himself," he reflected.

"I'm sure nearly every woman would agree with you," she nodded as she hoisted herself up on the exam table. Her comment was greeted by lifted brows as he looked from the instruments to her.

"Surely you don't mean… I mean he doesn't…" his eyes wandered below her waist, as his words stalled. She lifted her brows at him in answer. "Tell me you're joking."

"I wish that I were," she retorted ruefully.

"It's amazing a woman ever let's a man near them," he mulled aloud.

"Men have no idea how easy they have it," she concurred.

"Until one comes up on the wrong side of a prostrate exam," he countered. She winced in empathy, then raised her brows in challenge.

"Unless, of course, you consider a woman faces those tools once a year from her teens until menopause. Once you have, oh, thirty-five to forty of those exams, we'll discuss who comes up worse in the whole scheme of things."

Their conversation halted when the door swung open and the nurse returned carrying a tote with her. Once Laura's blood pressure and pulse were taken and recorded in her chart, the nurse removed a rubber strap from the tote.

"I've already had the pregnancy test at the hospital," Laura informed the woman. "The were supposed to forward the result to your office."

"They did. But they didn't perform a full screening for pregnancy. So, more blood I'm afraid," the nurse replied, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"Full screening?" Remington asked, ducking he head down to catch the nurse's eye as Laura puffed an agitated breath. While she would by no means run from them, needles ranked right up there on her list with the tools lying in wait on the tray.

"Rh factor, hemoglobin, immunities and to rule out any infections which could be of an issue," the nurse supplied.

"Infections? Such as?" he prodded.

"Hepatitis, syphilis, gonorrhea, HIV, chlamydia." The Steele's eyes turned to the door when a tap sounded against it.

"Little Laura Holt, all grown up, married and about to be a mother!" the gregarious man with salt-and-pepper hair and wearing a lab coat boomed. To Remington's utter amusement he watched a flush pinken his wife's skin. "I've been taking care of your wife since she was sixteen. Dragged in kicking and screaming by your mother, wasn't it?" he teased her. To her mortification, she felt her skin heat again.

"You know it was," she answered with a roll of her eyes.

"How is Abigail?" he inquired.

"Still living in Connecticut. Thank God," the last mumbled under her breath.

"I've missed you the last couple of times you were in. Told Doc Adams if he's going to poach patients, he should at least limit himself to those who aren't longtime favorites." He clapped his hands together once and rubbed them together. "Alrighty then. First time mom. Familiar with what we're going to do today?"

"'Fraid not," she answered succinctly.

"Full pelvic including pap. I'll check your cervix so we know where we stand there. Breast exam." The doctor's eyes flitted to Remington as he spoke, and noted the man had lost half of the little color he had in his face. "After, I want to take a look for myself at the fetus, so ultrasound and fetal heart check. We should have a relatively accurate estimate of when the baby will arrive before you leave." Another clap and rub of the hands. "Ready to roll?"

"As I'll ever be," she answered, not even nearly as chipper as Dr. Miller about what lay ahead.

"Mr. Steele, you might want to step outside. As soon as I've finished the exam, we'll bring you back in for all the excitement."

Remington's eyes met Laura's and he silently thanked the stars above that his wife and partner seemed as reticent as he about his presence during the first part. Not a squeamish man under normal circumstances, he had little desire to watch another man, doctor or not, getting overly familiar with his wife's most intimate of areas… especially with the sadistic tools his eyes couldn't help but flick towards one last time. With a nod, he left Laura in the capable hands of doctor and nurse and happily held up the wall in the hallway.

Then proceeded to work himself into a dither wondering what was going on behind that door. Before long he was pacing, pausing to stuff his hands into his pockets, then pacing again while rubbing at the back of his neck. What's taking so bloody long? Is there a problem? With Laura? With the babe? At the very least shouldn't someone stick their heads out the door and let a man know all was going well? Just when he was considering storming the proverbial gates, the door swung open.

"Mr. Steele, you can come back in," the nurse informed him. He didn't hesitate and strode swiftly to Laura's side. Lying back with a paper cloth covering her from hips down he grasped her proffered hand. Dancing brown eyes met strained blue ones. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Relax, everything's fine," she soothed. Swallowing hard, he nodded his head rapidly.

"Better than fine, I'd say. Your wife's a specimen of excellent health," Miller confirmed while positioning the ultrasound machine close to the exam table. He clapped and scrubbed his hands. "Now for the exciting part."

Twenty minutes later, the Steele's were left alone in the room while Laura redressed. They'd leave the offices on that day with new ultrasound pictures and something extra. Remington had stunned her when he'd removed the Agency's micro-recorder from his pocket in hopes they'd get to hear their child's heartbeat again, and with a press of a button, it was now theirs to listen to anytime they wished.

