Thanks, as always, to my editor-in-chief. Her insight and suggestions on these pieces are, as always, invaluable, but perhaps even more so when one is attempting a project such as this.
For the best experience when reading my stories, you will want to read them in order as the continuity of events is moved from one story to the next. The following is the order of current stories:
Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On
Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)
Steele Mending
Steele Working out the Details
Steele Settling In
Steele Finding Comfort
Steele Holting on To Christmas
Steele Holting on To The Holiday
Holting On To The Moments
Steele Cold Relief
Steele Dying to Get It Right
As always, I do not own the characters, I make no profit, I write these stories only for pure pleasure.
(Chapter 1)
"There we go." Steele commented as he carried a bedraggled Laura over the threshold of his apartment shortly after their spontaneous nuptials. Laura, her clothes muddied, pantyhose ripped, and hair both muddy and in disarray, swung her feet half-heartedly as he carried her.
"How romantic." A thrilled Mildred enthused, watching the display. Despite the fact that she knew their marriage was not legitimate, she had seized onto it as though it were.
"Yes." Steele acknowledged Mildred's comment, as he sat Laura down on her feet in the living room.
"I'll see what I can rustle up in the kitchen," Mildred volunteered.
"What a lovely apartment this is, Mr. Steele," Estelle Becker, INS agent, complimented as she followed the couple and Juan's ensemble of workers into the apartment. "Is this where the two of you are planning to live?"
"Yes-" Steele confirmed.
"No-" Laura replied at the same time. She and Steele glanced at one another, tried again.
"No-" Steele replied.
"Yes-" Laura contradicted. Laura looked away, clearly frustrated that they were not on the same page, while Steele hustled to come up with an explanation for Estelle.
"Actually yes and no. We're going to live here but we're going to redo the entire place. Yeah…" he smoothly covered as he wrapped an arm around Laura's shoulder. "Now that Laura's the little woman…" Steele rubbed Laura's arm, placing a kissing on the side of her head at the same time. "Mmmm. Yeah, she's got definite ideas about the décor." He continued to rub Laura's arm briskly while smiling widely at Estelle.
"I'm very partial to Scotch plaid," Estelle offered.
Steele tried not to cringe, although clearly appalled by the very idea while Laura sent Estelle a dumbfounded look, as Steele continued to rub her arm.
"That's a wonderful suggestion. Yes, yes. Add a bit of color to these drab old bachelor digs, eh?" Laura rolled her eyes at his prevarication. "What do you think, my love?" Steele smacked Laura's arm heartily, then turned to look down at her, his gaze empathetic, trying to get her to engage, although he was well-aware that she was trying to digest how the day had turned out as it had.
"I think I'll freshen up a bit." Laura said brightly, swiping at her mud laden, tousled hair. Steele nodded his agreement, accepting that she needed time to regroup before engaging with the INS worker and perpetuating the farce of their marriage.
"Hmmm. Mmmm. Good idea." He could only watch as Laura walked briskly towards the bedroom, leaving him alone with Juan and Estelle.
Steele slowly backed towards the bedroom door, determined to go see Laura, hoping to calm her. Her nerves were frayed, he well knew, and that she was simmering behind the bedroom door, currently, only made matters more difficult. He needed her to focus, to engage in the con they were currently perpetuating. The larger matter, the matter of them, would have to wait until he could the apartment of their guests. Patting Juan on the shoulder, who had serenaded him all the way to the bedroom door, Steele cautiously opened the door to the bedroom and entered. He found Laura, arms crossed, staring at the mirrored closet doors. Shutting the door nervously, he exhaled deeply then leaned against the wall before speaking.
"Thinking about the Scotch plaid?" His attempt at levity fell flat. Laura rounded on him angrily.
"Don't you ever call me the 'little woman' again." He shrugged, hoping to defuse the situation, realizing immediately he had done exactly the opposite in his action. Laura was clearly on the edge of exploding.
"Merely a figure of speech, Laura."
"I am not your little woman. I'm not anybody's little woman!" Steele's own frustration with the day, the situation, rose to the surface at her words.
"If we're going to look married, we have to act married." He pointed out this fact vehemently, although much like those first days in LA when he had no idea what a 'private dick' really did, he had no earthly idea how to realistically portray a married couple, relying instead on age-gone-by nicknames and attitudes show in his favored film noire features.
"If that means making goo-goo sounds and mooning over Scotch plaid every time someone's around, let's forget about it."
Recognizing the downward turn of the conversation, he took a moment, then approached her with hands outheld. He knew the day had been anything but easy on her, and she was living on the edge of her emotions because of it.
"Laura…Laura…look…look. You're tired." He stood in front of her, looking her over, while she in turn stood before him, hands on her hips, mutinous. "You're… You're … and you're absolutely… I mean you're filthy, and um," he leaned over to smell her, "You smell like a crab salad." Laura glared at his assessment. "Take a bath in there. You'll feel much better. Just don't use my razor on your legs. It nicks the blades." He cringed as he watched the hurt flash through her eyes, her chin raise in response to his attempt at a joke. She turned on her heel, walking towards the bedroom door.
"Good idea." The tone of her voice was anything but cooperative. It was, in fact, most definitely defiant.
"You're going the wrong way."
"I'm going home, to take a bath in my tub, to nick my razors." Turning the knob of the door, she found it being shoved closed by Steele, who had rushed across the room towards her the moment her intent registered. Anchoring a hand against the wall, he leaned into her, effectively trapping her between the wall and himself. He wondered for a moment what was wrong with him, pricking her when she was clearly at her breaking point. He refocused, determined to make peace.
"Plenty of time for that just as soon as we convince our immigration lady out there that we're sincerely and irrevocably married." Laura threw her hands up, looked at the ceiling, clearly upset.
"Why did I ever agree to this?"
"Because you don't want to see me deported." They were the first sincere words he had uttered since he'd walked into the room. Whether it appeared so or not, he was as off-balance at finding himself suddenly married to Laura as she was to find herself a likewise situation to him. Granted, being married to Laura far outshone the idea of finding himself in the same state with Clarissa, but he was not so foolish as to not realize that the sudden turn of the events would inevitably place challenges on the relationship they had been so carefully nurturing the past year.
Laura averted her eyes, pretended to reconsider her stance on him being deported, giving back just a little for his digs earlier. He almost instantly sombered at her look, beginning to truly worry that she had changed her feelings about wanting to keep him in LA - with her.
"You don't want to see me deported do you?" He asked the question worriedly, searching her face for any sign, whatsoever, that she still wanted him there, by her side.
