Laura woke Remington at twilight, as she stretched with catlike grace while still held snugly against him in his arms. He smiled when she nuzzled her cheek against his chest, settling in again, even as his body ached with the need to feel her skin-to-skin. The last ten days had been, by far, the longest they'd gone without making love since they'd crossed that line. He'd once thought the four years bordered on torture at times, but now those days held no compare. It was one thing to dream of loving her, it was quite another to know exactly how it felt to love her tenderly, endlessly through the night. Tamping down his desire, he focused on stroking her hair, easing her fully into wakefulness.

Tilting back her head, his breath stilled when he saw desire burning in those amber eyes. Touching his lips to hers, he bussed the top of her head, then rolled from the bed, wincing when he took to his feet. Strolling casually towards their balcony, he feigned a long stretch. The woman's nothing short of remarkable, he thought to himself, then turned to dazzle Laura with a bright smile. Striding to the bed, he held out a hand to her. Puzzled, she took it, and followed him out onto the balcony.

Laura blinked her eyes several times, then slowly spun around. Sometime while they'd slept, the terrace had been completely transformed. Pots filled with hyacinths and gladiolus, their wedding flowers, lined the wall of the balcony. The al fresco table had been covered with a white linen table cloth, and set with fine china and Waterford champagne flutes. Candelabras were scattered across the balcony, white candles waiting to be lit. Tucked away in the corner of the balcony, a radio played golden oldies. She turned and tilted her head, giving him a questioning look. Lifting her hand, he pressed lips to palms.

"A belated anniversary celebration, love. As of four days ago we've been quite officially wed for four months," he reminded her. Moist eyes glistened with joy.

"I hadn't realized…" He nodded.

"We've had other things on our minds. But tonight we think about only the four glorious months we've shared." Lifting her chin with a single finger, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "Would you care to dance, Mrs. Steele?" She looked down at her feet.

"No insisting that I put on the boot?" she asked. He chuckled lightly.

"I think we can forgo it for the evening," he answered, tugging her to him and drawing a laugh from her. She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, before lightly clasping her arms around his neck. They swayed softly to I'm in the Mood For Love.

"Dorothy Lamour," he murmured. "Brings back memories." He lay a hand against her cheek, his thumb stroking it until her eyes met his.

"Of the rather…stunning… speech you gave at the Hollywood Archives?"

"Mmmm mmmm," he denied, "More along the lines of what you said to me after it became apparent someone was after me, not Lamour, Mayo or Nolan."

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'Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to Remington Steele. Yours, mine or ours.'

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"I believe that may have been the first time you either acknowledged that this name was far more than a role to me, attributing to me some form of ownership of it, or recognized that we'd built something together that could be termed 'ours.'" His lips covered hers, teasing her, until he felt the shiver he was seeking to pass through her. "It was the first time that I was able to truly believe we might get past your decision in Cannes," he added, covering her lips with his again before she could retort.

The corners of her lips lifted underneath his as she remembered the time he referred to. She had regretted her Cannes ultimatum almost immediately, but determinably stuck by it, too stubborn in her own right to admit she'd been wrong. If she hadn't realized it yet, Malta Margaret would certainly have been a wakeup call. When she'd once again made it patently clear that things between them would remain business only, he'd allowed himself to be swayed by the murderous minx. The possibility that he'd slept with the woman had left her alternately lit with jealousy and thoroughly forlorn that she may have overplayed her hand and in the process he'd given up. That she'd brought along a sexy little number that she'd hoped would entice him to find a way to end the Cannes agreement and he'd never so much as acknowledged it with even a flick of his eyes certainly hadn't helped the matter.

So, a week later, as they'd sat there on his couch, an old movie playing on the television, it had felt enough like the evenings of years' past that she'd tried again. She'd meant every word she'd said to him. No one would harm him under her watch, no one. When she leaned in to kiss him on his cheek, she allowed herself to let him see that more would be welcomed. He'd been uncertain, nervous. But when his eyes met hers, he'd leaned in to kiss her… only to vault from the couch as a news item put together all the clues in his mind. She'd damned the newscaster endlessly across the next several weeks.

Her fingers tightened around his neck and a hand slid over his shoulder to caress his chest as she parted her lips under his, challenging him to thoroughly explore her mouth. She wanted to taste his rich, heady flavor, to feel his tongue slide against hers, to dance with hers. That he was wholly hers now and she could relax into these moments was still a fairly new concept to her, one that she… treasured. She answered his hum of pleasure at the invitation with one of her own. A shiver coursed through her body when his fingers tangled in her hair to massage her scalp. She laughed softly when she felt his lips lift in a smile under hers at her reaction to his touch. He tore his lips away from hers with a small gasp, and looked at her askance.

