Chapter 5: Keeping Vigil

"Mildred," Laura whispered next to the older woman's ear while touching her lightly on the shoulder. Mildred startled, despite Laura's best attempt not to frighten her.

"Oh, Miss Holt!" Mildred exclaimed, then with a sheepish look on her face, confessed the obvious, "I must have dozed off."

"For good reason," Laura replied, with understanding. Neither of them had slept worth a darn on the flight, "We've been awake for more than twenty-four hours, for the most part," she reminded as she helped Mildred to her feet. The other woman jumped again when she realized they had company.

"Chalmers," she greeted crisply.

"Miss Krebs," he returned.

"Daniel would like just a minute with Mr. Steele," Laura informed Mildred, while guiding her towards the door.

"Did you find out who did this to the Chief?" Mildred questioned when they stepped out of the room.

"The only thing we can be sure of is there were at least three people involved, but I'm afraid Mr. Steele may be the only one able to tell us who those people are," Laura informed her, then dropped the bombshell on her. "Keyes had the audacity to show up." Mildred glowered and plopped her hands on her hips.

"And what did that slimeball want?" she demanded to know.

"To express his condolences," Laura replied with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, I'll just bet!" Mildred guffawed. Laura gave her a sly little smirk.

"He's enjoying Lombard's hospitality as we speak." Mildred started laughing, then stopped her eyes widening.

"Wait a minute! You don't think… Keyes?!" Laura lifted and dropped her hands.

"It would be convenient if he was responsible, but I just can't see it," she confided. "He doesn't have the kind of network he'd need to set it up from LA and he can't just walk up to people on the street asking if they want to make a little money by killing someone." She shook her head. "No, my gut says this is someone local or at least someone that has been to London often enough to know the in's and out's."

"But who?" Mildred wondered with a furrowed brow. Laura lay a hand on the other woman's shoulder and lifted her brows.

"Again, that may be a question only Mr. Steele can answer," she said with a sharp nod. "But it's an answer that will have to wait until another day. Right now, Mr. Steele needs something more important than us finding out who did this to him and that is me, here, with him. I'm not going anywhere again until I know he's out of the woods…"

When Laura had told Mildred she wasn't going anywhere, she had meant precisely that: She would not journey further than the nurses' station from Remington's room and even then, only out of necessity. No amount of prodding or cajoling would change her mind.

Two hours after she'd returned to the hospital Mildred had stepped into the room to suggest they take a trip to a nearby store that Catherine had recommended to pick up some essentials. They had, after all, arrived in London with literally no more than the clothing on their backs. Laura's response to the suggestion? She removed the small notepad and pen from her purse and in her precise handwriting made a short list:

Cotton shorts, women's small or girl's XL
T-shirt, women's small
Package of underwear, women's extra-small or small
Socks
Tennis shoes, size 6
Brush
Hairbands
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Dental Floss
Mouthwash
Deodorant
Duffel bag

"Use the company credit card and get what you need, as well," Laura told the other woman, as she ripped the piece of paper from her notebook and handed it off. "Let's just try to avoid a repeat of the wardrobe fiasco in Vegas, huh?" Mildred skimmed the list then frowned.

"Oh, honey, you're gonna need more than just these few things," she advised, "And I think a long, hot shower at the hotel would be just the thing to perk you right up, don't you?" Brows knitting together, Laura took the piece of paper back from Mildred and withdrew her pen from her purse again, adding to the list:

Towel
Washcloth
Shampoo
Cream Rinse
Soap
Razor

"I'll shower when he's moved to a private room," Laura announced, handing back the list and putting her pen away. "Until then, if a sponge bath is good enough for Mr. Steele, it's good enough for me."

"Aw, hon, it's not going to do the Chief any good for you to wear your—"

"I'm not going anywhere, Mildred," Laura cut her off, a finality to her tone that made it clear any further argument would fall upon deaf ears.

She paced and prowled the room until Mildred returned, then leaving Remington in Mildred's motherly hands, had found a bathroom down the hall where she quickly stripped down, washed, dressed and pulled her damp her back into a French braid. In record time, she was reversing her path down the hallway towards Remington's room, when Daniel's raised voice coming from the waiting room drew her attention.

"Thomas, I implore you, now is not the time!"

"When, if not now?" Thomas returned, just as passionately, as Laura stepped into the room.

"Now is not the time for what?" she inquired, her head tipped to the side with curiosity. Three shocked faces, Catherine's included, turned to look at her. "I wasn't eavesdropping," she assured. "I could hear you halfway down the hallway."

