Chapter 38: A Tour of the Past

Monday morning dawned early for the Steele's. When the alarm clock sounded at six a.m., Laura's hand snuck out from under the covers to slap it off with a soft moan of dissent.

"I say we ignore the bloody thing, sleep in, then pack up this morning and go home. Bugger this DNA test," Remington mumbled sleepily into her ear, his arm dragging her body more snugly against his own before he settled back in to sleep. With great reluctance, she pried herself from his arms, to sit up and run her hands through her hair.

"Get a little more sleep. I'll wake you after I've showered," she told him, effectively dismissing his suggestion. Rolling to his stomach with an indiscernible, grumbling complaint, he yanked her pillow over his head. With a silent laugh and a shake of her head, she climbed out of the bed.

Twenty minutes later, he was no more agreeable to rising than before, and an hour after that she found herself driving across town with a surly Mr. Steele. Midway through the ride her patience had worn thin, and she ended any attempt to draw him into conversation. With a long, drawn out sigh of frustration, she turned to look out the window. She could only count it in their favor that if the hand clutching hers was any indication, he hadn't at least closed himself completely off.

If the drive was strained, it was even more so in the biomedical lab of King's where they were greeted by the Earl and Countess of Claridge. To the older man's credit, he made an attempt to relax the noticeably tense, younger man.

"I don't believe I've been quite this unsettled since my Grandfather called me upon the carpet after I'd been caught nipping at his sherry when I was twelve," he observed as they exchanged handshakes. His attempt at levity missed the spot as it only reminded Remington nobody gave a damn what he was doing at twelve and he might well have been rolling about in the gutters drunk if his survival instinct was not so well honed.

"Yes… well… um…" he stumbled then fell silent. With a squeeze of his hand, Laura forced a laugh and smile.

"That reminds me of the time my mother caught me sneaking into the house when I was sixteen. Fifteen years later, all she has to do is mention it to make me feel sixteen all over again," she volunteered. The Earl smiled wanly at the anecdote.

All four parties were visibly relieved when the door to the lab area opened and a gentleman in a white lab coat stepped out.

"Your Lordship," the gentleman addressed the Earl as he shook hands with him. He turned to Remington, offering a hand as well. "Mr. Steele. My name is Tobias Chandler, Chief Biomedical Engineer here in the lab. If you will, I'd like to spend a minute explaining what you can expect this morning." The Earl nodded regally to Chandler.

"I'm sure we'd both be most appreciative," he permitted.

"There are currently two approved methods for collection of DNA: Blood or swabbing for epithelial cells. Our laboratory prefers the former. A small sample of blood from each of you will be drawn. Over the course of approximately three hours, PCR will be utilized to replicate the sample contributed, providing approximately a billion strands of DNA for the analysis. Almost one hundred percent of the population will share 99% of the identical DNA. Our focus will be upon the one-percent which is highly specific to an individual. A child will receive one allele from each of the parents. If, for example, we examine marker D21S11 on chromosome 21, the mother will have received an allele from each of her parents. For the purposes of this discussion we'll say one and two. The father will also have received an allele from each of his parents, or A and B. The only possible combination of a child by those parents then would be 1A, 1B, 2A or 2B. Each of the markers tested is assigned a Paternity Index or PI, a statistical measure of how strongly a match at a particular marker indicates paternity. The results of all twenty-five PI's are then multiplied against each other, which will provide the CPI or Combined Paternity Index. Our laboratory always achieves a zero probability of paternity if the man tested is not the father, and 99.8% of better if the man tested is, in fact, the paternal contributor. Do you have any questions?"

"An all or nothing kind of situation then, eh?" Remington inquired, raising a hand to nibble at his thumb nail.

"Precisely," Chandler confirmed. He waited several seconds to see if any further inquiries would be made and when none were, held a hand out toward the door. "Then if you'll accompany me, your Lordship, Mr. Steele, I've a technician waiting to draw the samples." He looked from Laura to Catherine. "Shan't be but a minute, Lady Claridge, Mrs. Steele." With that, the three men disappeared behind the windowless steel door, leaving the two women alone.

"Thomas has been as nervous as a mouse cornered by a cat since we woke this morning," Lady Claridge ventured into conversation. "If I'm correct, Mr. Steele is not fairing much better."

"Surly as a tiger with a thorn in its paw," Laura confirmed. "I wanted to thank you for giving Remington and I some time alone with the file yesterday afternoon. He's having a… difficult… time with everything he's recently been told."

