This is written at the request of BigFan59.

These scenes are a sequel Steele Working out the Details, and take place after Steele Searching Part II and prior to Season 4's Steele Blushing.

As always the same glop applies: I do not own the characters in any manner, I am simply borrowing them for a little creativity.

Feedback is always welcome. You can give me a shout at RSteele82 at the dreaded hot mail dot com.

If there is scene from one of the episodes that you would like expounded on, by all means let me know and I'll give it a whirl.

Steele Settling In

(Chapter One)

Laura and Steele enjoyed a leisurely dinner at Simpson-in-the-Strand. Steele wanted to provide Laura at least a glimpse of the historic and charming London he knew, at least in his later life, as she had been deprived of truly experiencing London thus far. She had come to London to find him, to bring him home with her and in the time since had helped catch a serial killer and foil the Earl of Claridge's assassination. Her journeys had taken her through the seedier parts of London, and had nearly cost Laura her life at one point. Then, of course she had held up with him in the dirty, run-down flop house while she had tended his wounds and where they, together, had begun to heal.

But she had not seen the majesty that London held during her time here.

He'd chosen Simpson-in-the-Strand after considerable thought on the matter. Simpson's would hold its 160th anniversary the following year, having opened originally as a chess house in 1828. Years later it would become one of the finest dining establishments in London. The walnut walls of the establishment were polished until they shone, tables covered with crisp white linens, while chefs served patrons tableside on the finest of china. It was elegance, it was sophistication and the history of London at its very best. Thankfully, after nabbing a serial killer and preventing a member of royalty's assassination, the name Remington Steele now had some sway in England and he'd managed to get a reservation for them that evening, on very short notice.

That afternoon they had dined at a local pub that served typical British lunch fair, with some more Americanized selections for tourists. The idea of indulging themselves in a night of sumptuous London nightlife had not even been a consideration. He knew the trip to London for she and Mildred had likely cost the Agency a small fortune and would not have deigned to suggest that they drain the coffers further.

After lunch Mildred had scurried off to run an errand, while he and Laura had returned to her room where talk had centered on his confiscated passports. He had just started to resign himself to the fact that he would be stranded in London, when Mildred returned with a gift that had absolutely humbled him: a passport with the name Remington Steele emblazoned upon it.

After Mildred left the room, Steele had stood and enveloped Laura in his arms.

"However did you manage this?" he'd asked.

"I had your birth certificate and a copy of your driver's license expedited over from LA after your passports were confiscated. Then, with a little help from the Earl, some red tape was overlooked at his request, and voila, a passport."

"You never cease to amaze me, Miss Holt," he'd told her tenderly, before leaning down to press his lips gently to her own.

A knock on the door in the adjoining room, had interrupted the kiss. They'd both turned their heads towards the other room and had begun to laugh.

"Apparently, even in London we can't kiss uninterrupted," he'd commented as he released her from his arms and strode through her room then his to answer the door. A bellboy handed him an envelope and had departed immediately after receiving his tip. Laura stood by his side, and they'd opened it together.

He and Laura had stared stunned at the bank note he held in his hand from the Earl of Claridge. The accompanying note stated it was the Earl's hope that the ten-thousand pounds would cover their expenses incurred while in London. Further, the Earl wished their presence at his post-marital celebration being held at 9 p.m. that evening at Café Paris.

The surprise windfall had opened the door for him to ask Laura to dine together at Simpson's that evening and consequently, in light of the Earl's invitation, had sent she and Mildred to Knightsbridge to search Harrod's for attire suitable for the evening's plans. After their return, Mildred had begged off of dinner, claiming to need a nap before joining them at Café Paris, while he and Laura had adjourned to their individual rooms to dress for the evening.

Now, ensconced in the sumptuous restaurant, Steele found himself unable to concentrate on the roast rib of Scottish beef set before him. The fare was delightful, but not nearly as exquisite as the woman sitting across from him. Laura wore a sleeveless, one-shouldered, white, silk sheath that hugged her gentle curves before falling to the floor. Her hair was swept up, showing off her long, graceful neck and delicate shoulders, while leaving her delectable freckles exposed to his eyes, all but begging for him to reach out and touch them. He watched as she blushed faintly under his admiring eye.

