Chapter 25: Sir Surly

"Melina, enough already," Remington groused, as his little sister began crying again for the third time in a half hour. "Need I remind you again that I'm fine."

"I'm just happy. We thought we might have lost you, Xen," she sniffled in response.

"Then for Christ's sake, smile or laugh," he protested. "All the tears are enough to make a man think you know something he doesn't!"

"Xenos," Elena scolded at his use of the epitaph. She lifted another spoonful of broth towards his mouth. Lifting his hand slightly from the bed, he held the fingers up.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized after swallowing. Bemused, Laura watched from her chair next to the bed where she was sitting eating her dinner, also under Elena's watchful eyes. He glanced at her plate not for the first time. "One would think after four days of nary a bite to eat, a man would be entitled to a decent meal," he griped.

"Or one might think a man would be grateful to be alive to eat anything at all, instead of complaining non-stop," Zeth commented drily.

"He's always been very attached to his food," Christos recalled. "Remember when he tried to put a fork through my hand for swiping a piece of shrimp from his plate?" The comment brought a round of laughter from the Androkus family at the memory, a scowl from Remington and a look of open curiosity from Thomas and Laura.

"You'd already eaten your fair share," Remington defended.

"I thought Papa had brought home a wild boy from the movies. You know the one, Xen, where that photographer and his daughter find a boy in the jungle?"

"The Jungle Book," Laura answered with some confidence. Remington gave a shake of his head.

"No, love. The Jungle Book wasn't released until sixty-seven, several years after I'd…gone," he corrected with a smile for her. "Christos references Bomba the Jungle Boy, Johnny Sheffield, Peggy Ann Garner, Monogram Pictures, 1949. He was obsessed with the movie, was determined to go on safari and find his own boy one day."

"Then one day Papa brings him home," he hitched a thumb in Remington's direction. "Long scraggly hair, would barely speak a word, always watching us warily, but would fight you to the death if you came between him and his food."

"As well you would have if had it been months since you'd had a proper meal," Remington retorted with a laugh. Laura winced when she saw Thomas's mournful expression, and wondered precisely how much of his childhood Remington had shared with his father. "Besides, I seem to recall we settled that matter fairly quickly."

"Should I ask?" Laura drawled.

"I beat the tar out of him on the playground, after he tried to make off with half of my pita," Remington answered with a grin. Mildred, sitting beside Laura, muffled a laugh.

"Humiliating, that was. He was half my size…" Christos lamented.

"Yet still the two of you went at it at every turn of the head," Zeth laughed.

"You didn't get along?" Thomas stepped in to ask.

"To the contrary," Remington answered with a grin. "He was my best friend."

"Someone had to keep him in line," Christos retorted.

"These two, always full of the mischief," Marcos shared with Thomas.

"And I always left to put a stop to it," Zeth noted. "Elsewise I'd be left answering to Papa as to why I allowed them to stir up trouble yet again."

"Oh?" Laura asked, perking up, sensing these were stories she'd not been told. "What kind of mischief?" Mildred grinned at the question, curious herself, and patted Laura on the knee, a silent thank you for the question. Thomas leaned forward, bracing himself on elbows propped against his knees, interested himself in this small piece of his son's childhood.

"Thea Hanna's… unmentionables… disappearing from her clothesline where they'd been left to dry, only to be found five houses down hanging on a neighbor's line," Zeth offered.

"An empty pie tin on my sister Iezabel's window sill, where once a pie had been left cooling." This from Marcos.

"It was a very good pie, too," Christos grinned. "Wasn't it, Xen?"

"Hmmmm. Tiropita, if I recall correctly. Very good." His eyes twinkled with merriment. "So much better than Thea Kyra's spanakopita." He feigned a shudder. "That wasn't worth the punishment we served."

"Your Thea Ismene arriving home to find every photograph hung and standing upside down," Elena clucked, frowning at each of the men in turn. "She believed ghosts had come to call."

"And me, taken to task for not stopping you," Zeth added, indignantly.

