It was the sweetest homecoming he ever had.
Dinner was practically a banquet. Mildred and Laura had cooked up a storm in his kitchen to make up for two weeks of excrutiatingly bland hospital grub. He wished he could say the conversation flowed as freely as the wine, but they wouldn’t let him have more than a glass.
After Mildred left, he put on some music and relaxed in the living room while Laura stacked the dishwasher. He let out a contented sigh. The aroma of food, fresh flowers and Laura’s perfume lingered in the air. She joined him on the couch soon, snuggling into the crook of his arm.
"I’ve missed this," she mused, her eyes closed and head resting comfortably on his shoulder.
"I’ve missed you." He tenderly ran his fingers along the side her face, then kissed her the way he’d longed to for weeks.
When the kiss ended, she said, "I’ve missed that." He grinned at her, looking so utterly pleased with himself that Laura wanted to take it back.
He offered his palm to her. "Dance, my dear?"
"You shouldn’t overdo it on your first day home."
"For goodness sake, Laura, I’m a recovering gunshot victim, not an invalid."
"Alright, one dance," she compromised as she pulled him off the couch. "Then it’s off to bed for you."
"I’ve had fantasies of you forcing me into bed, but it’s never like this."
Her laughter rang sweet in his ears. They held each other close and swayed gently to the music, lost in their own thoughts.
Laura recalled the conversation she’d had with the doctor the day before Harry’s discharge from the hospital.
"Judging from the other scars on his body and your line of work, I’m guessing this isn’t the first time he’s come close to losing his life," Anne Wong observed.
"No, but this is by far the closest."
"At least one of those scars on his chest is a previous bullet wound, isn’t it?"
"I only know of the ones that he got from a spiked fence in London, but so far he hasn’t gotten around to telling me about the others," Laura admitted, ignoring the quizzical glance she got. She was still in no position to give a medical history on him, so she steered the subject away from it. "Was there something you wanted to discuss with me?"
"Just a few reminders," Dr. Wong said, opening a folder in front of her. "He needs some physical therapy to regulate his cardiovascular recovery. No strenuous activities, no heavy lifting or chasing bad guys for a while."
"How long is ‘a while’? I’ve had my hands full just trying to keep him from breaking out of the hospital in the last two weeks."
Dr. Wong smiled at the image. "It really depends on how quickly he progresses, but he was in pretty good health before this and he’s young. As long as he follows his program, I see no reason why he can’t do anything he wants in a few months.
"I recall something about an extended holiday you wanted to take. I don’t think he should fly yet, so postpone if for a couple of weeks or pick someplace nearby. As for food, the dietician can give you more information on what he should or shouldn’t eat…" she paused, looking thoughtful. "You’re newlyweds, aren’t you?"
Laura nodded, perplexed. What did that have anything to do with it?
"Ah, then this might be a bit harder on you than others," Dr. Wong said. "It would be best if you two, er, remain chaste for the next weeks… at least until his heart is much stronger."
Laura flushed, then laughed despite herself. "Don’t worry about us, doctor. We’ve had four years of practice."
"Oh?" said the doctor with an intrigued smile. "I do hope I get to hear that story someday. I suppose it was your heart that needed strengthening in that situation?"
The insight and the memory provoked another laugh from Laura.
"What’s so funny?" asked the current heart patient. She told him.
"She is quite a character, I'll give you that," he commented and pulled her closer. "Brilliant as she is, can’t we get a second opinion on that issue?"
"Love to, but it makes sense. It certainly qualifies as a... strenuous activity."
"I was afraid you’d say something like that," he said ruefully. "Must you always be so sensible?"
"No." And with that, she pulled his face towards hers and kissed him. Sinatra’s voice soared in the dimly lit room.
Laura broke the kiss, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. Suppressing the urge to stand under an air conditioning duct to cool off, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and waited for her pulse rate to return to normal.
Steele listened to the violent pounding of his own heart and wondered if kissing was supposed to be against the rules too. It seemed like months, not merely weeks, since he and Laura had had an intimate evening together. He also felt giddier than he usually did at this stage, so maybe the doctor had a point.
When my life is over… He thought of the dark ‘void’ he was in before regaining consciousness. Had he really died? How was one supposed to tell it apart from a dream? Sure, Daniel was there but what did that prove? And that bit about not knowing the family name at all. It would have been interesting to find out his real name through a surreal near-death experience.
Regardless, he was Remington Steele for keeps, thanks to the woman he now held in his arms. Death or not, the strongest emotion he remembered feeling throughout the whole episode was the need to get back to Laura. He hadn’t mentioned Daniel and the grandchild the latter wanted named after him, but Harry doubted she would object. The fact is, he and Laura had yet to discuss children, but he knew it was only a matter of time. With any luck, there would be plenty of chances to plan the rest of their life together.
