Chapter 14

In the early Sunday morning hours, before dawn fully broken on the horizon, Remington lay on his stomach sleeping soundly with an arm thrown across Laura's waist. She turned her head and glanced at the alarm clock. Six-twelve. It had been a long, restless night of constantly waking then forcing herself back to sleep again. Out of self-defense, even in his sleep, Remington had finally repositioned himself to his stomach, his arm keeping their connection but allowing her to toss and turn at will while he slept.

Sitting up now, she drew her hands through her hair, while turning her head to look at the man still sleeping soundly beside her. An hour or two more of waiting wouldn't change anything, right? She hoped not, because whether or not it would, she'd go mad if she had to wait a second longer.

Slipping from bed, she crossed the room on silent feet and quietly slid open the drawer where she'd tucked the bag with veil, ring and pregnancy test for safe keeping. The rattling of the bag had her glancing quickly towards the bed. Remington lay as she'd left him, still breathing deeply. Grabbing the small cardboard box, she slid closed the drawer, then sequestered herself behind the bathroom door.

Remington played possum - it was the only apt description of what he'd done, pretending to be sound asleep when first she sat up then slipped from the bed. He'd dared a quick peek through slitted eyes, watching as Laura had opened the drawer and removed the small box. He'd a good idea what was inside the box, and had swallowed hard, wondering briefly if the idea of pending fatherhood might be less daunting than finding out definitively a wee one was on the way.

When the door to the bathroom quietly clicked shut, he opened his eyes fully and rolled to his back, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

The night before at dinner, he'd ordered a bottle of Dom to celebrate their upcoming nuptials. If he wasn't quite certain before the meal that Laura had finally realized she might be pregnant, her behavior at dinner had confirmed it. She'd fidgeted throughout the meal and it had taken a great deal of effort on her part to remain engaged in the recounting of his proposal, for Mildred's sake, along with a recitation of all they'd done and seen thus far while in the city. Even more telling? She'd taken a singular, miniscule sip of her champagne when Mildred had proposed a toast to them, then hadn't touched it again all evening. Even Mildred had noticed something was askance, Laura's eyes flitting to him then immediately away when Mildred inquired if she was okay. She'd pled a long day and exhaustion, which certainly did not mesh with all the tossing and turning she'd done throughout the night.

It had seemed a good idea to turn the tables on her, have a bit of fun with her by feigning ignorance of her possible state, giving her a small taste of what it had been like for him these last weeks. He'd realized the folly of that idea midway through their meal. Although she was, without a doubt, the strongest person he'd ever known, when it came to providence throwing curves that threatened her orderly life, she had a tendency to run, to lash out or to crumble beneath the weight of sudden uncertainty. He'd watched, helplessly, as she fallen apart after Veckmer had leveled her home. He'd borne her fury in the weeks after his foolish attempt to marry Clarissa and their subsequent marriage, instead, on that trawler. And, as God above had laid witness to, not knowing what came next after 'that magical moment' had sent her on the run a pair of times.

Yes, as much as he might have enjoyed having a bit of fun with her to make up for his weeks of waiting on tether hooks, doing so at the risk of her rebuilding the walls it seemed it had taken a lifetime for him to tear down or, God help him, running, simply wasn't worth it.

To that end, he sat up, leaned forward, and wrapping his arms around his bent legs, waited for the bathroom door to open…

Laura paced the confines of the bathroom, rubbing at her arms with shaking hands. How was it five minutes passed in the blink of an eye when one was doing something enjoyable, but when awaiting answers, time slowed to a near standstill. Taking a deep breath and ringing her hands, she forced herself to walk the length of the bathroom and back again another dozen times, then determined the moment of truth was at hand.

But her feet would no longer cooperate, taking her back down the length of the large bathroom again.

How had she missed it? Granted, it had been years since she'd had to worry about birth control or watching a calendar, but still there was a date circled in her planner, that she'd simply paid no attention to; there was that packet of pills, that she still took daily, and she'd been completely oblivious to the fact that she'd not only begun but had nearly finished the pack without her cycle ever arriving. Her breasts had been tender, she reflected now, for a few days, maybe a week – could it have been two weeks? Looking back now it was possible – but she'd written that off, somewhere in her subconscious, to the pending arrival of her period, as her breasts always ached a bit in the days before. She'd written off some of her clothes growing snug to Remington's good cooking… not to mention her Halloween chocolate session.

It was all so obvious now. How had she missed it? Had she, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, known, but had fallen into deep denial? That thought was more troublesome to her than having been blind to all the clues around her. She'd worked hard to learn how to live in the moment, to not get so far ahead of herself that her imagination ran wild, and in imagining the worst, ran, hid, even from herself. If she had known somewhere deep inside, what did that mean?

Did she not want to be a mother? She paused in her steps and stared up at the ceiling to consider the question. No, that's not the case, she concluded. There was, after all, a vast difference between not knowing if you'd ever be a mother and not wishing to be one. Hadn't she even once admitted as much to Frances?

