STEELE 'O MY HEART, PART XIII: RASHOSTEELE, PART II

By: Susan Deborah Smith

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Summary: An encounter with Roselli leaves Laura with problems.

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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It was the continual stream of routine cases that paid the bills and put money in the bank, so Laura Steele considered the past ten days philosophically. When the intercom buzzed, though, she found it a welcome relief from paperwork.

"Yes, Mildred?"

"There's a Mr. Roseman on line two. Wants to get back in touch with someone he used to know."

Aha! thought Laura. Another simple case. Simple, easy, money in the bank.

"This is Laura Steele."

"Laura! Hi!" said a cheerful voice.

"Mr. Roseman?" said Laura, puzzled and trying to place him.

"Tony," the voice responded. "Roselli. How've you been?"

Hang up, said an inner voice. Just hang up. Instead, Laura glanced at the door connecting her office to Steele's. Holding the phone, she walked around her desk and kicked it shut.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"Just wanted to say hello," he replied.

Laura waited, offering neither encouragement nor conversation.

"Want to know how I've been?"

"No."

"That's not very friendly."

"I thought I made myself clear - "

"You don't expect me to believe that?"

"Yes. I do. Leave me alone."

"Laura - "

She hung up. Too late, she hung up.

The intercom buzzed again. Laura grabbed her purse.

Mildred looked up. "Mrs. Steele," she said. "Mr. Roseman, back on line two. Said he got disconnected."

"Take a message, Mildred," Laura told her. "Or let Mr. Steele handle it."

"Right, boss."

*****

It was ridiculous to be upset. There was no reason to be upset. A phone call was nothing to get upset about. Laura concentrated her energy on what was important.

"Running red lights, I see," Steele observed.

Laura glanced in the rearview mirror. No police in sight, and no accidents in their wake.

Loosening his tie, he offered a wink and a winning smile. "That usually means one thing."

The Auburn veered around a slow moving sedan.

"You know, Laura," he mused, "if we'd driven the Rabbit, with its surprisingly commodious back seat, you could just pull over, and the hell with traffic."

Hair flying, Laura glanced in his direction. "Do you want to drive?"

"Not at all, darling. Not at all. Just - put both hands on the wheel."

*****

The next day, "Mr. Roseman" was on the line again. It was a wonder Mildred hadn't recognized his voice; for an undercover agent, Roselli wasn't very good at disguising himself - that is, if he cared to do it. To put a stop to the harassment - on the understanding that he would then leave her alone - Laura agreed to meet him at noon, downstairs at Harry's Bar and American Grill.

He was sitting in a booth at the back. Unchanged, unruffled, unabashed, Tony Roselli gave her a wave as she came into Harry's and glanced around.

He stood up as she approached, ignored her offered hand and instead pulled her into a warm embrace.

"Just cool it, can't you," she told him, struggling free.

Not taking this amiss, he replied, "God, you look great!"

"What do you want, Tony?"

"Just to sit. Talk. Let me get you a drink. Still Scotch?"

It was going badly already. Laura looked around.

Catching her expression, Roselli said, "We can go somewhere else. If you're worried about him seeing us together."

"I'm not." She flung her purse into the booth and sat down.

With a low whistle, Roselli slid back into his seat. "Open marriage. I didn't know that was still popular."

"I don't have anything to hide," Laura answered. To the waiter, she said, "Nothing, thanks."

"Scotch," said Roselli. "And one for the lady."

The waiter left.

Before Laura could protest, Roselli leaned across the table. "You still drink Scotch, don't you?"

"Not with you."

He grinned. "Come on. Tell me you're not glad to see me."

"I'm not."

"Laura - "

Her gaze was as steely as she could make it, yet nothing about his open good humour changed in response.

"So how's it goin'?" he asked.

"Fine. Wonderful. You? Still in the spy game?"

"Here and there. Still married, I guess."

She extended her left hand as evidence.

"No kiddin'! The way you talked in Ireland, I didn't think it would last."

She decided to try some truth telling. "Tony, a lot of things happened in Ireland," she explained. "Some of them wonderful, and some of them not so good. But between the two, I learned a lot about myself. I didn't like what I learned."

