A/N: So, true confession time. I cannot keep writing these dry, from the script only scenes. It is one thing when you are watching the show, seeing the expressions, etc and quite another when you are simply left guessing. Given it has been my contention straight along that from Bonds forward, the show lacked depth, emotion, while offering butchered characterizations, I would be doing these episodes no better service by writing them... yawn. So from this point forward, while we will follow the script - except when we don't - I'll be writing this just as I would any other story. ~RSteele82
Scene 10
Remington stepped into the building at UNIDAC and headed towards the elevator that would take him upwards to the floor where client and body were located. He'd called Agency from the limousine to check in, after having sufficiently dwelled on his temper and Laura's attitude during the forty-seven-and-a-half minutes he'd waited on his test results.
Married.
They hadn't said the word again since the night, two days previously, when he'd finally realized he could no longer hide his immigration woes from her. He'd tried to solve the problem himself, had even spoken to a lawyer about it, sneaking out of the office ostensibly to enjoy a matinee showing in order to do so. But the irrefutable fact was he was, in fact, an illegal immigrant.
It was, after all, emblazoned right there upon the passport Laura had given him only seven months before: Birthplace, Ireland. He couldn't present a visa showing he'd requested permission to be in the state for employment purposes. How could he when he'd arrived in the States as Douglas Quintain pretending to be Ben Pearson, then pretending to be Remington Steele…
Not to mention the little matter of how he'd come to Los Angeles to commit what some might consider a crime, yet he simply considered just dues with a very healthy settlement.
He'd never bothered to be naturalized. How the bloody hell did one get naturalized when one, in truth, did not exist?
He'd attempted the asset to the community angle. While his meritorious service to the community – and even worldwide – might allow him back into the country after the proper waiting period and appropriate request was filed and approved, he'd have to leave the country to be allowed back in.
Seldom had he been so thoroughly boxed in. Keyes had laid his hand on the table and Remington had finally accepted he had no more aces up his sleeve.
And the first thought that had come to mind was: Laura will never forgive me for this. By virtue of a birthplace on a passport and how he'd arrived in her life, he'd placed all that mattered most to her at risk: Her Remington Steele and her Agency.
Then she'd gone and shocked the bloody hell out of him, and as she would when she'd just solved a case, those amber eyes sparkling with accomplishment, had looked at him and said...
"I got it! We'll get married!"
He'd taken great care not to reject the idea out of hand too vociferously.
"Huh?" He'd flipped a hand at her when her words had registered, as he continued to pace the living room. "Jokes, Miss Holt?" he asked, crossly. It seemed to him that a matter as important as his very hide should be taken seriously and not joked away.
"Who's joking?!" she asked, in that same annoying 'I've solved a case' tone of voice. "It solves everything," she congratulated herself for having found the solution, smiling wide while he stumbled to a stop to look at her agog.
"You can't be serious!"
Married? Him? Him and Laura? Laura and him?
"Why not?" she questioned, still smiling."People do it all the time," she pointed out, matter of fact like.
"Do you know what the cost could be should the INS uncover such a farce?" he challenged.
"What's there to uncover?" she tossed back, favoring the idea the more she thought about it. "Any number of people can provide a sworn statement that they've been witness to our personal relationship over the years. We could pass any questions they might ask to test the validity of our relationship; we know each other's likes and dislikes, hobbies, taste in movies, how we like our cof—"
"What does she do first thing when she wakes, does she steal the covers while she sleeps…" he couldn't help slinging the barb. If he'd intended to ignite her temper, which perhaps he had been, he'd failed miserably. Other than a nearly imperceptible straightening of her back, she'd appeared unaffected.
"Punt," she deadpanned. "We've shared accommodations often enough to answer most questions and to present reasonably vague answers to the rest." Being the masochist he often was when it came to Laura Holt, he couldn't help the crooked smile, the wag of the brow, and suggestive look.
"Of course, we could always…" he tilted his head twice towards the bedroom and pursed his lips "…Discover the answers—" This time there was nothing imperceptible about either the straightening of her back or the look of annoyance upon her face.
"Mr. Steele," she drew out his name, and not in the breathy manner he'd been imagining an instant before. "Focus!"
Then with businesslike efficiency, she ticked off what would need to be done. Blood tests, license, tux for him, an off the rack dress for her that would have to suffice. A church,... No. A chapel that was little more than ornamentation in the city. A minister, of course… of the fake variety. Dig up a witness or two - of no close acquaintance of course, as they neither wanted to give explanations for the sudden, urgent need to plight their trough nor could they risk news of their escapade to make it to the press. Under radar. Only the two of them and the INS would ever know.
