Chapter 8: Reclamation

Laura packed up to leave the office at 7:30. She'd considered, briefly, leaving the office so that she could make it home in time to say goodbye to Remington before he left for the evening, but the furtive way he'd left the office made it more than apparent he was hoping to avoid her, for whatever reason. So she'd stayed, and worked, until she was certain he would be gone by the time she arrived home. Then, she'd be able to nurse her aching heart alone. No confrontations. No chances to soothe fettered nerves. No reprieves. Just the ache.

With a sigh, she crossed the reception area, stopping cold and simply staring at Mildred's desk. Setting her purse and briefcase down, she reached out a hesitant hand to pick up the pink dahlia and envelope that lay there. A quick glance at her watch showed Mildred had left an hour and a half before. Moving behind the desk, she sat down heavily in the chair. In the last ninety minutes, whoever it was – and she was sure now that it was a single individual – had come into the office and she'd never heard, never suspected a thing. No sixth sense that someone was in the reception area, no hairs standing on the back of her neck… nothing.

After spending a few minutes questioning if she was losing her edge, she stood and gathered back up her purse and briefcase. Locking the Agency doors behind her, she rode the elevator to the lobby to seek out Ralph, the trusted building security guard that should be on duty that evening. Spying him behind the lobby desk, she approached him briskly, her heels tapping across the marble floors.

"Ralph, I was wondering if I might ask you a favor?" she said without preamble. Ralph skittered to his feet.

"What can I do for you, Miss Holt?" he inquired, as he attempted to suck in his considerable girth to present, in his mind, a more professional image.

"Would you mind walking me to my car?" While loathe to admit it, the fact that someone had been wandering around in their offices while she was there and had no clue it was happening, had left her shaken. Since her radar was clearly off this evening, it seemed wise to make sure she didn't traverse the parking lot alone.

"Of course, Miss Holt. Let me just radio George to let him know I'm leaving the desk."

Giving him a brief nod, she turned and leaned her backside against the desk while staring out the glass lobby doors into the night, her eyes tried to make out anyone remotely familiar to her as stragglers leaving worked passed under the sidewalk and parking lot lights. While she recognized a couple of people – an attorney from the fifteenth floor, an accountant from the 23rd – not a single alarm bell sounded.

"If you're ready, Miss Holt?" Ralph asked, stepping up next to her.

"Yes, of course." Ralph held open the door for Laura, allowing her to exit before him, then stepped back into stride with her.

"Is everything okay, Miss Holt?" Laura glanced at him, then returned to surveilling the area around them with alert eyes.

"Ralph, did you see anyone… unusual… enter the building this evening? Someone that doesn't work there? That doesn't, maybe, come into the building frequently."

Ralph shook his head. "No ma'am. Just the regulars. Why are you asking?"

Her eyes flicked closed then open again as she gave her head a short, hard shake. Carefully blanking her expression and pasting on a smile, she prevaricated. "No particular reason. Just curious. I thought I saw someone outside that seemed vaguely familiar but couldn't put my finger on who they were. That's all."

When they reached the Rabbit, Laura opened the door and casually peered over the backseat before tossing her purse, briefcase, flower and the envelope into the passenger seat. Closing the door, she rolled down her window.

"Thanks, Ralph. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."

"Have a good night, Miss Holt," he returned, with a slight incline of his head.

Laura backed the Rabbit out of its parking spot, and with a brief wave to Ralph, pointed the Rabbit towards home.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled the Rabbit into her reserved spot in the Rossmore's garage. She hesitated before getting out of the car, a frisson of uneasiness crawling up her spine. Turning in her seat, she looked out the side and rear windows, but saw nothing or no one out of the ordinary. You're losing it, Holt, she told herself. Tipping up her chin, she grabbed her belongings and climbed out of the Rabbit, striding swiftly across the garage to the elevator. When she heaved a sigh of relief as the elevator doors slid shut, she found her annoyance with herself only growing. When the doors opened on the fifth floor, she exited the elevator, keys in hand, shutting the door to their flat firmly behind her and locking the door once she was ensconced inside.

Dropping her purse and briefcase on the entryway table, she tossed the envelope and flower on the coffee table before going to the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of wine. Taking a couple of long draws on the cool, sweet Chenin Blanc, she topped off her glass before adjourning to the living room. Curling up in a corner of the couch, she took a quick peek at the offending flower and envelope before averting her eyes.

She'd never admitted to anyone – especially Remington – how deeply Wally's stalking had affected her. She'd made it a point, after that first night, to pretend it was over and forgotten. But it hadn't been, not by a long shot.