"I can't believe that."

She shook her head. "It never occurred to me before that I could be unkind and unfair to someone I love very much. I'll never make that mistake again."

"Steele?" he suggested, at last losing some of his bonhomie.

"Mr. Steele and I are the real thing, Tony. I'm sorry I couldn't make that clear to you."

"You'll excuse me for saying that the only thing real about that guy is his teeth, and probably not even them."

Laura stood up.

"Sorry," Tony told her. "I'm sorry."

Warily, she sat down again.

"But Laura, I know a lot about that guy and - "

"So do I."

"Did you know he - "

"Yes."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I know him. I know about him. You can't surprise me."

He frowned. Then, with boyish earnestness, he demanded, "Just look me in the eye and tell me it's real."

Laura gazed at him steadily. "It's real."

"Tell me you love him."

"I love him."

"Tell me you're happy."

"I'm happy."

"Damn it, Laura!" He smacked his hand on the table. "What about everything we had?"

"Everything we had?" she repeated, amazed. "Like what? Nothing?"

"Not nothing. No way. You were leading me on, and you know it."

"You were happy to be led."

"Who wouldn't?"

Of course her own behavior had been pretty reprehensible, both in regards to Steele and - grudging admission - the man sitting opposite. Hadn't she made that clear?

"I'll admit, you caught me in a bad moment, when I was angry and wanting to hurt - but that's my problem. I'm sorry if I ever made you think - " Her hand fluttered.

"You did more than make me think. You said - "

Laura cut him off; she didn't want to hear what she said, or what he thought he heard. "I said a lot of stupid things. Things I regret. Things I didn't mean."

"That's what I thought," Roselli admitted. "When you said you never wanted to see me again, I knew you didn't mean that."

"That's the one thing I did mean."

"He's no good for you, Laura."

"He is," Laura replied meaningfully, "good. And he's good for me."

She was aware of his scrutiny, as if he had any right to doubt her.

Taking a sip of his drink, he remarked, "You know, I've still got contacts at INS. They're still looking at you."

"I know. Let 'em look."

"What if they were looking right now?"

Laura's head jerked up, and she scanned the crowd in Harry's. "What have you done?" she demanded.

Roselli put his hands up. "Nothing. Relax. I was just wondering: If you're so keen on Steele, what are you doing here?"

Stupid, double-bind, Catch-22 logic. "I wanted to look you in the eye and tell you to leave me alone. Leave us alone."

"Don't have to look me in the eye. Could've done it over the phone."

"I did. I have. Over the phone. It didn't do any good."

Running his finger around the rim of his glass, he said, "Didn't believe you."

"Believe what you want. Just leave me alone." As an afterthought, she leaned forward and added, "By the way, Tony, about Remington Steele - he's fantastic in the sack." She smiled pleasantly into his handsome, dumbfounded face.

Then, the Scotch untouched, Laura slid out of the booth and made her way through the lunchtime crowd to the door.

The sunlight pricked her eyes. She rummaged in her purse for her sunglasses, but didn't get them on fast enough to prevent her eyes from tearing up. Furious, she got on the escalator and ran down five flights to the garage, where she sat in the car until her hands stopped shaking.

The smart thing, she knew, would be to tell Steele Roselli was back in town. There'd be some kind of explosion, some kind of capitulation on her part that she had acted rashly and not in the best interests of their relationship in those early days, some kind of determination on his part to take the Italian Stallion apart piece by piece, and when the dust cleared, they could form some kind of plan.

The smart thing, though, wasn't always the best thing. Everything had settled down so beautifully; everything was going so well. What was the point of upsetting Steele with old news?

Sufficiently calm, she went back to the office to get to work.

*****

Steele came back from his lunch bearing gifts.

"Cheesecake!" said Laura, diving into her desk for a spoon. She found two forks and offered him one. What a pity she'd wasted her lunch hour with that jerk. Glancing at her watch, she saw that they had forty five minutes before their next appointment. Was there possibly time to -

"Busy day?" Steele was saying.

"A lot of stupid stuff," she replied. She looked up at him, wondering what the hell she could have been thinking, trifling with Roselli in those long ago days. Of course she knew what she'd been thinking; for a while, there, she'd had every reason to believe that it was all over, with Steele, but the shouting. Even so! The contrast!

