Chapter 14: Failed

"I don't give a damn about that," Remington dismissed, getting to his feet to pace. "She'll be alright?"

"She will," Adams affirmed again. "Plan on her being in the hospital at least overnight,0 then if all goes as expected, we'll release her home tomorrow. You can anticipate her being more tired than normal, that she'll require more assistance than she'll like, if I know Laura at all." Remington snorted softly, at that. "She'll experience the normal post-partum cramping as her uterus contracts back down to size. But other than that…" Remington stood and paced, his thoughts going a mile a minute. Drawing a hand through his hair, he turned to look at Adams.

"Your questions… earlier… Could this have been avoided?"

"In my educated opinion," the doctor nodded slowly, "Yes, even withstanding the lack of history which would alert another physician to such a complication. Still, there would have been… indicators… that a complication existed." Remington jumped on that.

"Such as?"

"The placenta, when delivered, is normally fully intact, its surface smooth," Adams explained. "In cases of placenta accreta, no matter the degree, the placenta's surface is rough, pockmarked, resembling swiss cheese. If procedure had been followed, and if the physician who performed the delivery was adequately trained, then examination of the placenta, which is standard course, would have revealed the abnormal surfacing, the pieces which had torn free during delivery."

A knock on the door had both their heads turning towards it and an attractive nurse garbed in scrubs poked her head in.

"Dr. Adams, Mrs. Steele is coming to." Without thought of the conversation they'd been having, Remington strode towards the door, Adams following in his wake.

His knees nearly buckled when he first saw Laura lying in the recovery room, her freckles standing out against her too pale skin, but the steady rise and fall of her chest offered at least some form of comfort. Elbowing his way past the attendant standing next to her bed, he took her hand in his, then leaning down brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

"Laura?" He patted her hand. "Laura?"

When her brown eyes fluttered open, he didn't give a damn who was in the room. His blue eyes blinked rapidly, then he simply let the determined tears fall, as he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Don't you ever do such a thing to me again," he rasped. It took every ounce of her concentration to lift her heavy arm, and lay her hand against the back of his head in comfort. He swallowed hard at the action, then nodded his head rapidly against hers before pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead and standing.

Her eyes drifted around the room, as the anesthesia continued to cling, muddling her thoughts. She frowned at the IV hanging near her head, at the white walls, her gaze skirting over the elderly man then flickered back to settle on him.

"Dr. Adams?" she asked, voice hoarse. Before he could respond, her eyes returned to Remington, trying to sit up and unable to. "What's happened?" He knelt at the side of the bed so they were on the same eye level.

"You don't recall?" Her brows furrowed as she searched her memory for anything, anything at all. Remington's eyes darted to the doctor who gave a subtle shake of his head, indicating now was not the time. "We'll discuss it when your head's a bit more clear, hmmmm?" That she didn't even acknowledge the suggestion, spoke volumes. Instead, she seemed inordinately focused on fingering the lapel of his robe.

"I never thought I'd see the day Remington Steele appeared in public underdressed," she murmured. His bark of laughter came far more from relief than mirth. That she could still remain so insouciant after all she'd gone through... He bestowed a crooked smile on her.

"I'd beg to differ. Dressed for the occasion, I'd say."

"Mr. Steele, I'm sure your family is anxious for an update," Adams hinted. A pair of blue eyes regarded the other man, then he nodded reluctantly.

"You'll have someone get me as soon as she's been moved to her room?"

"Of course," Adams assured. Remington looked down in surprise as Laura's fingers gripped the lapel of his robe.

"Don't go." The vulnerability in her voice, the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, felt like a sucker punch to in the gut, and his breath caught in his throat. Pushing to his feet, he cupped a cheek in one hand, and bent down to rest his lips near her ear.

"I give you my word," he vowed, voice low, so no one but she could hear, "Once you're settled in your room, nothing short of an act of God will see me leave your side." He waited until she nodded her head in answer, then touched his lips to her cheek, allowed them to linger. With a final caress of her cheek, he turned and walked to the door of the recovery room, turning to look back over his shoulder at her.

He could only recall one other time in their association where she'd said those words to him, in that tone: the night her house had burned to the ground and she'd been left frightened, feeling utterly alone. With a deep, indrawn breath, he forced himself through the door and into the hallway.

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life, feeling in that in the simple act of complying to the physician's directive, he'd somehow failed her.

Again.

Remington had put the forty-minutes to good use, but still, by the time Laura was settled into her room, dawn had arrived. Dressed but unshaven, he updated Mildred and his father on Laura's condition, then saw them on their way, both promising to return during visiting hours. He called home and spoke with Melina, passing on news of Laura and inquiring after the children. For several minutes, he'd stood with his hand resting on the payphone before he walked away, knowing Laura would need time to digest the news before her mother descended upon her.

He'd kept to himself two salient points which he believed were Laura's, alone, to share… or not: that she'd no longer be able to carry a child, and the possible incompetency that had brought them to where they were.

He'd waited for the dam to break, for the tears to arrive, as Adams had explained the whole of all that had happened. Not that Laura cried as a matter of routine, by any means, but certainly if tears were ever called for, it was when you'd found out your life had been held in the balance for a bit, that your child bearing days were forever gone… and why. But she'd reminded him of the Laura of old, asking carefully constructed questions, logic and rationality guiding her way, while she firmly suppressed whatever it was she might be feeling. Even the news her expected stay in the hospital would be but a day, should no complications arise, had failed to bring a smile to her lips.

