March 1989 – 16 months old

Laura jumped and Remington nearly tripped over his own two feet when Olivia let out a piercing scream, before lurching to her feet and toddling across the office nursery floor as fast as her chubby little legs would allow. She grabbed at her father's pants, that scream becoming hysterical, broken wails, accompanied by tears streaming down her face. Snatching her up into his embrace, he gave Laura a look that clearly questioned what was going on with their child, who was now frantically clutching at his shirt and neck.

"Don't look at me," she answered with an exaggerated shrug. "I have no idea." She stepped up to the pair and lay a palm against the baby's head. "She doesn't have a fever." He mentally reviewed all the childhood traumas they'd already overcome.

"Teeth?" he asked as he bounce-walked the floor, stroking their little one's back.

"She didn't act like this when any of her other teeth came in," she reminded.

"Ear infection?" he tried again, as Olivia's wails, quieted down into exhausted hiccups.

"No fever like the last one."

"Stomach ache?" he asked, sitting down in his chair, patting and rubbing the baby's back.

"She hasn't had anything out of the ordinary to eat, but I suppose it could be." He nodded his head, then gave her a pained look.

"Laura—" She held up her hand, stopping him.

"You don't have to say it, Mr. Steele. I'm no more comfortable leaving her than you are. I'll have Bernice order us something in and we'll just eat here."

Thus, they watched the promise of their weekly lunch date vanish.

"She seems fine," Laura observed, as she lay the baby in her crib for bed that evening.

"Perhaps nothing more than a stomach ache, after all," he concurred, leaning over the rails to buss his small daughter on the forehead as her eyes drooped heavily. Laura looked about the room, not finding whatever it was she was seeking, then popped a palm against her forehead.

"Her bear. It's downstairs on the couch. I'll be right back."

Remington stood next to the crib, watching as Olivia drifted, marveling, by no means for the first time, at the sheer perfection he and Laura had managed to create. He thick, glossy, raven hair; her expressive blue eyes, almost always sparkling with happiness; her perfect little bow tie mouth; her chubby little legs; her tiny little hands. He already had to work hard to recall life was like without their little girl, and new with absolute certainty, the days ahead were all the richer because of her.

"Here we go," Laura announced on return to the nursery. Leaning over the rail, she lay the bear next to the baby, then pressed a kiss to her fingertips and lay them against her child's lips. Olivia's lips twitched with a smile, her eyes opening half-mast, then closing again.

Wrapping an arm around his wife's waist, the couple made their way to the door, she reaching for the light switch to turn it off. They'd no sooner stepped outside the room, than a screech bounced off the upstairs walls, leaving Laura's spine straightening and Remington grabbing dramatically at his chest. They turned in unison to watch Olivia scramble to her feet, chest heaving, wails continuing, as she raised her arms, waggling her fingers frantically. Without thought, Remington strode back into the room to embrace her in his arms, while Laura watched with puzzlement on her face.

"I don't get it. She's been fine since this afternoon!"

"I don't know. I don't know," he mumbled, as he bounced the baby against his shoulder, she clutching the skin of his neck in one little fist, his shirt in another, as she continued her heaving sobs. Backing up, he settled them into the rocking chair, and focused on soothing their little girl.

"We should have everything wrapped up in two, three hours tops," Laura told Mildred and Bernice, cutting her hand across the air, in emphasis, while she and Remington stood poised near the Agency doors, ready to depart.

"Get outta here, kids,' Mildred ordered. She grinned at Olivia, who was perched on her hip, all smiles. "Olivia will be fine. She needs some Aunty Mildred time, anyway, and, to tell the truth, I could use a little fix myself."

With a sharp nod of her head, Laura turned towards the door, Remington at her heel, his hand at the small of her back as he opened the door for her to proceed him. They'd no sooner turned the corner, than Olivia's frantic screams shattered the air. Automatically, he turned on his heel to return to the office, only to find Laura's hand grasping his upper arm, to turn him around again.

"The elevator, Mr. Steele. We have a case to solve," she reminded him, firmly. He dragged his feet, looking over his shoulder, back towards the office.

"But, Laura, Liv—"

"Olivia will be just fine," she insisted. "Mildred dotes on her as much as you, and will be the first to sound the alarm if she believes something's wrong."

"But—"

"The case, Mr. Steele," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

With a sulk to rival one of Olivia's own, he stepped into the elevator. As the Porsche, with Laura at the wheel, flew past other vehicles on the freeway, he rested his chin on knuckled fist and stared out at the passing vista, seeing nothing, his thoughts firmly upon the daughter they'd left distressed. By the time they stepped out of the bank, where they'd been interviewing a suspect, she'd had enough, stomping to the car well ahead of him as she fumed.

"For God's sake," Laura swore.

He'd been… useless… during the questioning, only deigning to offer an occasional distracted, 'yes, what she said' to the conversation every now and then. In her mind, they'd seemed a pair of bumbling-wanna-be detectives instead of the smart, intuitive team they were. When he finally climbed into the passenger seat, she snatched up the handset to the car phone, almost violently, dialed a number, then thrust it in his direction. Confused, he nonetheless held the receiver to his ear.

"The Remington Steele Agency. Bernice Hawke speaking. How may I help you?"

