Laura sat fuming at her desk, a broken pencil in her hand. Upon seeing him, she swivelled the chair around to face the wall.
She felt him walk quietly in her direction. As she tried to keep her eyes fixed on a crease in the wallpaper, a magazine moved deliberately into her field of vision.
"Take this and throw it again. And this time, don’t miss my head."
Incredulous, she couldn’t stop herself from turning around to look at him.
He held up a pencil. "Or would you rather break another pencil?"
That did it. She snatched the magazine from his grasp and began hitting him. He half-heartedly fended her off with his arms, but she still managed to get in some solid blows on his shoulders and hips. It wasn’t until she landed a good one on his left side that he involuntarily cried out.
She stopped, a worried frown creasing her face.
He straightened a bit and cleared his throat, still holding his side. "I suppose I deserved that."
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, you did."
He broke into a grin, then she cracked up too. Laughing, they fell into each other’s arms. He lightly pressed his lips onto her forehead, her eyelids, her nose... then their mouths locked in a passionate kiss.
They broke off only when Laura started giggling again. He laughed with her and hugged her close until they both became quiet.
"Forgive me?" he whispered.
She didn’t answer. Instead she pulled his head towards hers for another, seemingly endless kiss.
"I’ll take that as a yes," he said afterwards.
And they started laughing again.
They went off to dinner later – the long, intimate, romantic dinner they should have had a few days ago.
"I’m sorry I didn’t try to spend more time with you," Laura was saying. "I knew you felt bored and left out of the action, but apart from the obvious medical reasons, I wasn’t sure–" she broke off, uncertain how to phrase it.
"What?"
"I wasn’t sure how much… longer I could, um, hold out––"
She spoke so slowly, he figured out what she meant. "Against my irresistible charms?"
"I was going to say," she corrected indignantly, "your ‘persistence and determination in trying to seduce me’."
"I like my version better," he proclaimed with a disarming smile. "You could, of course, call it a force of habit. Remember, I spent four years trying to get you into bed."
"And remember, I’ve had four years of practice keeping you out of mine."
"How can I possibly forget?" he rolled his eyes heavenward. "Don’t you regret every minute of it now? I know I do."
She smiled. "I must admit, it’s harder to resist now that I know what I’m missing."
"Laura, the physical therapist says I’m doing very well. He sees no reason why we can’t…"
"He’s not the doctor," she declared stubbornly.
"Darling, I feel wonderful; I’m sure we can convince the doctor that there’s no reason to wait."
"We agreed to wait until France, so let’s just stick to that plan."
"You decreed that we wait until we get to France, and we both know that’s well beyond the time frame the doctor restricted. What’s a few days, Laura?"
"Precisely. What’s a few more days?"
He looked pained. "That’s not what I meant and you know it."
"I just want to play it safe, okay? Humor me," she urged, then looked away. Her face seemed to darken as a memory filled her mind. "You were asleep, lying quietly on a bed, and you died. I do not want to take any chances. This much, at least, is within my power."
He opened his mouth to say something and couldn’t. Remorse and guilt flooded him. How could he have been such an idiot? The brave front she put up had fooled even him. It was so much easier to believe that she would bounce back without any emotional scars, but that was not only unlikely, he should have known better.
"Oh God, Laura, I’m so sorry," he finally managed.
She picked up on his guilt trip and reached for his hand across the table. "It’s alright. We should have discussed it more, I suppose, but enough of that." She deftly changed the subject. "Let’s talk about the agency. Why did you react so violently to becoming security specialists? I know we didn’t discuss it, but we didn’t dismiss it either."
"Let’s just say," the erstwhile figurehead replied with a rueful grin. "non-stop paperwork detail has given me a new perspective on the agency."
She looked at him quizzically.
"When I suggested that we get out of this business, I really thought we could give something else a go. Now I know why they warn you to be careful what you wish for. Laura, I have never been this bored in my entire life. God knows I’ve been complaining about it––"
"Incessantly," she put in, unable to resist the opening.
He paused, considering her allegation. "Griping is an art, you know. It takes years of practice before one can pull it off with this much style."
It was her turn to roll her eyes.
"You, on the other hand, haven’t said a word," he observed.
"What makes you think I have anything to complain about?"
"Give me some credit. We’ve worked together for four years. In the last few weeks, you’ve gone about these security contracts with your admirable drive, your usual determination to make it work, but not the same passion. I wish I had your discipline."
"You’re reading too much into things. Or," she teased him. "are you telling me that you actually miss legwork?"
He shook his head. "I remember what you once told me. Of the hypothetical investigative pie, security is like flour or sugar – essential, not too exciting, but the bread and butter of the agency. Mysteries are the icing on the cake. I’m merely concerned, Laura: how long can you go without the icing?"
"I know what I said, but it’s different now," she squeezed his hand. "Your narrow escape has made me realize that I refuse to have a life that doesn’t include you in the picture. If that means giving up ... some of the icing, then that’s a price I’m perfectly willing to pay."