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking." She answered flippantly, taking another dig at him, watching as his concern began to escalate towards panic.
"Laura, if you remember, I didn't want to get you involved in this charade. You volunteered." He reminded her desperately.
"I know." She shook her head in frustration, then turned to walk over to the bed, sit on it. "That was always my problem, even as a child. I had my hand up for every thankless task, every dirty job. Eager little Laura, always first in line to please." Steele, hands in his pockets, had walked slowly over towards the bed to sit at the end of it while she spoke, for the first time really understanding the magnitude of what she was feeling.
"Look, I know it's not going to be easy, or particularly enjoyable," he began, clearly frustrated that she was as upset as she clearly was about their marriage. "However, somehow we'll get through it. After all, we carried off the myth of Remington Steele's existence for all these years."
"So a simple thing like a bogus marriage should be a piece of cake." Laura snapped her fingers, smiling for the first time since they arrived at the apartment.
"Look at the bright side, after a couple of years we can get a divorce." He joked, trying once more to lighten the mood. A look of hurt flashed across his face, as Laura greeted this information with enthusiasm.
"Now you're talking."
"In case I haven't said it before…" he told her sincerely, a sad glint in his eyes "…Thank you." Laura looked at him, nodded her head sharply in reply while their eyes held. She hadn't meant to hurt him with her response and regretted it.
"Okay," she smacked her hands together and rose from the bed to walk towards the door. "Let's go out and talk Scotch plaid."
"Mmmm, mmmm" he murmured in assent, looking thrilled that she had finally decided to get into the spirit of their con.
"But if anybody gives me a silver platter, I'm going to cream them."
"That's my little woman…" he threw up his hands in apology, still smiling, when she shot daggers at him with her eyes, "trouper. Hmmm? Remember, hap-hap-happy." He pasted a big smile on his face, Laura mimicking him comically in response before they opened the door to return to the living room...only to be greeted by a hail of rice thrown at them by their guests, neither of them particularly amused at the gesture.
"Do we have anymore beer?" Mildred asked. "We're running dangerously low."
"Uh, no, I'm sorry," Steele answered her, then seized on the opportunity to get rid of their unwanted guests. "Hey Juan, do you know 'The Party's Over?"
"Que?"
"Don't worry I'll send you the sheet music." He told the man in a droll voice, then gathered Juan and the other workers, herding them towards the front door. "Guys, here's the door right over here. Okay, well it's been really lovely."
Juan was baffled by why they were being shown the door. In response, Steele made kissing motions with his face and hands.
"Ah!"
"Yeah, there you go." Steele swung open the door, then froze when he was greeted by Keyes standing in the hallway holding a cactus.
"A wedding present for you." Keyes mocked, shoving the cactus at Steele.
"Oh, you shouldn't have." Steele handed the cactus off to Laura, who stood glaring at the unwelcome intruder that had set this day in motion.
"Every time we look at it, we'll think of you." She told Keyes snidely.
"I'd invite you in Keyes, but I just had the carpet cleaned." Steele told the other man.
"You're still cracking jokes, huh, Steele? Well, let me tell you something… I'm in the last laugh business, and I'm going have it on all of you." Keyes bragged, then gloated to see he'd piqued Steele's temper with his comment. "This farce you call a marriage is gonna cost you five years in the federal pen" he pointed his cigar at Steele "and your investigator's license" the cigar now pointed to Laura "and your job" he finished off by pointing at Estelle. "So just keep listening, pretty boy, because that's me you're gonna hear laughing when you're on your way to Leavenworth."
On that note, Keyes turned and departed, while Mildred shoved the cactus at Juan and ushered he and his friends towards the door.
"It's a party favor, now vamoose, vamoose." she told the men.
Once the men departed, Steele closed the door behind them, while Estelle and Mildred made their way towards the living room, clearly intent on staying longer.
"That man is despicable." Estelle noted.
"I could take a bat to that piñata head of his." Mildred commented.
"Now, it's okay," Steele broke in, trying to placate the women before him. "No need to let Keyes ruin such a joyous occasion. So if you don't mind, Mrs. Steele and I would like to get a jump on our honeymoon activities." His arm reached for Laura, and he was pleasantly surprised to find she willingly folded herself into his side, wrapping her arm around his waist.
"Where are you going?" Estelle inquired.
"Going?"
"On your honeymoon."
"Um…."
"Well, uh, we haven't actually made any specific plans." Laura interceded, while running her hand up and down Steele's chest without thinking about it. The action had become a natural part of them standing next to one another in the months past.
"Yeah, we thought we'd just let the spirit move us, you know?" He smacked Laura's arms several times, hard, once more overplaying his role as devoted husband. She grimaced with irritation.
"You heard Keyes. The man is relentless," Estelle reminded them. "He has raised such a stink about this marriage that my superiors are breathing down my neck which means I'm going to be looking over your shoulders. I recommend you have this honeymoon right away, Mr. Steele. And take lots of pictures."
"I got it!" Mildred interrupted excitedly while grinning wildly.
"What?" Steele asked, clearly puzzled.
"That's my wedding present."
"No, Mildred. No, no, no."
"I said, the honeymoon is on me." She was insistent on the matter, leaving Laura and Steele floundering to come up with an objection that would not insult her. In the end, both recognized that it would be impossible, and accepted they would have to deal with whatever Mildred came up with.
"In that case, Laura and I both thank you for your generosity, Mildred." He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Now, if you ladies don't mind, Laura and I would really like to spend some time alone together. Wedding night and all, you know."
"Of course," Estelle acknowledged, picking up her purse and heading towards the door, Mildred in her wake.
"I'll call you in the morning with the details of your honeymoon trip." Mildred told Steele and Laura, giving them a knowing wink that made both of them cringe.
Releasing Laura's side, he escorted the women to the door. After goodbyes were exchanged, Steele closed the door behind Estelle and Mildred, then swept a hand through his hair before turning to face Laura in time to see her, very un-Laura-like, flop into a chair in the living room. She laid her head against the back of the chair, covering her face with her hands.
"I don't understand. How did this happen?" She asked the question wearily, not expecting an answer, at least the right one. Can there even be a right answer? she asked herself.