"Most understandable given the circumstances." Her eyes flickered to Laura then away again, trying to decide how much she should say to the younger woman. Then, with a dainty sigh, decided nothing could be lost. "Tommy is beside himself, petrified decisions made will cost him his son, quite for good this time." Laura considered the Countess at length before coming to the same conclusion: Nothing to lose but everything, for Remington, to gain.

"Remington's life, his childhood, has taught him not to trust what a person says, but what they do. Yet he trusted the Earl when he denied Remington was his son, he trusted Daniel when he claimed him." Laura blew out a slow breath. "I won't lie. There's been a considerable amount of damage done and it will take time… actions… for him to get past all that's happened. But as I've told the Earl, Remington's the most forgiving person I've ever known." Catherine lay her hand on Laura's arm.

"Thank you. I didn't want to give Tommy false hope, so I've been at a lost as to what to do. Knowing this will go a long way towards helping keep him calm." Laura acknowledged the other woman's gratitude with a decisive nod of her head.

"Just…" She paused, and looked away, embracing herself and rubbing at her arms. "If this test bears out his Lordship is Remington's father… No more. No more lies. No more manipulations. I understand why the Earl and Daniel did what they did… at least to some degree. But I don't like seeing Remington hurt." She turned to look the Countess in the eyes. "And I won't be nearly as forgiving as he, if it happens again."

"I understand," Catherine answered quietly, giving Laura a look of understanding. "I would feel the same if our roles were reversed."

Both women turned to face the door as it opened, and their husbands exited the lab in the company of Chandler. Remington's suit coat was slung over his arm as he finished rolling down his sleeve and secured the cuff link, before shrugging into the jacket.

"What now?" Laura hazarded to ask.

"Now you and I return to the townhouse," Remington answered. "Chandler will have the results couriered to us and faxed to his Lordship. Once the results are known, we'll go from there." Turning to face the Earl, he extended his hand in parting gesture. "Your Lordship." The two men shook hands, then Remington guided Laura down the hallway with hand on her lower back, as the Earl regretfully watched them leave.

"Where are we going?" Laura asked, as Remington handed her out of the car in Leicester Square.

"Trust me, eh? We have a few hours on our hands before we hear anything," he assured her. Hand on her back he guided her across the street. Half a block down, he turned to stare at the movie theater before them.

"Is the theater even open this early?" she asked.

"March in London, as you're discovering, is often a bit of a mix. Pleasant days scattered here or there, just enough to make you realize Spring would soon arrive. The other days? Miserably cold and damp." She watched him avidly, uncertain why he was telling her this, but sensing it was important. "By March of '67, I'd been living on the streets of Brixton for well more than a year. That year, it was unseasonably cold and it began to feel as if I'd never know a warm day again." He looked at her and lifted hand to mouth to worry a thumb. "While I'd well-learned, by then, I could find both by… sharing a bed... I'd given in to the darkness that would descend every now and then, keeping to myself until I'd worked through it, seeing no need to inflict it upon another. Having heard the Empire would be showing How to Steal a Million…"

"An Audrey movie," she smiled.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, clearly distracted. "I'd gotten it into my head that I'd nick a wallet or two, buy me a ticket, and hold up in the theater. And if I were truly lucky, I'd lift enough to get me a bit to eat." She straightened visibly and her eyes widened as she realized where he was heading with this tale. With a gentle hand he guided her a bit further down the street. "Leicester was always bustling with people, even in those days. The Empire," he indicated a building they were passing, "Cartoon theater," then pointed again through the square, "The Warner, offering movies for people of all ages. Restaurants, bars, shops. All walks of life spilling about the streets. Families, couples on dates, teenagers, hippies, homeless, and best of all, a bunch of rich old dandies strolling about without a care in the world."

"And that's what you saw Daniel as? 'A rich old dandy'?" He nodded while flashing her a smile, when he realized she knew where he was heading with the story.

"Aye. You knew Daniel, Laura. Expensive, custom suits, shoes of Italian leather, always walking about a bit full of himself," he smiled. "I'd bided my time between the cartoon theater and the pub," he pointed at a building on the corner of the street they were standing on. "Rich old buggers with a bit too much under their belts were prime for a pick. Eventually a group of boys 'round my age ran past, yelling and laughing and I joined into the fray, 'accidentally' bumping into a man in front of the pub and lifting his wallet. I hied off to an alleyway to take a peek at my takings. Seventy-three quid. A bloody fortune in those times. I'd be able to find a warm place to kip and put a decent meal of my stomach for weeks as long as I was careful."

