Part II: Shanghaied Steele

Laura walked down the hallway towards Suite 1157 with a smile on her face and more than a bit of pep in her step. It had been a wonderful weekend, designed by the hand of her Mr. Steele. Dinner at Cardini's on Wilshire, a first-time experience for both but destined to become a favorite given their succulent meal of involtini di melazane al formaggio, followed by risotto with scallops then the main course of rack of lamb garnished with mostarda and rosemary-scented potatoes. After dinner, a showing of Roger Selden's works at the Wilshire Center, which Remington had proclaimed, 'so much slop,' given the paintings and collages had a purposefully asymmetrical bent which suggested controlled chaos was a normal structural schema. A quiet walk along the beach, a chat before the fire accompanied by a chilled Chardonnay had completed the evening. Then on Saturday? A picnic in the park, dinner at Chez Rives, and a night of dancing and mingling at the Policeman's ball. Breakfast in bed Sunday morning, followed by a long, lazy Sunday afternoon where he'd indulged her in an Atomic Man marathon, miraculously limiting his criticisms of her childhood favorite to only a dozen or two scoffing remarks across the six hour span. It had been the perfect weekend, and she'd been loathe to leave him, although leave him she had.

So when she had pushed through the doors of the Agency, the last thing she expected was a skittish Mildred jumping up from the chair at her desk and bustling towards her nervously, clapping her hands against her cheeks and holding them there.

"Oh, Miss Holt, the phone…" she looked towards her desk "… I don't… How did… Oh, Miss Holt!" she babbled, ending on a cry of distress. Laura gave their trusted friend and major domo a perplexed look and clasped the older woman's upper arms in her hands.

"Mildred,calm down," she instructed firmly, leading her back to her desk. "Now, take a deep breath and tell me what's going on?"

"It's the Boss," Mildred managed, before scrunching up her face and placing her hands back on her cheeks again. Laura's lips thinned, and she plunked her hands on her hips, temper flaring. That man!

"Alright, Mildred, spill," she clipped out. "What's he done now?"

"I don't know how to tell you," she answered, faced crumpling.

"Mildreddddddddddddddd."

"The Boss… a hit-and-run last night a little after midnight…" Laura's heart plummeted to her toes even as her adrenaline kicked in. He must have gone out after she'd left. Why hadn't she just stayed? Why had someone called the Agency, not herself, personally? The idea he'd been alone all this time, even worse, the he hadn't called her himself… Snatching up her purse, she demanded, "Where is he, Mildred? What hospital?"

"The caller… San Diego County coroner… the morgue… The Boss is dead, Miss Holt!"

At Mildred's words, Laura's heart sped up, then she would swear for the rest of the days that she could literally feel the moment it broke in two. She sat down, hard, on the edge of Mildred's desk, fighting to breathe. How was it even possible that he was gone when she could stil see his bright blue eyes, filled with affection, twinkling down at her; could feel his long, slender form stretched atop her petite frame, her fingertips buried in his silken hair. Gone? When she could still taste him on her lips, feel his breath against her neck, could still hear him murmuring her name in her ear. Only nine hours ago, she was still daring to dream and now… Suddenly her world which had toppled sideways righted itself.

"The San Diego County coroner?" Laura clarified, to which Mildred nodded her head frantically. "A little after midnight?" Another nod. "But that's not possible," she insisted. "Mr. Steele and I were… talking… at midnight. He couldn't get to San Diego in under two hours." Mildred looked up at her hopefully. "Mildred, did whoever call leave a number?" The older woman nodded, shuffling through her desk as her own hope was slowly being restored. Handing Laura the message slip, she stood, leaning against hands pressed to desk.

"Do you really think the Boss…"

"Know, Mildred. I know he's fine and will be walking through those doors any minute," she answered, wagging a finger at the door as she stood and walked swiftly towards her office. "Act normal, while I get to the bottom of this."