Steele approached her slowly, off-kilter from the day's events himself. How did this happen? His question echoed the words Laura had said out loud, but no answers were forthcoming for him either. For now, his sole focus was on Laura. Since Laura had arrived at the church to find him attempting to marry Clarissa, she had lived on the edge of her emotions. He'd seen nearly the full gamut in the last few hours: irritation, anger, jealousy, hurt, disappointment, confusion, outrage, fury, resignation, reluctant amusement, frustration, depression, and for a few moments, fear. What he'd not seen was everything that mattered most to him: Happiness, contentment, faith, trust, hope, tenderness, anticipation, boldness, mischievousness, desire…love. It was as though a light had simply turned off. He hoped, with all that he was, that it was simply due to exhaustion.
Stooping down in front of the chair in which she was sitting, his hands reached for hers, gently pulling them down off her face. His thumbs stroked the back of her hands as he held them within his own, waiting patiently for her to make eye contact with him. When at last she picked up her head from where it lay, he'd been helpless not to drop one of her hands, to cup her face in his palm. His eyes silently pleaded with her not to shove him away.
"May I make a suggestion?" He asked the question softly, worried that too loud a sound, too fast a movement, would send her fleeing from the apartment before he had a chance to try to make things right again. She stared at him blankly, seeming dazed, before she slowly nodded her head at him.
"Let me run you a bath. While you soak off the tension and grime, I'll make us something to eat. After, we can either sleep or talk, your choice." He smiled tenderly at her when she nodded her assent. "Give me a couple of minutes, I'll call you as soon as it's ready for you."
Walking into the bathroom, he set the plug for the tub and turned on the water, getting the water to the near scalding temperature Laura preferred. Grabbing her bubble bath from off the counter, he poured a generous portion under the running water before pulling her razor out of her drawer and setting it on the edge of the tub. He'd thought to make a joke earlier, to lighten the mood, when he'd told her not to use his razor. Instead, he'd wounded. He'd seen the flash of hurt in her eyes before her temper peaked. He turned and leaned against the bathroom counter, braced on his arms, looked in the mirror at himself, didn't much care for what he saw there and turned away, as his hand reached up to brush through his hair again.
Tub filled, he flipped off the faucets and left the bathroom where he found Laura standing in front of the open closet door, staring at her clothes there. He was drawn to her, the need to try to soothe away some of the harm he'd done too strong to stay away. He reached up tentative hands and touched her shoulders, felt her flinch under his hands, but she didn't move away. For a moment she leaned back towards him, seeking contact, then suddenly was a flurry of motion, pulling a blouse and pair of pants down off of hangers, moving away from him to the dresser, to her drawer there, grabbing fresh underwear, a clean bra. Without a glance or a word, she went into the bathroom and closed the door. The quiet snick of the lock reverberated in the room. He stood and stared at the door, then exhaling deeply, a hand rubbed across his face.
He shook himself. Stripping down to only his briefs, he pulled a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting, light-blue button-down from the closet and slipped them on. Without thought, he tossed his tux into the hamper in the corner of the room, then turned and left the bedroom. Opting for simplicity, he tossed together a couple of turkey and Havarti sandwiches, dressing them with tarragon sauce then garnished the plates with some fresh slices of fruit. He fixed them both healthy portions of scotch on the rocks, setting both food and drink on the coffee table before sinking down on the couch. After drinking half the scotch in his glass in one long pull, he leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
He'd bungled it and bungled it bad, of that he'd no doubt. The only question that remained now was - at what cost? That Laura had volunteered – volunteered, he reminded himself – to marry him to keep him here in LA had given him hope. That only a little while ago she had unconsciously wrapped an arm around his waist, had run her hand up and down his chest as they spoke to Mildred and Estelle had added to that hope, despite her upset in the bedroom. He tried to cling to those details as he waited for Laura to emerge from the bath, yet he kept seeing over and over again in his head her dazed look as she sat in the chair twenty minutes ago, kept hearing her words from earlier – "this is the worst day of my life", kept hearing the lock to the bathroom door engage.
In the bathroom, Laura had moved from his large tub to the shower. She'd soaked most of the grime off of her body, out of her pores, before stepping out and allowing the dirty water to drain. As she'd stepped out of the tub, she saw the razor Steele had laid out for her, and felt her heart clench. When he'd made the off handed comment earlier not to use his razor, it felt as though he'd taken a physical blow at her. For months now she'd had her own belongings here in this bathroom: razor, make up, brush, hair dryer, shampoo, bubble bath, lotions and all the other items she used on a daily basis. Just as she'd been keeping clothes in his closet, her underwear, bras, pantyhose, stockings in a drawer in his bedroom. Just as he'd been keeping his version of those same items at her place. His comment had made her feel he'd forgotten that, just as he'd forgotten to include her in his latest problem.
It had stung. No, it had cut, she corrected herself. And it had cut deep.
She stood under the spray of the shower, washed her hair, rinsed, repeated the process…twice…until she felt that the mud was finally completely out of it. Smoothing some conditioner through her locks, she let the fact that she was married sink in. It had seemed simple enough when she'd volunteered to do what was needed to keep him in the country: manufacture some documents, exchange some false vows, then move on as though it had never transpired. But that was before she realized they would actually have to live every day pretending that they were husband and wife, that they were, as he put it, 'irrevocably married.' For two years…two…years. Two years during which she would never know if they were together because they wanted to be, or together because they had to be.
They'd never discussed marriage, not even in the abstract. Since January they had been spending weekends together, testing the waters if you will, when they'd both admitted they needed more: more time together, more time sleeping within one another's arms, more time exploring their relationship and nurturing it. They'd agreed if those two days a week together went well, they would extend that time into the work week, then see how they fared at that point. It was after they'd been presumed dead and had lived as an island unto themselves for two days, that they'd finally extended their time together from Friday until Sunday to Thursday until Monday. It had been going well. So well, that she could actually envision them making it official and moving in together... somewhere down the road... considerably down the road.
Mos definitely after, of course, they'd turned that corner and were able to see if they could maintain their professional and personal lives once sex had been introduced. They'd both acknowledged the time had come to take that step forward. She'd even gone on the pill, in preparation for it. Then, last weekend, when she'd finally decided to simply let nature take its course, they had just about crossed the line that would take them from friends to lovers when he'd put the brakes on. Claiming they deserved more: a truly romantic weekend during which they could indulge in one another without the world outside intruding. They had reservations next week at a luxury hotel on Catalina to that end.
Next weekend. She laughed. If we carried through on those plans we wouldn't just finally become lovers, but would be consummating our marriage.
The notion struck her as absurd… ridiculously absurd… laughingly, ridiculously absurd. It started as a giggle, then escalated into a full laugh, then at the thought of her mother discovering she and her Mr. Steele had waited until after marriage…her laugh reached the edge of hysteria. It took her several minutes to rein her emotions in, but she finally wrested back control.