Steele reached across the table and brushed his fingers across the fingertips of Laura's hand, before taking her hand in his own.

"Have I told you that you look especially beautiful tonight?" he asked her softly.

"And you look very handsome," she told him.

Steele picked up her hand, while leaning across the table to brush his lips across her fingers bringing a smile of contented pleasure to Laura's lips. Sitting back, he kept her hand in his own, his fingers steadily brushing against the back of her hand.

"You've no idea what it means to me that we're here, together," he told her, his sincerity emblazoned upon his voice.

"I know how much it means to me," she told him, with a slight tremor in her voice. Then purposefully trying to lighten the mood, she reminded him, "You promised to tell me the history of the restaurant."

"Indeed I did," he acknowledged, knowing that she, in her own way, trying to assure him everything would be okay between them. Giving her hand a final pat, he sat fully, then reaching for his fork began to relate the history of the landmark restaurant.

After their dinner plates were cleared, desert was delivered: Simpson's well-regarded triple chocolate mousse. Steele watched with pure pleasure as Laura's eyes lit with delight and her tongue quickly flicked against her lips in anticipation of tasting the decadent treat. He knew, well, her addiction to chocolate, and seldom indulged himself in tempting her so that he could watch her joy as she partook of it. Tonight, however, he knew the meal would not be complete until she had experienced the rich desert offered by Simpson's.

He watched, enraptured as she tucked herself into the mousse, her eyes constantly finding his, her lips continually lifting upwards in bliss. He had never realized before her what a sensual experience it could be, watching someone enjoy a simple desert. But sensual it was, and he knew she had not a clue of what she was doing to him as she lifted the spoonful of sweet, creamy chocolate to her mouth, swiping half of the spoon's contents off with her lips, before turning the spoon over then cleaning the spoon of its contents with the tongue inside her mouth, while her eyes closed with pleasure. He began to shift in his seat, watching her, as his mind inevitably wandered to her doing to him what she was doing to that spoon and he would have sworn she had begun enunciating and prolonging each action.

Laura had no idea, initially, of the libidinous spell she had weaved around him, but midway through enjoying the desert she had seen his normally bright blue eyes darken to nearly indigo with desire. The thought that simply watching her eat a desert was stirring his desire so deeply both surprised and empowered her simultaneously. She intentionally slowed her actions, emphasizing them, watching under her lashes with a sense of self-satisfaction as his body temperature rose with each move she made. What she had not counted on as she continued to tempt him, was that watching his reaction to her movements would stir her own body the way it was. The combined knowledge that simply watching her eat could stir the intensity of his need for her coupled with the realization of how much restraint he must have used across the years as he continued to wait for her to come to him served as a potent stimulant. She felt as her respiration began to become more shallow, as prickles of heat spread across her.

Lifting the last of the mousse on her spoon, Laura silently offered it to him. Steele's passion filled eyes met her own, and he shook his head slightly. Laura lifted the spoon to her mouth, her eyes still holding his own, and spooned the rich substance in her mouth, knowing by his look that the moment they were alone together, he would sample the treat for himself. Unable to help herself, her mouth quirked up at the corner. The movement did not escape his notice, and he raised a single brow at her letting her know.

Steele was thankful for the several minutes it took to receive his bill then the follow up credit slip to sign. He needed the time to tamp down his body's response to Laura… for the evidence of that response to diminish if you will. When at last the bill was paid, he stood and pulling out Laura's chair for her, held out his hand to help her up, before leading her from the restaurant with his hand laid softly on the small of her back.

He had never been as thankful for a taxi being nearby as he was at the moment. After giving a hand into the taxi to Laura, he followed behind, closing the door, wasting no time in giving the driver direction.

He then turned smoldering eyes on Laura, to find her waiting expectantly for his request.

"Come here, Laura," he beckoned quietly, while reaching a hand out to run along the length of her neck, before his fingers rubbed against the back of it, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

Without hesitation, Laura moved willingly into Steele's arms. Lifting her chin up, she locked her eyes with his, watching while his lips slowly descended down upon her own. Given his response to her in the restaurant, she had expected him to take passionate possession of her lips. The kiss was anything but that.

