STEELE 'O MY HEART, PART XX: STEELE SHAKING, PART III

By: Susan Deborah Smith

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Summary: Remington, Laura and their family recover from an earthquake.

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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The Steeles, projecting a peculiar languor and the vague scent of Ivory soap, flopped down on the sofa.

Mildred eyed them bemusedly. "You know you kids are welcome to stay the night. Mi casa es su casa."

"Thanks, Mildred, but we've got to get back."

"Occupy the house," Mr. Steele put in. "Guard against looters."

Memories of televised images of the recent civil rebellion flickered through Laura's mind, and she grimaced. "Looters, yes," she agreed.

"Of course, if we had a dog, he could guard against looters. Why don't we have a dog?" her husband asked her.

"The hours we keep? We can barely have a child."

"Oh, yes. I forgot."

"Speaking of which - " Laura glanced around as if she'd forgotten something. "Mildred, can we impose on you long enough to give Tracy a bath?"

"Already done, boss. Little Miss Steele had a nice bubble bath, and now she's all tucked in in the other room having a nap."

Laura lifted her arms as if to embrace Mildred, then let them fall limply down again.

"Supper's coming up in about - oh - forty five minutes."

"A hot meal, Laura," Remington sighed. "It's good to have friends."

His wife elbowed him in the ribs as he slumped over into her lap. "We had a hot meal for breakfast."

He turned over on his back and smiled up at her. "Yes, but I had to make it. On a camp stove. On the patio."

"Beats granola bars, chief," said Mildred, bustling off to the kitchen.

With effort, they dragged themselves away from Mildred's bright, undamaged house, from the TV with its color pictures of incredible destruction and daring rescues, and drove home.

"Do we have enough gas?" Laura asked suddenly.

"Full tank."

There was some comfort in knowing they could just leave town, leave everything, drive until they came to a place where the earth didn't shake.

Tracy, meanwhile, was describing in excruciating detail her wonderful afternoon at Auntie Mildred's house.

"Sounds lovely, sweetheart," her father said absently.

"Remind me to give Mildred a raise," said her mother.

Spending the day out and about revealed the extent of the damage to the wondering Steeles. As they drove to Century City in the morning, they'd seen first hand what the radio was talking about. Tiles had been shaken off roofs, chimneys collapsed, windows shattered all over West L.A. Stores were closed; plate glass had blown out as displays tumbled forward and crashed through; only a few had been boarded up with plywood.

"Look at the church!" Tracy had exclaimed, pointing.

The east wall of the Methodist church had peeled away from the rest of the building near the top and was leaning out over the sidewalk. Her father slowed down so they could get a good look; it seemed to defy laws of physics.

Except for the strange stillness - people were staying close to home - things had seemed perfectly normal in Mildred's neighborhood. Then, as they headed for home, they began again to notice the piles of brick that had once been chimneys, in people's yards. The situation worsened as they neared Santa Monica. They passed through totally darkened neighborhoods, and then a few blocks fully illuminated by street lights and porch lights and TVs flickering behind curtains, and then into darkness again.

Remington realized now why he deferred to Laura on so many householding decisions: She was so damned good at it. He pulled into the driveway of their house, and there it was, safely bolted to its foundation, unlike some they had seen, canted and twisted. There was their chimney, reinforced and intact, unlike so many of their neighbors', which now looked like they were made of lace, with bricks shaken out of position and daylight showing through.

It was the same with Tracy. Laura was a loving and devoted mother to their little girl, but it was Remington who had the knack, and so he was in charge of most of the minor, and many of the major, decisions about Tracy's upbringing. His wife, he knew, was ever-fearful of somehow being transformed into her own mother, and admiring of his clear aptitude - despite the lack in his own background - for parenthood. There were issues on which she simply put her foot down - and in those situations, everybody ran for cover - but for the most part Tracy's dad was the first and final word.

As Laura said, if they ever needed to heist a museum or go underground or have six children, Mr. Steele would handle it; for the practical solution of life's more mundane problems, Mrs. Steele was happy to oblige.

One night of the whole family huddled together in one bed was enough. Laura was adamant about that. Firmly ignoring any protests, she tucked their daughter in in her own little bed in her own room.

"Look how fast Daddy came to get you," Tracy's mother reminded her. She snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

"Mummy can be here just as fast," her father added, dutifully presenting a united front. "Your mother has set records for rescuing people. Keeps her track shoes under the bed for that very purpose."

