March 1988 - 4 months old

Laura reached for Remington in her sleep. It took a moment for her sleep fogged brain to register not only wasn't he in bed, but Olivia's hearty cries were coming over the baby monitor. Her brows furrowed at the fact the monitor was present, at all, as Remington always took it with him, to keep her from being awakened. Her eyes sought the alarm clock. 4:45. It had been weeks since Olivia had been looking for a bottle before the sun rose. Settling back into her pillow, she closed her eyes and waited for the baby to calm before she returned to her own dreams.

"Ah, Livvie, looking for your early morning meal, are you now?"

In their bedroom, Laura smiled as she heard the lyrical Irish cadence in her husband's voice, something that happened only he was the most content… or off-balance. And given who he now held in his arms, based on their daughter falling silent, she had every confidence it was the former. His low laughter confirmed her suspicion.

"Hungry, are you little one? One might think we never feed you, especially going on as you have been this morning."

Laura closed her eyes, intent on going back to sleep.

"In truth, a stór, I may owe you a debt of gratitude, waking me as you did. I was dreaming about my Ma, you see…"

Laura's eyes popped open at that.

"Not that I ever truly had a chance to know her. Yet throughout my life, there have been times I would swear I remember the feeling of her holding me when I was just a wee one, times when just the mere hint of the scent of daffodils or shamrocks bring her to mind. Then there are the dreams. Each time, the same soft voice, her lilt left unspoiled by her time spent in England. Always so… familiar. Familiar enough that I can imagine her telling me as a young lad that it's time to come in from play or instructing me it's time to leave for school."

Laura rolled to her back, fully awake now. That he dreamed of his mother was of no revelation to her. After all, very early in their association there had come a time when they'd fallen asleep on his living room floor as they lay there listening to Charlotte Knight's latest erotic novel recorded to audiotape. When she'd wakened him, he'd mumbled…

"I'll be out in a minute, Mother."

And in the years since they'd begun sharing a bed, there'd been any number of occasions on which she'd been awakened by him talking, mostly incoherently, in his sleep. On a rare occasion, there was a wistful appearance about his expression, during which she often believed she heard him mutter 'Mother'. On those nights, she'd go back to sleep, leaving him to his dreams. But the majority of the time, his dreams were troubled, his expression – even in his sleep – haggard. What specific piece of his past haunted him, she had no idea, as he spoke to himself in French, Italian, Greek… and German?!... although on the rare occasion, she'd hear an utterance of 'Mother' as well. On those nights, she'd turn into him, laying her head under his shoulder, and rubbing his side soothingly, promising herself as he relaxed beneath her touch that she'd never ask him what chased him in his dreams, trusting if he wished her to know, he'd tell her.

She gave her head a gentle shake, and forced her attention back to the monitor.

"Do you believe it's possible? That I spent just enough time with my Mother that I can recall her voice, her scent… her touch?"

In the bedroom, Laura pressed a palm to her forehead and blinked her eyes rapidly, while she listened to Remington draw a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Well, never you mind that. Ah, a stór, you've no idea how fortunate you are to have your Mommy. One day you'll know, as I do, what a truly remarkable woman she is. It will bear you well to follow her lead… Especially in her steely resolve to resist a man's significant charms."

Laura laughed quietly, flashing a dimple at his comment and fingering a tendril of hair.

"Ah, a stór, when one is fortunate enough to be loved by your Mommy as you are? She'll move heaven and earth to keep you safe and well, to keep you with her."

Silence spanned several long seconds, and Laura turned to her side, closing her eyes, believing her husband had talked himself out – certainly a rare occasion for him. Her eyes blinked back open when he began speaking again.

"I've dreamt of the look upon your mother's face the first time you call her Mommy. It will be a sight to behold, I am sure. So, what's say you and I work together to make that happen, eh? After all, she's worth it."

Rustling transmitted over the monitor.

"Let's have a little burp, hmmm?"

The soft, steady rhythm of his hand patting the baby's back could be heard.