He pressed his lips softly to her own, letting them linger, before moving only slightly away, only to return and gently tease her lips, making her ache for more. Pulling away, he looked down at her, waited for her eyes to connect with his, then moved a hand up to cup the side of her face, rubbing his thumb against her slightly parted lips. When her chin moved ever so slightly upwards again, he shifted his hand backwards to lay on her cheek as his lips descended to hers once more, to brush against them, several times before he lightly swept his tongue along the top of her full, bottom lip.

"Delicious," he murmured, before claiming her bottom lip with both of his, giving it a soft tug then releasing it.

"The mousse?" she asked breathlessly, then brushed her own lips against his.

Dragging his lips away from hers, Steele's other hand joined his first on her opposite check, his fingers stroking them as he looked down at her.

"You," he said with soft sincerity, once her eyes found his own. "The mousse was merely a sweet prelude to the appetizer."

His lips returned to hers, pressing faintly against them, before he slowly increased the pressure. With the slightest contact of his tongue she parted her lips and his tongue languidly moved into her mouth, touching, discovering, before he shifted his body slightly higher on the seat to better allow him a deeper, more thorough exploration. Electricity born of a deep yearning to be even closer to her coursed through his veins when she swept her tongue against his own. She felt his body quake, briefly, imploring her to run her hands up his back to drag his body closer to her own. His thirst to taste her only increased exponentially with her ardent response.

With a rumble of pleasure at her touch, Steele's lips journeyed away from her lips, to explore the soft, pliant skin of her neck, his mouth alternating between kissing it and carefully sucking the skin into his mouth to savor the taste of her. Laura threw her head back, to allow him more access, while her hand ran through the back of his hair. She gasped when his lips then his tongue found the hollow of her throat, then sighed in pleasure as he carefully suckled her skin there as well, while his hand caressed her bare shoulder.

This time it was Laura who pulled away, her chest rising and falling rapidly in response to his assault on her senses. She looked up at him, then lifted a hand to run it along his jaw, before she pulled him towards her again. She feathered her lips across his own before she allowed herself the enjoy the taste of his own skin as her lips moved to his neck. Pausing, she shifted slightly away from him, waiting for his eyes to seek her own. Holding his gaze, her hands worked to loosen his tie, then opened the first four buttons of his shirt, the need to touch him overwhelming. She slipped her hand inside his shirt and ran her hand along his upper chest, watching his eyes darken with the pleasure of her touch. He was unable to stop the quiet groan of rapture that the sensation of her hand against his skin wrought out of him. This time, when his lips seized her own, it was in purely masculine need to claim her.

Grabbing her by the upper arms, Steele ripped his mouth away, and threw himself back against the seat, breaking all contact.

"Bloody hell," he panted. Seeing Laura's look of dazed passion, he leaned down and touched her lips softly to with his own, briefly, then leaned back once more. His fingers began securing the buttons of his shirt, before moving to adjust his tie.

"We're quickly reaching the point, Miss Holt, where either we go back to the hotel and complete what we've started here or, absent that, we need to stop before we arrive at Café Paris in a such a state that everyone will know exactly how we've been passing time."

"And what state is that, Mr. Steele?" Laura asked with feigned nonchalance, while she tried to catch her breath as she smoothed her hands over hair to make sure it was still in place.

"The state in which you have been clearly been well kissed, while I…" he left the words unsaid, but shifted in his seat trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Enjoyed your dessert then?" she teased.

Steele turned his head to look at her, his eyes nearly indigo with the need her lips, her touch, had stirred within him.

"Appetizer, Laura, appetizer… a small taste of what it will be like between us one day when we indulge in all five courses," he told her quietly, as he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. Dropping her hand from his mouth, he laced his fingers between her own before bringing both their hands to lay down on the seat between them.

Two short minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front Café Paris. After paying the driver, Steele climbed out of the car, before offering Laura his hand and assisting her out of the backseat. As they turned to climb the stairs in front of the classic building, he laid his hand on the small of her back. After checking their coats, he placed his hand back on her back, as they made their way to the private ballroom.