She was reaching up to grab him by the tie when he said, "Do we have a file on Mr. Prelisky?"

Moving the fork to her other hand, Laura fished it off the desk.

"Thanks," he said.

"Work, work, work," she sighed. That long weekend in Catalina was sounding better and better.

*****

Laura studied her wet hair in the mirror. Obviously the bangs experiment was a disaster, and the growing out stage wasn't yet complete. Her hairdresser recommended chopping a lot off the back to make things more even, but Steele resisted that idea. Probably it was time for another trim, just some shaping, and she wondered if John could fit her in tomorrow. It was almost there, always the worst part of any transition.

"You can't wear it long forever," her sister had told her. "Couple of kids, and you can just forget having any time to do anything with your hair. And pretty soon, Laura," this confidentially, "your face won't be able to take it. It just drags you down - like gravity does everything else."

"Remington likes it long," Laura had retorted. "And so do I."

Frances had given her a knowing look. Even now, the memory of this conversation infuriated Laura.

She was torn from her make-over reverie by the phone. Damn him for making her so jumpy. Probably it was Frances, ready to offer more beauty tips. Wrapping herself in a towel, she went out to the living room.

"Was that the phone?"

Steele shook his head. "Wrong number."

"Ah." Of course it was. She'd made her point to Roselli.

*****

She woke up sometime in the wee hours, oppressed by dread. Her hand went out automatically, found Steele in the bed beside her. Reassured, but still puzzled, she stared at the ceiling. She couldn't remember her dream, couldn't remember what dragged her, suffocating, from sleep. God, was she getting her mother's asthma? Horrible thought - her mother's anything. After a couple of deep breaths, she turned and pressed herself against his back. Steele shifted slightly, linked his fingers with hers as she snuggled closer. The slow rise and fall of his chest under her hands lulled her back to sleep.

*****

As Steele guided the Rabbit into the left turn lane at Century Park East next morning, a surfboard-laden car continued west on Santa Monica.

"You know," said Laura, "I think you're right. It might be nice to get away."

Her husband grunted non-commitally. A driver unfamiliar with the L.A. way of doing things had carefully observed the arrow's change to yellow and so prevented three more cars from getting through the signal. Steele leaned on the horn with apparent satisfaction.

Laura's eyes were still tracking the surfers. "Just - be off by ourselves. It'd be nice."

"Yes. Wouldn't it," he said finally.

They barely made it into the office before Mildred sent them off on a lead, and when they got back, Laura sifted through her messages. None - thank God! - from the pesky "Mr. Roseman."

*****

Why call her at the office when he could stalk her at home?

"Do I have to get a restraining order?" she demanded, in a hoarse whisper. "Leave me alone!"

"A restraining order would mean telling your husband, wouldn't it? Why do I have this feeling you haven't done that yet?"

"Stop worrying about what I do! Stop calling me. Just stop it."

He was still talking as she put the phone down and took a deep breath. When she turned around, Steele was standing there.

For how long? she wondered.

"Your sister?" he suggested.

"Wrong number." In a steadier voice, she repeated, "It was the wrong number, Remington."

Stupid, unbelievable lies were his specialty, not hers - at least, they used to be - and of course he knew one when he heard one.

*****

Laura slammed the door of the car and jammed the key in the ignition. The Rabbit swung around, out of the parking place, narrowly missing the Auburn's big left fender.

How dare he say such things to her? How dare he even think them! The idea that after all they'd been through, all the progress they'd made, she would stoop to sneaking around with Roselli - with anyone! And on top of that, imagining that she would fall prey to one of Roselli's pathetic lines. That she would even consider throwing everything away for that jerk!

Was that what he thought of her? Impossible. Was that what he thought of himself? Laura couldn't believe Steele was that insecure. She didn't believe it. What did he have to be insecure about? Spoiling for a fight, that was all.

Where was the chivalrous, noble Steele she'd come to rely on? Why didn't he jump to another conclusion, the one that said his wife was in trouble, needed his help, needed a strong defender against this unwanted intrusion into her life? What happened to that guy? she wondered furiously.

