Chapter 9

Remington stroked a hand through his hair in frustration as he walked through the door into his hotel room and tossed the key onto his bed. He'd searched the grounds of the resort high and low and had had no success, whatsoever, in locating the elusive Miss Holt. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it off and draped it over the shower rod in the bathroom as his thoughts wandered.

For the first time in months he felt fully… alive. The instant his eyes had settled on Laura, his blood had hummed, his heart had pounded and, in that split second before anger had set in? Peace. There was an irony in that, certainly: the very woman who could leave his heart in tatters… and had on more than one occasion during their years of association… was the one person who had ever been able to soothe that very same heart through a simple touch, or merely by her presence. He admitted to himself, now, that he'd been a bloody fool to believe he could walk away, so easily start a new life when the only life he'd been able to envision for years was the one with her in it… central to it.

He rubbed a hand across his face, then held it in place over his mouth. The simple truth was he missed it, every last bloody bit of it: the flat where he'd lived for nearly four years, the first place of any permanency he'd ever know; the Auburn he cherished; the job he not only enjoyed, but which left a man with a sense of purpose. But most of all, his time with Laura, be it verbally jousting over a case, ducking bullets while they were in pursuit of a suspect, stealing kisses in the office, eating dinner at Chez Rives, quiet nights spent at home before the fire, or talking quietly while curled up on the couch together, as a movie played on, unwatched.

Unbuckling then unzipping his pants, he kicked them aside, with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary as he yanked a fresh shirt and jeans from the closet. Crossing the room, he sat down on the bed and leaned forward, resting his chin against a hand propped by elbow to knee.

Married? The thought still left him utterly gobsmacked. He'd given her his word that day the marriage would be in no way legal. Had taken painful steps to honor that promise. Yet he'd embraced the idea of being her husband, had taken immense pleasure in referring to her as "Mrs. Steele" and "my wife." Certainly, he'd adjusted to their new 'status' far easier than she, but even then, she'd started using the term 'my husband' more often, with greater ease.

The idea that they were legally wed... tickled his fancy. After all, he'd pondered lengthily the idea of joining himself to her in the bonds of matrimony more and more often over the course of their last year, had dreamt of it, had even found the bollocks to hint at it once... had even taken the steps of preparing for it in the eventuality he found the spine to force those three coveted words past his lips. No, he wasn't too keen, at all, on signing away his newfound status on those bills of divorcement she had quite literally slapped him with. Which begged the question:

Had Laura really come thirty-five-hundred miles merely to obtain the signature required to rid herself of him, once and for all?

Or was it just possible that she, like himself, had been besieged by memories of them these last days? That she'd missed him as much as he'd missed her, and that was what had propelled her to come?

If that were the case, his petulant act with Jasmine was foolish by half. Bloody hell, old sport, own it: you were a buggering egit, he admonished himself, as he stepped into his jeans then stood to pull them on. If she'd come to extend an olive branch, to see if they could find way past all that had been said... and done... He let out a long, slow breath. Then my priggish behavior, may have chased her off for good, he admitted to himself.

Snatching up the receiver to the phone he dialed the front desk.

"Yes, I need the number of Laura Holt's room... eight-sixteen. Thank you."

Hanging up the phone, he slipped his bare feet into a pair of docksiders, then, grabbing the room key and shoving it into his pocket, he left the room, buttoning his shirt as he walked towards the lift. A short elevator ride down four floors, then a walk down two long hallways and he stood in front of Laura's door. With a slight shake of his head, he stepped away and leaned against the wall, taking long, deep breaths, swiping at his face while he tried to calm his anything but steel-like nerves while his heart pounded in his chest. Finally, with a hard puff of air, he turned and knocked. Then knocked again. And again, quietly calling her name.

Nothing beyond the door so much as stirred. Shoving his hands in his pockets he rocked back on his heels. Laura, no matter how angry she might be, was as incapable of answering a knock on the door as she was the ringing of a phone. He was quickly running short of ideas.

Double-tracking back to his room, he picked up the phone and dialed the office, only to reach the answering service. Vexed, he hung up and dialed Mildred's home phone number. On the fifth ring, just as he was giving up hope of this route, her voice came across the line.

"Krebs. Make it fast," she clipped into the phone.

"Hello, darling," he greeted.

"Boss! I wasn't expecting to hear from you until this weekend and if I don't get moving, I'll be late for the tournament," she greeted in return, forcing an upbeat note into her voice even as she frowned where she stood in her kitchen.