"My kissing you draws your laughter now, does it?" he asked, pretending to be wounded.

"More your reaction to my reaction to your kiss draws my laughter," she answered, smiling up at him, as her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Caught that, did you?" he laughed.

"Mmm hmm," she hummed her acknowledgment. "Quite pleased with yourself, were you?" He touched his lips against hers before letting a smile lift his lips.

"To know that my wife's body can't disguise its pleasure at what I do? Mmmmm," he hummed himself this time. "Does a husband's heart good."

"Not to mention his ego," she volleyed back.

"There is that," he admitted. He tangled the fingers of a hand with her own, tilting his head forward to press his forehead against hers. "I'd say we're doing fairly well at this marriage thing, Mrs. Steele. Would you agree?"

"I'd say we're doing very well at this marriage 'thing', Mr. Steele," she agreed. "Even when I'd dream of this, I never imagined it to be quite like this." He lifted his head to look down at her, a thousand watt smile lighting his face.

"You'd dreamed of this?" he queried. She dropped her head to lean her forehead against his chest and scrunched up her face, knowing she'd not only stroked his ego, but had given him the upper hand. Damn and double damn, she berated herself. She was mortified she'd let the admission slip and a little more than a bit put out with herself for allowing it. A finger under her chin nudged it upwards until her eyes met his. "Laura?" She averted her eyes, and tried to tuck her head back down against his chest, but his fingers held firm. Ahhhh, welcome back shy Miss Holt, it's been a while. "Don't hide from me, love," he urged. Her eyes met his and she sighed deeply.

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"Often?" he pressed his luck. She sighed again.

"Often enough to find it disconcerting." She'd said the last in such a way that he knew she'd yield to no further questioning, thus allowed her to tuck her head back down against his chest. Drawing himself up, he made a confession of his own. Tit-for-tat, he thought to himself.

"Too bad I'd no idea, or you'd have found that ring on your finger far sooner," he told her quietly. Her head snapped back and she looked at him, mouth agape. With a soft chuckle, he closed her mouth with a nudge of a finger against her chin.

"Are you serious?" she asked, thoroughly flummoxed by both his willing admission and its content.

"I believe I've made it abundantly clear previously that I'd had your ring made long before I placed it on your hand," he pointed out, bemused. She considered this, then sent him a sly glance.

"When did you decide to commission the ring?" He chuckled inwardly, knowing she was hoping to at last pry that information from him. That he'd already decided to share that little tidbit with her, made her insatiable curiosity all the more amusing.

"Don't you know?" he couldn't help but tease. She shot him an exasperated look.

"One of these days, Mr. Steele," she huffed. He couldn't help but laugh aloud this time before turning serious.

"I'd begun toying with the design right after we'd returned from San Francisco, but had no earthly idea how I'd make you come 'round to where my mind had traipsed. Frankly, the idea terrified me, making it a near certainty that you'd run hard and fast if you'd had any idea," he touched his lips to the tip of her nose. "I could no longer envision my future without you playing a part in it… a rather large part. By the time we'd returned from London, I knew there was no choice left but to find a way to sway you to my way of thinking." Laura shook her head, mouth agape again, considering him at length, trying to determine the veracity of what he was saying. Seeing the earnest sincerity in his eyes, she was left dumbfounded.

"You hid your intentions very well, Mr. Steele," she said, speaking the first, safe words that came to mind.

"Yes, well we were both rather verse at hiding from one another, weren't we, Mrs. Steele?" he challenged. "I couldn't very well raise the bet when there was every chance you'd quit the table, now could I?"

"You could have called," she pointed out, stroking his shoulder with a hand.

"And have you fold? No, it seemed to me the stakes were too high." She looked at him puzzled.

"The stakes?"

"Having you in any manner you'd allow or not having you at all." Not wishing to discuss the matter further, he leaned down to kiss her. She pulled away.

"Why did you—" His lips covered hers again. She laughed against his lips, knowing that he was attempting to distract her. When his hand found her hair, he managed to do exactly that. When he withdrew he tucked her back against his body, as the first strands of Etta's James "At Last" became to play.

"A fitting song for us, Mrs. Steele," he whispered against her ear.