"It sounds like you got away clean. So how did Daniel find you?" she asked.

"He never told me how he knew I went into the Empire, but two full viewings of the flick and a bit of a kip in between, when I left the cinema, a hand grabbed hold of my arm. I thought to cause a bit of a scene, but Daniel quickly put an end of that idea," he chuckled. "He leaned in next to my ear and quietly warned, 'Either me or the coppers, boy-o. But either way, you'll be returning my wallet.' I'd wanted a warm place to hold up, but certainly the local slammer, despite its… amenities… was not what I'd in mind. I agreed, believing I'd little choice in the matter, to having a spot to eat at a small restaurant across the way," he pointed vaguely across the square. With that he guided her back to the car, not saying a word, and she not pressing, until they stopped again only a couple minutes later. Getting out of the car, he once again helped her out, then led her down a small, cobbled alleyway, stopping before a lovely, two story historic home.

"Remington?" she spoke, when he remained quiet. He gave her a quick, almost hesitant smile, before speaking.

"Daniel had shared with me a bit about how he made a living while we were at dinner. While he'd certainly not shared the totality of his capers, he'd told me enough to catch my interest. His most recent job… relieving a certain member of society of a 'bauble'… had netted him near on twenty-thousand quid. Twenty-thousand! I could live like a king for some time with that amount lining my pockets." He laughed at the memory. "Daniel said he saw something in me, something special, and that with a great deal of refinement, I could become one of the best in the business. I suppose he appealed, at least somewhat, to a bit of vanity in me even then. I considered myself a fair hand at pickpocketing, and was… proud… someone else had acknowledged my talent. By the end of our meal, he'd convinced me to accompany him to meet a fellow miscreant, the Major."

"He'd already sized me up well enough to know to suggest I get in a car would likely send me scampering off into the dark of night, so instead we walked. Safe enough, in my eyes, as at the first sign he was just some pervert hoping to have his way with me, I'd take off running." Laura cringed at the very thought and couldn't help but wonder how many men, as he'd just described, had seen the beautiful teen living on the streets: fodder for their sickness. Her stomach rolled, but she squelched the urge to ask the question. "This," he held out a hand towards the charming, Victorian era mews house in front of them, "Wyndham Mews, was the first place I ever shared with Daniel. A veritable mansion compared to what I'd lived in most of my childhood… even compared to most of the places we'd end up in the years to come, which always leaned towards the respectable side, just not so grand." With a final look at the house, he lay a hand at the small of her back. "Come on then."

As Remington drove he pointed out several of the other places he'd lived with Daniel. A flat in Chelsea. A lovely townhome in Knightsbridge. Yet another flat in Pamlico then Mayfair, when they were laying low. And, throughout the drive, he told her of those first days in Wyndham Mews.

"The Major had been staying with Daniel a few days, ironing out the details on a gambit they'd planned for a back room casino over in Manchester, their… specialty, if you will, whenever they worked together. Daniel filled the Major in on how we'd met, declaring me one of the smoothest canons he'd ever observed." Glancing over, laughing softly, he gave her a lopsided smile. "I'll admit, I preened a bit at that. Well, the major circled me several times, assessing me head-to-toe. At the time I found it… creepy… wondering if perhaps I'd allowed myself to be lured into a trap. After all the years I'd been, for the most part, on my own, was I finally to become relegated to nothing but chattel like so many before me?"

Laura reached for his hand, making him pause, as he peered at her. She hated it, it infuriated her, that a child, any child, but most especially him, had to live with such fears. Oh, she knew they existed – the pedophiles, the child rapists, the molesters – but always at the far peripheral of her life where she never had to give them too much thought. A chill skittered down her spine at the mere thought of one of them having gotten their hands on him. With a squeeze of understanding to her hand, he continued.

"After he'd completed his… perusal, he looked at Daniel and said, 'The lad's the appearance of a member of British society. If he's as good as you say, then with lessons and a good deal of polish, I'd wager he'd be one of the best.' It's how it all began," he shrugged. "They offered me a chance at a life where I'd have a roof over my head, a bed of my own, and food on my stomach. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. But still there were times I'd get bloody well fed up with the endless lessons and tutor after tutor appearing from nearly sunrise to sun down. I'd light out, a day here, a week there. When I'd reappear, Daniel would act as though I'd just gone 'round the corner to fetch a pint of milk. 'Ready to get back to it, then?'" He laughed fondly at the memory, before sobering as he looked out the windshield before him.