Wally had almost killed Remington. Because of me, she reminded herself now. Eliminate the competition, as though that would have made me turn to another man. When the call had come in that night that Remington had been injured, her heart had sunk to her Wally had admitted that it was he whom had rigged the elevator, she'd felt… sucker punched, by the guilt that washed over her like a tidal wave. Then, on the heels of learning about the attempt on Remington's life at the hands of her secret admirer, another blow: Zwiegenhoff telling her that someone had been killed at Remington's apartment but refusing to reveal who that someone was. The fear that she'd never see those twinkling blue eyes, lit with humor; would never feel the gentle caress of his lips over hers; would never inhale his scent that brought solace to her heart and an overwhelming feeling of contentment… It had buckled her at the knees.

For weeks, she'd had nightmares about Remington's life ending that night. The caller informing her not that he'd been injured, but had been killed in the fall down the elevator shaft; of fleeing to his apartment after Zwiegenhoff's questioning was complete, only to find out he'd been Dancer's final victim. She'd wake, quaking violently, desperately trying to ward off the panic attack she could feel lurking right around the corner.

Her greatest fear had come true. She'd been in love with Remington for longer than she could remember, but had managed – at least most of the time – to keep those feelings boxed up, under tight control. Since they'd immersed themselves in each other… in them… after he'd returned with her from London, she'd been less and less able to corral those feelings. Instead, they'd continued to grow, hour-by-hour, day-by-day. She never wanted to love someone to the depth and breadth that she did her gentle and loving Irishman. But she did, once unwillingly, and by the time Wally and Dancer had tried to eliminate his presence in her life, completely willingly.

It had taken her weeks after their altercation at the Spa to admit the truth to herself. She'd known from the outset that she had been cruel to him, intentionally, spitting out venomous words that were wholly untrue just to wound, to shove him away. So much easier to lose him by her own actions, than to have him taken… or so she'd believed. Yet, when she seen the angst, the betrayal, the depth of the harm she'd done to him, she'd been immediately contrite. Almost too late, but, still, immediately.

"You feel compelled to dominate me physically because deep down, you're intimidated by any woman who has half a brain!"

"You don't know the meaning of the word!"

"Well, go on, get out! I was better off without you anyway!"

She cringed, remembering each vile statement… every untrue word. While he'd only verbalized his commitment to her when they'd returned from London, in truth, she'd known he'd been committed to her for years. How could she not be, when he lay with his head on her lap and all but proclaimed it to be during the Peppler case? Even without those words, the mere fact that he'd stayed, day-after-day, week-after-week, year-after-year was proof of his commitment to her.

And as for the first? Remington had never once attempted to dominate her, physically or otherwise. To the contrary, he'd always taken great pride in her intelligence, her resourcefulness, her creativity, her independence. To this day, she still had no idea where that little gem had come from, other than the knowledge that to accuse him of such misogyny would draw a little blood.

But it was those last words that had done the greatest harm and had been the only wholly truthful words she'd spoken during that fight. She had been better off without him. Before he'd arrived in her life, she'd learned to live completely independently of anyone else. Laura Holt was her own person. She needed no one else. She relied on no one else. There were people whose absence in her life would be sorely missed, but no single individual who absence in her life would send her back to that place in which she'd dwelled after her father, Wilson, had abandoned her. Remington had been that to her since long before he'd disappeared into the misty night after she'd thought to leave him for another man. By the time Wally and Dancer had arrived on their doorstep then made their merry way into custody, he'd become so much more.

She realized after that fateful night that losing Remington would bring her entire world crumbling down around her. He was her partner, her best friend, her lover-to-be and, quite simply, the love of her life. There was not a corner of her life in which he was not permanently etched: work, play, home. He was the first thing she thought about each morning when she woke, the last thing she thought about in the moments before sleep. He was the man that welcomingly haunted her dreams.

Dancer and Wally had nearly taken him from her, and in doing so would have taken everything she most valued – not that she'd ever admitted as much to Remington, or even to herself most of the time.

So, yes, she had been better off without him, for the mere fact that she didn't know how she would move on from day-to-day any longer without him there. It was a truth she continued to struggle with to this day.

Even more insidious was how Wally had shaken her faith in herself and her abilities; perhaps even others' faith in her abilities. He'd been watching her for months. Had been taking pictures of her, in her apartment, for months. Not a single hair had stood on end. Not a single time did she feel a shimmer go up her spine. Even while a camera had whirred away, she'd been completely oblivious. Even Wally's eager anticipation each time she opened a gift from her secret admirer had not sent alarm bells peeling… Even his declaration of love had gone unheard.

The pictures. My God, the pictures, she thought to herself now. How many are still out there… somewhere? How many showing me in less a state of dress than the ones he'd hung on his wall? I thought nothing about walking across my apartment wearing not a stitch of clothing before he came along.

The thought made her queasy.