Mildred didn't answer, but sat down heavily and leaned back in her chair, pressing hand to heart. Those two kids were as precious to her as Bernard, especially the Boss, to whom she was prone to mothering. It was no wonder, then, when he strolled through the door a few minutes later, just as Laura had predicted, and rapped on her desk as he passed, her smile was far wider than normal.

"Morning, morning, morning," he called, as he walked straight back to his office, then swinging open the door, glanced with disappointment at his desk where neither tea nor newspaper awaited his arrival. Shoulders drooping slightly, he muttered to himself about how the Mildred of old would never have neglected him in such a manner. Straightening his shoulders, he resolved he'd have to get his own tea… again… just as Mildred bustled past him with his newspaper and laid it on his desk.

"Have a seat and read your paper, Boss," she directed, a wide smile on her face. "I'll have your tea ready in a jiffy." A smile spread across his face. Ah, this is more like it. The perfect start of a Monday, he thought.

He sat, snapping open the paper then stretching out his long legs and propping feet, crossed at the ankles, on the corner of the desk as Mildred hustled out of the room. Sure enough, she returned in short order, pouring his tea, all the while staring at him with the queerest of looks upon her face. Odd enough, it was, to make him squirm a bit before she departed. Shrugging it off, he returned his attention to his paper. Until, that is, the click of his door opening drew his attention and he watched Mildred and Laura peer at him through the opening, before curiously closing the door again. With a frown, he again opened his paper, only for that door to reopen, and for Laura to wag her finger at him to follow. With a puff of air, he'd tried to figure out how and when he'd miss stepped, but for the life of him came up with nothing.

The matter only became all the more bizarre, as instead of being led into Laura's office where he'd be called upon the floor, he followed Laura and Mildred from the office, then watched as Laura locked the door.

"A case?" he queried.

"I'm not sure," Laura answered slowly, earning a cock of her brow at the back of her head.

And matters became still all the more perplexing when she merged the Rabbit onto I-5 South towards San Diego. A grin lifted his lips, when he considered she'd decided to play hooky for the day, in favor of a romantic jaunt much like he'd attempted for them, under the guise of a case, to San Francisco the year prior. His face fell when he recalled Mildred in the back seat. No, certainly not that, as he and Laura hardly required a 'buffer' any longer.

"Uh, Laura, where are we going?" he finally ventured. To which she'd replied, in that maddening way of hers…

"All in due time, Mr. Steele."

A frown puckered his brow at that. Laura's birthday was in two weeks, perhaps she'd decided to toss a bit of birthday celebration for herself? No, not Laura's style at all, he dismissed. A team bonding exercise? Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his seat and looked out his window, becoming increasingly perturbed when he noted Laura's bemused glance towards him out of the corner of his eye. Deciding he'd had enough of this particular mystery, not to mention her closed mouth, he turned he back towards her, resting the side of his face against the seat and determined a nap was in order.

And was none too pleased when he was elbowed awake to find the Rabbit parked outside of the San Diego County Medical Examiner's building. Not at all what one hopes to find as their destination after a two plus hour road trip, not at all, indeed.

He said as much, too, when the morgue attendant pulled a drawer from the cooler to display the body of a large, black man.

"Call me an optimist, but I would have thought an impulsive jaunt to San Diego would lead to a somewhat more, kind of… lively tourist attraction?"

"Then, you don't recognize this man?" Laura asked. He took a bit of offense at that, as both question and body language suggested he should have some knowledge of the man in front of him, and not in a 'as a detective' but more along the lines of 'as a former thief and conman' sort of way. He leaned over a peered at the man again.

"Should I?"

The day had gone steadily downhill from there, at least from where Remington stood. He'd been impersonated, suspected, accused, punched, kidnapped, held at gun point, threatened, shot at, had engaged in grand theft auto (add a new crime to the resume he was diligently trying to reduce not expand), was nearly caught red-handed with said stolen vehicle, found a body, dragged a body up a hill (in one of his favorite suits no less), had been impaled by a tree (while being mocked, at that), witnessed another murder, had fled the scene (due to a body in their own car), and now… now? Laura had deigned to inform him they'd be sleeping in his pseudo office.