"Thank you," he whispered in her ear.
"For what?"
"For this dance. For that wonderful dinner tonight."
"Why, Mr. Steele, I do believe you’re getting sentimental," Laura teased. "At any rate, Mildred did most of the work. Why do you think it was even remotely edible?"
"You’re selling yourself short," he contested loyally and kissed the tip of her nose. "I know from first-hand experience that you have great potential in the arts of chopping, peeling, defrosting, that sort of thing – oof!" Her fist landed playfully but solidly just under his ribs.
"Next time, I go after the side with the bandage," she threatened, trying not to laugh. "Bed!"
"I’m not tired!" he protested.
"I said one dance. We’ve already gone over by two songs," she endured his good-natured grumbling as she went about turning off the music. They went into the bedroom, where she made him take his medication and then helped him change into his pajamas. She noted the more prominent outline of his ribs and ruefully wondered how much weight he’d lost.
"I should ask Mildred to come over more often and help fatten you up," she said as she finished doing up the buttons of his top. He sat at the edge of the bed; she stood in front of him.
"You make me sound like part of a herd of cattle," he remarked. He circled his arms around her waist and pressed his head to her tummy, feeling immeasurably content.
"It feels good to be home," he said quietly, "and I’ve waited all my life for someplace to truly call home."
Touched, she gently stroked his dark hair. "I’m glad. This place doesn’t feel like home to me without you, either." His arms tightened around her and the two of them stayed frozen in place for a long moment.
"I’m going to get ready for bed," she finally said. "You want to use the bathroom?"
"After you."
"Okay," she dropped a kiss on his forehead. She picked out a nightgown from the dresser on the way to the bathroom.
When she came out, he was fast asleep, his arms curled around her pillow. She smiled, knowing he was more tired than he’d ever admit. Gently, she pried the pillow away from him and took its place. He stirred but didn’t wake, yet he instinctively hugged her close.
"Laura," he murmured, eliciting another smile from the object of his love and his dreams.
Almost three weeks later, Steele watched his pen clatter loudly on his desk, vaguely echoing his frustration. He was on paperwork detail and had been since he had insisted on coming back to work. The stack of folders before him reminded him of those trick candles on birthday cakes, the kind that kept lighting back up no matter how many times you blew them out.
He took a sip of cold coffee and made a face. Even Mildred was out doing legwork. He had to make and retrieve the coffee himself. So much for being the pampered recovering patient.
He cast a disdainful look at the folders. His "little trooper" had taken on two security contracts to keep herself occupied before they left for their vacation in the south of France. They’d decided to pay Daniel’s villa a long overdue visit. At the rate Laura was working, however, he’d be lucky if the woman could still talk by the time they got there.
The other night, he thought he had convinced her to come home earlier for a relaxing evening and she still showed up past midnight because the contractors had run overtime. And what did she do when she got home? Shooed him off to bed over some imagined fever and gave him a sermon on the perils of missing his medication. Admittedly, he’d felt tired after all the preparation for dinner, which was why he fell asleep on the couch. The least she could have done was try the food.
For her part, Laura did try to come home early, but the security equipment had malfunctioned at the outset and she had to make the crew retest the system several times before she was satisfied. When she came home, she dragged herself straight to the bedroom to mollify Harry, whom she was sure would be sour-graping in the company of an old movie. She was surprised to find an empty bed instead. Outside, she spotted the table setting and unlit candles in the dining room before she discovered the figure asleep on the couch.
She groaned, knowing he’d whipped up one of his gourmet delights again. She felt positively wretched for neglecting him, but she knew he was conniving to get romantic and she wasn’t sure how long she could resist the temptation. Guiltily, she began to kiss him awake and was startled to find his skin hot to the touch. He woke up to find her palm on his forehead, then his throat. It went downhill from there.
Laura entered his office at the end of this particular day and flopped down on the sofa with a yawn.
"Ah, the intrepid detective finally finds her way back to the dreary walls of the office," Steele welcomed sarcastically. "Busy day, I take it?"
"Mm-hmm," she mumbled, putting her feet up on the coffee table and leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. "I could go to sleep for a week."
"Aren’t you going to ask me how my day went?" he asked.
She opened one lazy eye. "Alright, I’ll bite. How was your day, dear?"
"Thus far, I have worked through case files dating back almost a year. The hole puncher is almost fused to hand, and if I get any more paper cuts, I’m going to need a bloody transfusion."
She laughed.
"It isn’t funny."
"Well, I’m sorry, but I’m just a little too tired to coddle your restless sensibilities today," she said with a touch of irritation. She did not bother to stifle another yawn.
"Why did you have to take these two cases anyway?"