"Thank you," he smiled and kissed the back of her hand. "But you’re far too good a detective to let any of your talents go to waste. I realize that I’m probably the reason you’re pushing yourself towards security even if that may not be what you really want. And I can’t let you do that, Laura."
"Why not? Don’t you think if I had to sacrifice anything for anybody, I’d rather it be you than anyone else?"
He sighed heavily. "I saw what I put you through by getting shot..."
"That’s not your fault," she interrupted. "You shouldn’t blame yourself for that."
"And neither should you."
Laura looked startled. She started to deny it, then stopped herself in time.
He tightened his grip on her hand. "It’s not fair to you. You’ve already given me so much."
"That’s not the point," she argued. "I may have given you your name, but you gave me the Remington Steele I’ve always dreamed of... and the kind of marriage that I could never let myself believe was possible. Yet here we are. You deserve credit, too, for making our lives what they are now."
He stared at her, unmoving… yet deeply moved.
"And it is ours, you know, whatever it is that we have now," Laura continued. "We both own it, so it’s only reasonable that we both make sacrifices and compromises. Sometimes I think we’ve kept our guards up for so long that we’ve forgotten how to simply accept something without question — and just say thanks."
He studied the expression on her face. "Is that what you’re asking me to do?"
"I suppose I am."
"Even if we both know that what you’re asking me to accept might not be good for you in the long run?"
"Well, you’ll be around to protect me from myself," she smiled.
He smiled back, then grew somber. "And if I’m not?"
Her smile faded as well.
"You will be," she said simply.
He observed the stubborn set of her chin. He wanted to ask, was that an order? A prayer? A promise?
Instead, he found himself saying, "Tell me something."
"What?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing."
"What?" Laura demanded.
He bit his lip, then decided to forge ahead. "What would you have done... had I died?"
The table grew really quiet.
She withdrew her hand from his grasp. "Why are you asking me that?" she said, not looking at him.
"Because… you need to answer it. I think we both do."
"Then why don’t you answer it first?"
He chuckled and shook his head in exasperation. "I suppose I should have seen that coming."
"It’s only fair," she said reasonably. "And don’t disappoint me by saying you’ll drown your sorrows in the arms of some blond bimbo who plays chemin de fer in Nice."
"You’re not still jealous of her, are you?" he teased her back. "I mean, granted, she played very well..."
Her eyes narrowed in a warning glare.
"…but no one wins in Vegas quite the way my wife can."
He was rewarded by a soft giggle. The mood lightened perceptively. He reached over to reclaim her hand.
"The answer is, I don’t know. If I ever lost you, I…" his voice caught, and he had to clear his throat before he could go on. "Well, Daniel’s no longer around. I don’t really have anybody else, so I don’t think I would go back to my old life. On the other hand, there would be very little reason to stay. And probably too much pain."
"A wise man once said," she said, "it’s not how many times life knocks you down; it’s how many times you pick yourself back up."
"Who said that?"
"The same guy who told me, after my broker friend’s life fell apart, that people can find it in themselves to go on. Because sometimes that’s the only choice they ever have."
His memories finally clicked with hers, and he smiled in amazement. "I can’t believe you remembered that."
She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it. "What can I say? Anything that gave me any insights into your past stuck to my mind like crazy glue."
"Remind me not to say anything incriminating now lest you use it against me fifty years hence."
"You can start by not remembering the blond in Nice so fondly. In fact, it would be good if you forgot about blonds altogether."
"Ignoring for the meantime the fact that you brought her up in the first place, I think that can be arranged. Brunettes have proved to be far more fascinating anyway."
"Really now?"
"One, in particular," he drew her hand to his lips. "And she’s skirting the issue again."
She traced the five o’clock shadow on his chin. "Because I don’t know the answer. Why do you insist on pursuing this?"
"I… I need to know that you’ll be alright, Laura," he said softly. Then those intense blue eyes twinkled. "I’m afraid you’ll lose yourself in your work, go inventing another Remington Steele, and make the next guy wait forty years instead of just four."
She couldn’t believe how he could be so infuriating and endearing at the same time.
"First of all," she said, "there will never be another Remington Steele. I happen to love him the way he is now. And the next guy is not going to come along simply because this one is staying put. Always."
He watched the emotions play across her face and settle once again into a picture of fiery determination. His Laura. Magnificent, passionate, fragile Laura. What did she see when she looked at him, he wondered. Certainly more than he ever would in himself.
"Alright, you win," he relented. "This Remington Steele stays put, come hell or high water… or bullets or bombs or whatever else tries to do him in. And the same better apply to Laura Holt-Steele, or all bets are off."
Laura leaned over, caught hold of his tie and tugged until his face was inches from hers.
"You’ve got a deal."
They kissed, unmindful that the candle almost singed his shoulder and that strands of her hair were now soaking a glass of water.
They were still kissing when a nauseatingly familiar voice broke in.
"Well, well, well… look who’s still out to prove that they’re really married!"
Norman Keyes stood before the Steeles’ table, waving an unlit cigar in the air.
"Kissing in public like a couple of teenagers won’t stand up in immigration court," he sneered. "but I really appreciate the effort you put in for me."
