December 1990 – 3 years, 1 month

It was with no little dread that Remington had prepared for the afternoon Laura had planned for the family. By some miracle… and with a good deal of fancy footing… he'd managed to avoid another visit to that den of inequity American's so optimistically referred to as the mall. It had, in fact, been four years since he and Laura had taken Laurie Beth to the mall for a bit of Christmas shopping and a visit with the fat man in the red and white suit. He had… loathed… every moment of the experience, making desperate suggestions on how they might flee the retail Sodom and Gomorrah for a more refined, more… sedate… establishment.

They'd arrived a little after ten-thirty and by then the line had already stretched a good bushel of children deep. All the while, Olivia – decked out in a vibrant red velvet dress, with flowing white lace cuffs and matching flounce at the hem, wearing white tights and black Mary Janes – had been bouncing about on her tiptoes excitedly.

"How much longer, Mommy? How much longer?" Livvie asked Laura for the dozenth time in the last thirty minutes.

Laura poked her head out around the line in front of them and did a quick estimation. They were still at least forty children back, and she was doing her best to hide her own impatience. It was well after noon, and she could easily predict the next words out of her daughter's mouth when she provided the answer to the first question.

"We're getting close, baby… very, very close. You just need to be patient a little while longer, I promise."

"I'm hun-gy," Livvie whined in reply.

"I know, Livvie. So am I," she commiserated. At six months pregnant, hunger was a constant, gnawing companion and her stomach had been rumbling for a long while now.

"Remind me again why it is we're here?" Remington asked, as he picked Livvie up. Laying her head on his shoulder, she wrapped one arm around his neck and slipped a pair of fingers into her mouth.

"Because Olivia has something important she wishes to tell Santa Claus," Laura reminded, her own temperament hanging by a thin thread.

"Surely there is a more… sedate… locale visited by St. Nick," he suggested, quickly approaching a whine to rival his daughter's.

"Not that I'm aware of." She tapped her foot, antsy to get this done and over with. Murmurs of unhappiness spread amongst those in front of them, growing louder the closer they came, as people began to suddenly disburse. "What's going on?" she asked her husband whose considerable height distance gave him a distinct advantage of seeing what was happening ahead of them. He muttered an oath under his breath.

"It seems 'Santa' and his helpers have gone to lunch and will return at two," he updated her. Her eyes widened as she looked from their daughter towards the area where Santa's 'throne' was located then back to her daughter. Lips tightening, eyes narrowing dangerously, her back stiffened and chin tipped up.

"The hell he is!" she decreed, storming away before he could make a fruitless grab at her arm. She stalked up to a man, dressed as an elf, standing behind the camera at the foreground of the North Pole tableau. "Lunch? People have been waiting hours for their children to see Santa and he's going to lunch?!" she bit out, plunking her fists on hips.

"I dunno what ta tell ya, lady," the unsympathetic man answered. "Dude that was supposed ta do the mid-shift didn't show."

"And the children who've waited hours to see Santa should pay the price for someone else's failures?" she questioned. "That's simply unacceptable. I don't care who it is, but someone needs to go put on that suit—"

She was unaware of the group of other disgruntled parents circling around the pair to watch.

"Ain't no one doing that, Lady, I can promise you that," he cut her off, covering the camera in a plastic casing and zipping it up.

"Laura," Remington called as edged his way through the gathering throng, giving the frustrated man a look of apology as he approached her side. She held a hand up to him before he could say anything further. With a sigh, he let her have at it… as though he could stop her.

"I'd like to speak to whomever is managing this farce!" she demanded.

"Damn, Lady, you need ta chill out," the man told her. "Don't no one care if those kids gotta wait an hour. People's gotta eat."

"I care, and I'm sure every other parent that's waited here for hours cares," she contradicted. "Not to mention the children who only wish to see Santa."

"Shit, lady, you act like the dude's real. Mebbe you should just tell yer kids there ain't no such—" His words cut off in a howl when the heel of her shoe landed squarely on top of his foot, the cheap elf shoes offering little protection. "Security!" he screamed as he hopped about and the onlookers applauded.

"Laura," Remington said again, reaching for her arm. "Lauralauralaura, perhaps we should—" She yanked her arm free and advanced on the man, prepared to go nose-to-nose with him.

"You finish that sentence and I can promise you, security won't be of any help to you," she warned, eyes flashing.