"Haven’t we been through this before?" Now her voice betrayed all of her annoyance. "If we didn’t take these cases, what are we supposed to do in the meantime? We can’t just sit here wading through paperwork for three weeks while waiting for the flight to France."
"No, that has turned out to be my job."
She pointedly ignored the remark. "Besides, if we want to establish the agency as a security specialist in the future, it would be foolish to pass these two up. They’re both chain stores; the exposure will mean great mileage – "
"Wait a minute," he interrupted. "Since when did we make the decision to become security specialists?"
A somewhat guilty pause. "As far as options go, it’s still the best we’ve come up with."
"But it was shelved along with the others because we wanted to hold out for a better alternative. Just when were you planning to tell me that you’d already made up your mind? I thought I was supposed to be part of this decision."
"You are!" she said, rather lamely. He cocked one eyebrow to indicate he wasn’t convinced. "I know we haven’t thoroughly discussed it, but the way I see it, even if we hired more operatives and did less of the hands-on work, you’d still be Remington Steele and by far the most visible target by anyone who had a bone to pick with the agency. If we focus on security, we drastically minimize the chances of dealing with dangerous criminals head on."
His eyes narrowed as he pondered what she said. "There has be a gap in logic here that escapes me right now, but Laura, I don’t want you to give up what you do best just to save my hide."
"You lousy ingrate!" Laura raged inside her head. Out loud, she said acerbically, "I thought that was the whole point of this exercise, to ‘keep our hides safe’."
"Yes, but I don’t want you to sacrifice your career on account of my… one incident."
"I am not sacrificing my career! And even if I did, that would be my prerogative, not yours."
"Just like this agency is still yours, not mine?"
"Yes!" she retorted before she could stop herself. She instantly regretted it when she saw him wince and look away.
"I didn’t mean that," she quickly added.
He walked over to stand by the window. "Forget it."
"No, I won’t forget it," she said, angry at herself for hurting his feelings. "We both know it’s as much your agency now as it is mine. That was just an old reflex mechanism acting up."
"Maybe," he answered and continued to look out the window.
Now she felt irritated that he’d withdrawn into his shell and clammed up. "Oh no, you don’t. You are not pulling out of this conversation now. If I remember correctly, you were the one who brought up this whole maybe-we-should-look-at-another-business business. I thought this was what you wanted."
"I never said I specifically wanted this," he said indignantly. "For that matter, I don’t even understand what ‘this’ is supposed to be! Becoming security specialists? Being chained to a desk doing paperwork?"
He paused, staring at his hands but not seeing them. She barely heard his sigh. "What I do know is: I miss my partner, Laura."
Startled, Laura caught his eyes as he glanced at her. There was sadness in them, not the accusation she expected.
A little flustered, she said, "It’s only temporary. Just until the doctor says –"
He rolled his eyes. "I am sick and tired of hearing about what the doctor ordered. Why won’t you simply take my word that I can handle it?"
"Oh, handle it the same way you worked yourself into a fever the other night?" she watched him throw up his hands in the air in disgust and felt her own temper rise again. The clod still refused to admit he was ever sick that night. "You rebel against everything the doctor says! You refuse to follow instructions as basic as taking your medication. Must you be such a difficult patient?"
"I know my own body, Laura. I’ve spent a lifetime fending for myself and I think I can tell the difference between what my body can or cannot do."
"So now you know better than a doctor with a medical degree?" she shot back. "Well, I’ve got news for you: you don’t have to fend for yourself anymore. I’m here. For once in your life, why don’t you sit back and let someone take care of you?"
"I appreciate that I have you looking out for me – you have no idea how much – but this is not ‘taking care’ of me, Laura, this is mothering me! I don’t need a mother; I have Mildred already. I need my wife!"
"Just what is that supposed to mean?" she practically sputtered. Then a thought struck her. "Are you angry because we still haven’t made love?"
"That would be one part of it, yes," he answered after a beat. "But it’s not just your working so hard, or coming home late, or feeling exhausted all the time… except for the night I came home from the hospital, I feel like I haven’t had a chance to be alone with you in weeks."
"What makes you think this is easy for me? During the day, I have to deal with work, worry about how you’re doing, then when we get home, I can’t even look forward to a relaxing evening because you won’t take the doctor’s word that there are some things you still shouldn’t do!"
She had to stop for a breath. "And how can you stand there and think I don’t want to make love with you? I have no health restrictions to temper my… passion, but I always have to be the one to stop us from going too far. Do you know just how hard it is for me to stop? Do you?! You may not have the full energy to go through with it but I do!" Wild-eyed with fury, she picked up the nearest harmless projectile (a magazine) and hurled it at his head before storming out to her own office with a truly magnificent slam of the connecting door.