STEELE 'O MY HEART V: AMNESTEELE

By: Susan Deborah Smith

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First printed: More Red Holt Steele #13/14

Summary: There are other ways out.

Disclaimer: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," the actors, their agents, the producers, MTM Productions, the NBC Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.

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Laura had been furious since midway through the case. She had known this kind of fury before, when Steele had wrested the ball from her hands and run with it, and her response was programmed; what had been hammered out between them seemed to slip from her memory like water through sand, and she took action without thought.

She handed Remington a section of the newspaper. "What's this?" he asked.

"Amnestia," she replied.

He glanced through it.

"What?"

"Amnestia. Amnesty."

"So?"

"So -- " Her voice was even, controlled. "Remington Steele Investigations can produce records showing that you've been with the firm since before January 1, 1982."

"Really?" He read briefly, and then looked up. "I don't think this really applies to me, though, does it? I mean, we're safely ensconced, chez Steele; Immigration will back off pretty soon, and then we'll be free and in the clear."

"Yes, we will."

Something about her, something about this, suddenly struck him as wrong. "You don't..." he began. "Do I take it to mean you'd prefer me to go this route? That you're -- not happy with our current arrangement?"

"No, I don't want out -- necessarily." Something woke up within her, but she couldn't identify it. "I thought you might."

"Laura, as far as I'm concerned, this is Rancho Paradiso."

Some part of her had wanted very much to hear that. "Well, then. That's fine." She took back the newspaper.

"We wouldn't want Immigration to get confused about my intentions."

"Of course not."

But some part of him was deeply wounded and wanted vengeance, and he took the paper from her again. "But then again, it doesn't hurt to have options."

"No, it doesn't."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of your falsifying government documents, though."

"Why not? It's never bothered you before. I've got a falsified marriage certificate. Why should I mind faking it with the IRS?"

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, falsified?"

"That scrap of paper signed by El Capitan? That's not legal."

"But we do have a perfectly valid marriage."

"Which wouldn't take much to nullify, I'm sure."

He stood up. "I want to know," he said quietly and with perfect calm, "exactly what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about saving your neck."

"My neck?"

"Yes."

"That part of me's no longer needing to be saved."

"Not as long as Tony keeps his mouth shut."

"And what about Tony, eh?"

"Nothing. I'm just worried about - possibilities."

"What sort of -- possibilities?"

"Look, if you do it this way, you'll never have to worry."

"I'm not worried!"

"You're not?"

"No."

"Not worried that one of us might slip in an interview? Might forget some bit of information? Might accidentally mention some fatal incident that..."

"Can you foresee that?" he demanded. "Can you imagine a situation in which you 'forget' some bit of information?"

"No, not me -- "

"Then what?" He moved closer. "Laura, if you're having doubts

"I'm not having doubts, all right. Everything is just fine, everything is bloody wonderful!"

She went into the bedroom and slammed the door.

No matter how much he pondered it, the conversation didn't became comprehensible. Their wedding in Ireland, with the appropriate, though limited, festivities, had been intended to make up for the deficiencies in their L.A. nuptials. It had been such a pleasure, choosing rings, and dressing up, and posing for photographs, and reciting real vows in a language they could understand, and things had been going so well.

He returned to the door that had been slammed shut on his heel.

"Laura?" he called softly. He knocked. "Laura, come out here and talk to me. Laura!"

Getting no answer, he opened the door. She was nowhere to be seen, but the bathroom door was shut, and like a true detective, he padded over and pressed his ear to it. The water was running from the tap, and he could hear splashing.

He tapped on the door.

"I'm in the tub!" she yelled.

The door was unlocked; he opened it and peered in. "Scrub your back?" he suggested.

She drew a deep breath. "All right," she said. She could recognize a truce when he called one.

Remington rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the tub. He rubbed soap over her back, then wrung out the washcloth and began to scrub. Laura tried to hold herself rigid against the veiled embrace, but she could not, she couldn't help but respond to the touch of his hand, and she turned her face away.

She'd pinned her hair up on her head, and around her neck it curled into damp, tiny ringlets.

"You're so beautiful, Laura," he said quietly. "I love you very much."

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists tight against her knees.

When she didn't answer, he let the washcloth fall back into the water and stood up.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"I thought you knew."

"How could I, when you didn't tell me?"

"'Forsaking all others,"' he quoted. "In a church? With a priest? What else could I mean?"

She shook her head.

"My God, Laura, I've done everything I could to make things easy for you, to prove

- "

"Because I'm doing you a favor!"