Normally, he'd shrug it all off: all par for a day's work.

But he found himself more than a bit chafed at two of those points, those minor bits that she'd suspected him of being in cahoots with the faux Remington Steele, and that he'd had any part in recreating the Agency for his own gain. Most particularly after they'd just spent a glorious weekend together. He frowned, and added, not to mention we've been together every day since September, so when precisely was I putting this con together? It grated, it did. Them, sharing a partnership throughout the week, their lives on the weekend, and still, her first instinct was to think the worst of him. Nearly two and half years since he'd first posed the question to her in Acapulco and things were still the same.

"How long do I have to keep on proving myself to you? I mean, why is it so important what I was? I mean, we've been together for what could be called a season. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Laura eyed him as she forked another substantial helping of the nachos into her mouth. They'd picked up Mexican and brought it back to the 'office' with them. He'd been unusually quiet during the meal, especially for a man who was usually at his most chatty during lunches or dinners in the office. In fact, he'd become increasingly reticent as the day had worn on and she had a distinctly uncomfortable idea of why that was: her. She'd been intentionally secretive about where they were going that morning, as she wanted to observe his genuine reaction to what had brought them to the morgue in San Diego. A test, again. Then, her natural assumption that he was behind the shanghaiing of the Agency's good name, its replication. Her Mr. Steele relied on his instincts, his ability to read people. He'd have divined the first on his own, and, of course, she'd made no secret of the last.

Faith. Trust. He craved both from her: without first being handed proof that she should afford them to him. She was trying, but still regularly failed, unable to fully let go of times past when he'd attempted to put a fast one by her, the memory of those stings of betrayal too strong. But she had three things with which to draw him out of his funk: a bit of humor, a word of praise, and a gentle touch.

"You've been busy, Mr. Steele," she smiled at him. "Murdered and married, all in less than a day. How do you do it?" Leaning down and taking a bite of his enchilada, he looked up at her through his lashes.

"I'd rather buy off the rack than wed into that den of vipers," he rebutted.

"Ah, but think of all those millions. You could buy custom suits, silk ties and Italian shoes every day and be none the poorer for it," she teased. Setting down his fork, he closed the Styrofoam container in front of him and wiped his mouth. Unbeknownst to her, she'd unintentionally insulted him again and he took a long drink of water while he formed a response of the kind she was expecting.

"Dead men don't buy suits, Miss Holt," he retorted, forcing a smile to his face before standing to dispose of his garbage. She scrunched her face at his back, realizing instead of soothing things over, she'd instead insulted him further, having not missed the tic in his jaw before he spoke. Following his lead, she wrapped up her meal and crossed the room to dispose of her waste.

"I suspect we've found the culprit behind the Remington Steele Agency, San Diego division," she offered.

"Yes, it does rather smack of one of George's get rich schemes," he agreed, sitting down in 'his' chair and loosening his tie, while propping his feet on the edge of the desk.

"I was hoping after the Courtney Doll debacle, he'd try to change, pursue an honest... a legitimate... endeavor," she admitted, walking around his desk, propping her bottom against the side of his desk directly in front of him.

"It's not easy to change the entirety of your life, Laura," he pointed out as he unbuttoned his collar. "To change your habits, how you think, to envision a completely different future than you'd once imagined for yourself." She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for being given the opening she'd been hoping for. She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, while giving him a warm smile.

"You have," she reminded.

"And it's taken three and a half bloody difficult years, yet still it seems I've a ways to go," he countered.

"I don't think that's true," she disagreed quietly, releasing his hand to lay a palm against his cheek. "You barely resemble the man that walked into my life three years ago, under the surface at least. You're an instinctive, talented detective. A great partner, who I can count on to have my back. A faithful friend." His visage softened the longer she spoke, the warmth returning to his eyes and the adored lopsided smile lifting his lips.

"Is that so?" She nodded slowly.