The only crack in her façade had come as they'd gone to sleep, when her hand had clutched his almost painfully. He'd said nothing, merely bussing the back of her knuckles, then laying their joined hands next to his head, where it lay near her hip.

They slept, he waking long before she. As he'd been prone to do throughout the early days of their marriage, he contented himself with simply watching her, occasionally fingering a lock of her hair. They were like cats, the pair of them, he concluded, but even cats only had nine lives. How many lives had they already used? Even more so, how many times had their lives been placed at risk, needlessly so?

And most importantly of all, how many more lives did they have left?

Was it age? There was a time, not so long ago, that the odds of being nicked by the coppers had been the only risk he'd considered, and, even in that, he'd often tossed caution to the wind. How very bold he'd been then, how…

Bloody arrogant.

The thrill, the adrenaline rush, the knowledge he'd done something most would either not brave or could not do… the reward. All those things had been the siren's call. But sometime over the last decade, as he'd grown, matured, the siren's voice had faded until it was merely a whisper, and new voice, growing louder with each passing year, took its place. The voice of reason? Maybe. But the risk to life, to health, had gradually usurped all other concerns.

Whose eyes was he trying to pull the wool over, he admitted with a wan smile. He brushed back a strand of hair off Laura's face with a pair of fingers. Taking her hand between both of his, he rested a bowed head against their joined hands, never even realizing she'd stirred. Now it was she who watched him, trying to divine what it was that had him so clearly troubled.

His life, he now recognized, could so easily be divided into two periods: Before her and after.

Before, he'd only been concerned with the creature comforts. A nut stored away for the future. A roof, increasingly sumptuous across the years, over his head. Good food. Great night life. An amusing tumble. But he'd been bound to none of it, all of it able to be replicated wherever next he landed.

And after? Her. A profession of meaning. A life of respect. A home. His father. A name. A family. Olivia. Now, Sophie and Holt. Irreplaceable, all of it.

He started when she drew her fingers through his hair. Reddened, troubled blue eyes met hers.

"Tell me," she requested. His eyes moved rapidly back and forth over her face, a shudder passing through him when he understood what she was asking.

"Laura, I don't see how—"

"Tell me," she insisted. He considered her at length, seeking a way out, but when her chin tilted slightly upwards, he only sighed.

"When I woke and you weren't there, I thought I hadn't heard the babe, had missed his feeding." He released her hand, still clasped between his, then stood and paced across the room, drawing his hands through his hair. "Laura, I don't—"

"Tell me," she insisted again, her hand fumbling for the bed controls, then raising the back until she was in a sitting position.

"What do you want to know?" he demanded anxiously. "How I—" His words abruptly ended when the door to the room swung inwards.

"Mommy!" Olivia cried out, squirming in Thomas's arms until he put her down. She scrambled up onto the bed and flung herself into Laura's waiting arms.

"Hi, baby," Laura greeted, quietly, stroking a hand down her daughter's long sleek hair then patting her back. Olivia pulled away and clasped Laura's cheeks in her hands.

"Is you better, Mommy?" she asked, with a tilt of her head.

"Are you better," Laura corrected automatically, smiling. "I am," she assured. "In fact, I'll even be home tomorrow."

"Sophie saided mommies don't come home," Olivia reported, clearly perplexed. Laura's eyes shifted to take in Sophie, thumb in her mouth, eyes wide, as she clung to Catherine's leg.

"Well, Livvie Bee, sometimes Mommies don't come home," she clarified, her eyes holding Sophie's, "But most of the time they do. And I promise you, I am coming home." Olivia nodded, seemingly satisfied, then threw herself at her father.

"Da! You weren't there when I wakeded up!" she chastised, while wrapping her arms around his neck. Bussing her on the forehead, he stood with her in his arms.

"I've seemed to make a habit of that of late, haven't I?" Livvie nodded gravely at him. "Well, I give you my word, beginning tomorrow night, I'll be right where I belong each night for a long, long time."

"Sophie, do you think I might have a hug?" Laura asked, holding out a hand. Sophie's face crumpled and she darted across the room, and clamoring onto the bed, folded herself into Laura's waiting embrace. "It's okay, Soph. I'm okay," she whispered against the child's ear, a hand stroking her hair and back.

"Catherine," Remington brushed his lips against her cheek, then turned and embraced Thomas. "Father. Did Lina not accompany you?"

"She'll be along in a half hour or so. She's cooking a small feast for Laura and yourself." He indicated Sophie and Laura with a tilt of his head. "Catherine and I volunteered to take the children to school, but felt it imperative we bring the girls to see Laura before we did." Remington's brows lifted in surprise, with a glance at the bed, divining why that was.

"She's been like this since we left?" he asked, astonished.

"Not like this," Catherine supplied. "Thoroughly withdrawn, I'm afraid." She looked at Laura and Sophie. "She needed to see Laura for herself, to let all the fear escape with her tears. She'll be all the better for it."

Remington looked from Olivia to Laura and Sophie, wondering how he'd have ever explained it if this Mommy hadn't come home.