These scenes occur during Steele Searching Pt 2, after Steele has found out the Earl is not his father and directly before Mildred and Laura give Steele his new passport.

As always, thanks go out to my editor, who has worked as hard as I on these while providing me inspiration here and there.

Feedback is always welcome and very appreciated.

Oh, and the normal dribble. I don't own the characters, make no profit, this is just for enjoyment.

Chapter 1: Ultimatum

They'd driven back to the hotel in mostly companionable silence, a comment on a site by one of them or the other the only words spoken. Laura knew he needed time to come to terms with the disappointment of finding out the Earl of Claridge was not his father. He had been gracious in the Earl's presence, accepting readily the explanation that the Earl's son had had hazel eyes, not blue. Yet Laura had seen the disappointment in the slightest of drop in his shoulders. It had been another dead end, without any further clues to his real identity at his disposal.

Every once in a while he would flash her a smile, a smile that never reached his eyes. Then, on occasion, believing she was not watching, she would catch him glancing at her, worry accompanied by questions etched upon his face.

She wanted to assure him all would be okay, but she didn't know if it would be. There were questions that needed answers, actions that demanded explanations, apologies that needed to be made… the past to be faced… and only then would they both know if their worlds would remain upright or tilt bottom's up again.

When they arrived at the London Hampton, they walked through the lobby and rode in the elevator to their floor in silence. She had gotten him a room adjoining her own the night before, after the chaotic events during the Earl's wedding reception. Now, he took her room key from her, unlocked the door, then handed the key back to her, his fingers brushing against her own. He felt his body jolt, as it always did when she was close to him. He watched her breath catch and hold, the way it so often did when he simply brushed against her. Then, as she had so many times over the last three years, he watched her tamp her response down and close herself off.

"Do you want to grab a late lunch, around two?" Laura asked. "I have some phone calls I need to make."

He nodded and watched as she took a step into the room. His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, and his fingers wrapped around her arm just above the elbow. Unbidden, the words escaped his lips, soft and with a touch of desperation that made him nearly cringe.

"Where are we, Laura?"

She glanced up at him. She wasn't surprised by the question, knowing one or of the other of them would lend voice to it before the day was out. It was not a question that either of them could have dwelled on another day without going mad. But it was a question that spoke of the hurt they had been both endured, and he saw the sadness flicker through her eyes before she closed them for a brief moment as she shook her head.

"I don't know," she answered in barely a whisper. Opening her eyes, she watched a man pass by them before entering a room three doors down on the left. "We need to talk, but not out here."

He nodded his understanding. Laura pushed the door open and waited until he entered. She grabbed the "Do Not Disturb" sign and hung it on the door, before closing it softly and locking it. She leaned against the door, averting her eyes from him, while he stood across the room from her with his hands stuffed in his pockets. The silence waned uncomfortably between them, before he broke. Shifting, he propped a hip on the desk, trying to appear relaxed. When he raised his head to look at her, the site of her made him ache, wresting the words from him.

"I've missed you, Laura."

"I've missed you too," she answered in kind, voice strained. These were words they'd already shared the night they spent in the flop house. Safe words. Words that did not yet attempt to cross the chasm of all that brought them where they were.

Laura stole a glance at him then averted her eyes again. Taking slow, measured steps around the room, she ran a finger along the dresser thoughtfully before turning around and leaning her backside against it. Bracing her hands on the edge of the dresser, she leaned her weight into them, finally lifting her head to look at him.

"A lot has happened." Her fingers thrummed against the wood. He regarded her cautiously.

"Yes," he agreed solemnly. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She huffed softly.

"I don't know how to do this," she mumbled to herself.

"I imagine the best way," he said hesitantly, "is to say whatever it is that's on your mind." Releasing the bridge of her nose, her arm flopped back down to the dresser top. Thrumming her fingers against it again, she considered him at length.

"Alright," she agreed, drawing out the word, her voice carefully modulated. Warning signs flashed in his head. He slightly shifted his position, a fact not missed by her ever watchful eyes. "Let's start with, where have you been since you left? What have you been doing? Do I need to be concerned that a new exploit might come back to haunt us both?"

While he suspected she'd traced is route already, he had no proof of that, only his instincts to rely on. If he were correct, he knew all too well she was testing his veracity. A lie now could obliterate any possibility of her trusting him ever again. Giving the questions a brief thought, he mentally gave his shoulders a shrug. He had nothing to hide. He puffed out a breath of air as the thought occurred to him that perhaps he should be the one asking the questions. She'd ended them, not he, after all. Wisely, he tamped down that notion.

"I stayed in the Sydney area for a little more than two weeks. Rented a little place in the Palm Beach area. Became rather good mates with several bottles of fine scotch during my time there." Her brows raised in surprise. Long ago, after he'd spent a drunken evening on the floor of his office, he'd quite candidly confessed he abhorred drinking. In the years since, he drank wine, champagne, a rare scotch, always in moderation. To picture him holed up somewhere, indulging in spirits?