"Nothing to be concerned about, my dear," Daniel spoke for the trio. "Thomas is determined the Haven House will open as planned, while I believe it should be postponed. Harry's put far too much work into this little project of theirs for him not to be in attendance and receive the recognition he's entitled to for his efforts." Laura's brows drew together.

"Well, I'd have to agree with Thomas. Mr. Steele didn't do this for the recognition," she drew out the word with distaste. "He did it because he knows what it's like to be a kid living on those streets. He wouldn't want what happened to him delay opening Haven House even a day." She held up a hand in apology. "I'm sorry, it's really not my place to intersperse my opinion. Daniel, when you have a minute, there's a few things Mr. Steele will likely want from your house when he wakes. If you wouldn't mind arranging having them brought here, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, anything Harry needs or wants," Daniel assured. "If you'll just make a list, I'll have Tildy gather it together and I'll bring it with me in the morning."

"Thank you. I'll have the list waiting whenever you're ready."

With that, she'd returned to Remington's bedside where she kept time not by her watch, but by the lengthening shadows in the room.

She picked up a book of crossword puzzles Mildred had left for her. On how many flights had she and Remington done crosswords together? How many lazy Sunday mornings over the last year had they whiled away the morning sitting on his terrace, enjoying a cup of tea or lounging in her bed while working the New York Times crossword puzzle together?

"A five-letter word for passionate," she'd said aloud one of those Sunday mornings as they sat on his terrace.

"Laura," he replied, without missing a beat. The reply had been so unexpected – and so him - that a dimpled smile lit her face, even as she shot him down.

"Nice try," she told him, drily, "But it doesn't fit."

"Oh, I assure you it does," he returned immediately, his eyes never leaving the entertainment section of the paper he was perusing.

"It ends with a 'y'," she pressed. With a long-suffering sigh, he lowered the paper and looked at her over the top of the pages.

"A bit of romance. Is it really too much to ask?" he scolded. Raising the paper again, he offered a single word. "Lusty."

It had been correct, of course. The man's keen mind had to be admired… God knew, it was one of the reasons she was so attracted to him.

Just one, she smiled to herself now.

Never one to be outdone, she'd waited for her opportunity and it had arrived three weeks later, as he'd lounged against the brick wall that served as the backboard to her bed, her head pillowed on his lap.

"Nine letter word for profligate?" he questioned.

"Remington," she deadpanned. Shocked and amused, he half-coughed, half-laughed.

"I'm insulted, Miss Holt," he complained. "I give you passionate and in return I receive profligate?" She smiled up at him cheekily.

"If the shoe fits…"

With a shake of her head, she tossed aside the crossword puzzles. No, they wouldn't keep her mind off the passing minutes and hours during which he remained stubbornly unconscious. Rationally, of course, she knew he'd been sedated specifically to keep him in that state. Irrationally? The man had never met a plan that he hadn't redesigned at his whim. Why couldn't he defy the plan now and open his eyes for a damned minute!?

Unknowingly, she growled aloud with frustration, while trying to ignore the fact that her headache was returning… and with a vengeance. She took to her feet, pacing while she spoke to him.

"We have a case, Mr. Steele," she informed him sternly at one point. "One I'd think you'd very much wish to solve, so wake up already!"

Twenty minutes later, she resorted to a bit of bribery.

"You're wasting time, Remington. Every day you lay here is one day less for us in Italy, because we darn sure can't cancel Portugal on Mildred. She's already started shopping for the trip, you know…"

Sometime later, while she was still bargaining with the unconscious man in the bed, pacing the floor and now rubbing her temples to try to ease her headache, Mildred bustled through the door carrying a white Styrofoam container.

"I brought you dinner," she announced.

"Thank you, Mildred," Laura replied absently.

"Another headache?" Mildred wondered, her eyes narrowed on the younger woman. In her assessment, Miss Holt looked like death warmed over: Her skin was far too pale, making the unconcealed freckles on her face stand out; she had dark circles forming beneath the eye that wasn't already black and blue; and she looked as though it was taking all of her willpower to remain standing. She said as much. "Nothing personal, hon, but you look like hell."

"Thanks," Laura replied drily, "Thanks a lot."

"Awww, you know what I mean," Mildred flicked a hand at her in a 'get out of here' motion. "You need to eat and get some sleep. You aren't gonna do Mr. Steele any good if you're laying in a hospital bed yourself."