Tracy cried, but Laura put a flashlight in her hand, and tucked another between the mattress and the box spring.

"You know where we are," said Laura. "Right down the hall. We always come when you call us, don't we?"

"Yes."

"Have we ever not come?"

"No."

"So everything's fine, eh, sweetheart?" said her father.

His daughter looked doubtful.

His wife smiled confidently. "Okay?"

"Okay," Tracy admitted.

"Okay, then." Steele bent down to kiss her and, dismissed by Laura's nod, went out.

Laura turned around and sat back down at the head of the bed. Pulling Tracy into her lap, she rocked the little girl for a long time.

"Everything's all right, sweetheart," she said softly. "Everything's always going to be all right."

Remington had already turned down the bed. "What kind of mother is it," he pondered aloud, "who would leave a crying child alone just to satisfy a raging libido?"

"She's not crying," Laura replied. "She's asleep. You can check. And it's not my raging libido."

"Of course not." He looked up. "You're not saying it's mine!"

"No. I'm saying we should at least pretend things are back to normal. Then, maybe they will be."

There was a certain reassuring logic to this, although he wouldn't have minded if it had been merely for the raging libido after all. In fact, Remington wouldn't have minded another night of the Steeles sleeping all together. He'd have been glad to have both his girls close at hand, ready to be carried to safety at a moment's notice.

After checking to be sure flashlights were where they could find them, he switched off the emergency lantern.

Once in bed, Laura turned and grabbed him and held him very tight.

"I'm here," he whispered, smoothing her hair.

"I know. God, I know." She pulled him onto her but made no further move, no suggestive touch or gesture, no shift to give herself purchase.

Steele lay upon her like a living blanket, every inch of him pressed against her, waiting for some clue.

"You're not irrational," she was saying. "I didn't say that. I didn't mean that."

"I know, darling."

For a long time, she didn't move; she let his weight, a comfortable burden, press her down into the mattress. She could feel his heart beating inside his chest with an easy, measured rhythm; usually when she held him like this, it was pounding, hammering against her own, settling back down from some racing height of pleasure. She remembered other times when fear had gripped her, when she thought she might not find him alive, when she might have lost him. She reminded herself that this was completely different, that they were together, that they were all right. That constant, steady beat was her proof.

After a while, he shifted, rolled her over so that she was nestled beside him.

Sometime after midnight, Remington awoke, gasping, reaching for Laura and not finding her. He sat up in the dark and tried to catch his breath. When he got his bearings, he grabbed a flashlight and went down the hall.

His wife apparently had been sitting by their child's bedside, but now she was slumped across the little girl, both sound asleep.

"Laura," he whispered, taking her arm. "Come on, darling. Back to bed."

She sat up, muddled and blinking.

"It's all right, love. She's all right."

"What time is it?"

"Time to get some sleep."

Laura pressed a kiss to Tracy's forehead and let Steele guide her back to their room.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she replied. "I just wanted to be sure."

Mr. Johnson arrived in the dusty and disjointed office and was entirely suitable, although he seemed uneasy about the eleventh floor and made an idle remark about relocating - possibly back to the Midwest.

"Detroit may not be pretty," he said, "but at least you can see trouble coming."

Miss Rose reminded them a little too much of someone they once knew and wasn't quite fast enough on the uptake to suit either of the Steeles.

At about the same time as Thursday morning's appointment, a series of 4.0 quakes rocked the building, sending Mildred under her desk and the Steeles into each other's arms.

"Well," Remington remarked philosophically. "It's a pretty dark cloud that doesn't have a silver lining."

The eleven o'clock phoned from the lobby and said that she wasn't comfortable about riding the elevator or taking the stairs just then. The Steeles agreed to meet her downstairs; why not, since they'd met with a client there Wednesday afternoon. When they got to the lobby, they found yet another transplanted Midwesterner ready to return to the land of tornadoes and blizzards.

"At least we can see 'em coming," she explained.

As they trudged back upstairs, Laura said, "I guess we should pat ourselves on the pack for being so calm in a crisis."

"I've always said so."

They paused on the seventh floor landing to take a breather.

"You really have to be flexible in this job," she sighed.

"True, Laura. Very true."

"Ready for anything."

"And then some."

In the office, Mildred had come out from under the desk. "Pre-school called," she told them. "Everybody's fine. Little Miss Steele announced that if anybody needed rescuing, Remington Steele Investigations would take care of it."