The celebration was in full bloom when they arrived. Descending the grand staircase together, Steele noted the numerous, appreciative looks Laura received from young men below. Running his eyes over her again, he remembered fully his reaction at first seeing her this evening. He was overwhelmed by the need to lay claim to her, to make it clear to her admirers that she was already committed.

Adjusting the hand on her back so it now lay on her waist, he leaned down and pressed his lips against the side of her neck briefly before continuing to escort her down the stairs.

"What was that for?" she asked curiously, as neither of them were prone to public displays of affection.

"Seems you have caught the eye of any number of young men," he told her, nodding towards the ballroom floor. "Suddenly felt the need to … well, mark my territory, if you will?"

Laura automatically stiffened, as she felt her hackles rise at anyone viewing her as property. Just as quickly, she relaxed again. He had not been the only one to note glances sent their way, although she had been purely focused on the several women who had taken one look at Steele and decided they wanted to make him their next meal – at least based on the hungry looks they had sent his way. Being committed to him, and him to her, opened up a whole host of opportunities that had not existed before, including allowing her to make it clear he was taken, off limits, as well.

"Well, in that case…" she smiled.

Laura stopped moving causing Steele to turn towards her to see what was amiss, allowing Laura to step in close to him. He wrapped his arms automatically around her waist as her arms circle his neck. Steele looked down at her, a smiled tugging on his lips, and met her lips half-way for a brief, albeit it purposeful, kiss.

"What was that for?" he asked, echoing her early question while smiling down at her.

"What's sauce for the gander… You have some admirers of your own," she said smiling up at him while nodding her head back towards the dance floor. "I suddenly felt the need to mark some territory of my own."

"Why, Miss Holt, I'm touched," he told her with sincerity. Releasing her from his arms, he reached out for her hand, and lacing his fingers through her own, walked down the last three steps with her before starting leisurely across the ballroom floor.

"Why?" she asked, a bit baffled.

"I don't recall a time when you have ever made it apparent that we were… involved, whereas I have done so on numerous occasions."

"You have not," she accused laughingly.

He turned his head towards her and raised a brow.

"I quite assure you I have."

"When?"

"Often enough."

"I've never seen you…"

"That's because generally a look will suffice. I've never come to blows, although I must admit a certain satisfaction that when we proved Phillips a murderer, I was able to plant my fist in his smug face."

"So I saw. You never liked the man from the start, that was clear. Instincts?" she asked, still curious two years later why Steele had taken an instant disliking to the man, although she was well aware of what had cemented that opinion.

"Time for that talk later. Now, we must extend our glad tidings to the Earl and his new wife," he told her, noting with his eyes they were mere steps away.

"Miss Holt, you look lovely this evening," the Earl greeted her, with a kiss on each cheek, before holding out a hand to Steele. "Mr. Steele, I'm happy you could join us."

"It's our pleasure," Steele acknowledged.

The two couples exchanged small talk for a good while, before Steele excused Laura and himself. Steele held out his arm, and after Laura laid her arm on it, walked her out onto the dance floor. He turned and wrapped an arm around her before taking her other hand in his own. Laura's hand free arm ran around his back, skimming up it before it lay on top of his shoulder. There were soon lost in the melody and each other.

They danced in silent enjoyment for a long while, before Laura looked up and found Steele gazing tenderly down at her. Flustered for a moment, she fought for something to say.

"We haven't danced…"

"Since Top of the Mark in San Francisco," he finished her thought.

"Even with crooked cops trying to chase us down, it was… nice." Nice. Perfect Laura. It was one far more than nice… she thought to herself.

"It was splendid," Steele corrected quietly. "You in my arms, the view of San Francisco before us, the music. This…"

Steele leaned down and barely touched his lips to her own. Laura's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, before her hand wrapped over the top of his shoulder, giving him a soft tug. She tipped her chin up meeting his lips with her own, softly, briefly once more.

"We probably shouldn't be doing that here," she said with a sigh.