"It is." She leaned in to brush her lips against his, the contact lighting her nerve endings on fire. Their eyes caught and held. Lifting a hand, he braced two fingers against the back of her neck, and drew her lips back to his. As the kiss deepened, his hands reached for her hips and drew her, willingly, down into his lap. He traced the fullness of her lips with the tip of his tongue, requesting entry, then groaned when her lips departed. "It occurs to me, that we're in your office, Mr. Steele." His brows drew together as he wondered what she was getting at, until her lips blazed a slow, sweet trail along his jaw.

"In appearance, at least," he agreed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, as she drew the lobe of his ear into her mouth and nibbled softly. His hand roamed down her back, over her bottom, then back upwards again.

"Precisely my point," she murmured against his ear, before turning her attention to the spot below it which drove him mad when she did… that. She suckled the skin gently, teased it with the tip of her tongue, then blew on the wetness, sending goosebumps cascading over his skin. "Which means…" her lips continued to journey downwards, as her fingers, released a button… then two of his shirt… and eased aside his collar "…we wouldn't be breaking my rule." She latched her mouth over his collarbone, drawing the skin firmly into her mouth. His hand clutched at her bottom, as an appreciative, quiet moan rumbled deep in his throat.

"Are you suggesting we fulfill a fantasy…"

"Or two…"

"Of mine…" he continued.

"Of ours," she corrected, burying her hands in his hair, and claiming his lips for her own. She teased, tasted, nibbled, then slipped her tongue into his welcoming mouth, stroking his with hers. When her lips parted from his, she added, "Yours first," before moving forward to cover his mouth with hers again.

Her shrieking laugh filled the room, when Remington launched to his feet, she held securely in his arms, then bent down to lay her on 'his desk.' He didn't hesitate when her open arms beckoned him to join her, his lips smothering a new laugh when in his earnestness to join her, he sent the phone tumbling to the floor.

Remington and Laura fulfilled those fantasies, on his desk, then in his chair, before they put the shower in 'his' office to good use. While a blanket and pillow were found the alcove cabinet, exactly as it was in his office back in LA, unfortunately the spare changes of clothing they each kept at the office were not to be found. Pulling on his briefs as Laura slipped back the delicious little teddy she was prone to wearing beneath her clothes, he snatched her pants from her hands and returned them to the back of the chair where they'd been hung. As rare as it was for them to spend a night together during the week, he had no desire for there to be layers of clothes between them.

"What are you doing?" she demanded to know, reaching for her pants again, only to find them tugged away a second time.

"Neither Remington Steele nor his partner can show up wrinkled, Laura. It just wouldn't do." She rolled her eyes at him, but allowed him to take her hand and pull her towards the couch anyway. Waiting until he stretched out on his side, she joined him, tucking her backside against his front as he wrapped the blanket around them.

"What if someone shows up?" she queried.

"All the doors are locked," he assured her.

"As though a locked door has ever stopped either one of us," she drawled.

"You worry too much," he admonished lightly, bussing her on top of her head, and drawing a calming hand down her arm. "If you insist on putting that mind of yours to work tonight, instead of worrying of something unlikely to happen, focus on a concern we actually do have at hand." Her brows raised.

"And what is that, other than the case?" He smiled above her, knowing she'd be unable not to take the bait.

"Our Ms. Krebs." Her brows furrowed.

"She does seem to be in it up to her neck, whatever it is, doesn't she?" He tilted his head to the side then back up again.

"To have some knowledge of it, at least, given her feigning illness at the medical examiners, then showing up with Mulch at the bus depot."

"Knowing where to find Mulch in the first place," Laura added nodding her head slowly. She captured his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together, untangling them, then repeating the action again. "I just can't believe Mildred, of all people… Why?" She drew out the last, a bit of hurt and betrayal reflected in the word.

"Mildred's not been… the same… since you revealed… my secret… to her," he hypothesized, surprised when he felt the sudden tension in her slight frame.

"Are you blaming me for telling her?" she demanded to know. Pulling his hand from hers, he drew it down her arm, soothing her.