"They proved to be dreadful companions, I'm sure you can imagine and hadn't helped at all with …" he eyed her, carefully selecting his words "… clarifying the issue at hand. I decided another change was called for and moved on to-"

"Milan," she interrupted. He only lifted a brow in her direction, as she confirmed her suspicions.

"Portofino," he corrected. She mentally nodded to herself. Which is why Mildred and I couldn't locate you while you were there. We were looking in the wrong damned city the whole time! Very clever, Mr. Steele.

"One of Fabrini's old haunts?" she guessed, accurately.

"Mmmm," he hummed. "To a point. I'd traveled there a few times for relaxation, the night life. I had it in mind to resume…" he stumbled, unable to say the words, settling for "…to seek some… diversion, if you will."

"What was it? A heist? A con?" she asked, rubbing at her brow. He shot her a quelling look, but not before she caught the look of hurt that flashed through his eyes. Her hand stilled at her brow, then dropped by her side again. "Then what?" His eyes flicked away from hers. Her hands gripped the dresser, knuckles whitening at the stab of pain that slashed through her heart. "Oh," she breathed, unable to offer up any other words.

"That…plan… proved as… successful as the drink as I found myself unable to commit… to the course of action… I'd had in mind. I couldn't… not without knowing… unless I knew for certain there was… uh…" he swept a hand through his hair, growing agitated. Pushing himself off of the desk, he began to pace.

"Knew what?" she prompted quietly. He turned to face her, then in the blink of an eye, strode across the room towards her. Planting an arm on either of side of her, he dipped his head down and claimed her lips with his own. He savored her taste for long seconds, before pulling away to resume pacing, leaving her reeling from both the kiss and the inference in the words before it.

"That, that's what," he answered gruffly. "I tried, God knows I did, to go through with it. Inevitably I found myself comparing each," he shook his head, leaving the word unspoken, "to you and discovered none could withstand the comparison. I finally… accepted… that if there was a chance that you'd changed your… position… on certain matters…" he scrubbed a hand across his mouth, giving her a pained look "…then I couldn't do that to you. So I moved on."

"To Nice," she said with certainty.

"Cannes. I found there was a decision to be made, or so I believed at the time. I'd planned to spend a month there… sorting things out. It turned out I needed but a few-"

"A decision about what?" she asked quietly. He shot her a piercing look before turning away, returning to lean against the desk, lifting up a hand to worry a thumbnail. Closing her eyes, she nodded her head. "About whether or not you were ever coming back," she concluded, her hurt apparent in her words.

"How I could come back," he clarified insistently.

"Seems fairly simple to me," she shot back. "Buy a ticket, get on a plane!" He launched himself off the desk, to pace again.

"And come back to what, Laura?" He flung out an arm, while enunciating her name. "You'd ended us-"

"I said we needed time!" she interrupted again, her voice rising in accord with her agitation. His face hardened at her words.

"No. No! Give me at least some bloody credit, Laura!" his voice now rising as well. "You ended us! Good and proper at that! Damn well didn't leave a thing to hold onto this time 'round, either. At least after Cannes you made it clear that we remained partners. That we had at least the tatters of our friendship left. But that we, personally, were through. This time, what you said, how you said it, made it patently clear you'd taken it all!"

"Time!" she insisted vehemently. "Time to figure out if the Agency is all we had in common. Time for us to figure out what we want-"

"No, not us Laura. I've known for years what I want. I've nothing to figure out."

"And what is that?"

"Damn it, Laura, how can you even ask that?" he questioned. "I've stayed three years for only the possibility of what we're meant be to one another." He shook his head, drawing his hands through his hair. "Laura, do you want me to go back to LA with you?" he asked, suddenly weary.

"Yes," she said without a trace of uncertainty.

"As what?" he asked quietly. He watched as a host of emotions passed through her eyes: longing, need, a want so intense it made him ache in equal measure. Then he watched as the walls went up and she put up that implacable mask of hers. His body sagged under the weight of her refusal to answer. Sitting down heavily on the end of the bed, he dropped his head into his hands, before dragging his fingers through his hair and looking at her, blue eyes somber, pained. He stumbled over the words often, never comfortable discussing anything connected with feelings, but for her he tried.

"Three years, Laura. I've waited three years for you to realize we're meant to be so much more than we were." He shook his head, before resting his chin on knuckles, tilting his head to watch her. "I'm not only speaking of us at last becoming lovers, though I've dreamt of that becoming a reality for more years than I'd care to count." She gave a small snort, while crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing them. "If that was all I'd ever wanted, I could've seduced you long ago. But I don't want it…" He dropped head from his knuckles and scrubbed a his face with both hands, while shaking his head. That's not right, old sport, better leave nothing to that imagination of hers. "… I don't want to finally know what it's like to know you, not like that."

"Not like what?" she asked, eying him speculatively. He could see she was torn between her normal doubt and wanting to believe otherwise. He stood, again, taking a few hesitant steps in her direction, threading fingers through his hair.