"You complain now, brother, but then enjoyed blackmailing Xen and I into volunteering to do your chores lest you reveal our latest hijinks," Christos grinned. Zeth suddenly stood up straighter, as Elena's head turned and her eyes narrowed upon him.

"Is this true, Xenos?" she asked, her eyes never leaving her oldest son.

"Elena, what self-respecting lad of ten, eleven years regularly volunteers to scrub the loo—"

"Or the floors," Christos interrupted to add.

"Unless inspired to do so," Remington finished, flashing a smug smile in Zeth's direction in answer to the scowl aimed his way.

"Must I remind you, little brother, that there are payback for such… such… betrayal?" Zeth warned.

"And perhaps I should remind you in my… weakened state… in the face of such a threat I might unwittingly reveal secrets that have remained, until this day, sacred." Zeth actually blanched at the words.

"You wouldn't dare," he challenged.

"My brain is a bit hazy, so I might need to be sure of my facts first," Remington shrugged. "Chris, it was Zeth who took Marco's brand new car across the island to visit…" he snapped his fingers in the air, pretending loss of memory, "…You know, the lass with the big…" he glanced downwards.

"Chris, Zen," Zeth tried to beseech, only to be ignored.

"Eyes," Christos inputted quickly. "Natassa," he chuckled appreciatively. "No, no, you're quite right. I remember having heard Zeth brag to his friends he was going to try to look upon… um, into those… eyes… that evening." Zeth's eyes darted to his mother, who was once more scowling in his direction.

"Natassa?" Melina perked up at this. "But you told Calista you'd never even spoken to her." Zeth cursed his fate, having not a single doubt Melina would now use that information to her own advantage

"And when he became too friendly with those… eyes… Did she not try to hit him with her purse?" Remington continued the game.

"She did. Hit the car instead, didn't she? Scratched it something terrible," Christos added. Grinning, Remington snapped his fingers together.

"Ah, that's right. And Marcos, not having noticed before he took it out, blamed some poor soul in the marina parking lot…"

"Is enough boys," Marcos cut in, laughing. He looked at Zeth. "Upon our arrival home you will, of course, make your explanations to Nikomedes Demetriou."

"Yes, Papa," Zeth answered, contritely, while slashing a look at Remington then Christos.

"Then you will visit Ioseph," Elena instructed. Zeth's jaw dropped opened and his eye widened.

"But Mama, it was twenty years ago!" he protested. Ioseph would have a field day with this one.

"Twenty-five, actually," Remington added, not so helpfully, with a smirk.

"Stay out of this," Zeth bit out.

"Sin knows no time," Elena answered, making it clear there was no further argument to be had.

"Yes, Mama," Zeth sighed, as he wished both his smug brothers to perdition.

Mildred elbowed Laura lightly in the ribs.

"Are they always like this?" she asked loud enough for the entire room to hear.

"Always," she confirmed, with a smile. "They seem to find great pleasure at throwing one another under the bus, especially if it means one of them ends up at Iospeh's mercy."

"Iospeh?"

"Remington's cousin. He's a Priest and takes it upon himself to save the souls of the Androkus family," she filled Mildred in. She didn't register the smile lifting Zeth's lips until it was too late.

"Speaking of Iospeh, sister-in-law," he addressed her, as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, "I'm sure you and Xen have regularly gone to Mass, confession, in the months since last you were in Greece, have you not?" Laura's eyes widened and her head yanked to Elena before her eyes returned to him.

"Hey! No fair! I didn't do anything. I'm merely married to man. Leave me out of it!" she protested.

"Too late," Remington muttered under his breath, shooting a scowl of his own in Zeth's direction this time.

"When you visit in June, you will see Ioseph," Elena directed simply.

"Yes, Elena," they both dutifully answered.

"Ah, my brother, you've no idea the hounds of hell you've set loose now," Christos laughed, clapping Zeth on his shoulder. Zeth was wise enough to look concerned at the comment.

"What do you mean?" he demanded to know, while straightening up.

"What life without…" Remington began, then looked to his wife.