For weeks on end, she'd been unable to sleep restfully, always listening, always looking, always wondering. It was only on the weekends that Remington slept at her loft with her or she at his place with him that she could sleep soundly, knowing that someone watching, someone waiting, wouldn't escape his notice. As much faith as he put in those little hairs on the back of her neck, she'd never pretended, at least to herself, that he didn't possess the superior skills in that department. She suspected his radar was acquired while he lived on the streets as a child, always having to be prepared for someone to come up behind him meaning harm. Wherever they came from, however, she trusted them, and in those weeks after, trusted those instincts to warn them if anything lurked nearby.

Now, it seemed to be happening again… and so close on the heels of the last time. Four flowers in three days. Two mysterious envelopes in two days. She idly wondered if the offerings would continue to increase incrementally across time. Two today, three tomorrow, five two weeks from now. She shuddered at even the thought of whatever this was continuing on for that duration of time.

Tipping back her glass of wine, she finished its contents, then set the empty glass on the coffee table. Steeling herself, she picked up the envelope and slid a finger under the flap, opening it. She was wholly unprepared for the contents of the envelope, and felt as though someone had squeezed the breath straight out of her lungs. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest and she closed her eyes.

Business, Laura, it's just business, she reminded herself, then repeated the phrase several times like a mantra, until the vise eased away from her heart. Business, business, business, business, business. Collecting herself, she forced herself to look at the pictures in her hand.

The first was of Remington kissing Astrid, presumably in front of her house. The second was similar to the first except in this one, Astrid's hand was caressing her husband's bottom, while her lips scorched a path across his neck. Slowly lowering the pictures to the couch cushion, she stood returning only when she had a healthy portion of scotch on the rocks in her hand. Taking a drink, she set the tumbler on the side table, before forcing herself to return to the pictures.

Business or not, seeing Remington in another woman's arms… stung. But that was not what had pain barreling through her like a freight train. It was those things nobody but she would pick up on. The way the fingers on the back of Astrid's neck were retracted as Remington kissed her; the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched. Picking up the second, she glanced at the expression on his face again and dropped the picture as though it had scalded her.

Picking up her tumbler of scotch, she carried it with her into the bedroom. Grabbing Remington's shirt from where he'd laid it out to take the dry cleaners in the morning, she fished a fresh pair of underwear from her dresser drawer then made a beeline for the shower. Finishing off her scotch before climbing under the near scalding water, she showered in record time. Grabbing a pillow and afghan from the closet, then plucking the third picture from out of the drawer in the nightstand. She ensconced herself on the couch in front of the television after fixing herself another drink.

She had no idea what movie droned away on the television, but lost herself in her thoughts. Emotions waged a war within her before settling once and for all into the safest of those emotions: Anger.

For the first time in three nights, Remington drove home feeling… relieved. He'd been using himself as a whipping post most of the afternoon and evening for the way he'd walked out on Laura today without so much as a goodbye. Yes, he was angry with her. Yes, he was plagued by guilt. Yes, he'd known how she'd feel by such an obvious brush-off. Yes, he'd done it anyway, being a petulant prig.

… And had been able to think of little else since.

Dinner with Astrid had gone well. Actually, success was drawing near based on their conversation tonight. She'd asked if he might know of a buyer for a trio of emerald and diamond pieces. When he'd told her he was flying to Vegas on Wednesday to meet with a client who appreciated unique jewelry, she'd offered to show him the pieces the following evening if he'd dine with her at her home that evening. He'd quite charmingly, even if he did say so himself, offered to cook her dinner himself. Hopefully, by the end of the evening tomorrow night, this fiasco would finally be finished.

He'd felt so good about the progress, that he had no qualms about begging off early in the evening, claiming exhaustion from the late hours they'd kept the evening before, combined with the early flight and the rigors of travel and meetings. In exchange for the reprieve, he'd tossed in a suggestion that they breakfast together before their tennis match the next day. Astrid had forgiven his early departure readily, and he'd endured her heady goodnight kiss with little remorse.

It was, after all, almost over.

Now, however, he owed his wife an apology for his behavior earlier in the day. If only he could figure out how to do so, without them traipsing back into the territory that had made him strike out in the first place.

Laura stood in the kitchen with her back tucked into the corner created by two of the counters meeting, nursing a scotch and water over ice. She heard when the front door closed and Remington called out to her. She stayed where she was, sipping her drink, never calling out to him, knowing he would find her eventually. Sure enough, he poked his head into the kitchen, his eyebrow quirking upwards at seeing the drink in her hand. He could count on one hand the number of times she had imbibed without his company.

"There you are. Didn't you hear me calling for you?" he smiled as he leaned in to kiss her hello, only to find himself planting his lips in her hair as she turned her head to avoid him.

Her intentional evasion of his kiss left him flummoxed and, he found, surprisingly irritated. He had thought the days of her intentionally disengaging from him for some imagined – alright, occasionally real – misstep were in the past. He took two steps back from her and leaned casually against the island, shoving his hands in his pockets. His sharp eyes perused her face and body, summing up what he read there. He sighed briefly when he found her skin pinked, her shoulders taunt and her eyes avoiding his – all sure signs that she was about to blow. Clearly, his snubbing her this afternoon had gotten under her skin as he'd intended and she'd been stewing on it ever since.