Grasping her head in the palm of his hands, he drew her up and covered her lips with his own, lingering there, immersing himself in her taste, savoring the velvety softness of her lips. The kiss left her dazed, and he drew her into his arms.

"October 25th," he breathed in wonder. "How fitting, so shortly after the fifth anniversary of our meeting for the first time."

"I was thinking more along the lines of so close to the first time we ever kissed," she mused. He stiffened and his eyes widened as he moved her away. Laura admitting to sentimentality, especially surrounding those early days? The thought was baffling. Her laughter filled the room, so amused was she by his reaction. Lacing their fingers together, she tugged him out the door towards the checkout window. Grinning, he followed behind her willingly, then came tried in vain to try to turn her back around. She glanced back at him to see what he was about and came to a halt when she saw his eyes filled with unconcealed dread and… she struggled to put a finger on the emotion. Panic? Her eyes followed the direction of his. Her back stiffened ramrod straight, and her shoulder drew up defensively as she ran her eyes from head-to-toe down the length of the woman who had caught his eye. She did a double take, eyes widening and mouth dropping open as she concentrated on a stomach which protruded noticeably. Yanking her hand from his, she crossed her arms protectively around herself. Remington's jaw twitched in anticipation of her next move.

"Let's not make a scene, eh?" he implored in an undertone. Her lips tightened and fire ignited by fury lit her eyes, but she gave him a curt nod. She'd no more desire to air their dirty laundry in the middle of her doctor's office than him.

"… and remember, you'll check into the hospital on Friday evening to be induced if the baby doesn't make an appearance before then," the clerk informed the young woman.

"Yes, Friday," she confirmed. As she turned away from the window, she spotted Remington and Laura.

"Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele?" the friendly, if hesitant voice, of the stunning strawberry blonde with green eyes greeted them.

"Clarissa," Remington replied politely, with a nod while Laura plastered that icy calm mask on her face.

"Clarissa," she nodded to the other woman. "It appears congratulations are in order." She managed to force the words past her lips, surprised when she heard no rancor in her own voice.

"Thank you. For yourselves as well?" Clarissa inquired in an attempt at polite conversation.

"Just a checkup," Laura prevaricated.

"Oh, well, I hope it's all good news. I… I… should be going," the young woman stammered, taking several steps backwards towards the exit. Laura only nodded and stepped up to the checkout window herself.

"Yes, well, um, goodbye then and good luck," Remington managed with a nod towards her stomach.

"Thanks," she answered, giving him a warm smile. "Bye."

Rocking back on his heels, Remington shoved his hands in his pockets, doing his utmost not to fidget while Laura finished setting up her next appointment for four weeks in the future. When she was finished, he lay his hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the door, then battled the urge to sigh. To her credit, she didn't yank away or shove his hand off her person, but the subtle stiffening of her spine told him she'd wished she was able to do just that without drawing attention to them.

Laura held her silence throughout the elevator ride, although she placed distance between them as soon as they stepped on board the crowded car. When the doors opened in the lobby, she slipped through the throng of people getting off, and strode as quickly as she could across the lobby. With no other option at his disposal, Remington waited until they cleared the front doors, before picking up his own pace. She'd just reached the Porsche when he caught up with her. Grasping her upper arm, he prevented her from getting into the sleek little sports car and speeding away.

"Laura, we need to talk about this. I can imagine what that fertile imagination of yours has come up with, but—"

"Did you know?!" she asked in a glacial tone, crossing her arms around herself again. His own temper ignited at what she was implying, although he hadn't expected any less from the woman before him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, even as the muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Why would I?" he questioned, his voice emulating her own. Her chin tilted back stubbornly, and she blinked rapidly at the moisture which had sprung unwillingly into her eyes. His anger fizzled and he reached for her.

"Don't touch me!" she bit out, backing away from him and grabbing blindly for the door handle, swinging the door open. He held out an arm, pressing a hand against the door frame, blocking her escape.

"Laura—" he tried again.

"Did you know!?" she demanded, her voice rising an octave in her angst. His brows drew together at the unspoken accusation, and his blue eyes turn ice cold.

"I don't believe I care for what you're insinuating—"

"I don't believe I'm insinuating anything, Mr. Steele," she retorted, cutting him off. "I'm asking you if you were aware the hooker you were going to marry nine months ago… and, I might add, is due to have a baby any day now… was pregnant. Or maybe I should just ask if I was the last to know!" Drawing his lips together tightly and nodding his head slowly, he released his hold on the door frame and stepped away from the car.

"Pffffttttt…" He gesticulated a brushing motion with his hand. "Off with you then. I've nothing left to say." With those words, he turned on his heel and strode angrily towards the Auburn, never looking back.

Laura sat down in the Porsche and slammed the door after herself. Her fury raged around her like white hot heat on a smoldering summer's day, as she reversed out of her parking spot then peeled out of the lot, speeding away from damned the thief and conman who'd stolen her heart.