"You flatter yourself," Laura said flatly. "Don’t you have anything better to do, Keyes?"
"Apparently not," Steele observed. "Although if you’re open to suggestions, I do think this side of your head could use a little more polish. I can’t see the far end of the room as clearly as I can see the chandelier reflected on your forehead."
"That’s very cute, Steele. Estelle Becker may be gullible enough to fall for your smarmy tricks, but all you’ve done is buy yourself some time. Remember, you can run but you can’t hide."
Laura fought down the urge to fling the silverware at the slimy weasel. "I don’t see anybody running nor hiding now, Keyes. Your little threats isn’t going to make this marriage any less real than it is. Leave us alone."
Keyes laughed in his hideous, irritating way before finally walking off.
The Steeles watched him leave with a mixture of relief and disgust.
"I bet we could make money selling tickets for the privilege of not having to deal with him," Laura said.
"Now there’s an idea. Since Vigilance Insurance already has us on retainer, maybe we can offer them a service upgrade for a nominal fee."
"We could, you know. He thinks we’re invading his territory anyway, after his boss hired us; why hold back now?"
"For the right price, we might even convince Vigilance to get rid of that atrocious creature altogether. We can do recoveries. Unless of course there’s an occupational prerequisite to be bald," he quipped, taking another sip of wine. He hoped Laura wasn’t counting just how many glasses he’d had.
She was looking at him oddly. "What did you say?"
"Uhm…" He was a goner. She must have been counting. "That you had to be bald to be in the recovery business. Other than that, we can do what Keyes does. No doubt much better, too."
Her eyes began to shine, the way they usually do when she hits on what Steele once called a "brilliant, case-ending deduction". He thought back on what he’d just said and realized he’d done it again.
"Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?" he asked, knowing full well that she was.
"What better way to get Norman Keyes’ goat than to upstage him in his own game?"
The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. "A tempting notion. And it is a rather elegant solution to the question of our career, isn’t it?"
"Your previous ‘experience’ plus …"
"…your investigative instincts –"
"…would make a formidable combination!"
"And we would get finder’s fees."
She remembered Acapulco and Cannes, laughing. "You and your finder’s fees!"
"Me and my elusive finder’s fees. Perhaps they will not prove as elusive in the future. But we’ll have to be careful," he warned. "Keyes is going to consider this an all-out declaration of war. It could get nasty."
"I know," Laura agreed, apprehension written on her features. "He won’t stop at just attacking our marriage either. But we can deal with that when we get there."
"So it’s settled then," he declared. "I do have one condition."
Her eyebrows rose questioningly.
"We hire someone to do the paperwork."
Later, in the Steeles’ apartment, Laura walked out into the balcony and found Harry leaning over the railing, absently watching the traffic below.
"Harry?"
He turned around and smiled at her. He set down a nearly empty glass of water on the balcony ledge.
"I thought you’d gone to bed," he said, his arms automatically circling her waist as she came up to him.
"I wondered where you were," she answered, giving him quick kiss. She noticed the discarded foil from his pills beside the glass of water. "I see you’re being a good boy tonight."
"Maybe I figured the best way to seduce the in-house doctor was to get into her good graces."
"Hmm… it’s working," she put her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. What she’d planned to be a good night kiss to thank him for a memorable evening of emotional intimacy instantly became hot and heavy. At the back of her mind, she almost regretted it, wondering somewhat desperately just how she would find the strength to stop this time.
To her surprise, he pulled away.
"Laura," he whispered in a voice that could best be described as strangled, "let’s tuck you into bed now… so I can take a cold shower. A really cold shower."
She stared at him in disbelief. Now that she was seriously considering going through with it, he decides to respect her wishes and actually stops. Out of all the stunts he could have pulled to convince her, she hadn’t counted on how sweetly ironic this little twist would be.
She made up her mind. "You don’t have to."
"Don’t… tuck you in?"
"Take that cold shower."
She kissed him with renewed passion and molded her body into his in a way that left no doubt as to what she meant.
With a superhuman effort, he put on the brakes. "Laura, wait, I– I don’t understand. If this is a test on my hard-won resolve to respect your wishes to wait until France, I am telling you now, at the rate we’re going, I’m going to fail." He paused, then added, "Utterly."
He looked so fierce that Laura almost laughed.
"It’s not a test. And I’m sorry if I’ve given you reason to think that it is," she said. Her eyes fell on the empty foil from his pills. "Suddenly I remembered sitting beside you during that first night in the hospital, wishing to God I’d had the sense to make love to you the night before."
"Didn’t we?" he asked.
She shook her head. "We wanted to, but I knew you were tired from all that work in the warehouse so I decided to let you sleep. I just realized that, once again, I’ve let my fears get the best of me," she said as she began undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Caution be damned. Some things just aren’t worth putting off much longer."
He caught her busy hands and laced them behind his neck. "You’ve convinced me."
As he kissed her, he moved to sweep her into his arms and carry her into the bedroom. She stopped him.
"You’ll need your strength."
Afterwards, she curled into his embrace and fell asleep almost instantly. Without letting go of her, he reached for the blanket and carefully drew it around her shoulders.