He didn't have to wait long for the explosion, as she slammed her glass of scotch on the counter then turned to stalk indignantly from the kitchen. He followed, grabbing her upper arm just as they entered the living room. She turned to face him, and he saw the stark hurt in her eyes before she covered it an instant later with a blank look, shutting him out even as he reeled in confusion.

"Laura, what's going on? What's this all about?" He watched as her walls went up even further and her chin tipped upwards in that way she had when she was determined to hide from him. Her eyes held with his, and seeing the confusion reflected in their blue depths, her shoulders slumped before she looked away with a small shake of her head.

"Isn't that the question I should be asking you?" she asked, suddenly weary. She easily shook her arm away from his grip, and walked several steps away before wrapping her arms around herself, seeking self-comfort. His heart ached at the sight and the words that followed. "You come home in the middle of the night, then sit out here," she tilted her head towards the couch, "thinking I don't know you're home. When you finally came to bed last night, you could barely touch me. You've been shutting me out for days…" her voice trailed off.

"Laura…" It was the only word he could manage before he stopped speaking, swiping his hand across his face and averting his eyes from her as the now all too familiar feelings of guilt and desolation assailed him. He could only watch as she picked several pieces of paper up off of the coffee table before she returned to him, handing them to him.

"And then there's these…"

Remington looked down at the papers she handed him. Photographs. He skimmed through them quickly, appalled by what he saw.

Him dancing with Astrid at White Oak Country Club.

Him kissing Astrid in front of her home.

Astrid, her hand roaming across his bottom, her lips firmly attached to his neck.

His hands tremored slightly at the sight of his guilt memorialized in black and white, right there in front of him. He lifted sad, guilt ridden eyes to her.

"Laura…" The single word held a plea for understanding. With a shake of her head, she sank, exhausted, down onto the couch behind her. She looked up at him, her walls shattered, her brown eyes reflecting a hurt so deep that it nearly staggered him.

"I think we need to talk, Remington."

Remington crossed the room to sit on the coffee table across from her, his hand reaching out to touch hers before he withdrew it and stood to pace the room. Rubbing his hand across his face several times, he held up the pictures towards her.

"Laura, I know how it looks," he offered, his eyes and voice both holding a plea that she believe him. "But I swear to you, I'm not having an affair with that woman."

"Give me at least some credit," she told him, with a flash of annoyance sparking in her eyes. "I may not know what's going on with you, but the one thing I do know is that you're no more having an affair than I am."

Profound relief crossed his face for a split second before the strained, distant look of the last two days returned. Getting back on her feet Laura wandered over to stare at their wedding picture hanging next to their bedroom. After several long seconds passed as Remington watched her with trepidation, she whirled around to face him.

"Damn it, Remington! I thought we were past all of this – you shutting me out! What's wrong? Why won't you talk to me?"

"I have! I have tried to speak with you," he answered, his voice shaking with both frustration and anger, as he flung the photos onto the coffee table. "But you? You wouldn't listen!" Rarely did he allow his temper to take hold of him. She could only remember a few times when he'd yelled – really yelled – at her. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she looked at him.

"You're angry with me," she commented, stunned, wrapping her arms around herself again and rubbing them.

"Well, yes. Yes, I am, if you must know. You thought the days of us shutting each out were over? Well I bloody well thought the days where Laura Holt says decides wholly on her own how things are going to be were over. No give, to take, just a decision, no matter the cost of it. I foolishly believed, it seems, that at least where it involved us, our marriage…" he swept his arm at the apartment, "… this… we'd at least have an equal voice. Yet, you've made it patently clear that's not the case!"

Laura walked over to the coffee table and picked up the photographs he'd tossed back down. Forcing her own emotions back, she held them out.

"This is business, not personal."

"No, Laura. No, it's not. You bloody well have me dating that woman. This is not me using a little charm, a brief dance, some empty words of flattery to cajole a suspect or distract them. There are certain… intimacies," he motioned towards the pictures, "expected, demanded even. Most women are not content sharing a few kisses for years on end. They expect… want… more, and aren't afraid to show it!"

She blanched at his words as they found the mark she believed he'd intended to hit.

"That's not fair," she choked out, lifting a shaking hand to her chest, as though he'd physically struck a blow.

"That's not what I meant!" he protested. "Have you any idea…" he began, then stopped when his voice chafed raw. Rubbing his hand hard across his face, he dropped heavily down into a chair, propping his chin in a hand, his fingers held over his mouth.

Laura crossed the room to him, sitting down on the coffee table to face him.