She pried herself from the warm and soothing spray of the shower, forced herself to dry off, get dressed, to brush her hair. She couldn't put off talking to him forever. Didn't even know if she wanted to put it off as there was one thought that kept returning, one thing she could not deny: he'd promised her for months he was not going anywhere, and today he'd proven just how far he was willing to go to keep that promise to her. The only question that remained was did that matter more than the fact that once again he had not come to her when he was in trouble. That once again he'd left destruction in the wake of his refusal to ask her for help.
I don't know. I just don't know.
Right now, she only knew four things with absolute certainty. Firstly, she was achingly tired, mentally and physically. She needed to eat, she needed to sleep. Secondly, her analytical brain had shut down, due to the first. Until she ate, slept, she would be unable to think clearly. Tonight she needed not to think. Thirdly, she knew that right now, right at this moment, the only thing she wanted was the peace and closeness that they had shared these last months. For the better part of a half year he'd been asking her to turn to him when she was upset, afraid, instead of turning away from him. It had slowly become a habit, allowing herself the comfort of his arms, and she wanted nothing more at the moment. And lastly, she knew she was not going to deny herself any of the first three things.
Steele stilled as he heard the bedroom door open, kept his eyes closed. He was bone weary from the stress of the day, but even more so from the uncertainty of what would happen the moment Laura walked into the room. That she'd been in the bathroom for nearly an hour did not bode well, he knew. That she would have spent that time erecting the walls back around herself, wrapping herself in the comfort and safety of all her rules was something he did not doubt. That in his desperation to keep himself with her he'd hurt her he could not deny. It was only losing her that he could not accept.
He steeled himself as she neared him. Ready, waiting for the words he'd heard too often before: that they, personally, were through, well and good this time. Cíochnaithe… thar… rinneadh. Over… finished… done.
What he had not expected was for her to sit on the couch next to him, drink in hand, and curl into his side as though this night was like all the nights they had shared before it. He let out the breath he'd been holding slowly, allowed himself the risk of wrapping his arm around her. When she settled more comfortably into his shoulder, he lay his head on top of hers, nuzzling his cheek in her hair. The relief that he felt at the moment was akin to only two other times in his life: when she'd roused to consciousness after he'd believed her dead when Carl shot her and in that first moment he'd seen her when she'd come to London to bring him home.
She yawned deeply. Already tired, the scotch drank on an empty stomach was quickly having a sedative effect on her. Recognizing this, Steele gave her a small nudge. She leaned back her head to look at him, her eyes slightly glazed from a combination of alcohol and exhaustion.
"Let's get some food into you, before you fall asleep. I'd wager you've not eaten anything today." She thought about it for a moment and realized he was right. The day had been such chaos from start to end that it had never occurred to her to stop and eat. While trying to squelch another yawn, she gave him a nod, then scooted over on the couch to sit up straight, taking the plate he handed her.
"Turkey and Havarti?" She eyed the sandwich, her mouth beginning to water at the mere sight of it.
"Aye, with tarragon." He watched as she took a large bite, closed her eyes in enjoyment.
"It's delicious." She spoke around the food in her mouth, something she did only when most tired or most uncomfortable, the latter a habit he'd first noticed years ago when she'd revealed his friend, Derek Vivyan had made a pass at her. That night she'd shoveled food into her mouth everytime Derek's name came into the conversation, even as she'd kept insisting adamantly that she was not hungry.
She relished each bite of the sandwich. It was hands down her favorite sandwich by far. That he'd made it a point to make it tonight was not surprising to her. It was one of the many little things he did for her daily. His way of taking care of her. One of the few things she would allow without kicking up a fuss in her determination to cling to her independence.
And, having seen her reach for her glass of scotch several times, only to sit it back down without taking a drink, he did it again. He rose from the sofa and headed to the kitchen, returning with a cup of the coffee he'd set to brewing while he made the sandwiches. She grinned at him over the rim of the cup. When she took the last bite of her sandwich, she leaned back against the cushions of the couch and drew her legs up underneath her, coffee cup still clutched in her hands. She noted he'd barely touched his own food, a clear sign of his level of stress.
He picked up his nearly empty glass of scotch, prepared to drain it. Her hand stopped his mid-course, took the glass from him. Setting her coffee on the table in front of her, she stood and headed to the kitchen.
"Eat, while I go make you some tea."
"Coffee's fine." She nodded, then waited until he picked up a sandwich half before turning her back to him. She returned shortly and noted at once that it was still in his hand, untouched.
"You need to eat," she prodded him, only to watch him drop the sandwich on the plate and shove the plate away. He leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing his face, before dropping his hands to look at her.
"Where are we, Laura?" He looked haggard, drawn, his voice strained. He was grateful that she hadn't turned on her heel and walked out the minute Estelle left, but not knowing where they stood, what was on her mind, was wearing at him quickly.
"I don't know." She told him resignedly, honestly. She had considered a flippant remark, but realized it would do little to relieve the tension. "There's been a lot to process today. Questions I don't have answers to. Questions I'm not sure I want the answers to. Starting with how long you've known about Keyes, the INS." She watched as he rubbed at his neck, stood and taking his glass over to the wet bar, refilled it with another generous portion of scotch, took a long draw of it before turning to look at her.
"Three weeks now. I received the first letter a little over a week after we got back from New York." He watched as she absorbed the answer, closed her eyes, processed it, nodded.
"So you knew. Last weekend when you... when you didn't want to... when you suggested we wait." He leaned over, placing his elbows on his knees, head hanging down. She took him in - the swipe of his hand through his hair, then at his mouth, the misery on his face when he looked at her, the nod of his head. She stood, moved across the room to stand by the fireplace before looking at him again. Her calm frightened him more than any pique of anger could have. "You lied to me."
Steele jumped up from the couch, began to pace, turned to look at her. "No!... yes. Both. I couldn't bloody well make love with you only to find myself deported within the week! What would that have done to you? Everything you've feared would have come to pass. We finally cross that line and then pfffttttt," he made a hand motion, "I'm gone. What would you have thought Laura?"
"And Catalina? What was that?"
"I'd hoped the matter resolved by then. That I would've managed to fix things with the INS. Then when we went to Catalina, our first time... together... would be in … in a worthy setting. That we could simply enjoy being with one another without interruption."
