Chapter 37: Lines

"What? No, Laura, no," Remington objected. He yanked away his hand and lunged from the bed. She pushed up to sit on her knees as he moved several paces away and dragged a hand through his hair.

"Tell me," she pressed, quietly. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, but remained resolutely silent. "Whatever happened that night? That's when everything started," she implored. "We were fine until then. Don't you see? Unless you tell me, it will always be between us, causing doubts, creating more… confusion," she finished with a nod of her head. His hands searched for pockets to hide in, hung limply at his sides when he found none.

"Laura," he resisted, eyes pleading with her not to pursue the matter.

"Remington," she replied, holding out her hand to him, a silent refusal, "Come back to bed." He looked around the room while rubbing the back as of neck, as if he were looking for an escape. Finding none, he ran his hand across his mouth, and reluctantly resumed his position on the bed. After settling her head on his lap, she reclaimed his hand. "Tell me," she repeated. Her fingertip traced his palm, as though she'd never stopped. He closed his eyes and lay the back of his head again the headboard. His lips parted several times as if to begin, only to close again. He frowned, swallowed hard, and spoke.

"I woke and you weren't in bed beside me." His free hand fisted, unseen, in the sheet next to him. "I thought I hadn't come awake when the babe cried… that you'd gone off to feed him." He pressed a pair of fingers against his lips, as the images of that night flashed through his head. "I still don't understand why I didn't think to check the bloody loo for you, given for months you'd be up two, three, a half dozen times a night." The hand dropped to the bed, grabbing at the sheet again. Her eyes drifted upwards to look at him, saw his handsome face, distorted by guilt. "But I didn't. I checked the entirety of the house before I found you there." He drew in a breath, fought for calm, as the image of her, unconscious on the floor, came clearly to mind. "You were unconscious, just laying there upon the floor. I didn't know, at first, what had happened to you. Had you become dizzy? Fallen? When I kneeled beside you—" He opened his eyes, looked down at her, fingering the still reddened mark where she'd gashed her head near the hairline, and words failed him. "Laura…" he tried again.

"Remington, it's only a memory," she reminded him, softly. "I'm alright. I'm right here." Drawing his hand towards her, she pressed her lips against his palm. He drew in a breath, let it out slowly and nodded his head rapidly. After another swipe of his hand at his mouth, he settled his hand in her hair, and focused his eyes on the wall in front of him.

"When I kneeled beside you, turned you over and saw the gash, I knew you'd taken a blow to your head." He closed his eyes again, going back to that evening. "Somewhere in the back of my mind, it had registered my knees were growing damp, but, still, it took me a moment to understand." Before she knew what happened, he'd skittered away, took to his feet, was pacing the floor again. She ignored the pull of her ribs as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Go on," she encouraged. He drew a hand through his hair again, then in lieu of pockets, crossed his arms in front of himself, refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Laura…"

"Go on," she answered firmly. With a huff, aggravated with her she knew, he clenched his jaw.

"Your blood. I was kneeling in your blood," he rasped. "I looked and… I yelled, for Melina. Must've woke up the whole house, as the girls arrived right behind Lina. Livvie… My God, Livvie…" His face contorted in the second before he rubbed at it with his hand. "She saw, was so frightened she screamed out for you. And Sophie? She just stood there, silent, staring. I yelled at Lina to take them from the room." Another shake of his head. On the bed, Laura's spine straightened, and her sharp gasp of air had far less to do with her ribs over the quick movement, and far more to do with the sudden flash of insight. The girls. I had no idea… Fate couldn't have been more cruel to them, had it tried. In eyes he would have failed them all – Laura, because he hadn't found her soon enough; the girls because he'd sent them away. "I could hear Livvie crying all the way back to her room." He turned and settled a pair of tortured blue eyes upon her. "Our children, Laura. They were terrified, and instead of offering them words of assurance, any form of comfort, I ordered them away." She couldn't just sit by and watch as the weight of his guilt crushed him. With a grunt, she left the bed and went to him. He turned his head away, when she stopped in front of him.

"Look at me, Remington," she demanded, cupping his face in her hands and turning him to face her. She waited to speak until his eyes met with hers. "The girls are fine," she reassured, one hand leaving his cheek to streak through his hair. "You were protected them. You sent them away to protect them. And me, too, in an odd way." His face reflected his confusion.

"No, they needed—" She caught his head in her hands again, when he tried to step away. With a resigned look, he stopped speaking.