"Rem, talk to me," she pleaded. He lifted angst filled eyes to hers, then dropped his head, propping his forehead in his hands and looking at the floor with a shake of his head. She looked at the pictures in her hands, then spoke quietly. "Do you know what I see when I look at these pictures?" She blinked her eyes rapidly before continuing, her voice growing husky with emotion. "My husband, tense, off-balance. But he won't talk to me, tell me why." He lifted his head to look at her, anxiety painted across his face. "What's going on in that head of yours?" she asked, brushing her fingers against his hand, pleading with him with her eyes.

He stood abruptly and began to pace.

"You say this is business?" He stopped in front of her and held up the picture of Astrid caressing him. "This is nothing but personal. How does it make you feel, to see the woman's hands, her mouth on me?" Dropping the photo back down on the coffee table, he began to pace again. "I come home at night tasting of her, smelling of her, knowing you'll be able to do the same." He paused to stroke fingers through his hair. "I damn well feel like I'm cheating on you every time I'm with her and wonder every time I am just how long it will be until your insecurities flare to life and I'm made to pay again!"

"Remington…" Laura tried to speak, only for him to hold up a hand.

"No. You wanted to know. Well there's part of it, at least." He swiped a hand through his hair again. "Four years, Laura. Four damned years I remained faithful to you because I didn't want anyone else. Yet how many times did you believe, accuse me even, of betraying you, us? How many times did I have to hear that line of yours – 'You're a grown man, I'm a grown woman'? How many times did you freeze me out for an imagined slight? Felicia, Millicent, Joelle, Shannon, Clarissa. Who've I forgotten? Yet not once – not once – had I done what I was found guilty of." He rubbed a hand across his face, as his chest rose and fell rapidly. "It was bad enough then, but now? Now, I'm actually doing what you've accused me of, time and time again."

"It's not the same thing," she cried out.

"You're right. It's worse. Now, I've a wife at home that I adore to the point of distraction, that I've waited for four bloody years to claim me as her own and she's finally done it! And every, single time I kiss that woman, I flirt with her, she touches me, I am breaking the promise I made to my wife in Greece."

"Remington, just listen to…" she tried again, only to be cut off once more.

"Tell me, Laura, just tell me this," he demanded. "How would you feel if the roles were reversed and I'd asked you to play the seductress? How would you feel every time a man kissed you, fondled you, asked you to go to bed with him?" he asked wearily. His anger petering out, he slowly dropped down to sit in front of the fireplace, his hand rubbing slowly over his face, watching her.

Crossing her arms and rubbing them again, it was Laura that paced now as Remington remained silent. She tried to picture herself in the same situation. She remembered how she felt when Smith kissed and groped her in Cannes. She had encouraged the man to prick Remington, even as she loathed every touch of the man's hands, mouth. After, she'd been overwhelmed with guilt for what she'd done to Remington, and even the waters of the Mediterranean had not been able to wash off the feeling of that man from her skin. If it had been Mr. Covington, instead of Astrid, who was the target, how would she feel? Just the mere thought made her stomach clench. Then, Remington's comment that had bothered her for days, echoed in her head – 'perhaps, therein lies the answer.'

She lifted a hand to her brow and began to worry it with her fingers. As recognition dawned of what he'd meant that day in the bath, the guilt swallowed her whole. And on the heels of that revelation came another memory: what he'd said to her in Vail. She crossed the room to sit down next to him in front of the fireplace, resting her chin on bended knee, even as her fingers continued to knead her brow.

"I would feel… tainted… I guess is as good a word as any. Guilty. Angry, at you." She exhaled a shaky breath. "But you would've never asked me to do it in the first place," she admitted honestly. Dropping her hand from her brow, she rested the side of her face on her knees and watched him.

"Why wouldn't I have?" he asked, even as he nodded his agreement.

"Because I promised you that I'm yours and yours alone. You wouldn't ask me to compromise my word… and you wouldn't be willing to share me, for any reason." Those words had not come easily to her, as with them came self-acknowledgment that she'd lost sight of the bigger pictures for a while. He nodded his head again, then threaded his fingers through his hair as he looked away from her once more.

"Have you any idea what that day on the boat meant to me, Laura? I'd been yours for years, whether you knew it or not, accepted it or not. And all that time I waited… hoping… that you'd claim me as your own, that you'd claim what we were meant to be, never quite believing you would because of…" he shook his head, stumbling over the admission "… my past… your inability to trust me because of it… that I'd never be quite enough, no matter how much I'd changed for you…" He exhaled heavily. "I can't remember ever wanting anything more. It was the most meaningful moment of my life… the person who means more to me than anyone else in my entire life ever has… actually… and then…" The thought was left unspoken, as the words simply would not come any longer. Pushing himself to his feet he mumbled, "I'm going to shower. I've an early day tomorrow." With those words, he left the room.