While she left his flat feeling accomplished, he'd been left…
Dazed.
Married? Even if only on paper?
His first thought was, of all people, Daniel. The old man would have himself a good laugh over this should he find out about it.
Remington rubbed at his face with both hands while lying in bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Oh, there would be endless comments about tying himself to one woman, for being so foolish as to find himself in shackles. Daniel would needle him mercilessly about having found himself at the altar before he'd even bedded the woman. He'd fallen to sleep with visions of Daniel taking far too much joy in pointing out, again and again, little 'Linda' had finally achieved her ultimate goal.
And, as had been the case the first twenty-four hours after he'd somehow become betrothed, when he'd woken the next morning his thoughts and emotions had careened wildly.
She'd won. From the very start she'd made it clear she'd required nothing short of commitment from him before they could truly move forward. He'd never, once, promised her what he'd once been sure he'd never be able to give. But by the time he'd returned from London, he'd gladly given her that commitment in both deeds and words. Still, months later, here they remained: Would be lovers who'd never made it past the line drawn at the bedroom door.
Because of three words she'd determined had to come from his lips before they could succumb to that 'ultimate moment.' His deeds simply were not enough.
Yes, she'd won, never having made a single concession of her own.
He'd arrived at the office in a foul and sullen mood, feeling much like he'd sat at the card table, one of a trio, and two had stacked the cards against him. With leg crossed at the ankles, elbow planted on arm rest of his desk chair, and his chin resting against knuckled fist, he'd fumed, then pouted, then had fumed some more.
Then she'd walked briskly through his office door, and much as it had been the four years previously, his soul had settled and his heart had soared. The smile on his face had been genuine and was reserved solely for her.
What had he been thinking? This was Laura, not Anna, not Felicia, or any other host of women of their ilk that he'd spent time with in the past. She didn't manipulate, she didn't con to get what it was she was after. She had her standards from which she would not be swayed, but she'd never use his personal plight as a tool to get what she desired.
Thus, those careening thoughts and emotions had shifted again.
Married? Him and Laura?
It wasn't as if he hadn't toyed with the notion from time-to-time of late. Hadn't he tested the waters of parenthood when he'd roped Laura into caring for her nieces and nephew overnight? Hadn't he interrogated her, so to speak, about her views on motherhood and career?
The image that pranced through his mind of Laura heavy with his child stirred a longing deep in the pit of his belly…
And had left him at first chuckling, then laughing like a madman, for to see her large with his child would require a certain deed that she'd never allowed them to enjoy.
Thus, his mood had once again soured.
It hadn't been until he'd laid in bed the evening before that he'd managed to wrest control over thoughts and feelings.
It was to be a marriage of convenience only. A piece of paper and a pretend minister. Say a few vows and that is all there would be to it. A business arrangement, like so many others before it. There would be no reception or honeymoon; there would be no merging of their lives and belongings. Their personal life would consider to evolve – or malinger – separate and apart from the farce they were perpetrating for the INS. The only promise being exchanged was their joint vow to keep him here in the States.
It would be nothing, more or less, than a roll they'd carried out time and again before, be it as Bob and Judy Peppler, or Laura and Richard Blaine.
The matter had been resolved, or so he'd believed
Until she'd been so blasé about their plans this morning, even going so far to take on a new case on the day they were to be 'wed.'
Her attitude had chafed, to say the least. Business pure and simple. She had her lists. She'd been checking off items one at a time: Her blood test complete, check; a quickly selected gown that would be delivered to the Agency fully altered by no later than noon, check-check; pick up the license on the way to the chapel, check-check-check. Nothing to it.
He, on the other hand, had discovered he had a bit too much of the Irish Catholic lad in him still to be quite so carefree about the whole affair. A license would bear their names; they would exchange vows at the pulpit – vows that spoke of God, commitment, love and honor - masquerading minister or no. He wasn't quite certain he could simply play the role of husband when a command appearance by the INS dictated him to and not feel as though he were well and truly wed to her at all others.
That she hadn't seemed to struggle for so much as a second, as he had, trying to come to terms with this faux marriage within the confines of their personal relationship… rankled.
But who was he to cast blame in her direction for not being as confused as he, when once again she was saving his proverbial neck? Thus, as he'd walked out of the doctor's office, test results in hand, he'd vowed to play this as he would any other con: with humor and panache.
As he stood at the elevator bank at UNIDAC, he was drawn from his thoughts when the loudspeaker overhead blared.
Laura Holt, report to T Section, Room 405.
Laura Holt, report to T Section, Room 405.
With a mental shrug, he turned away from the elevators and consulted the map in the lobby. T-Section, Room 405 it would be.