"Why not?"

"People are watching…"she pointed out, glancing around the room.

Steele glanced around the room and found a few people were indeed watching them. He mulled it over for a moment, then gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Let them find somebody of their own to kiss," he said mildly, leaning down to brush his lips against hers again, then once their lips separated tilted his head, his eyes catching and holding her own in silent question.

Laura gazed into his eyes for several long moments, while trying to make a decision. They were going home committed to one another, with an agreement to concentrate on their personal relationship, both knowing they wanted whatever it was between the two of them to move forward. If they continued to hide their relationship from the world around them, it would only pose another roadblock to overcome down the line. She was bone tired of the roadblocks, of all the walls. She didn't want to hide what they were to one another, personally, any longer, knowing it would likely only tear them apart once more.

Laura ran her hand over Steele's back, until her hand lay at the nape of his neck, her fingers brushing softly against it, as she lifted her chin and watched as his lips came down to join her own once more. She shivered at the look of contentment that passed over his face, through his eyes. They continued to exchange small kisses until the music ended, before he took her by the hand and led her off the floor.

They had a wonderful evening together, speaking with their hosts, making new associations, spending time with Mildred and dancing some more. When Steele glanced at his watch and saw it was approaching midnight, he leaned down speak softly in her ear. He smiled as she unconsciously laid a hand on the back of his head as he did so.

"It's nearly midnight, Laura. With a 9 a.m. flight back to LA in the morning, we'll need to be up in only six hours or so."

Laura nodded in acknowledgment. Steele and Laura took their leave from the group they were speaking to and after bidding the Earl and Countess well wishes, they gathered up Mildred then their coats and caught a taxi back to the hotel. Dropping Mildred at her room, with an agreement to meet in the lobby at 7 a.m., the couple headed back to their rooms. Taking Laura's key from her, he opened the door then followed her in.

"Why don't we both get packed up and ready for bed, then when you're ready, come back here and I'll get those wounds treated," Laura suggested.

Steele thought, momentarily, about arguing he could take care of the wounds on his own but found her rather liked the idea of her continuing to minister to them. That, of course, would have nothing whatsoever to do with the fact it would mean feeling Laura's fingers on my bare skin again, he mused.

"Fine, I'll see you shortly," he agreed amicably, then adjourned to his own room through the adjoining room, never noticing Laura's grin or the slight shake of her head, as she acknowledged to herself why he was being so cooperative.

Forty-five minutes later, both were packed, showered and dressed for bed. Laura nodded that he should stretch out on her bed, as he had earlier in the day while she treated his wounds.

"Lose the shirt, Mr. Steele. It'll only be in the way," she pointed out to him.

Steele stripped the pajama shirt off and laid it at the food of her bed, before stretching out. He watched while she gathered together the supplies she would need, admiring how her damp hair had sprung up in curls. While he wasn't adverse, necessarily, to her tendency to wear her hair up, he adored when she left her hair down, where he could freely touch the silken strand, but this was the look he loved the most as there was something that simply tugged at his heart when she allowed it to simply curl of its own free will.

Laura sat down on the bed next to him after depositing the gauze pads, tape and scissors on the bedside table. She winced with him as she pulled the tape from his stomach. Examining the interior of the pad, she smiled.

"No new bleeding," she noted, relieved. "Now, Mr. Steele, to continue the talk we were having when we first arrive at Café Paris this evening. What was it with you and Creighton Phillips?"

"I should think you know, Laura. We spoke of it at the time," he answered.

"You were jealous," she accused with amusement.

"Hmmmmm," he acknowledged wordlessly.

"Which, of course, you denied at the time," she pointed out.

"No more so than you'd have denied being jealous of Felicia…"

Touché, Laura thought to herself.

"Although, come to think of it, you certainly did express your jealousy quite adamantly," he grinned.

"I did no such thing!" Laura protested.

"A heel in the top of my foot, if I recall. Whatever was that bang on the wall outside my flat when you stormed out?" he pondered, playfully, aloud.

"My hand hitting it," Laura laughed.