Laura's eyes followed him from the room as her thoughts rioted in her mind. There were times she simply… forgot… what it was about Remington that always drew her back, no matter how hard and how far she tried to run: his gentleness… his heart… but most of all, the vulnerability he kept hidden from the world at large under that veneer of charm and the devil-may-care attitude he wore like a comfortable old pair of blue jeans. She'd been the only one he'd ever allowed to see it. The only one he'd ever trusted enough not to abuse it. The fact that she had, intentionally, in the past, was something she was still trying to come to terms with, didn't know if she ever would. But this time, she'd not wounded with intent…

She'd simply not realized… or maybe, not truly understood… hadn't put together all the little pieces of the past. Or didn't want to put it together, didn't want to believe, that he'd been trying to tell me all along how committed he was to this, to us, because it would have scared the hell out of me not too long ago, she admitted to herself.

But clearly, all the accusations, all the times she'd, at the very least, implied she didn't believe him when it came to other women… that she made it clear she believed he'd continued to have his flings all along… had left their mark as well.

Felicia…

"Laura, would you believe me if I said I had absolutely no idea how that woman got into my bedroom or my bathrobe?"

"Not a chance!"

She'd certainly made it clear then that she didn't believe him, going so far as to storm out of the apartment, but not before she put the heel of her shoe through his instep, leaving him hopping around while tending to the wounded foot.

Millicent…

"Laura, I did not invite that woman to spend the night."

"Please. We have more important things to talk about."

"There's nothing more important than this."

She'd brushed him off, and his second attempt as well.

"I never invited Millicent to spend the night."

"We'll talk about it later."

She hadn't bought what she'd believed he was trying to sell at the time. In fact, when she returned to his place later that night, had heard sounds coming from his bedroom, the wind had literally been knocked out of her. Despite her cavalier words meant to imply they were both free to have their… assignations… with others if they so pleased, the idea that he was in bed with Millicent… broke her heart. There was no way around it. When she stormed into his room to find him asleep, alone, she'd been shocked, and thoroughly relieved. Still, as he'd said, she'd frozen him out for weeks.

Anna …

"Ah, when I went to Anna's, ah, it was for two reasons. First, was to say that I'd sent Raymond packing and the second, the more painful, was to say that I, I felt that we, ah, didn't have a future together. She'll always be a part of my past but I ah, realized that-, that's where that relationship belonged."

"What made you realize that?"

"You... I'm not the same man I was when I walked into your life, Laura. I've changed... you changed me."

He'd abandoned her in thought for a time, or so it had appeared to her. That period of time had done untold damage to their relationship. It was, in fact, one of the larger reasons that she'd ended them in Cannes. The hurt had run too deep. The trust that she was slowly building in him, the belief that had been blossoming that he wouldn't leave her, abandon her, like her father, Wilson, had been demolished.

And, if she were completely honest, she'd never asked, and he'd never volunteered, but she'd believed, absolutely, he and Anna had resumed their physical relationship during that period as well. To find out during pre-marital counseling with Ioseph that he hadn't? It had left her dumbfounded.

Shannon….

"I admit the situation may appear incriminating-"

"Try nauseating."

"Laura, I can assure you that whatever happened between Shannon and me was over a long time ago. I never want to see her again."

She snorted softly. Remington had pulled some hair-brained schemes during his time with her, but even on his worst of days he wouldn't have tried to have a rendezvous with a former lover on the very night that they were going to finally cross that line. He'd been desperately trying to mend the harm he'd done in attempting to marry Clarissa, in not trusting Laura and coming to her when he was in trouble. There was no way he would have put them further at risk by engaging in a dalliance. But, she'd already been reeling because of Clarissa, his attempt to marry another woman, by the way the they had ended up married instead. It was simply easier to believe the worst of him.

Accused and convicted by her, time and time again, even though all the while he'd remained celibate for years, wanting her and waiting for her. The thought still stunned her, still left her in awe. She once told him, during the Dannon case, only a year into their unconventional romance…

"You know, you're rapidly becoming the man I envisioned when I created Remington Steele. Honest, courageous, caring, good humored-"

Her husband's little black book could rival the telephone directory for a small town – not something that she liked to dwell on for any period of time. Yet, he'd cut out all the carousing, the one night stands… had stopped indulging in the offerings made to him by the bubble headed bimbos he'd brought around in the first couple of weeks after he'd joined the Agency. And had waited, had remained… chaste… because to do otherwise would have felt like a betrayal to her in his mind. She'd learned that in Greece, yet still hadn't realized the ramifications to his psyche in what she'd asked of him.

What was I thinking? she thought, mentally flogging herself.

She'd realized over the three months since they'd first made love at Ashford Castle why he'd bordered on nearly desperate to make love to her for years. He hadn't lied, that day on the beach at the Spa: the words she'd needed to hear not coming easily to him, that he'd always relied on deeds as proof of a person's veracity.