She wanted to believe him, more than anything. Then a thought occurred to her and her eyes widened, her mouth formed an "O", her breathing escalated at the horror of the idea. "Did you know? That night when you were...when we were... My god, were you working out the details of your pending nuptials even then?"
"No!" He all but roared the answer, before forcing himself to take deep, calming breath. He brought down the volume of his voice although it was no less strained, no less affronted. "I may have made mistakes," he saw the look of disbelief on her face and amended, "alright some big mistakes, huge. But I'm not a bloody twit, Laura! Do you honestly think I would believe for a moment that you'd forgive me something like that? I would have bowed out of our time together, something, but not that!"
"When? When then did you decide the blissful state of domesticity with the hooker was your answer?!" She was pacing now, anger simmering.
"Tuesday. After my last meeting with the INS. I pointed out that I'd been living here, working here, for nearly five years. I pointed out that what you and I do are of benefit to the city. I tried every card I could think of but had nothing with which to play the winning hand. Either I came up with a different solution, or as of six o'clock this evening..." He waved his arm, let the answer they both knew hang in the air. His voice took on a pleading quality. "I was desperate."
"Why?"
"Why?" He scoffed at the question, laughed sardonically, lifting his hands, dropping them. "You know why. We know the toll my... uh... absence took on both of us last summer. How hard it was not knowing, how hard it was being apart. But now? After our time together since? You've at last let me in, have given yourself over to what we are meant to be together." He sank down into the corner of the couch, dropped his head, swiped at his hair again. "I'd no idea it'd be like this. I'd always imagined it would be good between us, but never came close to the reality of it. I couldn't lose that." He looked at her, stress lining his face. "I couldn't lose you. We've been so..." He shook his head in resignation, lifted his hands helplessly, dropped them, lay his face in them, his elbows resting on his knees.
"Happy." She finished the sentence for him, the word spoken softly.
She couldn't deny the truth of what he said: what it was like, for both of them, when he was gone the summer prior; that neither of them had suspected they'd be where they were before today; even that the idea of losing what they had built, now, was unfathomable. Laura walked across the room, lowered herself to sit on the sofa next to him, then laying her head against his arm, rubbed his back. She knew they'd both had enough for the day. There would be more time for talk in the morning. He sighed deeply after a minute or so, then after wrapping an arm around Laura's back, leaned back against the couch, taking her with him. His hand brushed her hair over her shoulder before tipping her chin up so she was looking at him.
"Are we going to be okay, Laura?" His gazed searched her face as she considered his question.
"I'd like to think so. Although we still have a lot to talk about, a lot to work out." She rubbed her hand up and down his chest, patted it. "For now? Why don't you shower, while I clean up out here. I'm exhausted, and you don't look much better, yourself."
"Mmmm." He murmured in assent, standing after she backed away from him. Looking down at her, he leaned over and bussed her on the cheek before heading into the bathroom for a shower.
Laura waited until she heard the shower running then moved to the bedroom where she changed into a pair of pajamas. In the living room she gathered up their plates and glasses, shaking her head at his untouched sandwich. For a man who could not stand to go to bed hungry, he'd not taken so much as a bite of his dinner. After scraping the plates into the trash can, she settled in at the sink to wash the dishes, allowing herself a moment of reflection on the day's events. On Steele, more specifically.
She hadn't seen him in the state he'd been in today since the first few months after he'd arrived in LA. No, she corrected herself, not even then. Today was like when DesCoines first showed back up, framed him for murder. The desperation, frenetic energy, reacting to everything, not thinking clearly. He ended up playing straight into DesCoines's hands then, was lucky to make it out alive...or at least not in prison for the rest of his life. Now? He's played right into the hands of Keyes and the INS.
Grabbing a dish towel from the drawer, she began drying their plates and glasses, putting them up one at a time, before emptying the coffee pot, rinsing it, setting up the coffee maker for the morning. She continued to ruminate on their situation.
How did he expect to pull off a bogus marriage to the hooker? Any INS agent worth a salt would have seen through it in a minute, and the results would have been disastrous. Instead of being kicked out of the country, he'd have found himself behind bars for years. Certainly, he should have known Keyes would not let it go. The man was a piranha. What did he imagine would happen to us? When will he learn to come to me when he's in trouble?
In the living room she gathered up the empty beer bottles, left behind by Juan and his men, and tossed them into the garbage can in the kitchen. Then, on a sigh, recognizing her need for sleep at the moment trumped her need for thought, she went into the bedroom where she slipped into bed, pulling the covers up once she'd settled in.
The door to the bathroom opened shortly and Steele emerged, uncertainty painted all over his countenance. He glanced at Laura, saw no signs of what he should do. He exhaled with resignation and walked to the closet door. Opening it, he reached for the pillows and blankets he kept there for guests.
"Come to bed, Mr. Steele." Laura made the comment as casually as if it were any other night. His hand froze, rested for a moment on top of the pillow he'd been about to pick up. Pulling back his hand, he closed the closet door, then walked across the room to slide into the bed on the opposite side of Laura. She turned off the lamp on her side of the bed, then scooted across the bed towards him.
"This..." she plucked at his pajama top, wrinkled her nose "...has got to go." At the familiarity of her words, he smiled for the first time that evening since Estelle and Mildred had left. Sitting up, he pulled the shirt over his head, and tossed it in the direction of the end of the bed. The moment he settled on his back, Laura wrapped herself against his side, a leg and arm splaying across his body, her head settling into his shoulder. He pulled her close, then leaned down and kissed her firmly on top of the head.
"Is it going to be this easy, Laura?" He'd been expecting war all evening. He'd been expecting her to storm out. None of that had come to fruition. What he'd not been expecting, hadn't even dared to hope for, was the calm rationale she'd used all evening, this. But, then, he'd not expected her to volunteer to marry him in order to keep him in LA either. He felt her head shift against the chest, knew she was looking at him, before her head shifted down again, her hand starting to stroke his side.
"I doubt it. But, then, I'm too tired to think tonight. Right now I just want to forget about today. To sleep. Are you okay with that?"
"I am." He exhaled deeply, letting go of the stress that had riddled his body all day, allowed himself to sink more comfortably into the bed.
With no further words between them, they lost themselves in sleep.
Steele woke with a shaky draw of breath, a slight sheen of sweat coating his skin. He immediately turned his head to make sure he'd not woken Laura, watching as she snuggled back up against him, removing the space he'd put between them with his sudden movement. But, she slept on, seemingly oblivious to his fretful sleep. He was relieved in that, at least. Once he was certain she was fully settled, he slowly eased himself out from under her, then tucked the covers around her before making his way out of the room.