"Mommy. Can you say that, hmmm? Mommy…"

A mischievous grin lifted Laura's lips, as a plan of her own began to formulate. Turning to her side, she feigned sleep, until Remington climbed into bed next to her and reached for her, at which time she gladly turned, 'sleepily,' into his waiting arms.

Laura wandered into the kitchen as Remington was preparing breakfast Saturday morning.

"I didn't hear you come home," she commented as she pressed up on her toes to kiss him, then turned to the coffee pot to fill her cup after kissing Olivia's chubby little cheek where she lay in her bouncy chair which had become a permanent fixture on the kitchen island.

"Quiet as mice, we were," he confirmed, with a grin.

"Livvie, did you and Da," she reached out and caressed Remington's arm, "Have a good morning?" The baby gurgled in answer. "What are you and Da," she casually stroked Remington's arm, drawing another smile from him in her direction, "Making us for breakfast this morning?"

"I was thinking I'd try a new recipe: Lemon Ricotta pancakes with blueberry sauce, hmmm?" Her mouth watered at the description alone, but she lifted her brows at the baby.

"Your Da," another touch of hand to arm, as she commented wryly "Is determined I'll never lose the baby weight."

"Nonsense," he disagreed. "You're as slim as the day we met."

"Not quite," she corrected. "But in a couple of weeks, if Da," a touch this time to his shoulder, "Stops feeding me so well."

"And deprive myself of such pleasure?"

"Maidin mhaith, a thaisce. Cad iad na rudaí nua atá ag fanacht linn inniu, hmmm?" Remington crooned, reaching down into the crib to pick up the baby. "Eager to greet the new day, are you, then?" He carried her over to her changing table and laid her down. "Shall we work on or word as we change your nappy, hmmmm? Mommy. Let's give it a whirl, a stór. Mom-my…"

April 1988 – 5 months

"Remington?" Laura called out, as she returned home from work. He'd had a late afternoon security consultation, so they'd come home separately.

"On the terrace," he called in answer.

"Do you want to go see Da, Olivia?" she asked the child, who had her legs wrapped around her side as her mother carried her. The baby cooed her agreement. Stepping out onto the terrace, Laura spied Remington in front of his grill. "Hi," she greeted, pressing up on her toes to give him a kiss, then laughed as Olivia lunged for him, causing them both to teeter precariously. He reached an arm around Laura, to keep them steady. "I'd say someone missed her Da," she commented, wryly, as he plucked the baby from her arms, and bussed the baby on her cheek.

"And her Da has missed her," he answered, giving Olivia a wide eyed, pointed look and a smile.

"Help Da," Laura instructed, touching her fingers to his cheek, "Make dinner while I get changed." With a final buss of her lips against his cheek, she went inside, smiling to herself all the while.

May 1988 – 6 ½ months

"Laura?" Remington called, as he walked through the front door, his mood positively sour. They'd lost the polo match that morning, and had lost badly. That he'd played a fair part in that loss grated. Ciardha had been uncharacteristically skittish, and twice he'd shanked the ball far right of the goal. That he'd given up his Saturday morning routine for that loss. Well it positively…

"Da! Da-da-da-da-da," screeched his six-month-old daughter with glee, when he walked into the room. He stumbled to a stop, a hand reaching up to rub at his face, then an instant later, he was snatching the baby off her blanket and embracing her.

"Ah, a stór, such a greeting does wonders to make one forget all else," he murmured next to her ear, the whiskers against her cheek making her giggle, and push away to she could slap his cheeks happily.

Laura watched on with a smile as the father of her child blinked suspiciously wet eyes. Those psych courses in college had come in handy, after all. A little conditioning of father and daughter was all it had taken.

June 1988 - 7 months

It was five-thirty when Oliva began chanting for her father, her voice coming over the monitor.

"Da! Da-da-da-da Da!"

"There might come a day when you wish she'd waited longer to say your name," Laura murmured sleepily, rolling to her back.

"Never," Remington vowed. "Next to her mother's lovely, lilting voice calling my name as she…" he waggled his brows at her, then leaned down to steal a couple sweet kisses from her lips, "It is the truly the sweetest of music to my ears.

It was a promise he never swayed from.