"… A little mystery," she finished, slanting a glance at Zeth, already considering what shoes might be suitable when she was four-and-a-half months pregnant…

At eight o'clock a nurse had discretely ducked her head in to remind everyone still gathered that visiting hours were over. If anyone thought she'd be going home, they had another thing coming. Maternity suites allowed for spouses to stay over, and if someone had an issue with her staying in this room, they could take it up with Kerr as far as she was concerned. The suite offered a couch which would serve suitably as a bed, and she had no intention of sleeping at home unless Remington was there as well.

Perching a hip on the edge of his bed, she lifted a hand to caress his cheek. When she'd returned to his room after the check-up with Kerr, she'd found him freshly shaven, hair combed and in a gown. As attractive as she found his lightly whiskered face any other time, right now it had served of a visible reminder of what had brought it to pass. His blue eyes studied the play of emotions across her face. Carefully she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He frowned at her choice of words. Patting her hip, he clutched it and gave it a slight tug.

"Come, come lay down with me, love." Sitting back up, she looked down at him, uncertainly.

"I don't know if that's wise, given..."

"I need to feel you next to me, Laura," he told her, knowing if she wouldn't do it for her own comfort she wouldn't be able to deny him if it were for his. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she considered the request, then carefully reclined next to him. Once again, a hand on her hip nudged her. "A bit closer." She wriggled over until she was pressed against his side, and her head rested against his shoulder. The rich, earthy smell of him mixed with his cologne wafted around her. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply

"A shave and cologne?" she inquired, trying to keep her tone light.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, but having none of it. "What exactly is it that you're sorry for? Hmmmm?" He felt the tension in her hips at the question.

"Clarissa." He nodded his head.

"So that's what you've been masticating on while I was…" he frowned, and tilted his head from side-to-side, "…unavailable, eh?"

"I was out of line." He heaved a sigh.

"You were," he agreed. "But do you believe I didn't know precisely how you'd react? Bloody hell, it stunned me, and I knew quite for certain the child wasn't mine as it would require a deed she and I have never engaged in."

"I know you'd never abandon your child, just as I know nothing happened between you and Clarissa," she paused, and said in an undertone "…at least in my head I do." She let out a puff of air, still angry with herself. "I have no acceptable explanation. It…" she shook her head, unwilling to finish the sentence.

"It all goes back to my attempt to wed the woman, and my betrayal of your trust then." She didn't answer, merely drew patterns on his cloth covered chest with the tips of two fingers. "Do I hope there'll come a day when you trust in me without first questioning if you should? I do. But what matters is you came to the conclusion on your own."

"If you had…" she couldn't finish the sentence, "And it had been the last thing you remembered…" She shook her head.

"Do you honestly believe my last thoughts would have been of an argument? Hmmmmm?" He puffed out a breath of air when she remained quiet. "They would have been of how bloody lucky I was to have you in my life, and to have this, even if for not near long enough." Blinking her eyes rapidly, she nodded her head. Carefully, she pressed up on her forearm and threaded the fingers of her other hand through his hair.

"I love you," she whispered, moist brown eyes holding bright blue ones. With a great deal of concentration, he slowly lifted his arm so not to pull on the staples, and buried his hand in her hair.

"And if I were to have one regret," he told her, "it would be not giving you the words often enough… I love you, Laura." He gently pressed his hand against the back of her head. "Come here." He felt the shiver course through her body when their lips first touched. Tilting her head back, she assured herself he wasn't hurting, then leaned in again. She fed on his lips, savoring the taste she'd feared she'd never know again. Only when he hummed, and pressed more firmly against her head, trying to deepen the kiss, did she slip away.

"We have to stop," she told him, then touching her lips to his one last time, she lay beside him, nestling her head into his shoulder again.

"Words I'd dearly hoped never to hear again," he groused. She laughed softly against his shoulder. His fingers stroked her hip, a smile lifting his lips each time her bottom twitched at the sensation or she shifted ever over slightly… a man's got to have his fun after all… while he tried to figure out how to ask the question on his mind or if he even should. Finally, with a shake of his hand, he asked the singular word. "Anna?" Surprisingly, he felt no tension in her body at the question, she merely bent her head back so she could see him when he answered.