In the living room, he made his way to the wet bar and poured himself a generous helping of scotch, his third of the evening. An oddity for a man that seldom turned to liquor for solace, but on the eve of his wedding had done just that. Wearily, he folded his long frame into the corner of the couch, then leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He sighed deeply as his free hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.
The dream had been too real. Of course it seemed real, he thought to himself, because it was. Memories of times before when I believed her lost to me. The dream had begun with the image of them standing along the wall in Cannes, when she'd ended their personal relationship. Her voice echoing throughout the visage, 'I've decided not to see you outside of business hours'. That image had segwayed into the next. Him sitting on the couch, where he at this very moment sat, as her words from that night replayed over and over again, 'maybe we take some time'. As that memory faded away the next had come calling. Laura at the Sensitivity Spa, fury lighting her features, as she screamed, 'Well, go ahead, get out. I was better off without you anyway!' From there the montage of images had picked up speed: watching her fall from the beam at the Federal Reserve; hearing the gunshot when she'd been alone in the warehouse with Gillespie; a phone endlessly ringing while she was in the hands of her stalker Wally. It had been the image of Carl standing over her with a gun, a bullet hole clearly seen in the back of the jacket she was wearing that had finally jarred him out of the nightmare.
Remembering the dream now, he took a long drink of the scotch, nearly emptying the glass before setting in on the table before him and rubbing at his face with both of his hands. Knowing that sleep would not come easily, he picked up the remote and aimlessly shuffled through the channels until he ran across a Bogart classic. He settled into the couch, half-heartedly attempting find enjoyment, solace, anything in the familiarity of the movie. He found none of those things, finding instead that a dependable, time-worn treatment guarantee to help him calm, to think, had also failed him in the wake of the events of the last 24 hours.
He heard the slight rustling of the sheets in the bedroom, his attention immediately drawn to where Laura was, as it always was when she was near. He listened as she moved, then finally appeared to settle back down. He found himself torn: half of him wishing she had awakened and come to him, while the other half was relieved to have time alone with his thoughts.
Time. It appears to be the theme of this misadventure, this waterloo. Four years finding our way to one another, time wasted when we could have been finding our way together. Four months of loneliness, unspeakable loneliness when we were separated whilst I was in London, time in which we learned how much we need one another near. Eight months of happiness, as we both gave into to what was always between us, time spent learning the peace, solace, contentment that each other's mere presence brought. Three weeks of fearfully awaiting the meeting with the INS, only to find a new concept of time, the number of days until I was to be deported. One hour and ten minutes to find a bride, the amount of time it took for Laura to marry me and possibly destroy all that we have built. Moments of anxiety, the amount of time it took for Laura to end us in the past.
Time. What I may no longer have with Laura, depending on what she decides the consequences for my actions will be.
Picking up his glass, he knocked back the rest of the scotch, then after setting the glass back on the table, he slouched back into the corner of the couch, slinging an arm over his eyes.
Time. It's torture. Not knowing. Waiting to find out what the penalty's to be, what I'll lose. Not knowing if a door will be left open for me to mend things. Not knowing if it's over... arna dhéanamh. Not knowing if this, right now, is the last of our time together.
Time. What I should have taken to think, time to realize that the only mistake I could make was not including Laura in what was happening from the first.
He knew, that if she was unable to forgive him this time, that would be the reason why. He had excluded her, again. He had not trusted her to stand by him, again. He had not done what he'd been urging her to do for months now: he'd not turned to her when he was afraid, again. She told me very clearly in Vail, the night after her accident, that shutting her out was the most painful thing I could do to her.
Now, only time would tell what would come of them and his only choice was to sit and wait until that time came.
Bloody torture, indeed.
The cool air in the room touching her body roused Laura in the middle of the night. Half-asleep her hand searched for Steele, for the comforting warmth of his body, wanting to draw him near. It was only in not finding him that she fully woke, her eyes seeking what her hands could not find. Hearing the low drone of the television filtering into the bedroom from the living room beyond, she climbed out of bed. Grabbing the pillow and blanket out of the closet, she found Steele stretched out along the length of the couch watching To Have or Have Not (Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Warner Bros., 1944).
"Scoot over." He glanced at her, then moved to his side, watched as she positioned the pillow, stretched out next to him, spread the blanket over them both. Once she was settled he wrapped an arm around her waist, gathered her close. When her fingers laced with his and she pulled their joined hands up to rest between her breasts, he nuzzled her head with his check. She smiled sleepily at him, then dozed back off.
By the time the closing credits rolled across the television screen, he'd fallen asleep with Laura still nestled close to him.
She woke to the smell of crepes cooking, coffee brewing. She immediately wondered how much sleep Steele had gotten the night before. On her way to the bathroom she glanced at his alarm clock. Six-thirteen. Not much. She brushed her teeth, her hair, splashed some cool water on her face, then joined him in the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee then hoisted herself up on the island to sit next to the stove top, sipping her coffee as she watched him finish up the crepes. Snatching a piece of sliced strawberry from a nearby plate, she slipped it in her mouth. That he neither commented nor reacted spoke volumes.
"How long have you been up?" He glanced at her, tried to flash her a smile that resembled more of a grimace, then returned his attention to the crepes that were browning.
"A bit." Plating the crepe, he flipped off the burner, then offered her a hand assisting her off the counter. He picked up both plates, headed towards the dining room. "Shall we eat?"
She eyed him carefully as she followed behind. That he was drawing into himself, there was no doubt. The question was why. There'd been no major confrontations yet, no shouts of blame. They sat at the table in silence. He ate, though didn't enjoy. Rather he just fed his body because it needed fuel. She took a bite here and there but for the most part just shoved the food around her plate with the fork. Once his plate was clear, she lay her own fork down, looked at him.
"Talk to me. What's..." She waived her hand towards him, at the air around them "...this about?" His mood, her lack of understanding of it, was setting her on edge. He studied her carefully.
"Are you sure you want to get into that?" She nodded her head sharply in reply.
"Yes." Anything was better than this, the silence, the not knowing. She nearly changed her mind when he leveled intense blue eyes on hers, eyes that said there would be no edging around the questions, answers, not now.
"Where are we?" He studied her intently, watched her discomfiture grow, saw the moment she decided to try to shed the seriousness of the moment.
"In the dining room currently." Her response was flippant, an attempt to lighten the mood. She jumped when his palm slammed down on the dining room table, making the plates and cups there rattle.