Their physical relationship, to Remington, was sacrosanct; his way of showing her the depth of his love for her. It was there in every gentle touch against her skin; in each brush of his lips against hers, and how his lips would feather across her body; in how he'd lose his breath whenever he joined his body with hers; how he'd seek out her hands, tangle his fingers with hers in the moment before they found their release in one another; and in how, afterwards, he needed to keep her body pressed to his, as he was left thoroughly vulnerable by the overwhelming emotion that their love making wrought in him. It was in how he'd his body tremored with happiness, joy, even awe when she'd make love to him; how he'd allow himself to turn his body completely over to her and just soak up the love she'd try to convey to him, as he did to her. But most of all, it was in his eyes. In how he still looked at her in disbelief, as he moved his body within hers, as if he still couldn't believe that she was finally his, that he was truly making love with her. After years of waiting, she'd finally given herself over to what they were meant to be from the day they'd met. It was everything to him.

Well, Holt, you really bodged this one, she scolded herself.

In a moment of brutal honesty with herself, she admitted something that left her not liking herself very much at all: a part of her made the decision to use Remington as bait in part to prove to herself that their professional lives had changed not a scintilla due to their personal lives. Now, seeing how he was reeling, she realized how foolish she'd been to ever even think that was a possibility.

Standing, she went to join her husband in the bedroom.

She found him already in bed, lying on his back, with an arm slung over his eyes – much as he'd come to bed the night before. One of the hardest things… and best things… about living together, she'd learned over the last months, was that there was no way to hide, as was their habit in years past when they'd injured one another.

Closing her eyes, she said small prayer that she'd find the words to right things for him, for them. She pondered for a moment, then decided the more contact the better. It was touch that drew him out, touch that healed. Walking over to the side of the bed on which he lay, she climbed up on the bed and straddled his lap, settling herself carefully. Remington's arm moved just enough to peek at her from under his arm before he lay it back down.

"Laura," he said her name wearily, "I've got an early day ahead of me. I'm to meet Astrid for breakfast. I hope to have this wrapped up by tomorrow evening. Can we just get some sleep?"

Laura shook her head, while picking up the arm that lay at his side, and pressed her lips against his palm.

"No, you don't," she told him firmly. That caught his attention, and he dropped his arm from over his eyes to look at her, uncertain of what she was trying to tell him.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily. Leaning forward, she stroked both hands through his hair, touching her lips softly against his.

"I mean it's over, Remington." Her fingers continued to trek through his hair, as her lips moved to brush trails along a cheek, over a forehead. "You're not seeing the woman again."

He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, taking her with him as he moved, shaking his head all the while.

"It's fine, Laura," he told her unconvincingly. "I think we'll have what we're after before the evening is done."

"It's not fine," she told him succinctly, leaning back slightly to look at him better. She touched her fingertips against his cheek as she looked at his eyes. "It's not fine," she repeated on a shaky breath, her thumb stroking his cheek. Unconsciously he leaned into her hand, seeking the comfort it brought. "What this is doing to you is by no means fine. It's over," she told him again, firmly this time.

"And if we can't close the case, what then?" She dragged her fingertips down his neck, and felt some of the tension leave his body even as intense blue eyes regarded her.

"I think it's time to break out our break-in clothes, Mr. Steele." Her hands feathered across his shoulders and she felt his body tremble under hers as more of his tension eased.

"And if we come up empty handed?" he queried.

"Then we tell Covington that we've come to a dead end and we'll be unable to help him further," she answered ever so logically. Eyes that had fallen to half-mast under her touch snapped open. He leaned back and away from her, frowning. Taking her face in his hands, he regarded her at length, then shook his head in the negative.

"I'll not have the fact that I'm finding this… difficult… impact the Agency, Laura. The Agency means too much to you." Taking his hands in hers, she pressed her lips against each palm, before dropping them and weaving her fingers through his hair again. She waited to speak until his eyes met hers.

"Not as much as you do. Don't you know that by now?" Remington stared at her, dazed, somehow managing to shake his head, trying to clear it, absolutely certain he'd misunderstood. Seeing his bafflement, Laura smiled softly and continued on. "Rem, I agreed to a sham marriage to you to keep you here, even knowing that I could lose the Agency in doing so. Not too long ago, I was willing to leave the country with you, if it had come to that… walking away from the Agency, starting all over again somewhere else." She touched her lips to his then trailed them across his cheeks. He closed his eyes, his hands tangling in her hair. "Do you really not know that you're what matters most to me?"

"Good God, Laura," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as her fingers brushed over his chest. "Have you any idea how you make me feel when you say such things to me?"

"Maybe the way it makes me feel every time I think about how you spent years changing your life around just in the hope that we could have this?" she posited, just as quietly. Leaning back, she held the sides of his face in her hands once more. "You are mine," she said insistently, stroking her hands across his cheeks, through his hair. "And if you thought for one second that I'd in anyway changed how I felt about that, I can't tell you how sorry I am." Keeping her eyes locked with his, she brushed her lips against his. "You are mine, Rem," she kissed him again. "No one else can have you."