"Dead." He closed his eyes at the single word response, opening them when he felt her hand resting against his cheek. "I'm sorry. I know you once cared deeply for her." His brows knitted at the last.

"Those feelings have long been gone… any trace of what was left, eradicated three years ago when she made it clear who and what she was. That she would have killed you and our child, not only willingly but gleefully? I don't know what it says about me, that the only thing I feel at the news is… relief." Laura nodded her understanding.

"The same thing it says about me, I suppose," she offered, honestly. "We're not taking pleasure in her death, Remington. We're relieved the threat is past. A very human reaction, as you're always telling me."

"True. True." He was silent for a long while as his energy began to peter and, with eyes closed, he focused on her warmth against his side, the scent of honeysuckle, grass and sunshine inebriating his senses and the motion of her fingers against his chest. "You'll stay?" he murmured.

"Get some sleep, Mr. Steele. I'll be here when you wake," she assured him. He merely hummed and nodded his head.

She remained at his side until long after he'd fallen asleep then gently eased herself out of his embrace and the bed. Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss against his lips, then stroked his cheek, before regretfully walking away and preparing for bed.

On Saturday, Remington was at last freed from all tubes and wires, except the IV line attached to the PCA. That anything at all remained and he was still not permitted to take a proper shower was enough to create a downward turn in his mood. That he'd been unable to help Laura as he'd listened to her retch behind the bathroom door, made him feel all but useless, only further blackening his disposition. He snipped and he sniped throughout the morning as she prayed for patience. Being permitted to dress in his own pajamas and robe, so long as the pants remained low and away from the incision, perked up his mood for a bit. But, by the time he'd finished his second short walk around the halls of the floor, he'd moved beyond cranky to positively surly.

He'd put on a good show, she'd credit him at least that, when first Thomas and then Mildred had come by for a visit. For them he was charming and gregarious. His demeanor should have, perhaps, had Laura breathing a sigh of relief; instead, she'd gnashed her teeth together before leaving him in their capable hands and going down to the emergency room to see Kerr. It shouldn't have surprised her that her blood pressure and pulse had been higher than they'd been the day prior. She'd gotten little sleep the night before, as Remington had been restless, his groans of discomfort enough to draw her from her sleep. Each time, she'd depressed the button on the PCA, providing him a small dose of morphine, then had soothed him with her touch until he slept soundly again. She'd run out of her lozenges the day prior, and had paid for that oversight by landing on her hands and knees in the bathroom. Then, of course, there was his mood to contend with. She'd fairly stomped from the room when Kerr had announced he'd see her again that afternoon… after reminding her she needed to eat and sleep, keep her stress at a minimum. She'd nearly snorted at the recommendation, but instead had ground her teeth, plastered a false smile on her face and nodded her agreement.

She stopped on the way back to Remington's room to get hot water so she could make herself a cup of ginger tea, and, in a moment of grudging consideration, had purchased him a tea as well. She ran into Mildred in the hallway outside of his room as she was departing.

"The Boss is in a mood, huh?" Mildred asked, giving Laura the once over as she did so. Laura gave a beleaguered sigh at the question.

"Please tell me Sir Surly hasn't been taking his mood out on you and Thomas as well." She was unable to keep her irritation out of her voice. Mildred shook her head and gave a wave of her hand.

"Nah. He's been the perfect host. His father hasn't a clue. Me on the other hand?" Mildred hitched a thumb towards herself. "I've been around long enough to know what that twitch in his jaw and those pouty lips mean. Been giving you a hard time, has he?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she answered, then muttered under her breath, "Or smother him for." Mildred laughed at the last.

"Oh, honey, I know it's gotta be hard," she commiserated. "But a piece of advice? Try to remember it was only a few days ago you were wondering if he'd ever drive you crazy again." As the memory of those days swamped her, Laura nodded her head rapidly, blinking her eyes.

"You're right, you're right." With two cups of tea in hand she managed an awkward embrace of the other woman. "Thank you, Mildred. I don't know what we'd do without you." Mildred patted her back, doing some blinking of her own.

"Hopefully none of us will have to find out the answer to that for a long time," she answered.