"I'll make you a deal: You go to the hotel and get a good night's sleep, and I'll curl up in the chair and do the same here." If she was negotiating with an unconscious man, why not do the same with a persistent mother hen? Mildred eyed her with suspicion, making Laura mentally crinkle her nose. The woman wasn't exactly a pushover.

"I am bushed," she finally conceded.

"Then, go, get some sleep." She held up a hand when Mildred's lips parted to speak. "If there's any change with Mr. Steele, I'll call you. You're only five minutes away."

"I'll have someone bring you in a blanket and pillow on my way out," Mildred agreed, with some reluctance. Miss Holt would get some sleep at about the same time pigs learned to fly – unless, that is, she had some encouragement. She shoved the styrofoam container at her employer, "Eat," she ordered.

This time Laura crinkled her nose quite for real, but trudged over to the chair near Remington's bed and took the container of food. Popping open the lid, while Mildred said goodbye to Remington, she looked down at the food much as one would a snake about to strike. Normally a burger and fries would make her mouth water. But these weren't normal times, and her stomach flip-flopped at the idea putting anything on it. Nevertheless, she took a small bite of the burger and forced herself to chew.

"Okay, Boss, enough of this nonsense," Mildred addressed Remington. "When I get back here in the morning, I better find you bright eyed and bushy tailed, you hear me?" Misty eyed, she leaned down and brushed her lips against his hair, afraid to do so anywhere on his badly bruised face. With a final look at a chewing Laura, she walked towards the door.

"I'll be here first thing in the morning," she promised.

"Good night, Mildred. Try to get some sleep," Laura offered, then watched as the older woman left. With sigh, she closed the Styrofoam container and set it aside to resume her pacing.

Outside the room, Mildred wasted no time, marching with determination towards the nurses' station. In her no-nonsense IRS auditor voice she addressed the first nurse to make eye contact with her.

"Unless you want Miss—Mrs. Steele check into this joint right along with Mr. Steele, she needs some place to sleep and a couple of Tylenol wouldn't hurt either," she informed the woman brusquely. A woman dressed in nurse's whites stood and walked around the outside of the station, offering Mildred her hand.

"I'm Claudia, Mr. Steele's private duty nurse for this evening," she introduced herself.

"Krebs. Mildred Krebs," Mildred offered.

"Dr. Townsend has stepped out for dinner but shall return within the half hour to remove Mr. Steele from sedation, if all continues as it has," Claudia informed her. "Dr. Townsend is also tending to Mrs. Steele. Has her headache returned?"

"I'd say so, not that she'd admit it," Mildred replied.

"I will see to her medication, then, and I'll have housekeeping bring in a bed for her," Claudia promised. "The Earl of Claridge has made it very clear she and Mr. Steele are to receive the same treatment he himself would."

"Well… good." Wind taken out of her sails, her shoulders slumped while offering a slip of paper to the nurse. "The number of the hotel where Miss—Mrs. Steele and I are staying. If they need anything, you call me."

Back in the room, Laura's head had begun to pound in cadence with each step she took. Resignedly, she moved the chair close to the end of the bed and sat down. With one hand lying lightly against his leg in hopes he'd sense her presence with only that touch, she lay down her head near his blanket covered feet and watched a cacophony of colors play out on the screen of her eyelids, courtesy of her headache, she was sure. She hadn't even been back on London soil for half a day yet, and it felt as though she'd been here waiting… watching… for days. She wasn't asking for much, was she? One smug look… one crooked smile… one cocky lift of a brow… one insouciant remark – she'd take anything, just so long as she knew when he woke he was the same man she'd left here not even a week ago.

Only seconds later, it seemed, a pair of raps on the door was followed by a cheery, female voice.

"Good evening, Mrs. Steele," the homely looking brunette with a bright smile addressed her, "My name is Claudia and I will be Mr. Steele's nurse this evening." She held out a small paper cup to Laura along with a larger glass of water. "The medication Dr. Townsend prescribed you." For an instant Laura considered refusing the medication, but only for an instant. There was simply no way she'd get any sleep with this headache, and after two days without sleep she'd be absolutely useless to anyone, including Remington. Tipping back her head, she popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed them, with the aid of the water.

"Thank you," she told Claudia as the other woman took the two empty cups from her and tossed them into the trash bin.

"You're quite welcome. Dr—" Another rap on the door stopped Claudia from finishing the thought.