At last my love has come along
My lonely days are over and life is like a song, oh yeah
At last the skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you
I found a dream that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill I've never known, oh yeah
You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in Heaven
For you are mine at last

She lifted her head and liquid, emotion laden eyes met his before she tugged his head down to feel his lips against hers again. The kiss never deepened, soft lips meeting soft lips to touch, taste, sink into. When the song ended, so too did the kiss. Laura slipped her arms around his shoulders, ignoring the tug of the sore arm, to press her lips against his neck. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, reveling in the sensation before he pulled away. He stepped back only to move close and touch his lips to hers again, before stepping away a final time.

"Dinner awaits," he told her, escorting her to the table. "But first, a toast." Remington poured them each a glass of champagne, handing Laura hers. "To us," he offered simply, still drawing a soft smile across her lips.

"To us." With a tap of their glasses, they twined arms in their traditional lover's toast. Retrieving their plates from the warmer, he lifted the dome plate covers to reveal the fair.

"Canard au vin rouge. But how? When did you—"

"I didn't," he interrupted, while his hand reached for hers and his thumb stroked her rings.

"Elena," she speculated.

"Elena. I merely asked for her assistance. Now how she managed do to all this while we slept right there? That's the true mystery." They both laughed.

While they ate, they discussed the new house, furnishings that still needed purchasing, and when they would list the condo for rental. Soon they were reminiscing about times past. Laura reached over and tangled her fingers with his.

"Do you ever wonder what you would be doing right at this moment if we hadn't met?" she asked. Remington released her hand and cleared the plates from the table.

"I imagine much as I was before we met: Still living the life, not staying much of anywhere very long, always looking over my shoulder, wondering when Interpol would catch up with me." He caught her look of surprise when he returned to the table.

"You don't think you would have left that life if we hadn't met?" She'd been stunned by his easy honesty, having seriously believed he'd attempt to dodge the question even as she'd posed it. He set the single slice of cheese cake topped with dark chocolate ganache and raspberries between them. He looked her in the eye as he moved his chair to sit next to her.

"Very few every leave the life, Laura. Monroe and I are quite the exceptions. It's not as easy as you may think to leave it behind."

"The expeditious inflation of your bank account?" He frowned.

"I am sure there is that for some. For me it was that rush you've felt a time or two yourself, as well as the satisfaction of knowing I could work my way around the most sophisticated of systems in the world to claim what I was after." Slicing through the cake with a fork, he held it out for her. smiling as she closed her eyes and hummed with pure pleasure. "Meets your approval I take it?" he laughed.

"It's incredible. Taste it." A wicked grin spread across his face as he set down the fork and leaned toward her.

"Don't mind if I do," he whispered against her lips, before sliding a hand into her hair and nudging her head forward. He plundered for a long minute, taking great satisfaction in the merriment dancing in her eyes when he pulled away. "Absolutely delicious," he murmured gruffly. Laura's gales of laughter trickled across the moonlit balcony.

"When will I learn?" she laughed questioningly. Remington raised a brow at her.

"For my sake, I hope never," he grinned, before lifting another bite to her mouth.

"Do you ever regret your decision to give it up?" She slanted him a sly look. "Not that you've gone completely 'cold turkey', mind you."

"Laura…" he growled warningly at her, before he tugged at an ear, a slight frown furrowing his brows. "I'd be lying if I said there weren't times I have, most notably when it seemed the reason I stayed would never come to its fruition. In our work I get a bit of that rush, that sense of accomplishment, yet it's not quite the same. Still," he said, pausing for another taste of cake and Laura, "having what we do now, I'd have to say it was the wisest decision I've ever made."

She plopped ungracefully back in her seat and stared at him. "I don't know what to do with all this honesty and openness in one setting, Mr. Steele," she exclaimed.

"Consider it an anniversary gift." His lips quirked upwards. "And if you wished to reciprocate, I wouldn't be opposed," he hinted.

"What would I be doing?" she asked in surprise. She gave it considerable thought as she ate the latest piece of cake lifted to her mouth by her husband. "I don't know," she answered honestly and with no little wonderment. "Still working as a private detective, certainly, but I can't even picture what the Agency would have been like. I think Murphy would have still moved on since his feelings for me weren't reciprocated and Bernice, as well, because of Jason. There wouldn't be a Mildred without you to trail to Mexico. I couldn't just bring in associates when there was no elusive 'Remington Steele' to present to them. I really have no idea…"

"And personally?" he ventured. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Do you mean do I think I'd be married with the expected 2.3 kids and a dog?" She lifted her hands and dropped them. "I don't know, but somehow I doubt it. I wasn't exactly looking for any of that."