"Don't you think I'd like to have a family of my own someday? I'm just like any other woman out there, trying to make the pieces fit."

She resumed her pacing.

Had she been secretly worried about Remington's reaction if she was, in fact, pregnant? No, it's not that, she acknowledged. If she knew anything at all about Remington Steele it was that he'd never leave a child of his behind. And if his recent comments were to be believed, he might actually be quite open to the possibilities.

Xenos.

The memory brought a much needed smile to her face.

"Because, Xenos... because from now on everything is new again, eh? Eh? Just think of the possibilities."

Be bold, Laura.

With that thought, she surged forward and picked up the little plastic wand….

Bloody torture, that's what this is, Remington silently proclaimed, his intent blue gaze leveled on the bathroom door. The twenty-something days of wondering had been a veritable picnic compared to the last twenty minutes.

How long can one of those bloody tests take?

Maybe that little box she'd stowed away hadn't been a pregnancy test at all. Perhaps she was behind those doors right now, doing nothing more than consuming a box of expensive chocolates that she'd picked up on her shopping trip today. Or maybe it was a wedding gift for him, that she was agonizing over whether to give to him or not. Or a new manicure set, and at this very moment she was filing her nails, buffing them, putting a bloody fresh coat of clear gloss over them. Buggering hell. For all he knew, it had been a box of tampons and she'd been nothing more than late straight along.

Very, very late.

He resisted the impulse to bolt from the bed then sling open that bathroom door, shouting…

"Aha!"

The only thing that kept him still was his fear that in doing so he'd make a bloody fool of himself.

His eyes left the door to peer down at himself. He grimaced, returning his eyes to the door. As if he weren't already in danger of doing exactly that, sitting here as he was, perspiration beading his brow, his hands unable to stay still, dragging through his hair, rubbing at his neck, his fingers sweeping over his mouth. If it wasn't a pregnancy test, how was he to explain his current state when…

He froze, when he heard the soft snick of the lock on the bathroom door disengaging…

Laura turned off the bathroom light, then stepped into the bedroom. She stilled, blinking in surprise, when she saw Remington sitting up in bed, behaving more nervously than he had when he'd thought he might go down for the murder of Norman Keyes. She watched, in the early morning light, as his eyes flickered from her face to the piece of paper and plastic wand she held in her hand then back to her face again. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and drew a hand through his hair, speaking of how truly anxious he was.

So he had known, or at least suspected.

She kept her face a mask of icy calm. In her heart, she believed she knew how he'd react to the news, but her head - her damnable head that had reminded her for years loving Remington Steele would only end up with her, alone, nursing a broken heart – had its doubts.

With a slow, silent intake of breath, and an unconscious pat of her stomach, she crossed the room and slowly sank down to sit next to him on the side of the bed. Silently, she handed him the paper and the wand.

Her eyes fell from his face to stare at his neck, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down as his hand closed around the offerings. Only when her hand was empty, did she lift her eyes to study his face as he put the pieces together. But, the part of her who believed he'd find this to be exceptionally good news quickly lost its patience.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out, then felt the blush that spread across her skin even as she held her breath waiting for his reply.

The quiet, joyous smile he gave her would have put any sunrise to shame.

"I know," he answered with quiet confidence. Setting aside the wand and paper, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and cradled her face in his hands. "How do you feel about that?"

"Confused how I missed it," she admitted, then with a nod of her head confessed, "Terrified." She blinked several times, then a slow smile lifted her lips. "Happy." He searched her brown eyes.

"You're sure?" She reached up and covered the hands on her cheeks with hers.

"Just think of the possibilities," she offered the words that knew would assure him.

His reaction was instantaneous. Yanking her to him, he wrapped his arms around her, latching his mouth over hers as he lowered her to the bed. Cradling her head in one hand, his lips devoured hers, his tongue plundered, as his other hand quickly released the buttons on her shirt, seeking flesh. In her heart, that part of her which had believed he'd embrace the news, she'd anticipated this would be his reaction, but, still, the irony was not lost on her and the more she dwelled on it, the funnier it became. She was unable to stop her mirth as it bubbled past her lips.

His hand stilled and he reared his head back to look down at her with a question on his face.

"You do realize this…" she indicated with a hand her askance shirt and his body partially reclined over hers "…Is what caused that…" she pointed to the nightstand where the test lay "Right?" With a waggle of his brows, he released the last button and brushed aside the material of her shirt.

"It's a good thing superfetation is not likely then, isn't it?" he mused, leaning down and dropping a kiss on her lips then trailing a string along her jaw. "Because I'm not stopping now."

Her back arched off the bed and her hands dove into his hair when his mouth closed around the sensitive peak of a breast.

"You better not," she gasped.

This time it was he who was unable to contain his laughter.

A/N: Chapter 15 will be the final chapter of this story, and we will immediately return to Holting Back once published.