"Not blaming, per se," he cajoled, "And that's a conversation better left to another day. But Mildred has been… different… One might say even a bit out of control, since." Another frown graced her face at that.

"As far as I know, if Mildred's involved in this, it's the first time she's attempted to franchise the Agency without our knowledge," she argued.

"What of the rest of it, hmmmm?" Her frustration grew.

"What 'rest of it'?" He gave her arm a brisk rub, before settling in to stroke again.

"That bit last week at the office, ordering us into my office, treating us as though we were the subordinates; blowing our covers, not to mention putting your pretty little neck at risk in doing so, during the Platinum Air fiasco; pitting your authority against my own in the Kramer case," he ticked off.

"It would seem to me, that 'bit last week,' as you termed it, was given rise by you agreeing she could focus more on the investigative side… without consulting me, I might add… wouldn't you?"

"An agreement reached only because she had my back to the wall, and bloody well knew it," he countered. The bitterness in his voice that he failed to disguise caught her attention fully, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Leaving us high-and-dry… after her own egregious actions with that reporter… then challenging both my authority and abilities, before laying out her stipulations to return."

"What, specifically, do you mean: 'challenging both your authority and abilities?'" she pressed. He shook his head. He hadn't consciously intended to reveal the last, it had merely slipped out in his annoyance over Laura's comment about the origins of Mildred's recent promotion. When he held his silence, she wriggled around on the narrow confines of the couch to face him and dragged her hand through his hair, a gesture he was powerless against, "Remington?" He rolled to his back, and closing his eyes, scrubbing at his face with his hand, leaving her to press closer to him, lest she wished to fall off the couch.

"She simply made it clear, in her eyes, she was far more fit for my job than I, and made it known, she believed I lacked the authority to negotiate her return without getting approval for the terms from you, first." Her lips pinched tight at the answer.

"She said that?" she asked, appalled.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in answer.

"Is that the only time she's made such… comments?" He looked down at her, before closing his eyes and swiping at his face again. "What else?" He sighed deep and long.

"Only that she hopes I'm worth all the trouble I put you through." He opened his eyes and gave her a wry smile. "She didn't seem all that convinced that I am." She easily saw past the smile to the injury in his eyes. She lay a hand against his cheek.

"I know you are, that's all that matters." She propped herself on an elbow to bestow a kiss on him, then lay back down at his side. "Why haven't you said anything?"

"I suppose I hoped she'd recall, in time, that I had shared with her the truth of who I am… or perhaps, more accurately, who I wasn't… very early on in our association."

"Mildred, you are looking at one of the biggest frauds you've ever seen. I'm not Remington Steele. Not the Remington Steele you think I am. Oh, I know, I appear to be the super sleuth, with all the answers, dapper, debonair, worldly. But it's all an act. One conceived by Miss Holt that I work very hard to maintain in order to support this agency's image. She's the real detective. If I'm anything more than a figurehead, I owe it to her. I've made more mistakes since I've been with Laura than I care to remember, but I'm still here, Mildred."

She wasn't so easily assuaged.

"It seems I'll be having a chat with our Ms. Krebs very, very soon," she mulled aloud. He tapped her on her hip, and she rolled to her side, so he might spoon around her again.

"Determined to ride to my rescue again, eh?" An amused smile lifted his lips and he pressed the side of his head to hers. "We've bigger concerns on our hands right now, don't you think? First, nailing a killer, then securing the sanctity of the Agency." Grasping his hand, she tangled their fingers together, then drew joined hands up to rest between her breasts.

"You're right."

"Get some sleep, Miss Holt. If you don't wake early we haven't a prayer of rousing, then we will be, quite literally, caught with our drawers down." He chuckled quietly next to her ear, knowing she was blushing based by the way she shifted ever so slightly next to him. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to the think of the scenario he'd just proposed.

"Good night, Mr. Steele," she said at last.

"Good night, Miss Holt," he returned, then chuckled again, knowing she'd fall to sleep with visions of precisely that prancing through her mind.