By Gilmoradict
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A very short piece, follows Laura's and Steele's marriage, without really commenting on how and when that event occurred.
"Excuse me, miss. Any updates on flight 847?" The clear blue eyes focused pleadingly on the young American Airline's clerk who made the mistake of looking up at him.
"Anxious to get to the States, are you?" was the somewhat harried reply, softening a bit as she took in the handsome dark haired man standing before her.
"If this blasted rain would just quit…" Harry smiled somewhat ruefully. "Guess you're as ready as any of us."
"We're a bit backed up, as you can see. Love to get you on a plane and on your way, but sorry, no flights will be taking off soon. Business trip?" Angela knew better than to begin personal chats with travelers, but this guy was breath taking, and she would have loved to see that smile cross his face again.
"Damn. Ahh, sorry, not your fault of course." The smile slid sideways briefly. "Actually I live in LA, just here on some family business. I'd hoped to get back in time for a commitment I made for tomorrow night. Guess there's nothing to do but wait. Thank you, you've been most kind." Harry's shoulders drooped a bit, wincing as another volley of particularly fierce rain drilled the ceiling of the terminal.
"Can't quite place your accent - perhaps its California that I hear." Angela made a stab at continuing her conversation with the striking traveler.
"Perhaps..." Harry dismissed Angela politely with a distracted "Thanks again." Harry's only interest in the lovely young agent was her answer as to the projected departure of his flight. Ireland, London, the Mediterranean, South America: as many places as Harry had lived during his tumultuous three decades of life, it was hard to say which had most affected his accent - but he knew where he now belonged. The rain in London fell in stark contrast to the repetitively sunny days of California. Harry's thoughts were filled with the sun drenched, burnished haired beauty who awaited his arrival home in Los Angeles. Harry sought out the bank of phones crowded with frustrated travelers and awaited his turn.
"Laura." Unable to get past that one perfect word, Harry leaned his head against the half wall of the phone booth."
"Harry? Where are you?"
Perfect blue eyes closed to picture Laura sitting at her desk, no doubt with a file open in front of her, phone cradled between her ear and slender shoulder, and one hand likely poised over the computer keyboard. Harry struggled to regain speech.
"Laura, I'm still in London. Damn rain has everything grounded."
"Oh Harry, no! I've been counting down the hours until you're back - trying to distract myself with work …" The soft voice traveling so far across the phone lines soothed Harry's frantic heart. "Do you know when you're going to be able to get off?"
"No, Laura. Nothing's moving at all. I can't tell you how much I wish I was on the way home now."
"I know, Mr. Steele." Only Laura could make his surname sound like a caress. "Believe me, I know. I miss you more than you can imagine: no one to drag me off to long lunches, no one to lure me to the movies, no one tormenting me about my compulsion to work overtime."
"You do need me, don't you?" Steele grinned, hearing the laughter in Laura's voice.
"Mr. Steele, you are both needed and missed. We've hardly begun to explore ways we can mix business and pleasure. Get back as soon as you…."
"Laura?!" A crack of lightening followed immediately by an ominous rumble of thunder, and a flicker of the power in the terminal, and Harry's connection to Laura was lost. Sighing, he returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to find a place in which to wait for skies to clear, flights to resume, and his life with Laura to move forward. In the movie Harry played in his head, a classic which starred the great Remington Steele and his associate and partner in life, Laura Holt-Steele, the two stars were headed for a steamy kiss set against a glorious Pacific sunset.
The End

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