"From your lips…" Laura let the words trail off and they ended the embrace.

"And get him to use that button," Mildred advised, beginning to bustle away. "The Boss is in pain, if you ask me."

Laura raised her eyes heavenward and mumbled to herself at the parting words. That was, of course, the heart of the matter. He was in pain, but his inherent dislike of anything which would dull the senses meant he was stubbornly refusing to depress the button which would send a small booster of morphine into his system, providing some relief. With a long exhale through pursed lips, she fortified herself, then pushed through the door into his room. She found Remington sitting in a chair, much to her displeasure, while speaking with his father.

"I brought you some tea," Laura told Remington, thrusting the cup in his direction, causing a bit to splash over the side and onto the leg of his pajama pants. He glowered at her as he brushed at the dampness.

"A little care, please, Laura," he barked. Thomas's brows raised almost to his hairline at the tone, and saw the bit of temper as a cue for him to depart. Standing, he leaned down to embrace his son.

"Catherine and I will be by to visit again after our midday meal. Take care, son." With a light clasp of Remington's arm, Thomas stood and turned to Laura, embracing her, then departed.

Nursing her tea, while surreptitiously keeping an eye on her husband and gauging how he was feeling, Laura wandered around the room straightening up. Folding her pajamas, she returned them to her small bag. She pulled up then smoothed the sheets and blanket on his bed. Lifting her hand, she kneaded her brows with her fingers as she stared at his untouched breakfast tray, knowing the response she was about to receive.

"Remington, you need to eat your break—"

"I'd sooner eat the raw squid you once dared me to partake of," he sniffed. "The fare to which they so optimistically ascribe the word 'food,' I assure you, is barely edible slop."

"That may be, but you heard Bennett, you need to—"

"It's bad enough," he interrupted again, "That I'm kept at the mercy of others as to whether or not I'll be permitted bathe, to dress properly, or be free of tubes and hoses invading my person," she lifted her eyes heavenward at the dramatics, "But I'll not also be forced to ingest what amounts to little more than cardboard soaked in water." She eyed the oatmeal to which he referred, while rubbing more vigorously at her brow.

"How about the Jell-o, then? I can't imagine even a hospital could—"

"If I wouldn't consume cow bones or pig hooves as part of my normal diet, I can't imagine why I'd be willing to do so merely because they have been served up in a colorful, gelatinous form," he retorted. She stared at the Jell-o with sudden distaste.

"You're joking, right?"

"Not in the least." Her stomach churned as she wondered how many hooves and bones she'd consumed over the course of her lifetime.

"Alright, we can order something in or I'll have someone pick up—"

"Laura, just leave it be!" he snapped, launching himself upwards. Drawing in a harsh lungful of air, he sat down heavily, legs and hands shaking from the stabbing pain that ripped through his side and abdomen at the sudden movement. Laura's heart fell to her toes as she watched the color drain from his face.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice gone an octave higher in her fear that he'd torn a staple, damaged the repairs made. She rushed across the room to him, as visions of another surgery, more days by his bedside praying he'd awaken danced through her imagination. She clasped his face between her own shaking hands, her eyes studying his intently. "Should I have Dr. Bennett paged?"

"I'm fine…fine…" he panted. "Just moved too fast… It'll pass." Plucking the handheld patient button off the machine, she pressed it into his hand.

"Enough with the heroics, Mr. Steele. There's already been one too many instance of them in this last week, in my opinion. You're in pain. It'll only hamper your recovery. Use the medication," she insisted.

"For Christ's sake, will you stop nattering and leave me be?!" he bellowed, tossing the button away in his agitation. This time, it was Laura's face that drained of color, the words stinging as much as a slap in the face. Standing she blanked her face and gave her head a single, sharp nod.

"Alright." A single word uttered, and she drew herself up to full height. Striding towards the door, she nearly stumbled when she saw Christos standing there, for the briefest of moments wondering how long he'd been present, what he'd seen and heard. Slipping between him and the door jamb she left the room. He watched her retreating form before stepping fully into the room and watching as his brother lifted a hand to rub at his face as he dropped the bag he was carrying onto the bed.