"For which I'm eternally grateful, believe me!" He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "The fact is, Laura, I'm the possessor of one of those fragile male egos they talk so much about, the kind that fold up at the least bruising. If I assumed you could read between the lines, it was because I was afraid to find out you didn't feel the same way. I can see those feelings were justified."

He went out and pulled the door shut behind him.

Laura sat in the tub and stared at nothing. The ludicrous way in which their wedding had been conducted in Los Angeles had been the result of her disruption of his plans; it was that simple. She felt sometimes as if she'd barged in where she didn't belong, that if Steele had valued her friendship, ignoring the question of love entirely, he would have asked for her help in his hour of need. She felt as if everything they'd had, the relationship they'd developed slowly over the years, the caring and support, had been draining away bit by bit. She had no reason to feel this way, and for days, even weeks at a time, she and Remington functioned more warmly, more trustingly, and more romantically than many a couple who had married in the usual way.

So what was it? Was she waiting for him to make the first move, and then castigating him for not making it sooner and in a way she understood? How callous was she not to understand that he did love her, that he did need her, and that he knew how much? And what ego problems did she have, that she couldn't tell him she loved him when she did?

Laura got out of the tub and washed her face. Then, wrapping herself in a heavy bathrobe, she went out into the bedroom.

Remington was lying propped on one elbow in bed, reading the article on amnestia. Laura sat down on the edge of the bed; he ignored her.

"I'm sorry if I flew a little off the handle," she said. "I just thought you'd want to be square with the INS, and the quicker the better."

"Very true, Laura," he agreed.

"No, it's a lie," she admitted. "All I wanted was for you to know that you need me more than I need you, and -- that's not exactly the truth."

He looked up at her. "I think it is. The truth, I mean. But according to this -- "

"I shouldn't have pushed you to the wall," she went on, ignoring him. "I shouldn't have waited for you to say it, when the proof is all around me every day."

"Not to worry, Laura. You just fake up those IRS reports, and I'll take it from --"

She snatched the article out of his hands and tore it up. Remington watched in amazement as she threw the pieces into the air like confetti, and then grabbed him by the collar and jerked him to her.

"Listen, you conceited, blue-eyed, blow-dried jerk!" she exclaimed. "I love you! Got that?" Her grip tightened. "And you really hurt me when you didn't ask for my help in the first place, and since then, I've wondered, sometimes, you know, if what we had -- what we had before -- ever meant anything to you!"

Startled, he gazed into her eyes. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispered.

"Okay," she agreed. "I'm just -- I didn't want you to feel like we were stuck with each other."

"Stuck with each other?" he repeated. "When I've hung about your heels all these years? Better ask if you're stuck with me."

"Am I?" she asked.

"Life sentence." he replied. He pushed her gently back onto the bed.

"No appeal?"

"None." She was still clutching his collar, and with one hand, he peeled her fingers first off one side, then the other. He kissed each hand, and then her throat and her mouth. "Do you know," he added, "I think that was our first quarrel."

"Was it?" Laura was struggling to free him from his pajamas.

"The first real one. At least since you dispatched that Roselli character."

"Were you jealous?"

"Not a bit."

"No, of course not."

"Should I have been?"

She wondered. Then she put her arms around his neck. "No." She was where she wanted to be.

He shifted suddenly, and pinned her to the bed, gently, romantically, but firmly all the same. She'd have to fight him to get up, which she was not inclined to do, but she looked up inquiringly.

He looked into her eyes with an unwavering gaze.

"Promise me," he said intensely, "that no matter what happens, the original reason for our marriage will never be used as ammunition in a quarrel."

"Below the belt, huh?" she said.

"Very far below."

"I guess I was tired of being in limbo."

"And of me getting in your way on this case."

"That, too."

"Then say so."

She looked up at him. "Get out of my way on this case."

"That's better." He kissed her again. "I've been in love with you since the day we met. I've loved you almost as long."

Her eyes sparkled. "I must admit I was a bit taken with you at first," she agreed. "And as time went on -- Well, you know."

"Say it," he whispered.

"I love you, Harry," she replied.

He sank down on her breast. Confused, Laura held him, rocked him gently in her arms. When he looked up again, his lashes were wet, and she could feel his tears where held pressed his face against her cheek.

"Steele," he said. "Remington Steele. The name you gave me is the only one I have."

"Okay," she agreed.

"Everything else," he went on, "nothing else, matters."

Laura brushed his tears away. "Someday you'll tell me everything," she said. "It doesn't matter. It won't matter."

"Someday," he replied, "someday there'll be a Remington Junior, eh? A baby Laura. Maybe a little Kathleen."

"Sure," she agreed, realizing they'd come to a crossroads and turned the corner together. "Yes. Someday."

END