Chapter 36

"Hi, Mommy!" Olivia's sweet voice came over the line.

The mobile phone in the kitchen had begun to ring during a moment of peaceful, but honest, conversation. With a glance at her watch, Laura had jumped up from where she was sitting and hurried to the counter.

"Hi, baby," Laura crooned in answer.

"Thea Lina gotted us at school today. Where is you and Da?" Livvie inquired as she climbed up onto her parents' bed.

"'Where are you and Da," Laura corrected, gently, as her eyes flicked to the man standing next to her. "Da and I are on a business trip."

"Will you comed home tonight?" Livvie asked, as she walked to the middle of the bed on her knees. "C'mon, Sophie, it's okay."

"Livvie, is Sophie okay?" Laura asked with concern. She'd spent half of her time on the beach worrying how their oldest daughter would react to her parents' sudden disappearance.

"I tolded her we can get on your bed, but she's afraid you'll be mad," Livvie shared, with a huff. On the opposite side of the line, Laura smiled at their younger daughter's put out affect.

"Livvie Bee? You can tell Sophie Mommy said it's fine to get on our bed," she instructed. Livvie hopped up and down on her knees.

"Sophie, Mommy saided it's okay to be'd on her bed." She grinned at her sister, as Sophie climbed up and joined her. "Sophie camed up, Mommy!" she announced, happily.

"That's good, baby. Did Thea Lina take you to dance tonight?"

"Uh-huh, and for our dresses too!" Laura mentally blew a sigh of relief. So, the girls hadn't missed their costume fittings. That was one less worry on her plate. "Are you looking forward to Michaela's birthday party tomorrow."

"Uh huh. She's gonna have a bouncy house," Livvie related.

"That sounds like fun," Laura enthused. Livvie stood up on the bed and began to bounce.

"Mommy? When are you and Da comed home?" she wondered.

"Olivia," Lina called from the nursery where she was rocking Holt, "Use care, please. We've no wish to make a trip to the emergency ward this evening." Laura's ears perked up at the words, coming from the background

"Are you jumping on the bed, Olivia?" she intuited. Livvie's eyes widened, and she plopped down on her bottom.

"Not no more," she answered, then repeated, "When are you and Da comed home?"

"'Coming home.' Not too long, baby. I'll be there to take you to your next dance class," Laura promised.

"Okay. Can I talk to Da?" the precocious three-year-old requested. Laura ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth and silently laughed while rolling her eyes. She might be Mommy but Livvie was Da's girl.

"He's right here. Don't give Thea Lina trouble about going to bed and be sure you brush your teeth."

"Okay," Livvie agreed, drawing out the word to make her dissatisfaction with those two edicts known.

"I love you, baby and we'll talk in the morning," Laura managed to finish, before Remington pried the phone from her hand.

"Well, if it isn't the little Lady Steele!" he teasingly greeted his little daughter.

"Da, you didn't telled me goodbye," she scolded in return.

"In trouble, then, am I, a stór?" Next to him, Laura quietly snickered. There was at least one advantage to not being the parent the sun rose and set upon. Livvie remained silent as she picked at invisible pieces of lint on the bedspread. "I suppose I'll have to ring up Monsieur Pierre and tell him you, Sophie and I will be having high tea next weekend to make up for it then, eh?" The announcement took Livvie to her knees on the bed again.

"Sophie, Da's going to take-ed us to tea!" she informed her sister happily.

"Tea?" Sophie could be heard asking quietly in the background.

"A tea party at Monser Pear's!" Livvie clarified. Sophie took to her knees, mimicking Livvie's position on the bed, smiling widely.

"I like tea parties!" she exclaimed.

"Monser Pear's gives us tiny sammiches, and tarts and…"

"Livvie," Remington tried to garner his daughter's attention. With a look of resignation, he moved the phone so Laura could also listen in.

"… fruit and cakes."

"Oh, I like cake!" Sophie exclaimed, with a bounce on her knees.

"We get dress-did up!" Livvie announced. Laura laughed softly at the conversation. One day Remington might learn that, much like himself, their little girl was prone to dismissing all around her when tempted with something she enjoyed.

"We do?" Sophie asked, wide-eyed.

"Uh-huh. In our pretty dresses!" Livvie shared.

"Livvie Bee, it's almost time for bed. Talk to Da, before you have to go," Laura stepped in. In their bedroom, Livvie sobered instantly. Forget herself, she might, but when Mommy spoke, it meant business.

"Da, we gets to wear tutus for our ballet recettal." His brows drew together as he interpreted what she meant.