"Feeling better today, big brother?" he asked, from a step behind Remington.

"Fine, fine. Nearly good as n—" His words were cut off when he saw stars as a large palm collided with the back of his head. "What the-!" he sputtered, indignantly, rubbing at the spot. "Christos, need I remind you I was lying upon death's doorway but a couple days ago?!"

"No reminders needed, brother. It's the only thing preventing me from having a good go at you," he retorted as he took a seat on the couch across from Remington.

"Would you mind, then, telling me what in the bloody hell has gotten into you?" Remington demanded, a leery look crossing his face when the normally good natured Christos glowered at him.

"I believe it is I who should be asking that question of you," Christos bit back. "You speak to Laura in such a manner, take your ills out upon her? You are fortunate it was I, not Mama or Papa, who walked through those doors. Mama would have you on your knees before Ioseph for failing to honor your wife, and Papa? You know as well as I, the walls would be coming down around you in his fury! Rightfully so!" Remington shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

"Perhaps I was a bit out of line," he conceded, hoping at least to quell Christos's anger.

"A bit? A bit?!" Christos mocked, his voice growing louder as his brother's words only further infuriated him. "Have you any idea the toll your injury took upon her as you laid about—"

"Laid about?!" Remington guffawed, interrupting this time. "I wasn't aware that's what I'd been doing. I rather thought…" His irritated rejoinder came to an abrupt end, eyes narrowing as his mind latched onto a single word uttered by Christos. "What toll?"

"Have you even bothered to ask, Xen?" Christos asked, his voice lowering in disappointment.

"Of course, I have," Remington took offense. "Shouldn't you know me better? I asked how she and… how she was and she stated she was fine, unharmed."

"Much as she claimed during your last visit to the island, after that barbarian had her in his clutches," Christos pointed out. "Then you didn't believe her, why do you now?" The question gave Remington pause, and when the answer came, he didn't particularly like himself for it. Letting out a sigh and tracking fingers through his hair, he shook his head.

"Tell me." At those two words, Christos leaned forward, his elbows propped against knees, hands clasped, knuckles whitening.

"She sat by your bedside day and night, speaking to you, sleeping little. Food would not stay down. Why do you think Mama has resorted to cooking her meals meant to quell the sickness of pregnancy?" He flipped a hand towards the bed where the bag sat, before clasping his hands back together. Unable to stop it, a smile twitched at Remington's lips at the reminder of the child they were expecting. "But the worst of it, Xen…" The smile left Remington's lips when Christos grew somber, troubled. "The screams from her nightmares last fall?" Remington nodded. "I'd rather hear those again a thousand times over, than to watch her break as she did. Unable to breathe, blaming herself, only calmed by an injection and even after, making me promise to stay at your side, to watch over you." Remington closed his eyes, grimacing at the realization she'd had a panic attack, left all but alone to deal with it herself. Opening his eyes, he rubbed hard at his mouth.

"What else?" he ground out.

"Is it not enough?" Christos demanded, voice and temper rising again. "And even then, should it have a bearing upon how you treat your wife when she does nothing more than see to your comfort, worry for you?" Remington held up his hand in concession.

"You're right, you're right." With a swipe at his face, he looked directly at his brother. "I'll make my amends."

"See to it that you do," Christos answered as he stood. Walking to the bed he picked up the bag and returning to where Remington sat, removed a covered dish and handed it to him. "From Mama. I've been instructed to inform you lunch and dinner will be forthcoming and should she find any of it uneaten, you'll have her to answer to." Bag in hand, he headed towards the door to the room.

"Leaving so soon?" Remington asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I'm off in search of my sister-in-law, on Mama's orders to see to it she eats," he answered swinging open the door. He paused before leaving. "I'd nearly forgot given events I walked in upon. A horse was delivered to your house this morning. As you've no stables, Papa has asked for guidance on what to do with the animal."

"Ah, damn," Remington muttered. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he thought to himself, lifting hand to mouth to nibble at a thumbnail. "I'll see to it arrangements are made."

With an unseen nod, Christos departed.