"I'd have done just about anything to get out of here short of selling myself on the streets or killing someone," he murmured, slowing the car in front of an abandoned, grime and graffiti covered warehouse before driving on. "I spent more time huddled up at night in warehouses such as that, seeking shelter from the cold, the heat… least ways when some of the more dangerous miscreants weren't hold up there themselves. Then, I'd choose to settle here," he waved his hand at the alleyway behind JB Frank & Co., Cash Chemists. Once more, Laura straightened perceptibly.

"We're in Brixton?" she asked.

"Aye, we are that. But we won't be getting out." When he turned the car onto the next street, she studied her surroundings. Narrow, curved street with three and four story buildings nestled side-by-side lining either side. Crowded, congested, were the descriptions that came to her mind. "Electric Avenue. Each weekend the street was impassible by automobile as market stands would line it. It was, for me at least, a veritable godsend. If unable to put anything on my stomach throughout the week, on the weekends, at least, I'd be able to steal enough fruit and vegetables to edge the hunger away." She breathed out slowly at the familiar tingling behind her eyes, willing herself not to show him any signs of her distress. She'd wanted to see it, but now she wished she never had.

"And, when all else failed, there was Rosie's. I can't believe it's still here after all these years," he mumbled more to himself that her and pointed to the café situated at the corner of a building. "A fair decent amount of scraps cleaned from plates could be found in the garbage cans out back there."

"Enough," she breathed around the lump in her throat. He looked at her then nodded in understanding and turned the car back towards the townhouse.

Remington played tour guide once more, pointing out the more touristy sites that could be seen or peeked at along A23: the Apollo Victoria Theatre, Buckingham Palace, Green Park, Oxford Circus, the Sherlock Holmes Museum and Madam Tussauds. Laura showed the appropriate interest, asked the right questions, but was clearly lost in her thoughts.

Glancing at his watch as they entered the townhouse, Remington noted a bit more than two hours had passed since leaving King's. They'd been running on little more than a cup of tea since they woke that morning.

"How 'bout a bit of breakfast, mmmm?" he asked. Pursing her lips she gave a short hake of her head.

"I'm not hungry. I'll just make a cup of coffee," she replied, dropping her coat over the arm of a wing chair and taking a step towards the kitchen before his hand grasped her upper arm, stopping her. She stilled, but stiffening her shoulders didn't turn around.

"Lau-ra," he drew out her name. She turned around to face him.

"I should have known better. After Ireland, I should know better," she castigated herself. With a huff of frustrated breath, she averted her eyes. "I don't like thinking about you living like that." Crossing her arms around herself, she rubbed them. "It's all so… abstract… hard to believe. Then I see it and I don't understand. How could anyone allow a child to live like that? How did you survive it?" She sighed again. "I'm angry. Angry at the people who allowed it to happen. Angry at myself for making you revisit it…. Again."

"I can't say I particularly enjoy going back, either, but it's the last of it between us. You know the worst of it." This time it was he that puffed out an aggravated breath, while running a hand through his hair. "You know, now, what Daniel took me from. Maybe that's why it was so easy to believe."

"To believe he was your father?" she sought to clarify. He didn't answer immediately, instead nudged her towards the kitchen. Recognizing he was seeking to keep his hands busy, she went willingly, hauling herself up to sit on the counter after they entered the room.

"Yes, to believe he was my father," he answered, as he removed eggs, peppers, tomato, onion, ham and cheese from the refrigerator, placing all on the counter next to her. After setting a pan on the stovetop and laying cutting board and knife on the counter, he braced himself against arms pressed against the counter. "Why else take in an angry, smart mouthed kid who'd nothing to offer but one headache after the next?"

"Maybe for no other reason than what he said: He saw a rare talent in you, a gift," she offered logically, as he began dicing the pepper. "But even if that's the case, it doesn't change the fact he came to care for you… very deeply."

"I owed him my life, Laura. He not only plucked me off the streets before the worst could happen, but without his efforts, I wouldn't have what I do now." He paused in dicing the tomato, so that blue eyes could meet concerned amber ones. "I wouldn't have you."

"I'm not sure what your trying to tell me, Remington," she told him, holding up her hands, as he resumed preparing their meal. "Do you feel guilty for not being his son…" she frowned, then added as an afterthought, "… if you're not?"