"Have you heard from her, Mildred?" he asked, voice strained, cutting straight to the point.

"From who?" she asked, thinking to make him stew for a minute or so.

"Mildred..." he drawled out her name. "The woman doesn't go anywhere without letting you know. Have you heard from her?" he repeated.

"All I know is she's booked a return flight for seven tomorrow morning. She didn't tell me what happened, but it wasn't hard figuring out whatever it was, wasn't good." Her tone held an admonishment that he took as such. He rubbed a hand across his face. At least she was still here, and if all else failed and he didn't find her this evening, he could catch her at the airport in the morning. "Boss?"

"Yes, Mildred?"

"Do you remember what I said to you when we broke into that Cranston's place?" she asked.


"I've seen the kind of trouble you've put Miss Holt through and I have watched her defend you when ninety-nine out of a hundred women wouldn't, and, well... I just hope you're worth it."


"Words I'm not likely to forget," he confirmed.

"The way I see it: Miss Holt's come after your twice now when you've taken off," she lectured. "Don't blow this chance she's given you. You won't get another."

"I know, Mildred, I know," he agreed, pulling a hand through his hair. "But first I have to find her..."

Fifteen minutes later, he stood one hand in pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes on Laura where she sat in the sand with legs drawn up to her body and chin resting on her knees. It was more than a bit terrifying, he acknowledged, to know the next few minutes would decide where his future lay. Well, old sport, once more unto the breach. Shoving his other hand in his pocket he strolled slowly towards her, pausing three strides away before finally taking those final steps and sitting down upon the sand next to her. She didn't acknowledge his arrival with so much as a twitch, just continued to look out to sea. Pursing his lips, he drew up a leg and rested an arm against bended knee, staring at the water much like her. The tick of his watch was almost deafening in the silence which stretched long.

"Laura," he finally spoke, desperate to hear anything but the tick which he'd begun equating with the sound of a bomb clicking off the moments before his life fully imploded, "I think we should talk, don't you?" She let out a long, hard sigh, averting her face enough that he was left looking at the back of her head.

"I think we've both said all there is to say," she answered, dully. A hand streaked through his hair. She sounded... defeated, a state he never imagined he'd attribute to her. Laura Holt never gave up or gave in, and knowing he was responsible for her current state of mind made him feel quite the heel.

"I don't believe that," he countered quietly. "Perhaps I could start with a question?" She lifted both hands to press fingertips to forehead, wishing vehemently to be any place but here right now. In the end, she flicked a hand in his general direction.

"Do what you want, you normally do anyway," she responded wearily. Not the response he was hoping for at all, but he'd take it.

"Why are you here? Did you really come more than three-thousand miles to ask me for a signature, obtainable through your counsel?" The question earned another sigh, and she turned her head to rest cheek on knee, refusing him so much as a glance, let alone a word. He rubbed a hand over his mouth anxiously. "I only ask as I had to wonder, after the initial shock of your appearance and announcement wore off," he added it last in an undertone, "If you might..." he held up a single finger "...just might... be here because of the import today's date holds for you and I." That, at least, earned a reaction, a flinch followed by a hand lifting to knead her brow. "Lau-ra," he implored, drawing her name out.

"Does it really even matter any longer?" she finally answered, rising to her feet.

"Laura, don't walk away," he beseeched, taking to his own feet.

"You taught me how," she retorted. The answer smacked of a bit of the old Laura, and even said as resignedly as it was, it gave him a bit of hope. His hand grabbed hers before she could move a step away. "I'm tired," she complained, trying to take her hand back.

"As am I," he responded. "Bloody well-exhausted, as a matter of fact." His fingers stroked her palm. "I-" His words came to a stop as sensitive fingertips identified something out of place on the palm beneath them. He turned her hand over and saw the healing lacerations. His thumb traced the numerous cuts, as he looked at her. "What happened?" She pulled her hand away and tucked it behind her back.

"It's nothing," she dismissed. With a shake of her head, she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed at her arms. "I have an early flight in the morning, I need—" He took a quick step towards her, in case she thought to flee again.

"Damn it, Laura, we need to talk!" he insisted.

"Why?!" she asked, drawing out the word in frustration. "Does it even matter?" she asked again. "Will it change anything?"

"It might," he answered, the calm to her growing storm. "Why are you in Aruba?" he pursued the earlier question. She deflated visibly before his eyes. Closing her eyes, she turned away from him, hands rubbing at her arms as she shook her head vigorously.

"I needed to know..." She'd spoken so softly, he'd barely heard her over the waves lapping at the shore.