"Regrets?" This time it was her brows that furrowed at the question.

"I think I told you a long time ago that my life was easier in many ways before we met, but far more interesting since."

"Evading the question, Miss Holt?" he asked, somehow disappointed that she'd chosen to dance her way around the question in her typical fashion.

"That obvious, huh?" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright. There are a couple of things I would change, if I could, but to get to where we are now? I'd do it all over again, without hesitation." The smile that lit his face and eyes was worth every bit of the discomfort the admission had brought her. The kiss they shared after made her wonder if she admitted to again, if the same results would be found. Instead she dug a fingernail into the palm of her hand in an effort to squelch a yawn. Her ever-observant husband, of course, didn't fail to miss the effort. He brushed a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Tired, love?" She gave him a disgruntled little smile.

"I don't know why I should be given we napped part of the afternoon away, but I am." He glanced at his watch, his brows lifting in surprise when he saw it was nearing ten. Where has the time gone, he wondered, then glancing at the woman sitting next to him decided there was no one better to lose time with. Standing, he held out a hand then pulled her up.

"Go get ready for bed, love. I'll just clean up here." With a nod and a buss on his cheek, she went into the bedroom to gather a change of panties, one of his pajama tops and a robe before heading to the bathroom to shower.

Remington made quick work of gathering the plates and stemware and taking them to the kitchen, only to be shooed away by Elena when he settled in to clean them.

"Go," she told him with a wave of her hand, "Celebrate your anniversary. I will take care of these." Placing a quick kiss on her cheek, he returned to the balcony.

Table and chairs returned to the corner of the balcony where they normally sat, he returned to the bedroom to pull the comforter and top sheet from the bed, setting them aside, before tugging the mattress off the foundation. Hauling it out to the balcony, leaving himself a bit breathless in the process, he lay it down before retrieving the bedding. Grabbing boxers and pajama bottoms, he crept into the bathroom and stripped down, then joined his wife in the shower. Sufficiently distracting Laura with a number of kisses so that he could complete his ablution without her departing, they left the bathroom and returned to their room amid much comfortable laughter.

Laura stutter-stepped when they entered the room. She cast a querulous look at Remington.

"I seem to recall a bed here only thirty minutes ago." She turned to face him. "What's going on?" Rather than answering he took her by the hand and led her to the patio. Seeing the mattress and bedding laid out, only raised more questions in her mind. "Remington?"

"We're going to try something a little different tonight, to see if we can dispel those nightmares of yours as Marcos suggested when we first arrived." She watched as he shifted nervously from foot-to-foot.

"And what exactly is that?" she asked as she bent over and peeled back the comforter and sheet before sitting down on the mattress. He slid in next to her on the bed wordlessly, then stretching out an arm waited for her to curl into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Only once the sheet and comforter were tucked around them did he answer.

"I'm going to give you a dream to chase away the nightmares," he answered, his voice hesitant. He was fairly certain he was more nervous at the moment than he was the night he'd asked her to marry him, officially, of course. Laura propped herself up on her shoulder and looked down at him.

"You are?" Having her watch him was more than he could withstand, jittery nerves and all, so he nudged her back down.

"I am. Pick a year in the future: one, two, five, ten, fifty," he instructed. Eyes widening with curiosity, she gave it some consideration.

"Two," she supplied. She could feel his chest rise as he took a deep breath.

"Home or work?" he queried. Brows drawing together as she grew more perplexed, she tried to rise to look at him but his arm held her firm to his side.

"Alright… home." She felt, but couldn't see the nod of his head. She could, however, feel his tension. She waited him out to see where he was going with this.

He swiped a hand at a mouth that suddenly felt filled with cotton. Bloody hell, he thought to himself, this is worse than when I asked her to marry me. Rather hard to give her a dream when I'm absolutely terrified it will send her skittish self into a tizzy. At that thought, he laughed quietly. Releasing a puff of air, he began.

"You'd stayed home from work having caught the flu some days before and had been quite irritable for just about as long as you couldn't shake it. You were more than a bit put out with me after days of my demanding that you see a doctor. You fought me, tooth and nail, but eventually I came out on top threatening to carry you in there personally if that's what it took. You stormed out on the way to your appointment that morning in a fine fit of temper, slamming the front door behind you in case I had any doubt what you thought about my high handedness." He considered her quiet laugh a good thing, giving him the courage to forge on.