"No!" He fairly shouted. "No more avoidance. It's worse than you simply ending us. The not knowing. Yell, scream, cry, throw something, whatever it takes. But answer the bloody question! Where are we, Laura?" Laura sprung up from the table, took off for the terrace beyond. He followed in her wake. "Do you think for a moment that I don't know how badly I've bodged this?"
She spun around, faced him, anger finally surfacing. He wasn't sure if he found her anger a blessed relief or something to instill fear. Yet, either way, at least it was honest, heartfelt.
"Do you? Do you truly understand what you've done? You certainly didn't show any indication of that yesterday as you ran around planning your nuptials to the hooker... when you locked me in that room and still tried to marry her...when you blamed me for both the contract with Vigilance, the passport that got you home. You certainly seemed to be having a grand old time on the trawler when you 'married' me..." her voice broke on the last two words. She took a deep breath, wresting control over her emotions before continuing "...when we came back here, playing the role of the happy newlyweds. Do you really know what you've done?"
"Yes. Yes, yes, I do. The question is what's the cost to be. I'm not so foolish as to imagine there won't be one. But this..." He waved his arm towards the interior of the apartment "...this is bloody torture. You acting as though nothing has happened, me constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop..."
"Why didn't you come to me?" She interrupted, asking the question that had plagued her since she'd discovered his latest shenanigans. "When will you ever trust me enough to come to me?"
"I didn't know how." He deflated before her very eyes, sank down onto the chaise lounge, dropping his head, running his hand through the back of his hair. "I didn't know how to tell you that once more my past was threatening all that we've been building: the image of Remington Steele, the Agency...us."
"But this wasn't your past. This wasn't Daniel, Felicia, Henri or even Anna. Even if it was, you should have still come to me. So we could have figured it out together."
"Of course it was my past, Laura!" He looked at her, agitated that she did not understand. "'The man with no name,' remember? God knows you've reminded me of it enough over the years. My past coming back to haunt me, the fact that I have no proof of my existence. Had it not been for that, you wouldn't have had to... manufacture... a passport out of thin air. Keyes would have had nothing to latch onto."
"This is what I mean by you should have come to me! I didn't 'manufacture' your passport. I called in some favors, both here in LA and in London. Your passport was officially issued. That wasn't the problem!" He stared at her, confused.
"But INS said it was an irregularity with my passport that was the foundation of my legitimacy to be here in the States. What else if not that the passport was illegitimate?" He watched as Laura paced, before leaning against the wall of the terrace, her fingers rubbing at her left brow.
"I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking. I was too wrapped up in simply getting you home with me. The Earl of Claridge. He was helping me on the London side. He knew you'd been born in Ireland, so that is what was listed as your birthplace on your passport. I didn't realize until later that it would not mesh up with the birth certificate I did manufacture for you when you first arrived. The birth certificate that shows you were born here, in LA. I had hoped no one would catch the anomaly. But then..."
"In walks Keyes, determined to find something..." He continued for her, swiping at his face, as things began falling together in his mind.
"And he found it. It wouldn't have been difficult. All you would have to do is compare them, side-by-side." She laughed, cynicism lacing it. "You didn't realize how close to the mark you came, when you told me in the limo it was my fault... because of the passport."
He looked over at her from where he still sat on his chaise, leaning on his arms against his knees. "It was a poor attempt at a joke, Laura. I never blamed you. How could I? That passport allowed me to come home with you."
"That doesn't change the fact," she smiled ruefully at him "… that it was my blunder which brought us here. I'd like to think that we could have fixed it, that I could have gone to my contacts, have had the passport corrected, if..."
"If I'd come to you, told you. I'm sorry. It wasn't a matter of not trusting you. I'm simply bloody well tired of my past coming back to haunt me, the both of us, risking everything." He sighed deeply, scrubbed at his face with his hands.
"So you decided to try to fix things on your own before I could find out about what was going on..."
"Mmmmm. I foolishly thought it would be so easy as turning on a little charm. Then on Tuesday, when it was clear I would have to make..." He looked away, hand returning to his hair, as he made a motion with his head indicating the foolishness of his beliefs "...other arrangements to stay..."
"You decided to marry the hooker, rather than coming to me, even then." She concluded, anger surging again. "Just how did you see that playing out, had you succeeded? Where did you see us in that picture? What about our time together? Catalina? This..." She swept her hand out, stumbled for a word that would not reveal too much, then giving up, just said it, "...this life together that we've been building since London?"
"I'd hoped that once it was all said and done, that once INS agreed I could stay, that I'd be able to make you understand that I'd done it, all of it, for us. That we could take the time we both needed to figure out how to move ahead with one another, to make what's between us a reality." Even as he said the words he recognized now how preposterous an idea that had been. Laura, understand him marrying another woman...for any reason? Then to carry on as though he were not, even if he were only technically, married? He gave a short laugh, sat there shaking his head at his tomfoolery, watched as Laura resumed pacing.
"Sooooo, where, by chance, were you and Clarissa going to live?" She tapped the tips of her fingers together as she paced, as she thought.
"I'd continued to live here, of course, she at her apartment. I'd continued to... uh... rent... her services as needed for interviews and the like."
"And it never occurred to you that the INS would expect the happy newlyweds to live together? To show ample proof of domesticity? That there would likely be unscheduled visits to validate both of these things?"
"No..." He began only to be interrupted.
"Then when you did realize it, what would you have done? Moved Clarissa in here? You move into her place? Share a bed, platonically, of course..." The last said very sarcastically "…Share a home... share a life?"
"No, of course not, I'd have figured out something."
"What? What would you have figured out? Keyes would have pushed it, would have been determined to prove your marriage fraudulent. You would have had to bow to the pressure to share a domicile at some point. There would have been no choice. Then what? I'd come over, we'd continue forward with our relationship while your wife kept us company?" She laughed at the absurdity of it all.
"I wasn't thinking..." He raised his hands in a helpless gesture, dropped them, shook his head again.
"No, you weren't. But let's leave the point of your domicile alone for a moment." She continued to pace, tap her fingers. "You hoped we could take the time to move ahead, to make 'us' a reality. How exactly was that going to happen? We've taken great care to make 'Remington Steele' a public figure in LA. LA... the land of gossip, rumors, innuendo, where everyone is always looking for a good scandal. Did you think word of Remington Steele's marriage would not get leaked to the press at some point? Hell, Clarissa brought along all of her very enthusiastic...uh...co-workers. Did you honestly believe one of them would not alert the press?"