He said he'd seen her with Roselli in Harry's Bar. Why hadn't he come to rescue her, then? Why had he assumed - whatever it was that he was assuming?

If she'd told him, in the office, the second she'd hung up the phone on Roselli, none of this would have happened. Obviously. And why hadn't she? Because she hadn't wanted to upset him. Here's where good intentions get you, Laura, she thought, tightening her grip on the steering wheel.

Wilshire Boulevard was nearly deserted. It took all of ten minutes to get to Century City, and Laura signed in at the desk and rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Locking the door carefully behind her, she went into Steele's office.

She opened the blinds and admired the view. West L.A. and Santa Monica and the airport spread out twinkling before her and then cut off abruptly into the dark expanse of the ocean. She drank in a deep breath and felt a little better. This office had been home for her for so long, all her energy focused here, her romance with Steele begun here, all her hard work resulting here, in this place ... She was safe here, safe from accusations, safe from the world, safe from herself.

In the little bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth and frowned at her reflection. "Men," she snarled, through the toothpaste.

Pulling a pillow and a blanket down from the closet, she made a little bed for herself on the couch and lay down. She didn't expect to get any sleep - God, why did everything have to fall apart, why couldn't he listen? - but she would make the effort.

Someone touched her shoulder.

Laura gasped and sat up. It was dark; she couldn't see; her hand sought blindly for the switch.

"Oh," she said, with automatic relief, glad she'd left the gun in the drawer. "You." Once, in a bad light, she'd mistaken Roselli for Steele, and now, confused by sleep, she'd almost made the opposite mistake.

Steele, his brow creased, said, "Come on, Laura. Let's go home."

He'd taken her hand, was holding it pressed between both of his, but Laura remembered her grievance and jerked away. "Why should I?"

He had reasonable reasons. Obviously he saw no point in spending the night apart. Obviously he had no idea how deeply he'd wounded her.

"What do we have, if you don't trust me?" she asked.

"What did we have when you didn't trust me?"

"That was different."

The expression of concern mutated into a smirk. "How? How different?" he asked. "It's always about you, Laura, isn't it? Never about me, and how hard you made me work to earn even a scintilla of your respect, and how you seem to feel I should just automatically - "

Laura shoved him aside and stood up. "Work?" she interrupted. "Hard? Those words weren't in your vocabulary till I came into your life."

"Well, they're there now. So give me a little credit."

"Do you really think I'd cheat on you?" she demanded. "With him? With anyone?"

He gazed back at her, silent.

The silence was worse than any accusation. She raised her left hand. His right came up, catching her wrist while she was still in her wind-up. Shocked as much that it was in her to even think of striking him as that he gave her cause, she turned away.

"I trust you, Laura," he told her. "Of course I do. But that stupid, bloody git - that miserable son of a bitch - "

Struggling to regain her temper, Laura unclenched her fists one finger at a time. She turned and looked him in the eye. "I wouldn't have married you," she said, "if I didn't plan to see it through. I thought I'd made that clear. I thought we - "

"Clear enough," he agreed, "which makes it all the more mystifying."

"Mystifying? That I try to deal with something myself? That I don't want you to be upset over nothing?"

"You call this nothing? After everything he put us through?"

"He wasn't the only one putting us through hell!" she countered. "And yes, it's nothing! Nothing, Remington. He's nothing."

Steele paced a short track before her. "Laura, I realize you're a modern girl and all, but there a few things a man should do for himself, and one of them is to take a ten foot pole to the bugger who tries to - "

"No!" she exclaimed, more vehemently than she planned. "Don't," she added, more calmly.

His eyes narrowed. "Why? Afraid he'll get hurt?"

God, now what was he thinking? There was no way around the male ego, in any direction. "Someone might," she whispered.

Surprisingly, he seemed to get the picture. "I can deal with scum like him," he said evenly.

"Look, I'll get rid of him. Just let me get rid of him."

"It's my job, Laura. I'll do it."

You can take the man out of the cave, thought Laura, but you can never quite get the cave out of the man.

"All right," she said in partial agreement. "Let's both do it."

"Hey!" somebody called from the outer office. "Thought I heard voices."