"We make difficult decisions on the job all the time," she reminded him, insistently. "Stay together, or seperate. The quickest way to safety. If one of us is merely rattled, or if one of us is really injured." She gave her head a little shake. "You assessed the situation, and determined who needed your help the most, because you instinctively knew anything else could be fixed later." She drew a hand through his hair again, relieved when he unconconsciously leaned into her touch. He was listening, wanted to believe what she was saying. "You did exactly what I would have done. You didn't fail, Mr. Steele. You kept us all safe, as best you could." She watched his struggle, wanting to believe her but unsure. So, she did the only thing she knew to do, what years of knowing the man, loving him, had taught her: she encircled his neck with her arms, and pressed her body against him. She felt him hesistate, then his arms were crushing her, a hand at the back of her head melding her even closer.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to erase it from my mind," he rasped. "Livvie at the top of the stairs, crying, Sophie with her thumb in her mouth, watching as you were taken away."

"The girls were sound asleep, were probaby still half asleep while it was all happening," she reasoned. "I doubt either of them remember that night. If they do, they've never mentioned it to me." She rubbed his shoulder, the back of his neck. "Come on. Let's go back to bed," she suggested, stepping out of his embrace.

Silence lingered for long minutes as she traced his palm, and they each considered what had been said that evening. She supressed a yawn as everything coalesced in her mind.

"I think it's time we give ourselves a break, don't you?" she suggested. Opening his eyes, he peered down at her, while absently playing with a curly lock of her hair.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"Neither of us could have done anythng to prevent what happened," she reasoned, "And there was nothing either of us had done that could have caused it."

"If you'd been here in—"

"I don't want to hear how things might have been different if I'd delivered in LA," she cut him off, waving a hand and shaking her head in emphasis. "We have no idea of knowing what, if any difference, being here would have made. We have three beautiful children…"

"That we do," he agreed, the corner of his lips quirking upwards in a half-smile, as she yawned widely.

"I don't need any more, and if you don't either…"

"I don't," he confirmed.

"Then that's all that matters, isn't it?"she finished.

They fell silent again, as she continued to caress his hand with a fingertip and he toyed with her hair. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. He couldn't recall when they'd last taken time just for them, to talk, to check in with one another… to simply enjoy one another in quiet. How many potential problems had been stopped in their tracks because of these tete-a-tetes? How much more in sync had they been when they'd indulged in time together each evening?

"I can't remember the last time we did this," she commented, breaking the silence.

"Mmmm," he hummed, "It was just thinking much the same." Opening his eyes, bent his head and lifted his brows at her. "Seems we've forgotten your edict." She frowned a him.

"What edict?"

"If…. When … we do this, you and I… our relationship, our marriage has to come first… before everything, even our children."

She smiled as he repeated, nearly verbatim, the words she'd said to him when they'd been contemplating 'not trying not to.'

"Seems we did," she agreed, on a yawn.

"But for now," he removed his hand from hers and patted her on the hip, "It would seem sleep is in order." She gave him a wry look.

"I won't disagree with you." With a grunt, she pushed herself to a sitting position, then shifted and wriggled beneath the covers. She reached for the lamp, then turned it off once he, too, had settled beneath the sheets.

The waves hitting the shore outside was the only sound in the room for a spell, as they lay on their own sides of the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"So," Remington's voice breached the silence, "Do we live on to fight another day?" He rolled to his side and faced her. "Hmmmm?" Laura pursed her lips, considering the question, only to admit it required no consideration at all. She slanted her eyes towards him.

"I think we do," she answered, lightly. He nodded his head rapidly, then returned to his back.

"Laura—"

"Only if you hand over the shirt, Mr. Steele…"

It was a codicil he was too happy to comply with, a bemused smile lifting his lips as he watched her turn away modestly to remove her nightgown and slip into his shirt. In short order, his front side was melded to her backside, his arm lay around her waist, and his breath gently stirred her hair.

In the hazy moment before sleep stole her away, she reached for his hand, tangled their fingers together, then tugged their joined hands upwards to tuck them between her breasts, ribs be damned. It was the first time in a long, long while, that his presence fully surrounded her… that she believed everything just might be alright, after all.

The approving buss atop her head was merely icing on the cake.

