Chapter 6: Raincheck

Laura arrived home, blissfully unaware of what had transpired at Remington's place. They'd clocked a lot of hours on the day, and all she wanted now was a long, hot shower, followed by one of Remington's meals warmed up out of the freezer. A part of her had hoped they'd have the Shane case wrapped up today, so that she and Remington could enjoy an evening in together. But it wasn't in the cards. Instead, with him keeping watch over Lester at his place, she was left to her own devices on the evening until they spoke before bed, as they did each night.

"Hold it right there, Holt." Her head jolted upwards in surprise, then she turned and bestowed a bright, if confused, smile on Norman Maxwell.

"Norman. What are you doing here?"

"You didn't think I was going to let you run in and out of my life so fast, did you?" he asked, lifting his hands up and gracing her with a charming smile. "How was your meeting with Phil Lydon?"

"Uneventful," she nodded, confirming Maxwell's belief Lydon wouldn't be tied up in whatever it was she was investigating.

"I'm not surprised," he said with a knowing shrug. "So. What do you say to letting me try to win back your heart over a cup of coffee?"

"I'd feel a lot better about it if I didn't think you were half-serious," she answered honestly, empathy flashing in her eyes.

"It's funny. I thought after four years, I would have had you completely out of my system." Lifting his brows, he shrugged his shoulders regretfully. "Guess not." Clearly uncomfortable, Laura looked down at the ground, before reconnecting her eyes with his.

"I'm committed," she told him firmly and without apology. Inwardly, she smiled at the ease with which the words had passed her lips. They felt… right.

"Well, I guess we're destined to be… good friends. Dammit," he acknowledged unhappily.

"Afraid so," she confirmed, then returned her attention to opening the loft door.

"Uh, Laura, can a rejected suitor invite a very lovely lady out for a cup of coffee?" Her hands paused as she contemplated the invitation. She'd made herself clear, so she didn't see the harm. Releasing the lock again, she turned to him.

"Sure." The pair took several steps towards the stairwell when Laura halted. "Oh, wait a minute, I'll make you some," she offered.

"Fair enough," he agreed amiably.

They walked back to her door. Placing key in lock, she had to turn it several times for the lock to disengage. When it did, she removed the lock and slid open the door – then stood, shocked, looking at Remington where he sat perched on the back of a chair. His clothing in disarray and his face covered in soot, she held her breath as he looked up at her with desolate eyes.

"What happened to you?" Her mind clicked through the possibilities, none of them good.

"The same thing that would have happened to you if I hadn't been able to jimmy your window open." He held the bomb aloft, making sure she understood the full import of events that had transpired. He hung his head wearily.

"Is Lester okay?"

"Yes. He's okay. He's just a bit shaken up." Lifting his head, he looked her in the eyes. "There's an eighteen-year-old kid who wasn't nearly so lucky. He got blown apart in my hallway."

"Excuse me…" Maxwell stepped through the door, arms extended in question. Remington's eyes flicked to the door and back to Laura, none too pleased with the intrusion or the form it had arrived in. "Everything okay in here?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Laura apologized. "Norman Maxwell, Remington Steele." Standing, Remington shook Maxwell's hand, his questioning, clearly unhappy gaze remaining on Laura.

"How do you do?" Maxwell asked cordially, making no attempts to hide his curiosity. "What happened to you?"

"Someone doesn't like the way we do business," Remington's eyes barely flickered upon the man before returning to Laura, "Look, Laura, we're no longer dealing with bogus death certificates and obituaries. The stakes just went up considerably." Bloody hell, Laura, this is the last thing I need at the moment. I need… I just… He was still in shock from watching a kid die in front of his eyes, a kid who had died because of their investigation and he couldn't shake the image of Laura lying in her hallway… gone… from his head.

"None of this makes any sense," Laura said, moving to stand next to Remington. She wanted to reach out and pull him to her, to hold him but Maxwell's presence made that impossible.