"Mrs. Wolf, might I have a word with Mildred?" he requested, as understanding dawned. In short order, Mildred picked up the phone in her office.

"Oh, hey Boss. Did you and the missus wrap things up so soon?" He glanced at said wife, who stared straight ahead, face pinched with anger, her arms crossed in front of herself.

"Not quite yet. How is Olivia?"

"Sleeping soundly," she answered easily.

"All's well then?"

"Aw, she calmed down after a few minutes. Nothing to worry about here," Mildred replied.

Reassured, he disconnected the call then spent the next twenty-five minutes listening to Laura rasp in his ear.

"Separation anxiety," Laura announced when Remington returned home that evening. Having declared 'enough is enough' after his distracted performance that afternoon, she'd made an emergency appointment at the pediatrician.

"Separation anxiety?" he called back to Laura as he strode into their office to retrieve the baby books he'd collected during Laura's pregnancy. "Is there a remedy?" he asked, as he reentered the living room.

"Bedtime routines, reassurances, finding ways to make her secure before departures," she ticked off. "Normal for her age, apparently. It can last another eight—"

"Days?" His shoulders sagged with relief. "Well, surely we can tough out eight—"

"Months," she cut him off. His back straightened and he cast disbelieving eyes on her, before turning to the first book and seeking the index.

"You must have heard wrong," he refuted. "A man can't be expected to listen to…" he waived his hand in a circle "…that for months on end, and maintain his sanity. Not to mention what the babe's going through."

"Glad to see you're considering my own peace of mind…" she mused, drily. He flicked a hand in her direction.

"Don't be silly, Laura, of course I am. Ah, here," he stood fully erect, skimming the entry, before his face fell. "Shall I make us a reservation at the Bates Motel now or in a few days?" he inquired, resignedly.

"The—What are you talking about?"

"'We all go a little mad sometimes,'" he replied, as though she should understand without further explanation.

"I'm beginning to think you already have, Mr. Steele," she retorted with a frown.

"Psycho. Anthony Perkins, Janet Leigh, Paramount, 1960."

"Oh, for God's sake," she groused, throwing her hands up in the air, then sitting down on the floor to play with Livvie.

Eleven days later, Laura stood in the nursery doorway, staring at Remington as he finished changing Olivia's diaper in preparation for going to bed. Despite having used every suggestion made by the pediatrician, having tried the tricks recommended in Remington's books, each separation, no matter how brief, was met by Olivia's hysterical cries, a healthy dose of guilt for him, and a great deal of frustration for Laura. Any day now, she knew, he'd be suggesting they bring the baby along on cases, not to mention client meetings. Then, that evening, an idea had percolated, then steeped.

Taking the baby from him, she turned to him and asked…

"Can you get Olivia's blanket for me? It's on our bed, with the clean laundry."

"Of course," he readily agreed, stepping out of the nursery to do his wife's bidding. When he returned, he handed it to her and she, in turn, covered Olivia. She groaned allow.

"Would you mind getting her bear? We forgot it downstairs again."

"Pleasure," he agreed again, disappearing from the room.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the room. One… two… three… ten" She stepped back into the room, where he found her leaning over the crib. Teddy bear in place, she pressed her fingers to her lips, then touched them to the baby's lips.

"Sweet dreams, baby," she whispered, before stepping aside so Remington could say his goodnights as well.

When he turned around, Laura was gone. Turning off the nursery light, he stepped from the room to go in search of her. Olivia's piercing screams had his feet stilling and a hand reaching up to rake fingers through his hair as he groaned in dismay. He stepped back into the bedroom and picked up his distressed infant daughter.

"It's you," Laura announced from the doorway. The comment earned her a raised brow.

"What's me?"

"You can leave the room as long as I'm with her. I can leave the room as long as you're with her. We can both leave the room, as long as you leave first. But if you leave the room with me, or by yourself…" she nodded towards the baby clutching at him, letting the proof speak for itself.

The thought that he was the root of their infant daughter's angst deeply troubled Remington. Arm slung over his eyes, long after he'd joined Laura in bed, he continued to masticate the thought, as Laura waited him out while lazily stroking his side. It was one thing for them to share the blame, quite another…

He heaved a long sigh and dropped his arm from his eyes.

"I know I once said I wished for a daughter exactly like you, Laura. But, honestly, couldn't you have done something to make certain your belief you'll one day wake and find me gone was not passed on to our child?" She laughed quietly, then, tilting her head back to look at his face, threaded her fingers through his hair.

"I think you might want to look at this from a… different… perspective," she suggested. He glanced down at her through his lashes, unconvinced.

"Oh? There's another way to look at your child fearing you'll disappear on her, quite permanently?" She cupped his cheek in her hand, fighting off a bemused smile.

"I don't think that is the case at all," she countered. "If anything, it's that we love you so much, we want to keep you with us always." He stared at her for a long count, before swallowing hard and bussing her on the forehead.

"That I can live with."

For three months, Remington and Laura adjusted: Whenever they were to depart Olivia's presence, he'd leave first, then a couple short minutes later she would follow. This plan was effective ninety-percent of the time. And when it wasn't?

He sulked.

Because the case awaited no man, when Laura Holt Steele was on it.