Laura clipped off a section of packing in each wound and tossed it into the waste basket near the night stand. Grabbing a fresh gauze pad, she placed it over his wound then set about taping it down. Steele watched her thoughtfully as she worked and weighed the pros and cons of asking the question he had on his mind, but decided in the end to do so.

"Why the question about Phillips, Laura?"

Laura glanced up from what she was doing, surprised by the question. Pausing in her work, she looked upwards thinking it over.

"Hmmmmm. I guess because that is the only time, other than when you thought Donald and I were meeting to have secret assignations and of course when you walked in on Murphy kissing me, that I can recall you taking issue with other men and their interest in me. Yet you claim you have shooed off any number of men across time."

"Looking for a little flattery then, eh?" he teased.

"Certainly not!" she stated vehemently while glaring at him.

"Phillips, Murphy, Donald, Giovanni, Teddy, Beamus, Dominick, Milton, Bill Smith, Jeffries, Freddie Smith, Plat, …" Steele commented, beginning to roll out the list of men that had gotten under his skin at one time or another. He had intentionally omitted Westfield as that wound was still quite raw.

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that you warned all of them off?" she asked incredulously.

"No, certainly not. Those are simply some of the men in your life that have pricked my hide over the years," he shrugged.

"Milton? Why Milton? There was never anything between us, not even a flirtation."

"Ahhhhh, but if I spend any time pondering the thought of him calling you Binky and why he does so, it's enough to keep me awake at night."

Laura laughed with delight.

"And Wilson? The two of you got along splendidly, if I recall correctly and I know I do."

"Yes, at least then. Had I known then the extent of the harm he'd done you, it wouldn't have been the case a'tall."

Laura nodded at him, then patted his stomach above the gauze pad.

"All done. You can get dressed, and I suppose we should get to bed. We'll only get a few hours of sleep as it is."

Laura stood and walked across the living room to pack the gauze and tape in her overnight bag, leaving the scissors on the bedside table for the morning.

Steele swung his legs over the side of the bed, but remained sitting there. She had opened up a wound, unknowingly, asking about the men he had shooed away. He had not told her, perhaps never would, that the night she had ended things with him, he had been at the airport, had seen her get on the plane to go away with Westfield. It was seeing that which had been his impetus to leave, to go to London, to try to find a name, to prove to her what she meant to him. He had wondered for four months if it was her dalliance with Westfield that had ended them or if it was something he had done. He had realized that he needed the answer before they returned home. He couldn't say why. It simply just was.

Laura turned, expecting to find him dressed and ready to head to his bed. When she saw him still sitting on the side of the bed, lost in thought, rubbing his hands up and down his face, a frisson of fear ran up her spine.

"What? What's wrong?" she asked, trying mightily to keep the trill of fear out of her voice.

Steele dropped his hands from his face, then deeply exhaled. Resting his elbows on his knees, he turned his head to look at her.

"At the risk of ruining a perfect evening, I need to ask you something, Laura. I can't tell you why, as I've no idea myself, but I need to know before we go home."

Laura felt that frisson of fear turn into a rock in the pit of her stomach. Had he changed his mind then? Had her prying into the past – to flatter her own vanity as he had suggested – pushed him away? Would she awaken tomorrow ready to leave for the airport and find him gone?

"Wh…wh...what…" she stammered, then cleared her throat, continuing on as though she had not stumbled. "What do you need to know?"

"What had I done this time to make you decide to end us? Was it my ruse to get you alone in San Francisco? The bit with the licenses holds no weight as we knew we would get them back. So what had I done?" The question had been as difficult for him to ask, as her own to him a moment before had been for her.

Laura felt the rock turn into a boulder. She had gone over this in her own mind for months. While it has been a ready excuse, the licenses being suspended, she had known before stepping on the plane to join Westfield on a trip to Mexico, that that is all the licenses were: an excuse. She'd decided on her drive to the airport that it was because they were unsuited. She needed a man like Westfield: steady, reliable, good 'ole Protestant work ethic, no mysterious past, no reason to fear. Yet, by the time she sat in the seat beside Westfield, she knew that wasn't true either. Suited or not, her heart lay with the Irishman she had just left. It had taken the better part of two months to figure it out. Ironically, the reason was both the cause of her breaking things off with him and the cause of her coming to London to find him.