"Two years ago, the idea of being related to royalty tickled my fancy." He laughed sardonically. "Imagine, the lad who'd grown up in some of the worst hovels in Ireland, later only to live on the streets of Brixton, the son of an Earl." He looked up at her through his lashes as he continued to flawlessly dice the ham. "It meant, too, that not only could I at last give you a name, but it leveled the playing field, so to speak, in the one area in which I had no chance of competing before." She shook her head, perplexed.

"Level the playing field?" she asked quizzically.

"Certainly, being the son to the tenth in line to the throne of England offered a legitimacy I'd never been able to give you before. Being descended from royalty had to be at least more equal to say… a senator… than my prior title of 'former thief.'" The thought drew a frown to Laura's face.

"I didn't need that then any more than I need it now," she protested. "Westfield had nothing to do with him being a senator and everything to do with me struggling with who I was and feeling out of control." Chopping finished, he set down the knife and retrieved a bowl from the cabinet. Setting it on the counter, he moved to the other side of the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.

"And I'm not saying you needed it, not exactly. Although your insecurities were varied and many, it's not as though I was without my own," he explained. "With the exception of your very brief attraction to the beastly Beamus, every man I'd encountered or was told about from your past were nothing short of well-educated and respectable. Bankers, private detectives, scientist, college professor…" he let the thought fade away. "There were times, many in fact, I questioned how I could believe myself worthy of you when all I had to offer you was a murky past that could come back to haunt us at any time, as you'd pointed out frequently across the years." Understanding dawned in Laura's eyes.

"And being the son of an Earl solved that question for you." He nodded his head as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

"Mmmmmm," he hummed his agreement. "But sometime over the course of last year, it became less important. We were doing well, you and I. Yes, we'd encountered bumps in the road, and yes, you were left questioning me, at least once, because of my past, but all-in-all we were moving steadily towards the future I'd envisioned for us. Somewhere along the way, in my mind, what I couldn't offer you became far less important that what I could: my presence, my unwavering commitment to you. Still, there were lingering uncertainties, resolved by Daniel's announcement he was my father."

"What lingering uncertainties?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"I've told you before I'd begun contemplating marriage, children. Once again, my past stood in the way. I'd no legitimate name to give you, not even a legitimate birth certificate with which to wed you. Fabrication of either would make our union no more real than the exchange of vows upon the trawler for the INS's sake." He paused to rub a hand across his mouth. "Son of a thief or not, I could give you a name, a birth certificate… a legitimate marriage and future. It seemed fitting for Daniel to be my father. I owed him my life for taking me off the streets where time was growing thin. Now I owed him my future as well, as his coming clean made it possible for us to have this. Everything, at last, was all tied up into a neat little package. But now…." Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed heavily, before turning to the stove and pouring half the egg bath into the warmed pan.

"But now?" she prodded. "It's not such a neat little package?" He nodded his head where he stood but didn't speak. "Why not?"

"Beyond the fact it would bring into question the legitimacy of our marriage?" he asked, turning his head to look at her. "To begin with, I'd have a father who's very much alive and angry or not at events past, I'd want to get to know him, spend time with him. That said, I question if there are things I never considered two years ago that might be demanded of me now… things I'm wholly unwilling to yield to." Laura held up her hands where she sat.

"I don't understand. What things?"

"The Earl is childless, Laura, and will remain so from what he tells us… well, except for myself, if…" He allowed the thought to stand. "I won't bother to pretend to know much about titles, entailments, and the like, so perhaps my worry is all for naught. But, generally speaking, being the eldest son of nobility brings with it not just privilege, but responsibility. I've no interest in giving up my life for God and Queen. My life, my home… our lives, our home… is in Los Angeles. Are there announcements to be made? 'Long, lost son of the Earl of Claridge found' or the like? I don't know how I feel about that and that's before I even consider the ramifications to our work in LA, if there are any." Adding some of the vegetable and meat mixture to the pan, he turned to lean against the counter adjacent to the stove and landed troubled eyes upon her. "Then there is this, most important of all. For the first time in the entirety of my life, I know who I am. I am Remington Steele, born in Ireland, naturalized citizen of the United States, co-owner of the Remington Steele Agency… Partner, friend, husband to Laura Holt Steele. What if I'm expected to take on the moniker of Sean James Fitzgerald, born in London, England? I don't want it," he stated vehemently with a swipe at his hair. "I don't want it. I've spent a lifetime moving from one name to the next. Remington Steele is who I am. I'm neither prepared to give it up, nor will I." With that emphatic statement, he returned his attention to the stove while she raised her brows at his back.