"You tell him, Lady!" one man yelled in support.

"Who do you think you are?" another woman yelled.

When a pair of hands grabbed her arms, believing it was Remington, she tried to yank away.

"Ma'am, you need to come with us," a strange, baritone voice announced from behind her.

"Get your hands off me!" she ordered, trying to twist away.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to take your hands off my wife," Remington told the guard, in a quiet, yet clearly menacing voice. "My very pregnant wife, might I add." The security guard released his grip and Laura promptly spun around, chin tipped up in defiance.

"If you'll come with us, please," the guard repeated, while his partner looked none to eager to tangle with the woman before them.

"Not until—" She stopped speaking when Remington leaned down to speak near to her ear.

"Perhaps it would be best not to test the reach of the short arm of the law, hmmm?" He looked up and flashed his teeth at the guards. "While Livvie may be asleep at this moment, I'd hate her to wake to find her Mommy being hauled off by the coppers."

"They can't arrest me," she answered indignantly. "They're nothing but a pair of rent-a-cops."

"Central, be aware we may need the LAPD dispatched to our location," the previously quiet guard announced into the radio at his shoulder, causing Remington to raise a single 'I told you so' brow at her. Her lips thinned and she glowered back at him.

"Fine," she agreed, tightly.

"This way," the handsy one directed.

Laura stomped away, a resigned Remington at her side, he bemused by the applause following her, she never hearing it at all.

"Banned from the mall for two years," she snorted with disdain, as she crossed her arms and glared from where she sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep. "As though that's a punishment. I tell you what it is: Misogyny at it's finest. That's what it is. The assumption that banning a woman from shopping would be the ultimate penance. Ha! Well the joke's on them." He merely hummed in agreement as she continued her anger fueled monologue. "I don't even like to shop. And if I did, how could they possibly believe I'd ever return to that place after what's happened? Forcing parents and children to wait hours, only to shrug their shoulders and say 'Bugger off kids. It's time to go shove our faces full of food.'" He chuckled quietly, wondering if she even realized she'd borrowed a colorful phrase from his British blasphemies. He didn't realize his error, until her head snapped around and she turned those narrowed eyes on him. "You think this is funny!?"

"No, no, of course not," he answered, immediately, swallowing hard as he tried to figure his way out of this pickle. "Truth be told, we're likely better off. I wasn't at all comfortable with Livvie sitting on that… that… degenerate's lap, sharing her wish list. In fact, the way he looked at her when we first arrived made me most uncomfortable. I'd likely have demanded we leave when it was her turn—" He stopped when she held up a hand at him and rolled her eyes.

"That's enough," she told him, knowing perfectly well he was doing little more than trying to placate her. "The point is you can't do what they did when there are children are involved. Then for that buffoon to nearly announce—"

"How much longer, Da?" Livvie's sleepy voice came from the backseat as she woke, scrubbing at her eyes, not even awake enough yet to realize they were on the road.

In the seat next to him, Laura drew in a swift breath. Unable to bring herself to look at their daughter, she flopped her head against the back of the seat and lifted a pair of fingers to her brow.

"Oh, God, what have I done," she berated herself, under her breath. He reached for her hand, pulling it away from her brow. Tangling their fingers together, he gave it a supportive squeeze.

"I'm afraid not, a stór. Much like yourself, Santa was tired and needed to take his long winter's nap," he prevaricated.

"Will he wakeded up soon?" she inquired, seeming to accept this explanation.

"Mmmmm, not today. But he asked that I tell you he will see you for certain very soon." His little daughter's eyes widened.

"You talkeded to Santa?" Peeking at her in the rearview mirror he gave her a wide smile.

"I did, and you will as well, just not today," he promised. "We'll be home momentarily, then you can help me make lunch, hmmm?"

"Can we have grilled cheese samiches?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

Next to Remington, Laura blew out a long, relieved breath as it was clear a potential crisis had been averted.

The following Friday, Laura and Olivia walked through the front door of their Holmby Hills home together. Remington had a final inspection on a security system that afternoon, so preschool pickup had fallen to her automatically. Not that she minded. This close to the holidays, the office was slower than normal, so the idea of having a couple of extra hours with her young daughter held a definite appeal.

"So, Livvie Bee, what would you like to do this afternoon?" Laura inquired, as she helped Livvie out of her coat.

"Swim!" Livvie immediately answered.