Laura walked across the room and sat on the bed next to Steele. She then turned on the bed, one leg on the bed, one off, so she could face him when she spoke.

"It wasn't your ruse to get me to San Francisco. I told you then it was the most romantic things anyone had ever done for me and it was, at least up until that point."

He felt as though he had been punched in the gut. So, it was Westfield, after all. The man had somehow swept her off her feet. After all the years of trying and in one day he accomplishes what I could not, he thought to himself.

"Top of the Mark," she said abruptly.

The name of the restaurant coming completely out of the blue so surprised him that it snapped him out of his dark thoughts.

"The restaurant? What on earth does that have to do with anything?" he asked, completely befuddled.

"That night, at the Top of the Mark, that's what made me end it."

"What on earth for? We had dinner, we danced. I don't recall anything untoward happening."

"I told you that night. I just didn't realize I had, you didn't realize I had. At least neither of us realized what it would mean…"

Relax. Relax," Steele had told her, as he held her stiff in his arms on the dance floor.

"We can't very well spend the rest of our lives hiding in the middle of the dance floor."

"We're not hiding. We're waiting."

"Rita Del Rio isn't going to show. Maybe we should go back to the bar and try and find her."

"Well, if we bump into Inspector, uh, Barney Neill, what do you suggest we do, call the cops?"

"Well, providing those other gentlemen are also members of San Francisco's finest, why do the police want to see us dead?"

"Don't happen to have any unpaid parking tickets, do you?"

She had laughed.

"I can see you're taking this with your usual blend of caution and concern."

"If these are to be our last days, I mean, at least we're spending them in elegant splendor, don't you think?"

"Oh, the hell with our killer cops. Let's enjoy the night and the music."

"Now you see the wisdom of my strategy."

"You know, that is one of the problems with us. It came to me one, lonely night. It wasn't exactly the burning bush, but still it got my attention. You're uh- You're one of the things that I have to guard against. The part of me that I can't ever allow myself to be. Reckless, indulgent, frivolous . . ."

"Sounds irresistible."

"Seductive at any rate. And very dangerous."

"Perhaps I'm being daft, but I still don't understand," he told her, turning to sit facing her now.

"I threw caution to the wind that night, both personally and professionally. Knowingly, willingly. I had just told you that I could not be frivolous, reckless, indulgent. Yet rather than trying to find out why some members of the SFPD seemed determined to see us dead, I tossed aside those concerns. The only thing I cared about at the moment was being held in your arms, dancing with you… kissing you. There we were, in the middle of a case, and I didn't care. There were people trying to kill us, and I didn't care. I only cared that the time we spent on that dance floor was the most romantic experience og my life. And that was only because I was there with you."

"When DelRio showed up, you were right back to business, Laura," he pointed out.

"True. But it didn't change the fact that for that time period, I had stopped being responsible, professional," she took a deep breath, then let it go. "I had allowed myself to be the old Laura."

"And you blamed me for making that happen."

"It took me nearly two months of trying to figure out what had happened, why I'd done what I had to understand it. But yes, I blamed you."

Steele stood and swiped his hands through his hair, began to pace.

"Bloody hell, Laura. You've painted us into a corner here."

"I don't understand? What do you mean?" she asked, clearly perplexed by his response.

"Just this afternoon we recognized that in order for us to move what is between us forward, we have to work towards getting you to relax, to let go of all these inhibitions that keep you from believing in yourself, in us. But now, you just said you broke us off because you let go of some of those inhibitions, just for a moment. How do we get around this? Damned if we do, damned if we don't!"

"You already solved that problem, didn't you?" she asked, trying to speak calmly in the face of his mounting frustration.

"Oh, how is that?" he asked.

"When you said we need to separate our personal and private lives. Remember? 'Time to ourselves, phone off the hook, leave our professional lives at the door.' We are great partners, Mr. Steele, professionally speaking. That has never been the issue between us. The issue has always been trying to squeeze our personal life into the professional one, constantly blurring the lines. By taking time for just us, those lines become clear."