"Re-ci-tal, a stór," he corrected. "The tutus meet with your approval, I take it?" Livvie frowned.

"Huh?"

"You like the tutus," he clarified.

"Uh-huh. They sparkle!"

"I'm sure you and Sophia will make beautiful ballerinas," he complimented.

"Olivia, allow Sophie her turn with Mommy and Da," Lina instructed from the nursery.

"Okay," Livvie huffed the word. "Thea Lina says it's Sophie's turn, Da." He nodded, having overheard.

"Codladh sámh. Sleep well, a stór. Mommy and I love you very much and will speak to you in the morning." Livvie handed Sophie the phone, then stood to jump on the bed again.

"Hello?" Sophie's soft voice came over the line.

"Ah, a thaisce, did you have a good day at school today?" She perked up at the question.

"I told Jamie and Billy roasted crickets are crunchy," she shared, proud of herself for remembering to pass on that little nugget of wisdom.

"That they are," he hummed. "And jump rope? How did you fare at that today?"

"We didn't jump rope today," she answered in a wistful voice. "We did hulahoops." Remembering something, she brightened. "Livvie did really good at hulahoops."

"I did-ed nine," Livvie announced as she flopped down on the bed.

"She did nine," Sophie repeated for her sister. His lips twitched upwards as Laura fidgeted anxiously next to him.

"And yourself?"

"Only five," she sighed. "I never did hulahoops before." Laura gesticulated with her hand that he shoud hurry.

"The first time and you did five? Why, you'll be an old pro in no time." With a laugh, he conceded he'd have to give up the phone. "I'm afraid I have to give Mommy the phone unless I wish to receive a sound scolding. Codladh sámh. Sleep well, Sophie Bird. Here's Mommy." Laura tugged the phone from his hand.

"Hi, Soph," she greeted warmly, "How are you doing, sweetie?" Sophie stole a glance at her sister, who seemed occupied with staring at the sketches above the fireplace in their parents' room.

"I miss you," she answered quietly.

"Oh, Soph, I miss you, too," Laura assured. "I promise you, Da and I will be home in time for me to take you and Livvie to dance on Tuesday. And until then, we'll talk every night before you go to bed, every morning when you get up, and if you need me, I'll be sure to tell Thea Lina you can call me. Okay?"

"Okay," Sophie agreed.

"Tell me all about school today," Laura prompted.

"I practiced my name," she announced then sighed. "Miss Keating says my 's' goes the wrong way." Laura couldn't help the smile that played on her lips. As Sophie continued to open up, it was becoming more and more apparent the little girl placed high demands on herself, whether it was at dance, on the playground or in the classroom.

"I don't know many just four-year-old's who can write their name, at all," she pointed out, logically. "You should be very proud of yourself, Soph, because you can. I know I am. But I promise, we'll work on your 's' when I get home. What else did you do?"

"We made flowers in art," Sophie volunteered.

"You did?!" Unseen by Laura, Sophie smiled and nodded her head.

"Out of egg cartons and pipe… pipe…"

"Pipe cleaners?" Laura suggested.

"Uh huh! I painted my flowers purple. Guess what color Livvie did hers." Laura laughed silently. As if there was more than one color she'd paint them.

"Um," she elongated the word, pretending to consider the question. "Orange?"

"No," Sophie replied, similarly lengthening the word.

"Blue," Laura 'tried' again.

"Nooooooooooooo."

"Green?" Sophie giggled on the other end of the line.

"Pink!"

"Ohhhhhh, pink. Of course! What was I thinking?" Laura laughed with her daughter, then sobered. "Soph, are you excited about Michaela's party tomorrow?"

"Livvie says she's gonna have a bouncy house. I've never been in a bouncy house," she worried.

"All you do is get in and jump, and for a jump roping champ like you, it'll be a piece of cake," Laura told her, snapping her fingers at the last. "You'll have fun, Soph. Trust me."

"Sophia, say goodnight," Lina directed as she walked into the bedroom from the nursery. "It's time for you and Olivia to take your baths."

"Goodnight," Sophia said dutifully into the phone.

"Goodnight, sweetie. Your Da and I love you very much and we'll talk to you in the morning." There was a rustle on the line as Sophia hand the phone to Lina.

"Go choose a nightgown to wear, girls," Lina told them, then turned her focus to the phone. "Hello?"

"Lina, how is the baby?" Laura asked.

"Fed, rocked and now sleeping soundly." Laura sighed. She was relieved Olivia and Holt seemed to be fairing fine, but she couldn't help worrying about her oldest child.