"When did you come to all these conclusions?" she wondered aloud.

"Last night. Couldn't sleep. Barely got a wink or two." Serving the first omelet, he poured the egg bath into the pan for the second, then crossed the kitchen to make her coffee. Setting both on the table across the room, he returned to lift her from the counter. Grasping his hands, she moved them off her waist.

"I'll wait for you," she informed him. "What else has that mind of yours come up with?" Returning to the stove, he glanced at her then returned his eyes to the food before him.

"Should the tests confirm I'm his son, I'd like to go out to Marston this afternoon and start sorting through it all." He sighed heavily, then leaned his backside against the counter across from her again while lifting a hand to his mouth to nibble at the thumbnail. "Ah, Laura," he sighed again, "My greatest regret upon finding out Daniel was my father was we'd no time together as father and son. I vowed to you then I wouldn't keep taking for granted the people in my life. If he's my father…"

"You don't want to waste time," she concluded for him. "I understand." A hand lifted to stoke her neck thoughtfully. "The Earl's afraid you won't be able to forgive him, you know."

"I don't like it, love, not at all. I still believe we'd a better chance at defending ourselves from what was coming at us if we'd known." Removing the pan from the flame, he served the final omelet, then took his cup of coffee and food to the table. She easily slipped off the counter to join him.

"And I still don't know if that's the case, given when it finally happened," she reminded him casually, as she sat down across from him and picked up her coffee. "How was the test this morning?"

"Fine, fine, if not for the fact I despise needles even more than I do pills," he answered, taking another bite of his omelet. He pointed his fork at her plate. "You need to eat." She pushed her plate back towards the center of the table.

"I'm not hungry."

"Try anyway," he insisted, pushing the plate back in front of her.

She glowered at him, but set down her coffee cup and picked up her fork. He kept his eyes on her as he took another bite of his food, acknowledging there was little he'd be able to do to sway her into eating. A nervous Laura ate; a stressed Laura subsisted on coffee and tea. Normally he wouldn't push the matter but it hadn't escaped his notice she'd been toying with or completely ignoring food set in front of her for the last three days. Unless he was off his mark, he'd guess she'd lost a couple pounds in the last few days, weight her slim form could ill afford.

"The house in Wyndham Mews? How long were you and Daniel there?" she asked after forcing down a bite of the omelet.

"Near on four months, if I remember correctly. It was certainly one of our longer stays anywhere, partially due to myself, I admit." She looked at him with open curiosity.

"Your tutors?" He shook his head at her, swallowing his food then taking a sip of coffee.

"Only if you mean the sheer number of tutors almost instantly traipsing through my life had me taking off several times. Daniel had every minute of my life planned from sunup to well after sundown. It had been a long time since I was answerable to anyone and I resented the hell out of it," he grinned, even as he noted she was carefully shoving cutting up her omelet and moving it about her plate to make it appear she'd eaten more than a bite.

"Where'd you go? Back to Brixton?"

"The first time, aye. Was back for right at a week before swallowing my pride and returning. No matter the rigors, once you've been given a bed of your own and as much food as you can eat..." he shrugged. "I'd have been a fool not to return, Daniel's imperial demands or not."

"And the other times you ran? If you didn't go back to Brixton…?" Setting down his fork, he took a long draw of his coffee. Somehow, given her comment two days prior, he sensed he'd best avoid the details of those times.

"Uhhhh, I –" The phone ringing was, for once, a blessed relief. "Ah, the phone. Mustn't let it ring long," he told her, while eagerly launching himself from his seat to answer it. She grimaced, accurately deducing his reaction to the question had everything to do with her comment about 'hundreds of women before'. She still had no idea where the words had come from, but they'd clearly not simply rolled off his back like a great many of her barbs did. Damn.

"Steele, here," Remington greeted when he picked up the receiver. Laura eyes were riveted upon him. "Chandler… No, no it's a fine time. I just didn't think we'd be hearing from you quite so soon… I see…" The color drained from his face before her eyes, sending her to stand in front of him. "And his Lordship, has he yet been informed?... Ah, I see… Yes, that'll be fine… Thank you… Goodbye." Shifting from foot-to-foot, embracing herself, she found herself beyond frustrated he'd not exhibited a single hint of what the results might be. Slowly, he hung up the phone, then turned back to face her, scrubbing at his face with both hands before slowly dropping them.

"Well?" she asked drawing out the word.

Shaking his head, he held up his hands, but only two words would form coherently.

"My God."

(TBC)