"That evening when I returned from the office, I found you outside by the fire, cup of tea in hand, lost in your thoughts." He closed his eyes, remembering the dream himself, remembering the joy he felt in the moments ahead. "I sat, anxiously awaiting the blistering that was sure to follow. Instead, you turned to me and said, 'Don't make any vacation plans for late February or early March, Mr. Steele.' Puzzled, as that as not at all what I was expecting, I asked you why. 'Because from what Dr. Miller told me this morning, our baby will be due around February nineteenth.'" He heard Laura's soft gasp from where her head rested on his shoulder. "You looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes, gauging my reaction. Rendered speechless by the news, I could only pull you up out of your chair and hold you close, while I tried to digest that this woman who gave me a home, a name, a profession, was now also giving to me what I'd wanted my entire life – a family." He let out a shuddering breath, remembering all too well how he'd felt when this dream would come, and it had come many a time over the course of the last year. Laura reached up and threaded a hand through his hair while he collected himself. A couple minutes passed before he was able to speak again.

"For the next eight months I had the distinct honor of watching your body change as you nurtured our child within it, your breasts swelling first then your stomach." His fingers trailed along her stomach, mimicking an action often made during the dreams. "At nights when we would lay stretched out before the fire, we no longer drank champagne. Instead I would lay propped next to your stomach and tell our child how very lucky he or she was to have you as their mommy and promising that they would never know what it was like to grow up without a parent, mother or father or both, because we would be there every day of their life. It was in front of that fire that we felt our child's first kick, together."

Laura smiled, then ran her hand over his arm until she found his hand. Linking their fingers together, she tucked their joined hands up next to her cheek.

"Of course, you and I had to argue, playfully, about whether our child would be a boy or a girl, you demanding a boy, me insisting on a girl with her mother's beautiful eyes. But we agreed on two things absolutely: First, we didn't want to know if our child was a boy or a girl until they were born, believing that life held very few pure surprises and that was one of them. And secondly, that our child would have a name long before they came into the world, so they would never know what it was like having spent even a moment in life not knowing who they were."

Laura squeezed his hand, understanding.

"The day the baby was born, I held your hand as you labored, occasionally having to duck a few attempted blows upon my person as you blamed me for what you were going through…"

Laura laughed. "Seems only fair to me," she suggested quietly.

"…and we watched our daughter come into the world together, heard her first cry together, and touched her for the first time…together." Her fingers tightened around his, as she could almost envision his dream in her mind.

"A daughter," she breathed.

"…with beautiful brown eyes that stole my heart the moment I saw her. She was born with a head full of her mommy's brown hair, and you could already see the dimples on her cheeks." He bussed her on the top of the head. "That evening, I curled up in the bed with you, and held you in my arms, as we talked about our dreams for our daughter, for us, for our family. The nurse came in bringing her back from the nursery, hungry and wanting her mommy. I held you both in my arms as you nursed her, and as I watched the two of you together I knew something as absolute as how I feel for you."

Laura, mesmerized, lifted her head and caught his eyes with her own, then softly asked "What was that?"

"That with the vast exception of the day I met her mother, there would never be, could never be, a moment in my life that I cherished more." She bit her lip as the corners lifted upwards, before lying her head back down on his chest.

"What was her name? And please don't tell me you expect us to tag our child with a cinematic moniker," she warned.

"And what is wrong with names such Audrey, Katharine, Ingrid or Vivien? They all have such class… such illustrious predecessors, such—"

"Mr. Steele," she drawled warningly, drawing a laugh and another buss on the head.

"She was named after the most supportive woman of your childhood and the only woman in my childhood that mourned the loss of me." He allowed her the time to mull, knowing she'd come up with the answer on her own.

"Olivia Elena," she said breathily.

"Mmmmm," he hummed his agreement, nuzzling her head with his chin.

"It's a wonderful dream, Remington," she told him, as she settled more firmly against him with a yawn. "Tell me how many more children exist in these dreams of yours?"

"Ahhhhh, that's a dream for another day, love," he teased, stroking her hair. She yawned again against his chest. "Go to sleep, Mrs. Steele." She nodded against his chest, while tangling her leg with his.

"Olivia Elena," she said sleepily. "It's a very good name, Mr. Steele." His arm hugged her to his side a moment before he heard her soft sigh, telling him she'd surrendered to sleep.

(TBC)