"Will that be so easy for you? Or once we are home, will you change your mind?"

"I've already done it, haven't I? I shut down the Agency, regardless of the consequences, regardless of the loss of income. It is a bit of the old Laura coming out that I am here at all. I didn't come here to bring Remington Steele, my boss, home although I do miss my partner. I came here to bring you home, because I need us, want us."

Steele felt the weight of the world fall off his shoulders, her words helping soothe him, eliminate the doubt. Partners at work, couple at play; buttoned down, free; rules, feelings. He closed his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding.

Laura saw the moment he accepted all the possibilities ahead. She smiled, knowing what would come next. He didn't disappoint her.

"Come here, Laura."

Laura didn't hesitate. She stood and walked directly into his arms, lifting her lips to meet his. The kiss started gentle and tentative, before becoming firm and free. They were both left breathless when their lips separated. Steele wrapped Laura in his arms, pulling her tight against him for several long moments.

"We should get some sleep. We have an early day tomorrow," she reminded him.

She felt him nod, where his chin lay on top of her head. Steele kissed the top of her head then released her, and walked to his room.

"Good night, Miss Holt," he told her, back still to her, knowing if he turned to face her, he would be compelled to cross the room and take her back in his arms.

"Good night, Mr. Steele," she answered in turn, then watched as he went into his room and shut his door.

Laura tossed and turned for the better part of an hour. She knew, intellectually, that her fears were unfounded. Yet, her heart had been badgering her since she had climbed into bed.

What if, like after they had caught Gault, she found he had simply disappeared again? What if, like in LA, she woke up and found he had left of his own will, and was not taken like after Gault. What if….

Steele lay in his bed, arms crossed against his chest, staring up at the ceiling. He could not shut off his brain. After he had allowed the thought of Westfield to enter it earlier, thoughts of Laura and the time she spent with Westfield would not leave his mind.

Could he live with it? Knowing that she had gone to Mexico with Westfield. Had likely given herself to the man? Could he live with the fact that she had ended three years of them trying to find their way to each other, for her to give herself to a man she had known for merely a day? What she had been too afraid to share with him, experience with him, for three years?

He had driven himself crazy for more than four months picturing the man kissing Laura, touching her, knowing how it felt to be a part of her. He ached at the thought of it.

Could he live with it?

His bleak thoughts were interrupted when he heard the door knob to the adjoining room jiggle. He turned his head to watch the door swing open, to see Laura silhouetted in the doorway. He pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Laura? Is everything okay?"

"I can't sleep."

He watched her for a moment. Even with the light from her room casting her in shadows, he could see how tense she was. She had clearly worried herself into a dither, and he suspected he knew the root cause of it.

"Afraid I won't be here tomorrow when it's time to leave, eh?"

He watched her body heave as she sighed.

"Not in my head."

"Ah," he acknowledged.

They were silent for several long moments, as he waited to see if she would say more, as she waited to see if he would offer what she needed. Once more, he didn't disappoint her.

"There's a simple way of knowing that I'll be here in the morning," he told her, lifting the bed covers in silent offering.

Laura walked across the room then climbed into the bed, sliding over next to Steele she tucked herself against him, around him. She sighed deeply and relaxed against him as one of his arms wrapped around her back, his arm coming to rest on her waist, while the other reached to take her hand in his. Lacing his fingers with hers he tucked both their arms up onto his chest.

"Thank you," she breathed against his chest.

Steele leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I needed this as much as you, Laura."

"Worried I'll change my mind about us? About you coming home?"

"Perhaps."

"I'm not going to change my mind, Mr. Steele," she assured him.

"And I'm not going anywhere, Laura," he promised her. "Get some sleep."

"You too."

He felt her lips lift against his chest in a smile, before she let out a gentle sigh and fell asleep in his arms.

Steele realized in that moment that he could live with whatever happened between Laura and Westfield if it was responsible for bringing her here, tonight, to sleep in his arms; if whatever had happened was responsible for bringing her here to London, to find him, to be with him. Pulling her a little tighter against his body, he fell asleep as well.