"I'm afraid it's too cold out for that today, baby." Livvie's lip stuck out in a pout for a split second, before her eyes lit up with another idea.

"Coloring!" Laura shook Livvie's hand, playfully.

"It's a deal. I'll even make us some hot chocolate," she offered, adding a sweet bonus to the agreement, as she reached for her daughter's hand.

"With whit cream?" she asked hopefully, skipping alongside her mother towards the dining room.

"Whipped cream," Laura enunciated the 'p's', "And absolutely. Hot chocolate is just not the same without—" Her feet stuttered to a stop, while Olivia dropped her hand and raced for the French doors at the back of the house.

"It's noing, Mommy. It's noing!" she squealed with delight, pressing hands and nose to the glass of the doors.

"Snowing," Laura corrected, voice dazed. Huh? What? How? What is going on around here?! She asked herself as she walked to the French doors and swung them open. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head at what she saw, while Livvie's reaction was exactly the opposite, prancing around and chortling with excitement.

"It's Santa, Mommy. He comed to see me like Da saided!" she announced with glee.

I'm gonna kill him!

With more than a little horror, Laura's eyes scanned the terrace as Livvie raced away towards Remington. Snow was falling from the sky – and melting as soon as it touched the too warm ground. Candy cane posts were lined up to form a lane directly to Santa sleigh – yes, Santa's sleigh which sat on a somehow white patch of 'snow' – in which the rotund man, himself, sat in his glory.

"Ho, ho, ho," Santa bellowed above the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer playing throughout the backyard, while Remington bestowed her with a Cheshire cat grin.

A smile that faltered when she glowered in return at him.

"Da! It's Santa! He comed!" Breaking eye contact with Laura, he bent down and swung Livvie up into his arms.

"Of course, he did, a stór," he agreed, with a solemn nod. "I told you he'd see you soon, did I not?" She placed her tiny hands on his cheek.

"He comed just for me?" she asked, clearly astonished by the thought.

"That he did," he confirmed. "Now, if I recall correctly, didn't you have something you needed to speak with him about?" She tilted her head to the side, her hopeful blue eyes meeting with his adoring blue eyes.

"Can I?"

"That's why he's here." He walked over where Santa was positioned in the sleigh. "Santa, this is the young lady you were looking for." Santa laughed deep in his belly.

"I know who Olivia is. I've watched all year to make sure she's been a good little girl," Santa replied. Olivia's eyes widened.

"You have?"

Remington sat her down on the seat next to the burly, bearded man then stepped away, waving at a photographer Laura hadn't spied before to come forward. Warily, he then approached his wife.

"It's official. You've lost your mind," she ground out when he stood next to her, while she somehow maintained a smile for their daughter's sake.

"I promised Olivia she would see Santa, and I've kept that promise," he reminded her, his eyes never leaving Olivia. He eased an arm around Laura's thickened waist and gently urged her closer to the sleigh.

"See, Mr. Steele. As in at the mall," she protested.

"One you're not banned from?" That smile disappeared, her head snapped sideways to look at him, and her eyes shot daggers. Oops. "Look at her, Laura," he urged quietly. "Don't you wish someone had done such for you as a child? It's a memory she'll keep with her always."

She couldn't help it. She turned and looked… and her heart melted at the sight. Olivia tugging at Santa's beard, a wide smile on her face, as she giggled with abandon. How could she take this from either of them? He was right: it was a memory Olivia would carry with her for a lifetime. Letting out a long breath, she leaned her head against the side of his chest.

"A once in a lifetime memory," she quietly insisted. He bussed her on the top of her head, a silent agreement.

"So, Olivia, what would you like for Christmas?" Santa inquired. She gazed up at the man, with absolute trust, convinced he could make any wish come true.

"A sister."

Laura leaned her head back to look up at Remington with soft eyes, watched as he swallowed hard and his eyes moistened. Overcome by the moment, the unselfish request by the daughter, he said the only words that came to mind as his hand slipped downward to caress the side of her Laura's burgeoning stomach.

"That's two nothing, in my favor." Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh? Do tell?" He touched a set of fingers against her cheek, his eyes filled with warmth.

"I was right about Olivia, and it seems I am meant to be right about this babe being a girl as well," he answered. Her laugh tricked line air.

"How do you figure that?" she challenged.

"It's Olivia's wish to Santa.