"Uh, listen, Laura," Maxwell's voice broke into the lull, "haven't you had enough of this case? I mean, why don't you just call the police? Back off?" Remington sighed heavily, annoyed with the man, opinions and presence. That the bloke didn't know Laura at all was a bit of a salve, but not enough of one. Why doesn't she just send him on the way? Laura shook her head.

"Somehow, I can't help thinking Perennial fits into this," she observed absently, her mind preoccupied with Remington.

"No, look, Laura, you're barking up the wrong tree," Maxwell insisted vehemently, placing himself between her and Remington. "I mean, Phil Lydon is my friend, for God's sakes." Pffffttttt, Remington thought to himself. Glancing at his watch, a scratch at his ear unconsciously signaled his discomfort, and he moved towards the door. Laura's eyes followed him.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her concern for him evident in her voice.

"Uh, I've booked us into a motel. Olympic and Bundy." He pointed a finger at her. "Get there as soon as you can." She took a step forward.

"What about you?" she asked, believing, rightly so, he didn't need to be alone right now.

"I've just got to make one stop," he told her, then left without further conversation.

Laura stood watching the empty doorway, fingers tapping together before lifting both hands to her temples and rubbing. Maxwell watched her, taking in both her body language and the worry lining her face, straining her eyes.

"Is that him?" he asked, pointing towards the doorway, finally putting together the way Remington had kept his eyes upon her, and the way she'd automatically stepped towards the other man, as though to comfort.

"Yes, it is," she sighed, with no little regret that's he'd walked out reflected in her voice. Dropping her hands, she turned and walked towards her bedroom. Maxwell chuckled.

"I have to say, I never pictured you dating the boss," he mused. She turned and looked at him over his shoulder.

"He's not my boss, he never has been. He's my partner." Her eyes flickered towards the still empty doorway. And he needs me now. "I'm sorry, Norm, but I'm afraid you'll have to take a raincheck on that coffee," she told him as she continued up the stairs to her room.

"It appears that I will," he answered, trying to disguise his surprise. "Laura?" She turned to look him from where she'd opened a closet to remove her overnight bag and a garment bag. She raised her brows at him in question. "Don't you think, given what's happened, that you should call the police and let this go?" She thought about Remington and knew without a single doubt, he would be no more willing to let this go than she.

"That's not what we do," she smiled at the man. "I need to get to the hotel." It was a brazen hint that it was time for him to take his leave. He nodded slowly.

"It was good seeing you again. Don't be a stranger… friend." He smiled at her, then left, sliding the loft door closed behind him.

Unzipping both bags, she lay them on the bed. Returning to the closet, she fingered the two suits of Remington's that hung there. She loved the feeling of his belongings scattered about her loft, just as her own belongings were tucked away here and there in his apartment. When they'd begun spending weekends together after their relationship had taken that quirky turn from friend to lovers, it had seemed only logical, natural, to leave a few of their own belongings at each other's places: changes of clothes, toothbrush, brush, razor, toiletries. There was no pronouncement that this is what they were going to do, it had just happened on its own across time.

Another thing she secretly loved, but never made mention of, was his sudden penchant for dressing complementary to her. This morning when she'd stopped at the Rossmore to pick up Remington and Lester, Remington had answered the door in a white dress shirt and grey dress pants. He'd excused himself to finish dressing, leaving her to keep Lester company, and when he'd returned he'd been wearing a light blue, mutely plaid dress shirt, and navy blazer, to her navy blue blouse and grey skirt. Nipping at her lower lip now, she pulled his medium taupe suit from the closet and her own light taupe skirted suit out with it. Hanging both in the garment bag, she selected shirts for both of them, a tie for him. Both of their robes were added. Shoes went last, into the bottom of the bag. Zipping it shut she then gathered socks, undergarments, and a single pair of his pajamas for the two of them to share, placing them neatly into one zippered compartment of her overnight bag, before retrieving their toiletries from her bathroom.

Picking up both bags, she grabbed her purse on the way out the door. Sliding the door closed behind her and securing the padlock, she left to join her Mr. Steele at the hotel he'd designated.