"It hadn't occurred to me..." He sighed as she interrupted him again.
"How would that have affected the Agency? The great Remington Steele... marrying a hooker?" She watched as he grimaced, clearly not having thought of that particular repercussion. "I see you understand my point there, so let's leave that go at the moment as well. How exactly were we to continue our relationship? We wouldn't be able to go to dinner, the movies, the theater, ballet, on trips together without risking the press getting word of it, which, of course, would mean the INS would be aware as well. Clandestine visits at my loft then? Furtive clinches at the office?"
"I don't know. I didn't have time to..."
"Think," she interrupted again. "Clearly. If you had you would have realized that in marrying the hooker you would have ended us. It's bad enough that for years I have been 'unknown woman' and 'unnamed associate.' By your actions, I would have been relegated to 'mistress'…" she started laughing. "'Mistress' when we haven't even become lovers yet. Destroying us, the reputation of 'Remington Steele' and the Agency in the process. Did you actually believe I'd allow any of that to come to pass, no matter how much I wanted to be with you?"
"I don't know what to say..." He held up his hands again, dropped them, misery cloaking his form. "I wasn't..."
"Thinking. I know. Because you don't think when you find yourself in these situations. You react, and keep reacting, becoming more and more frantic as things go wrong. You should have come to me. We could have spoken, worked through the details, found a way out. It's what we do: see the details the other has missed. But, once again, you didn't give me... us... that chance! You told me in Vail that I need to learn how to turn to you when I'm afraid, not away. Why is it any different for you? Why won't you come to me instead of shutting me out?"
He dropped his face into his hands at her words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shut you out. Not really. We'd been doing so well. I didn't want to risk..." He fell silent.
"Me ending us again. Am I right?" He looked up at her, anguish in his eyes.
"Are you?" He asked the question on a hoarse voice. Watched as she leaned back against the terrace wall again, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to find some comfort. She looked away from him, shaking her head.
"I don't know." Her voice reflected his own misery. "I don't think so. But - I don't know. Despite all that's happened, I don't want to lose what we have, what we've been working so hard for. But I'd be lying if I said that this doesn't change things, hasn't set us back." She turned away, looking out at the city below.
"I know I've made a mess of things. I know. And I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am." He stood, approaching her slowly, but stopped several steps away from her, not knowing if she would be receptive to his touch at the moment.
"I know you are. That and the fact that you did all of this to try to stay here, for us, is what I'm trying to hold on to." He closed his eyes in relief at her words, only then dared to step next to her, to lay his hands on her hips and draw her near.
"Laura." He murmured her name gruffly, in that way of his that she could not resist, even more so now as she heard the undertones of deep regret lacing through his voice. Without thought she took a small step forward, laying her hands on his chest, and tipped her chin up to him. She felt his sigh on her lips, at contact. His lips explored her own softly, never trying to deepen the kiss, to turn it to passion. Instead, it was a kiss born of the need to know that they would be alright, that they would make it through this latest fiasco. When he ended it, she resisted his attempts to pull her into his arms, and took a step away from him again.
"You're confusing me," she told him, shaking her head and holding up her hand as he reached for her again. "Part of me just wants to forget everything that's happened, to just go on like we were because we were so happy. But then there's the other part of me that can't forget. Can't forget watching you try to marry someone else. Can't forget that once again you didn't come to me when you were in trouble and needed help. Can't forget that in the eyes of the INS we are married." Her last words jarred her analytical mind into gear. "What are we doing?! Are we even ready for this? Can we actually convince the INS that we are a happily married couple? What were we thinking?"
"Laura..." The ring of the phone from the living room had both of them turning their head towards it, before they looked at one another, exasperated. Steele glanced at his watch. "Who the bloody hell would be calling at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning?" He complained.
"Whoever it is, their timing's certainly not the best." Laura walked back into the apartment and went to the phone to stop its incessant pealing.
"Hello? Oh, good morning Mildred... No, you did not interrupt Mr. Steele and I," she rolled her eyes at him "This morning?... When?... Mildred, that's only three hours from now!... Yes, I supposed you did think Mr. Steele and I would be anxious to leave on our honeymoon..." Another eye roll towards Steele "...Mexico? Oh Mildred, you know what happened the last time we were in Mexico... Yes, I know it's not Acapulco but... Now Mildred, don't get upset, I am sure Mr. Steele and I will have a wonderful time... Yes, I know you are only trying to make us happy and we appreciate that... Yes, of course we'll go... Yes, we'll take plenty of pictures... Of course we'll touch base, let you know how it's going... Mildred, I have to go. Mr. Steele and I will need to get packed if the plane leaves at eleven... Thanks, Mildred. We'll see you soon."
She hung up the phone exasperated with both the content of the call and the woman on the other side.
"Mexico? She's sending us to Mexico?" Steele asked, dumbfounded.
"I know, I know." Laura agreed with him, frustration coloring her voice. "I swear there are times when Mildred just does not think. She was there in Acapulco. You'd think she'd have remembered it was anything but a romantic getaway.
"We could simply let her believe we've gone. Book a flight to Maui or Figi instead..." Seeing the look on Laura's face, he let the thought go. "I know, I know. Then Mexico it is I guess."
He followed Laura into the bedroom, watched as she quickly stripped her pajamas, his blood heating as she did so, then pull on the pants and shirt she'd worn the evening before.
"Get packed and call Fred. Have him pick me up at the loft. I'm going to head home and get packed while you take care of what you need to here. Make it quick, though, as we have to be at the airport in only two hours if we want to check-in on time."
"Yes, yes," he acknowledged, and followed her as she walked to the front door. "Laura?"
She knew what she he was going to ask before he even said it. "Well, finish our conversation on the flight. Okay?"
"Mmmmmm." He acknowledged wordlessly.
"Let's just hope that Mexico works out better this time than the last. I don't think we can withstand many more disasters." Her words drew a frown to his face. He'd hoped, out there on the terrace, that they'd agreed to move forward, granted from several steps back, but forward nonetheless. While he'd not begun to imagine this would be a true honeymoon, by any means, he'd thought it would give them an opportunity to mend what had been broken. Her words, however, held an ominous tone that made him nervous. He drew her into a kiss, was comforted in the response of her lips under his.
She pulled away, opening the door. "I'll see you when you get to the loft."
He nodded, and watched the door close behind her.
(To Be Continued...maybe)
Do I carry on, or simply consider this little project a wrap and continue on the musings of Season 4 and Post Season 5?