August 1988 – 9 months old
Olivia had been uncharacteristically fussy all afternoon. With their meetings over for the day, Laura had retrieved their little one from the office nursery, and was pacing her office floor with Olivia's head resting on her shoulder. Every now and then, the baby would let loose with a whimper or squawk, rearing her head back and stiffening, before lying her head against Laura's shoulder again, her little hands clutching at her mother.
Remington stepped into the office, a frown on his face.
"You don't imagine it's her teeth again already, do you?" he wondered, reaching out a finger towards their child's mouth.
"I wouldn't—"
A swift intake of breath followed.
"Olivia, your Da will be needing that finger if you don't mind," he noted in a pained voice as he extricated his finger from the tiny teeth which had clamped down on it.
"Did I mention Olivia's figured out what teeth are for?" Laura asked, amusement lacing her words.
"To masticate food, not appendages," he protested, shaking the hand on which the now throbbing finger was located.
"I tried to warn you," she noted drily. He raised a brow at her back, before a mischievous grin lifted his lips.
"What's say we call it a day, and get the babe home, hmmmm?" he suggested. Laura turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing, suspiciously.
"Have you reviewed the case files I gave you and signed off on them?"
"I'm a wounded man, Laura," he held up the teeth marred finger as proof, "I couldn't possibly—"
"The files, Mr. Steele," she stated, adamantly.
"Awwwwww."