"Needed to know what?" he asked, pouncing on the admission. Unseen by him, her face contorted with distress. Drawing her lower lip into her mouth, she worried it with her teeth, while shaking her head absently and sitting back down on the sand. Her ankle throbbed from too much time on it and her head was beginning to pound in sync. She remained irritatingly, in his opinion, closed-mouth. He paced for several minutes, before sitting down next to her again, nibbling at a thumb nail. "Do you recall the Casella's case, from that first year after I took on the mantle of Remington Steele?" Resting her crossed arms on top of her knees, she turned towards him, pressing a cheek against her arms.

"Yes." He nibbled at the nail a bit, before speaking again.

"Do you recall how we nearly drove one another mad: Giovanni, Teddy, the fictitious Darlene?" She didn't answer but her eyes remained on him. "Do you recall how we finally put the matter to bed, so to speak?"


"In the interest our mutual sanity, what would you say to sixty seconds of... total honesty?"

"A full minute? Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I'm desperate enough to suggest it."


"Yes," she answered with no little reluctance, understanding already where he was going with the question.

"I was thinking we might, uh, try it again? Sixty seconds, questions and answers, no wiggling, no deception." She turned to look out at the water again.

"Haven't we already been honest? Brutally so?" she posed. He nodded his head.

"We've certainly been that, yes. But, perhaps, not about what's most important, hmmm?" She shook her head and waved a hand.

"I don't think this is a very good idea," she contested.

"Because we have anything more to lose than we already have?" he argued. "I'd like to believe we may have everything to gain." Staring out over the water again, she pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the headache. A bottle of aspirin, a warm bath and a bag of ice for her ankle, that's what she wanted... And she wouldn't get any of those things, until she could free herself of the persistent man next to her.

"Fine," she heaved. He let out a long breath for a completely different reason: hope.

"Would you like to go first, or shall I?" She waved a hand at him.

"It's your idea... by all means." He gave a quiet laugh at the sarcasm, another piece of the Laura he'd left coming out.

"What did you need to know by coming here, Laura?" he asked. Her eyes flicked to him, then away.

"If you might have changed your mind," she answered with no little ease. "Where have you been?" The question surprised him, given she had carte blanche to ask anything she wished.

"The Cote d'Azure for a couple of months. Since then? I've let a small place in Portugal." Her only acknowledgement was a nod. "Because of what today is to us?"

"In part. Did you ever plan to come back, to contact me?" Her voice rose on the question. He released a long breath.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly, with a shake of his head. "I've missed my life in LA, you. But I wasn't sure if there was anything left there for me any longer. Partly my own doing, admittedly..." She slanted her eyes in his direction.

"And partly mine." The admission helped give him the strength to ask the next question.

"How could you keep Daniel's secret? The truth of who he was to me?" Her back straightened at the question, wincing when her ribs sent a sharp reminder that they were still healing.

"It wasn't my story to tell," she answered quietly. "You needed to hear it from him, not me. If it helps at all, if I'd known he'd... be gone so soon, I would have told you so you would have had the time with him you needed and deserved." He swallowed hard and nodded his head rapidly, before wiping at his mouth with his hand, trying to find his balance. He'd been caught off guard by the sudden wave of grief that had washed over him with the question and answer. "Did you mean what you said that last night? About—" She found she couldn't complete the sentence. In all their years together, she'd hinted at it, had told him she needed to know what his feelings were for her, but she'd never blatantly asked if he loved her, and found she couldn't ask now, either. With a shake of her head, she cast her eyes out on the water again. His eyes mimicked hers, concentrating on the horizon as he fought for the right words. In his eyes, if they had any chance of fixing what they'd done their level best to destroy, the words needed to be said the right way this time.

"I do love you, Laura," he answered, gruffly, throat feeling like sandpaper in his nervousness. "You've no idea how much I do, but suffice it to say, a man doesn't wait a woman out for near on four years in the hopes of a roll in the hay. Perhaps I should have said it sooner, and if I had we might not be where we are now." She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, a smile never touching her lips, brown eyes still solemn, as she turned her head, resting her cheek on her knees and watching him.

"Then why haven't you?" He laughed quietly, dryly and shook his head, eyes still fastened ahead.

"It's not always easy to love you, in fact it's bloody hard." He paused to rub a hand to his mouth. "Never quite knowing where I stand with you." He finally turned to look at her. "There are days I question if you truly want this," he waved a hand between them, "Or if you're merely stringing me along because now that there's been a 'Remington Steele' you can't afford for him to disappear into the night." She closed her eyes for a long moment, the comment cutting deep.