"Laura," he murmured, running his hand across of the back of her neck, nudging her closer, "Come here." A smile lifted the sides of her mouth before his lips settled over hers. He kissed her, deeply, yet with such gentle care that when their lips parted she was left breathless. The last of his tension left his body with a shudder. Wrapping his arms around her, he rested his chin upon her shoulder, reveling in the feel of her fingers whispering through his hair, her lips caressing his neck. "You've no idea how much I've missed this: our time together, our talks before we go to sleep… you falling asleep in my arms. It's been only a few days yet its felt like…"

"… a lifetime," she finished the thought for him, nodding against his neck. She breathed in his scent deeply, shivering a little at having him so near for the first night in too long.

"Laura, can we…" he asked, the hesitancy in his voice making her sit back to look at him. She cocked her head to the side, studying him, knowing that he wasn't asking to make love. A smile lit up her face.

"I'd like nothing more," she told him, climbing off his lap, to stretch out across the bed on her back, using his thigh as a pillow. They both cherished this nightly ritual, as it only served to strengthen the bond between them. Lifting his hand in hers, she began tracing her fingers across his palm, even as his own fingers found a strand of silken hair to toy with it.

"Rem?"

"Hmmmm?" he answered, his fingers traveling through her hair, until they found her scalp and began to massage lightly.

"Mmmmmm," she all but purred, "that feels so good." One side of his mouth quirked upwards, as he was more than aware she found the action as tantalizing as his lips grazing below her ear. She scrunched her face trying to regain the train of thought that was derailed by the fingers working magic on her head. "Meredith called the office late this afternoon."

"She did? What did she have to say?"

"I had Mildred tell her to call back in the morning. Good or bad, I wanted us to be together when we found out." His heart beat a little faster at her words.

"You did, did you?" He smiled down at her.

"Of course," she said, matter-of-fact. His hand stilled and left her hair to journey towards her cheek.

"Seems I owe an apology of my own, leaving as I did today." She stilled the path of her fingers over his palm, to lift her hand and lay it against the one on her cheek.

"I understand, now, why you did. But, I won't lie and say it didn't… sting," she admitted.

Releasing his hand, she sat up, then waited as he slid down from where he was sitting to lay on his back, holding open an arm for her. She settled herself against him, her head lying in that place at his shoulder meant only for her. As his arm wrapped around her, her hand found his side and began rhythmically stroking. She hummed contentedly, leading him to tighten the arm about her and lean down to buss the top of her head.

Suddenly, he stilled then stiffened, making her look up at him.

"I nearly forgot. Can you hand me the phone for a moment, love?" Laura shot him a questioning look, but sat up to reach for the receiver and hand it to him, as he pushed himself up to sit as well.

Remington dialed, then waited for the other party to answer.

"Astrid? It's Reggie. Forgive me for calling so late, but I've had a bit of an emergency come up…Yes, yes, I'm fine. But I'm afraid my uncle has passed rather suddenly and I must return to London immediately… Not long, a few days at most… Mmmmm, I'm disappointed as well…. Listen, I've two tickets waiting at the box office for us for La Boheme and reservations at Osteria Mozza. I'd hate to see the evening go to waste. Why don't you take a friend along and indulge?... It's my pleasure… I've no idea, but I'll certainly call you when I return… Yes, yes, you take care as well… Bye, bye now."

Handing the receiver back to Laura, Remington watched as she hung it up, a look of profound relief on his face. When she turned back around, she found two hands sliding in to her hair to grasp the back of her head and draw her lips to his.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips, as he gently tasted, explored her mouth. Her arms encircled his shoulders, her fingers stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers stilled when she realized stealthy fingers were slowly easing the hem of his t-shirt upwards. Her lips left his, to skim along his collarbone.

"Rem, we can't…" she murmured. She felt his nod, rather than saw it, even as she felt the shirt continue its ascent.

"I know, love. I just want to feel you against, me. If that's alright with you, of course." She sat back and drew the shirt over her head, tossing it to the end of the bed.

"Always," she answered, then found her lips under his, as he gathered her in his arms and sank back down on the bed again, drawing him with her. They both sighed with contentment when she settled in against him. She nestled the side of her face into his shoulder, her hand gripping his ribs.

"I've missed you, Rem. I've missed this," she confessed quietly. His hand found her hand, tangling their fingers together.

"Myself, as well. You've no idea how much." He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "I've can't recall how I managed a sound night's sleep before, without you… here… with me." Her fingers slid from his ribs to his chest. Flattening her palm over his heart, she found comfort in its familiar rhythm, letting it lull her.

"Me either," she admitted, in the moment before she fell to sleep.

Gathering her closer, Remington buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar, soul-soothing scent, allowing the peace he always found when she lay sleeping in his arms to gently settle sleep over him as well.