Laura whirled to face Roselli, who grinned. He looked her up and down appreciatively. Her husband couldn't fail to recognize that look.

"Oh, fine!" she exclaimed. "This is just what I need." She slammed the door in his face. "This is great," she muttered. "This is just great."

Pushing past the transfixed Steele, she stumbled over her shoes and grabbed for her stockings.

Steele turned to look at her. He seemed fairly calm, as if he hadn't jumped to a conclusion.

"What are you doing?"

She gave him a hint. "Um - getting dressed?" Gesturing vaguely in the direction of the outer office, she added, "I thought you might appreciate my putting some clothes on."

She was aware of his eyes on her; she tried to ignore him. God only knew what he was really thinking: That she'd planned this, that she'd been on the phone with Roselli planning a tryst, that this was really it for them, and they were just going down in flames ...

He picked up her dress. "Laura," he began.

Still speaking? she thought. She looked up and saw her husband standing there awkwardly, holding it out to her. Someone considerably less soft-hearted than Laura might have resisted him in that moment; not her. She tried, though. She couldn't let this slide.

"Look," she said. She pulled the dress over her head and struggled to get her arms through the sleeves. "I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell he's doing here. I didn't come here to meet him."

"I know. I know you didn't."

Of course he knew that. Of course he did! Was this really about something else? "If you want to fight," she told him, "we can go home and fight. Or we can stay here and fight. You choose, Mr. Steele."

"What about Roselli?"

"What about him?" The zipper resisted her efforts, and Steele came to her aid. His fingers against her skin, as usual, sent a shiver of desire up her spine. "Get rid of him," she said over her shoulder. "Didn't you say that was your job?"

With a curt nod of agreement, Steele went out to deal with Tony Roselli.

Laura sank down on the couch and held her head in her hands. All those big blondes and brazen brunettes that rose up out of the murky depths of his past, and he gets upset over a guy she would never have looked at twice if he hadn't made her so angry, if she hadn't been starving . . .

It was too quiet out there. She couldn't stand the suspense. Laura picked up her purse and flung the door open.

She was pleased to observe that Steele had Roselli pinned against the wall. Two faces, each handsome in its way but only one engraved on her heart, looked at her sheepishly. So far, mano a mano combat hadn't resulted in any broken bones or cracked skulls.

"I'm leaving," she announced. "Remington, I expect to see you at home shortly. And as for you, Mr. Roselli - " She made sure Roselli saw the look in her eye, made every effort that there could be no misinterpretation. "I told you once before I never want to see or hear from you again. I meant it then. I really mean it now. Don't make me take drastic action!"

Then she smiled at her husband and went out.

*****

At first, she sat and waited. Then she thought maybe it would be smarter just to go to bed. Things might look better in the morning; daylight could put this ridiculous situation in perspective. She took all the drafts of all the notes she had written him and carried them into the kitchen, where she set fire to them and washed the ashes down the sink.

The final draft - simple, to the point - she taped to the bathroom mirror.

A minute later, she heard his key in the lock. Laura jumped into bed and closed her eyes. Steele was in the bathroom a long time. Finally, switching off the light, he came to bed.

"Is he gone?" she whispered.

He put his watch on the night stand and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her.

"Yes. He's gone."

"For good?"

"You tell me."

She sat up, not liking his tone. "What do you mean by that?"

Steele turned and put his hands on her shoulders. He held her gently, restraining her anger, locking her gaze.

"As you know, he's very persistent."

Laura let herself be soothed. "Did you want to fight some more?"

"Not unless you want to berate me for doubting you."

Real doubt, or fake doubt? she wondered. Still, his tone was now conciliatory; maybe they'd worn this one out.

"I guess - maybe -- you weren't really doubting me," she admitted. "But it sure sounded like it."

"If you'd just told me in the first place!"

"Yes. Well." Not much more to say about that.

"I have a very short fuse where that man is concerned."

A little smile tugged the edges of her mouth. "I know," she said seriously. "That's why I didn't want - "

"Protecting me from myself, Mrs. Steele?"

She touched his face, tracing the line of his cheek, his lips. "Oh, my love," she sighed. "It's an old habit. Hard to break."

END