"Mrs. Steele," Townsend greeted with a nod. Pulling up the stool he'd used earlier in the day, he reached for his penlight. "Let's have a look at you first. Headache." She nodded then winced as the light crossed her eyes, drawing a hum from him. "Nausea?"

"Not as bad," she replied truthfully.

"Dizziness?"

"A little." He sat back and nodded his head.

"Have you managed to get any sleep at all?" Townsend inquired. She sighed quietly, while lifting and dropping a hand.

"I was trying."

"Yes, well, the medication will help with that," Townsend commented as he stood and offered her a hand. When she stood, her head cocked slightly to the side in question, he picked up her chair. "We'll just have you sit over here for a few minutes, if you don't mind. We've passed the twenty-four hour mark and your husband has remained stable on his own. We'll be removing him from sedation and placing him on a morphine drip for pain management. Should all go well overnight, we'll remove his chest tube in the morning."

"How long until he wakes?" she questioned, as Townsend leaned over Remington, sliding his stethoscope over his chest and Claudia removed two bags of clear fluid from the IV stand, then hung a new, smaller bag.

"Hours yet, I'm sure. It will take a spell for his body to dispel the medications from his system. There'll be plenty of time for you to get some much needed sleep." She blinked several times, her eyes itching, then rubbed at them. Ouch! She hissed in a breath, after giving her forgotten black eye until she gave it a good rub. She looked up to find Townsend smiling over his shoulder at her. "The medication appears to be working."

Her brows pinched together. She was pretty sure she should be irritated by the comment but wasn't quite sure why. So, she watched as Townsend lifted the lids to Remington's eyes, shined the light in them, then with a silent nod, lowered the sheet and blanket to inspect the dressing beneath his shoulder.

"Claudia, if you'd change the dressing," he directed.

"Yes, Doctor. I'm just about finished here."

"Good, good," he replied as he moved to the end of the bed to pick up Remington's chart, paging through the notes made since admission, then scribbling some additions.

Laura rubbed at her eyes and hissed in a breath… again… then tried to focus on the doorway when another knock sounded. She found it difficult to do so.

"Everything alright, Mrs. Steele?" She gave her head a quick shake to clear it. Oops! That sent the room spinning.

"I feel drunk," she muttered, then licked at her lips. "And my mouth's dry." The admission made her frown. Why was she being so chatty?

"That would be the trazodone at work," Townsend told her with a smile. "When last did you eat?" She reached up to rub at her brow, while she concentrated on the question.

"Yesterday?" she questioned. No, that wasn't right. She'd only had coffee yesterday morning and they'd left for London before their lunch had been delivered. "No, the day before," she corrected. Wait. Had she eaten anything on the plane? "I think," she added.

"Which explains why you've reacted so quickly," he informed her with another smile. Movement by Remington caught her attention and she watched as a pair of orderlies began to move his bed.

"Wait, where are you taking him?" she asked, bounding to her feet, then instantly regretting the sudden movement as her headache reminded her it wasn't quite gone and the room swam. She sat back down heavily.

"There's no need to be alarmed, ma'am," Claudia assured. "We're just moving his bed over a touch to make room."

"Oh." It never occurred to her to question what they needed room for, her thoughts growing too muddled to follow.

Drained by the events of the last twenty-five hours, she didn't protest when Claudia urged her to climb into a bed identical to Remington's and lined up against his. Gratefully accepting the glass of water offered her, she drank it down greedily, then with a wish goodnight, she toed off her shoes, lay down and pulled the blanket up over herself.

As the door to the room slowly closed, pitching the room into darkness save for the dim light burning above the bed, she scooted closer to the rails separating her from Remington, and slipped her arm through them. Only once her hand lay beneath his, gripping it softly, did she fall to sleep…

Laura's fingers twitched, and even in her dreams she frowned at whatever it was disturbing her sleep.

There it was again. Her fingers flexed and she gave her head a shake.

Then again. Irritated, she dragged her eyes open so she could shoo away whatever it was brushing against her palm.

And found a pair of blue eyes peering back at her.

Half-asleep and believing she must still be dreaming, her eyes held his while she kept her silence, some small part of her fearful that should she speak, she'd wake and find him still lying unconscious in that bed. The finger that stroked her palm again wasn't enough to convince her otherwise, but then with the panache and dry sense of humor that was uniquely Remington's, a brow twitched slightly upwards and he spoke.

"Just a few scrapes and bruises, hmmm?"

And with those words, a slow smile spread across her face, deepening until her dimples were on full display.

He was back...