"Time, Laura. I've stayed three years, waited three years, to give you the time you needed to get past your fears, trust that I'd stay…to…to" he stumbled. "To believe as I did from first we met, to trust in it. I don't want to seduce you into my bed, have never wanted that. I want you to come to me of your own accord, because you finally believe what I've known straight along: We're meant to be so much more than merely lovers.

"I left my life behind, changed everything about myself, in order to be the man you needed, a better man. Someone that might be counted on, even. Perhaps not always successfully," he flashed a brief smile, "but I've tried none the less."

He walked towards the window, and pulling back a drape with a finger, stared out for a moment, before turning back to face her.

"I withstood your decision in Cannes, seeing it as my due." A glance at her showed she was taking it all in, overwhelmed perhaps, but not erecting those walls, shutting him out.

"It was my choices, my failings that'd brought us to that point. I'd no choice in the decision, not matter that it wasn't what I wanted at all. I could only wait you out, respect your decision, all the while hoping that you'd change your mind." He gnawed at his thumbnail for a long minute, the anxiety of sharing so freely, taking its toll. "It was bloody well one of the most difficult things I've ever done, feeling us grow further apart each day, watching you flirt with those bleeding wankers that you dangled in front of me."

Taking a deep breath, he let it out harshly. Sitting back down on the bed again, he swiped at his face, before holding jaw in hand upon perched elbow. He watched her long enough to make her squirm slightly, much to her own chagrin.

"But this time? What had I done? Other, that is, than dozing off with you in my arms while you apparently were discussing business with me? Or at least believed yourself to be?" he challenged.

"You lost the license-" she began.

"Did I? I might have played my part in it, but you had a hand in it as well, did you not?" Her spine straightened, affronted by the accusation.

"I didn't do anything-"

"Precisely," he agreed interrupting again, his voice deadly calm. She avoided his eyes as he continued. "Seems to me, you were nowhere to be found. Running off to Mexico, wasn't it?" He'd been unable to help uttering the words laced with double meaning. He watched as guilt flashed across her face, then carried on. "Perhaps I should have taken the time to read… to learn… the cases you'd handled before I became Remington Steele. I'll give you that, at least. But knowing we were in trouble, you should've bloody well been there!" His voice rose steadily on the last words. Taking a deep breath he forced himself to calm down, knowing his anger would likely only drive them to the point of an explosion. "Instead you left it to me, who knew nothing of those first years, as I was all the while chasing after whoever it was who shot at you. So I'm asking you again, what had I done that deserved you cutting me out cold?"

Pressing the fingertips of both hands hard against her brows, she forced the words past her lips. "I was scared-"

"You think you're the only one that's scared, Laura?" he demanded, once more not allowing her to finish. "I've spent a lifetime reminding myself to never need anyone, to never truly trust anyone, to never lay myself bare to another person. I had become proficient at avoiding entanglements, never staying in one place very long, engaging in short encounters that sated my body but never pulled me in. Then I met you and it all changed. You captivated and terrified me at the same time. There have been days I've tried to battle against the way you're able to draw me in," he laughed briefly, almost bitterly, "and God knows I have tried to convince myself dozens of times that it was time to move on. But I couldn't, try as I might. Without even trying, you made me need you, trust you and before I knew what hit me, I knew that I had to be with you. Bloody hell, I abandoned a year's work, forgoing the Royal Lavulite to keep near you."

Walking over to Laura, Steele reached out and brushed his fingers across her cheek, as she stood wordlessly in front of him.

"When you showed up here in London, I'd hoped that you'd realized what I had: that our fears of giving ourselves over to each other were meaningless compared to what it was like to be without one another. We're good apart, but we are magnificent when we are together." He laughed softly at the thought of the capers they'd shared together across the years. "And when we're apart, we're left with an aching need to be together.

"I can't do this anymore, Laura. I can't go back to LA and simply be your partner. I can't keep pretending that being just your friend is enough. As hard as being without you has been these last four months, it's less painful than standing around day in and day out hoping that you will finally open your heart to me, stop pushing me away and that day never coming because you are too afraid to let me in. I'm not your father, Laura. I'm not Wilson. When I came to LA I had never planned to stay, but stayed when I realized I had never needed to have someone part of my life as I did you. I stayed for you. I changed for you. I stayed for what I knew we could have with each other."

Rubbing a thumb across her bottom lip briefly, Steele took her head in both of his hands, then ran his mouth gently across hers, before pulling back and heading towards the door. Opening it, he laid his forehead against the doorjamb, unable to look at her.

"I've tried for three years to do this your way. If I return, we do it mine. Us, committing to one another, to moving forward, together, not only as friends and partners, but to what what we have, personally. No more hiding, no more running, but working together to make all the possibilities of our relationship real."

Leaving, he closed the door behind him. He knew she would need time to sort through everything he had shared and he needed time as well to recover from the emotions whirling around him. Glancing briefly at his room, he decided he needed to get away from the hotel, to walk, to clear his head, to give her time.