"I'm not going to ask how involved you are in this plot of Mildred's," Laura began, "But it couldn't have happened at worse time for Sophie. We were making such strides and now…." Her words stopped, as she lifted and dropped a frustrated hand. "I shoud have been with her at the party tomorrow. Crowds frighten her, overwhelm her. And her nightmares…" She trailed off again, then widened her eyes in surprise when Remington relieved her of the phone.

"Melina, I'll deal with you when we get home," he spoke, without preamble, turning to watch as Laura trudged to the couch then sat down wearily on it. "In the meantime, allow me to make myself perfectly clear: Should Sophie need Laura, be it day or night, you are to call us. Correction: Should either of the girls needs us they are to be permitted to call. These are our children we've been shanghaied from, and we'll not have them suffering for it."

"Xen, you know better than to warn me in such a way," Melina reprimanded. "To an Androkus, family is everything. I would no more allow them to suffer than Mama or Papa would." He rubbed at his mouth with a hand then nodded his head slowly.

"I know, I know," he acknowledged.

"The children are waiting on me, but might I hazard to offer you a piece of advice?" she asked.

"Would it matter if I said no?" he chuckled.

"Make the most of this time together. Καλό βράδυ."

"Καλό βράδυ," he returned, then pressed the end button, disconnecting the call. He carried the phone with him to the couch where he sat down and lay his head against the cushions while regarding his wife. "Lina gave me her word she'll call should one of the children need to speak with us."

"I heard." She blew out a little puff of frustrated air. "This… plot to snatch us… " she shook her head "…isn't fair to the girls. We didn't have the opportunity to explain, to say goodbye." Rubbing his cheek, he studied her profile.

"Is that truly what's on your mind?" he challenged, quietly. Her head lolled in his direction. He took in her strained, bleary eyes, the line between her brows, each a testament to a headache lying-in-wait.

"Ahhh," he hummed, taking to his feet again. Grasping her hands in his, he tugged her upwards."Shower, climb into bed, then I'll be up to help with that," he ordered. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, averted her face.

"You don't have to do that." The offer reminded her of all the unresolved issues between them. He saw right through her.

"A truce, Laura," he requested, wearily. She turned her head, examined his eyes, the nuances of his expression as he spoke. "Just for tonight. We can go round all you wish tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. All I ask for is just this one night." Her shoulders sagged as she let her guard down, and she nodded slowly.

"Alright," she agreed, drawing the word out. She needed this one night too. The gratitude that shone in his eyes at her acquiescence was well worth setting aside the anger, the misunderstandings and the injuries they'd caused one another for the night. Without another word spoken, she turned towards the stairs.

Thirty minutes later, he joined her in the lone bedroom in the house. Already installed in the bed, her hair lay damp and curling against the pillow, while her bare shoulder offered a dazzling array of freckles for his eyes to feast upon. The pang of need that shot through his groin was both intense and instantaneous. He silently gave thanks to the nearly four years of abstinence which had taught him well how to tamp down his body's response to the woman before him. He pretended not to notice her eyes following him as he walked to his suitcase, removed a pair of pajamas then modestly sequestered himself behind the closed bathroom door. Minutes later, he reemerged, dressed and ready for bed. He reclined on top of the covers, his back against the headboard, then hesitated before reaching for her hand.

"Come here, Laura," he bade. She hesitated, much like he had, then turned and lay her head in his lap, her eyes fluttering closed.

She focused on his fingers at her temples, allowed herself to relax into his touch. He'd barely begun when she felt the tension begin to release, drawing from her a soft hum. His eyes moved to her face at the sound, and he watched, silently, the interplay of thoughts and emotions on display there.

She hadn't realized how much she'd missed his touch. In the early days of their association, it had taken some time to get used to the constant brushes of his fingers against her, the pressure of them at the small of her back when they walked. She had even once questioned if those touches were part of his seduction repertoire. But in time, she'd come to realize, touch and his feelings were inexorably bound to one another. Touch allowed him to communicate the emotions that, even all these years later, could leave him nervous, tongue-tied. A glancing brush of his fingers against her hand meant he was feeling particularly close to her. The hand at the small of her back alternately expressed his pride that it was he in her company, a unspoken possessiveness, and an assurance that he'd protect her should the need arise. In trying times, a palm cupping her cheek was an offer of comfort; in happy times, it was an indication he was feeling particularly tender towards her.

She couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corner of her lips. It had taken them crossing that line for her to truly understand how deeply touch and intimacy were woven together for him. Touch, to him, was the most intimate of acts, as he'd once tried to explain to her, as they'd lain in bed, talking, their fingers laced together while they spoke.

"I cannot recall a single woman I've done this with, let alone on a regular basis as I do you. It implies a level of intimacy, a desire to be close, that I've not ony not felt but also did not wish to convey."

Goosebumps skittered over her skin as his fingers moved from her temples to massage her scalp. The smile on her lips disappeared, as more somber thoughts replaced fond memories.

She hadn't realized how much his touch had meant to her, how secure in his love for her she felt because of it, until it had disappeared. At first, after her surgery, he'd been more tentative with his touch, cautious even. Later, as the anger and hurt had festered between them, it had been withdrawn all together. Gone, with that touch, had been the secuity in which she'd basked for almost five years. The withdrawal of his touch had allowed the fears he suddenly found her 'less than' to fester and grow, and the burgeoning distance between them had made it all too realistic that he'd engage in an affair, finding what he wanted, needed, elsewhere.

Under his watchful eyes, her brow furrowed. His hands slipped free of her hair, moved to her shoulders. Her body shuddered and she sighed deeply, both acts unconscious recognition that relief of the tension that had lingered there for weeks was soon to come.

She'd been so certain he blamed herfor ruining his dreams of a larger family, that he'd found her suddenly barren state repulsive. But if what he'd said earlier was true, it didn't compute.

"Are you in the room? Can I hear you? Can I smell the scent of your perfume? Am I thinking about you? Pick one. I need no more than that to want you."

"As you recovered, I shared with you my dreams of the future, if you recall. Of Livvie, then Holt. But I never envisioned us with more than two children."

And she did believe him. She knew all his tells when he was lying and not a single one of them had been present. Insulted. Appalled. Stunned. Flummoxed. All of those had applied when she'd revealed what she'd come to believe. Deception was an emotion not present. Then what?

At her deepening frown, one of his hands left her shoulders to stroke her hair. She relaxed under the familiar, comforting touch.

Touch. As much as he conveyed his feelings through it, he also needed it He would never fully trust words. As a child, words had promised him a home, and those words had betrayed him. Living as a child on the streets, his life after Daniel had found him, only reinforced his distrust as he watched people use words to get whatever it was they wanted, be damned the consequences. But touch? He believed in touch as much as he did deeds, for he could read touch as fluidly as most could read the written word. He needed her touch to draw him out, when most anxious… or afraid. Her touch anchored him, made him feel safe… wanted. Her touch made him believe the words, made every chance they'd taken to get here worth the risk.

Her hand twitched as understanding dawned.

"Do you blame me for what happened to you? Had I not continued my association with Clarissa, there likely would have been no Castoro, no need to take refuge in Twin Pines. You'd have delivered the babe here at home with Adams, and maybe-"

"…all of it by your hand."

"You are my home…"

She'd seen it on his face, in his eyes, when she'd awakened in the hospital the morning after the emergency surgery that was needed to save her life. She'd pressed him to talk about it, but their conversation had stalled when Catherine, Thomas and the girls arrived. She'd never returned to the subject… and he wouldn't have voluntarily reminded her, as reluctant as he'd been to talk about it in the first place.

The Agency had been her dream, family his. In his eyes, his dream was only possible because of her. It was he who had brought up the topic of a second child. He'd drawn a parellel from himself to Clarissa to Castoro to the hospital where she'd given birth.

It was she who had nearly died. The person he saw as the center of all he cared about. As his home.

Somewhere along the line, he'd gotten into his head that it all came back to him. Another thing she wondered if it would ever change about him: Him, believing providence was still waiting to strike a blow for the sins of his past.

Her eyes still closed, she lifted a hand to worry her brow, the action drawing a concerned look from Remington.

Why hadn't she seen it? It was the first time her life had been at risk since Roselli kidnapped her. He would have had a difficult time enough coping with the idea of having nearly lost her. That he questioned how much of the responsibility for that lay at his own feet? She had known, she had seen, how troubled he was that morning in the hospital. It wasn't like her not to pursue the why of it, interruption or no interruption. It wasn't like her not to notice when he was struggling, which apparently he'd continued to do.

But now that she'd put it all together?

He watched as her eyes opened. Of all the things he'd considered she might have been fixated on, he wasn't at all prepared for what came next.

She reached for his left hand and holding it in her hand, she began to trace his palm with a single fingertip.

"Tell me what happened the night you found me in the bathroom."