Remington bent over and examined the contents of the refrigerator. Whoever had stocked the larder was certainly familiar with their taste given the ingredients for favored dinners were all on hand: Chicken alfredo, veal medallionsi, salmon, filet mignon. But it didn't stop there: Slices of roasted turkey, Havarti cheese, milk, cream, eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, fresh vegetables and fruits filled the fridge, while the cabinets were stocked with coffee, tea, flour, bricks of white and dark chocote, an assortment of spices and a decent selection of wines waiting to be chilled.

White chocolate and raspberry crepes, some fresh fruit should tempt Laura's palate, he decided.

Returning to their room with a tray laden down with two plates, coffee, tea and juice, when he stepped into the room, he found Laura had already roused and was dressing for the day. He'd felt the evidence of her slimness the evening before as he'd held her in his arms while they slept, but with her bare back facing him as she carefully put on her bra, how thin she'd become was alarmingly clear. Guilt delivered a swift kick to his shin for his failure to notice.

"I thought we could do with a bite of breakfast," he announced. Startled, she turned to face him with a smile.

He swiftly sat the tray on the bed, his skin blanching as he viewed the sizeable swath of purple and black skin covering too prevalent ribs. Her smile faltered, faded, as she hurriedly grabbed a shirt and began buttoning it.

"It smells wonderful," she complimented, purposefully ignoring both what he'd seen and his reaction. He was having none of it.

"Breakfast can wait," he insisted. Approaching her, he brushed aside the pair of hands still slipping buttons through their corresponding holes, and began releasing them. "Let me look." She slipped away, and resumed buttoning.

"There's no need," she dismissed, airily, as she stepped into the small bathroom. Picking up her brush, she watched in the mirror as he stepped into the doorway and leaned a shoulder on the jamb.

"I believe that there is," he disagreed. "You may well have a broken rib or two."

"I'm alright," she countered, as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The muscle in his jaw twitched, as he grew annoyed.

"You didn't mention you'd been injured." Dropping her brush on the counter, she shrugged her shoulders.

"No, I didn't," she agreed, siddling past him and reentering the bedroom. He merely turned towards the room, leaning his opposite shoulder against the jam, while shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Why not?" he demanded, with an edge to his voice. She picked up the cup of coffee off the tray, then, as an afterthought, his cup of tea.

"Your tea?" she offered. He accepted the cup from her, lifted it towards his mouth.

"Thank you..." Then identifying the distraction for what it was, set the cup down on top of the dresser nearby. "I don't want the bloody tea. What I'd like is an answer."

"We weren't exactly speaking," she replied. "I thought you were having an affair, remember?" He flashed her a smile, one that never quite reached his eyes.

"Then you won't mind telling me now, hmmm?" She took her time sipping her coffee as her eyes narrowed on him.

"It happened during an investigation," she finally answered.

"Go on," he encouraged he took a couple steps towards her.

"You made it patently clear," she cut a quick hand across her front, "that you want nothing to do with investigations, remember? As in do no investigations, see no invest—"

"I may have removed myself from investigations, but I still have to right to know when you've come to harm," he argued. "You're my wife, for bl—"

"It does't work like that, Mr. Steele," she cut in, adamantly. Coffee cup still in hand, she spun on her heel, and left the bedroom. He pursued.

"What does that mean?" he barked. Laura waved a hand in the air, the gesticulation part frustration, part warning, as she descended the staircase.

"You chose to walk away from our partnership," she reminded him, "And you chose to leave me out there on my own. You drew the line. Not I."

"What, exactly, it is you're saying, Laura?" She pushed through the screen door at the front of the house and marched across the porch, before turning to face him.

"Work is work, home is home." Her chin took on a stubborn tilt. "If you don't want to know about the investigative arm of our Agency, to be a part of it, then as far as I'm concerned that includes anything I do or anyting that happens to me in the course of my work."

"The bloody hell it does," he exploded.

Both of their heads turned towards the house when the mobile phone rang within. With long legged strides, she crossed the porch and reentered the house.

"You drew the line," she retorted, over her shoulder at him, "So you'll have to find a way to live with it."

"This conversation isn't over, Miss Holt," he forewarned, as she picked up the phone.

"It is from where I stand." She stabbed at the button the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mommy," Livvie squealed with delight.

"Hi, Livvie Bee," Laura drew out the words. "Did you sleep good last night?"

"Uh huh." Back at Casa Malaga, Livvie rested her chin in a hand, propped up by arm to kitchen counter. "Do you and Da comed home today?"

"'Come home.' No, baby, not today. Do you remember what I told you…"