"You don't actually believe that, do you?" He rubbed at his mouth again, and repeated the shake of his head.

"I don't know, I don't know," he answered quietly. "How many times across the years have you given a litany of all the reasons you should guard against me, detailed all the ways I continually let you down, don't measure up to who you need me to be? Granted, I've made mistakes," he barked a hoarse laugh, "Some very large mistakes, in truth. But I think, for the most part, I've lived up to this role into which I was cast and have tried to become the man you say you need me to be. Yet, I don't know if who I am will ever be enough for you. Otherwise why is it you continue to hold me at bay, to refuse to allow us to move ahead, as we agreed we wanted?" He finally turned to look at her. "I like the man I am now, Laura, though I still fail, even myself, at times. I couldn't have always said that about myself..." he touched his fingers to his lips, then held the hand up between them, "...for a good deal of my life, actually. But if who I am now is not enough for you, then it never will be." She watched him at length, while digesting all he'd said and acknowledged unless she was equally as honest, she'd be returning home alone the following morning, and above all, she didn't want that.

"I do like the man you are, Mr. Steele, and it has nothing to do with the man I created out of whole cloth." She let out a short breath of air, and turned to rest her chin against her knees again. "In fact, I don't know you changed, so much as you..." she paused, pursing her lips, trying to find the right words "...became the man you always were, but had hidden beneath Daniel's lessons, all those... roles you used to play." She lifted her hand and dropped it. "It's what I saw underneath that made me realize, almost from the start, that I could quickly find myself in way too deep." Her face pinched in distress, and she lifted her fingers to brow to worry it.

"Do you..." he stumbled around the sheer terror suddenly constricting his throat. Clearing it, he forced the question past his lips. "Do you love me, Laura?" She tilted her head back, looking up at the darkened night sky, blinking rapidly.

"I think I started falling in love with you that night in the morgue when you gave that crass attendant a piece of your mind after he referred to Wallace as just another junkie." She smiled wanly at the memory, returning her chin to knees, before suddenly sucking in a harsh breath. "I love you so much that it scares the living hell out of me, because I don't know if I'll ever be enough for you. I wasn't for my father, for Wilson." The confession drew stunned eyes to her, but he held his silence. "How can I be for you? You've spent half your life traveling around the world, have done things, have seen things that I never have, probably never will." She lowered her voice, let out a shuddering breath. "You can be anyone you want. You can have any woman you want."

"But there's only one woman I want and only one person I wish to make a life with: you," he softly interjected. She blinked her eyes several times, before letting her eyes focus once more on the water. He reached for her hand, and weaved their fingers together. "Laura, do you want me? Do you want to have a life with me?" She nodded her head, and turned to look at him, finding hope in the earnest blue eyes that met hers.

"I do," she answered quietly. "But those last weeks, these last months. Your history, my history... our history." She let out a half-growl, half-sigh of frustration. "How do we get to there from here?" Releasing her hand, he shifted to sit next to her, their hips touching, and wrapped an arm around her. Guilt gave him a swift, hard, kick in the gut when he felt her protruding ribs underneath his fingers. He'd never, for even the slightest of increments, thought of Laura Holt as fragile, yet it was the first word that came to him has his sensitive hands realized just how much a toll the last months had taken on her. He allowed himself a long moment of self-loathing for having been the cause, before he spoke.

"It would seem to me, that admitting how we feel for one another, that we wish to make a life together, has always been the biggest hurdle for us to overcome. Now that we have, isn't all the rest just details to be worked through?" Solemn brown eyes met earnest blue ones.

"They're very large details." Her brows furrowed and she blinked her eyes furiously trying to ward off the tingle behind them. "You broke my heart then left me," she whispered. He pressed the side of his head against hers, while nodding slowly.

"I did. And you broke mine then sent me on my way," he told her gruffly. She nodded her head slowly.

"I did." Another long sigh followed. His hand skimmed down her back then patted her on her hip. She accepted the hint for what it was, adjusting her position so she could lay her head against his shoulder For the first time in a hundred and thirty-five days, she was surrounded by his scent, embraced in his warmth. "So how to do we move forward?"

"We take the time to heal, as we should have done after all the insanity began." He bussed her on the top of the head. "Come to Portugal with me." She tilted her head back to look at him.

"Alright," she agreed, in hopes that today, on the fourth anniversary of the day he'd first plowed his way into her life, they'd find a new beginning.

(TBC)