"Excellent PR for the firm, eh, Laura?" Tracy's father said proudly.

"Indeed, Mr. Steele."

"And Margarita called to say nothing else is broken, but the electricity's out again, and she'll be picking Tracy up on schedule."

"Good."

Laura sighed. "Except about the power."

"And Friday's interview called. Said forget it. She's staying in her office on the second floor of a two story building, thank you very much."

"It's fascinating what one can learn about people in these situations. Reminds me of a time at the Reyksmuseum when ... "

Laura rubbed her throat, a nervous habit, and cut off his reminiscence. "What do you think, Mr. Steele?" she asked. "Should we call Miss Reyes back?"

"Mildred," said Steele, all thoughts of the glory days flown, "get Miss Reyes on the phone. Pronto!"

"Right, chief."

In the more businesslike confines of Mr. Steele's office, Mrs. Steele laid out the particulars of the job and asked more detailed questions. It was nice to be facing the interview across a desk, instead of the back of the front seat of the Cherokee, and to have notes to refer to, and Mr. Steele and herself in suits and looking like competent, even glamorous, professionals instead of like harried parents on a bad day.

Miss Reyes said she thought it would be kind of neat and interesting to be on a stakeout, and she didn't see much of a problem in being asked occasionally to work odd hours or maybe even travel.

"My boyfriend can walk the dog," she explained.

"Probably, it wouldn't happen very often," Laura told her. "Among the three of us - Mr. Steele and I and Miss Krebs -- we can usually handle things. But sometimes we need a new face - someone a suspect or a contact wouldn't recognize - to run some errand, or follow somebody ... "

"In addition to the usual paperwork, filing, phones, et cetera," Steele put in.

Paperwork also seemed agreeable; Miss Reyes was doing a lot of paperwork in her current position.

"Confidential paperwork," he added.

Miss Reyes had seen her share of that.

Laura stood up. "You said you could start in two weeks?"

Miss Reyes nodded.

"See you in two weeks," Laura told her, offering her hand.

"Thank you, Mrs. Steele!" said Miss Reyes. "Mr. Steele. This is just great!"

They walked her to the door. "Mildred," Laura called.

Mildred came out of her office.

"Would you give Miss Reyes - "

"Gabbie."

"Would you give Gabbie all the forms - health insurance, W-4's, 401K, whatever?"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Steele."

"Get her set up."

"Already on it."

"Thank you, Mildred," Mr. Steele told her.

Laura closed the door and locked it.

"That's one thing accomplished."

Steele tried the door, double-checking, and the one to Laura's office. He glanced at his watch and loosened his tie. "Shall we build on this sense of accomplishment, Mrs. Steele?" he suggested.

"Welcome aboard," said Mildred, handing over a folder full of paperwork.

"Thanks." Gabbie opened it and began looking through the forms.

"Just fill out the top three on the right hand side for me, hon. The rest you can bring back when you start, which is on the -- " Mildred flipped pages on her calendar. " - fourth?"

"Yes. Right."

"It'll be good to have you out there. Temps don't really work out too well for Mr. and Mrs. Steele. They need somebody they can count on."

"Okay," said Gabbie. "That's me, I guess."

As she spread the forms out on Mildred's desk, the intercom buzzed.

"Mildred," came Mr. Steele's voice. "Lunch."

"Right, chief," Mildred answered.

A second later, the intercom buzzed again.

"I'm at lunch, Mildred," said Mrs. Steele.

"Right, boss." Mildred glanced up at the clock. "For openers," she said, as Gabbie answered each question in neatly boxed printing, "lunch in the office means no calls."

Gabbie looked up, then turned automatically in the direction of the other offices.

"Especially," Mildred added, "when it's a quarter to three. Or ten thirty in the morning. Or whatever. No calls, no messages, nada. Bubkus. Unless it's the school, about little Miss Steele. And then, give 'em a head start after you knock. Got that?"

Working hard to suppress a smile, the new member of Remington Steele Investigations replied, "I think so."

"I'll go over everything your first day," Mildred added. "But since it came up, I just thought I'd mention it."

Gabbie bent her head over the paperwork. "How long have you worked here, Mildred?"

"Ten years."

"Wow." She erased something and started over.

"Wow is right," said Mildred. "You don't know from wow until you've seen those two at work."

At the moment, the Steeles weren't at work. They were in each other's arms.

END