Author's note: Of all the "missing scenes" in this series, the one that bugs me the most concerns the question of how Laura and Steele reconciled her speech about needing time apart, his unannounced departure from her life, her aborted fling with William Westfield, and her subsequent trip across the world to track him down. That scene in the rented room was horribly unsatisfying, and left so many questions unanswered. I've tried to pad it up a bit here, and find a way for them to come back together that doesn't actually veer from the plot of the episode.

***

A woman showed them into a dingy, dirty little bedsitter. "Ten quid a night in advance. Loo's down the hall." She followed them to the bed, where Laura helped Steele to sit. "No baths after ten, no flushin' after eleven."

Laura took out some money. "Thank you and good night." The woman looked at Steele, concerned. "Good night," Laura said with more firmness, "Thank you very much." She led the woman to the door. "'Night." She closed and locked the door.

Steele laid down, moaning softly.

She looked at him for a moment. "If you weren't such a pitiful wreck, I'd clobber you." She went to the table at the window, filling the washbasin with water from the pitcher there as she continued her tirade. "Walking out on me like that. Without a note, a word, a collect call! Take off your shirt," she ordered, carrying the basin to the table beside the bed and wetting a towel. "What kind of relationship did we have--or ever HOPE to have" --unable to take the shirt off, he started pulling it out, wincing-- "if every time I turned around, BINGO, you were gone? Lift your shirt." She pressed the towel to his stomach.

Steele groaned. "Laura, you're the one who said we needed time apart," he reminded her in a weak voice.

She rinsed the rag. "So you decided to spend it a continent away?"

"I needed to find something."

"What?"

"Me."

Laura frowned, not understanding. "You were in Los Angeles last time I looked."

"What's the major stumbling block between us?" he asked.

She paused thoughtfully. "Your aversion to legwork?"

Steele managed a smile. "My name. My real name. I knew how you'd feel if I wouldn't give you that. That I couldn't be honest about--other things."

Laura rinsed the rag again, and placed it on his wounds. "I don't care what your name is. Make one up. It'll be all right with me."

"Perhaps. But when it seemed our time together had come to an end, I realized that Remington Steele was just another name I had borrowed. And if I was going to give it back, I should have to replace it with something that was truly mine."

"And did you?" Laura asked.

He held up the watch. "I've come up with a name for one of the initials in the watch. Kevin Landers." Laura looked away, but Steele didn't notice. "Only, that isn't the man's real name." He smiled. "Are you ready for this? He's the Earl of Claridge." Laura returned his smile, hiding her concern. "Wouldn't it be a cork if it turned out I was related to royalty? After spending half my life in dumps like this place. I've always been afraid of looking too deeply into the past. Afraid of--" he glanced at Laura. "Never mind. Anyway-- I'll pay a visit to His Lordship tomorrow morning."

Laura patted his arm. "No," she told him, taking the watch. "You're in no condition to call on anyone. I'll go. I'll do it for you." She kissed his cheek. "But first we have to get you a doctor."

He shifted on the bed and winced. "Normally I'd argue with you, but this time, it may be necessary." He took a deep breath and winced, and she looked worried. "Go to Nicky's Pub on Fenchurch Street, near the station. Do you have your notebook with you?"

She took a small spiral-bound notebook out of her purse, along with a pen, and handed them to him. He opened the notebook and wrote a few sentences on the top sheet, then ripped it off and handed it to her. "Give this to Nicky. If he's not in, give it to Lester. Then wait."

"Are you going to be okay alone here while I'm gone?"

He nodded. "I'll be fine."

She glanced at the paper, nodded, and stood up. Slinging the purse over her shoulder, she grabbed the room key. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't go anywhere." She paused and looked at him significantly.

He met her gaze. "I won't."

She nodded again and left.

****

She came back with an older man, a bit scruffy but genial, who did not seem especially alarmed by the situation.

He placed his bag on the bed and said, "Douglas, I thought I'd finished patching you up a decade ago. What have you been up to?"

Steele smiled in spite of his discomfort. "Ah, Doc, believe it or not, I've been a relatively good boy for a few years now."

The doctor lifted up Steele's shirt. "Hmmm. Well, wouldn't know it by looking at you." He turned to Laura. "Miss, would you fill a bowl with warm water, please, along with a squirt of this?" He pulled a bottle of antiseptic soap from his case and handed it to her, and she grabbed the washbasin before heading down the hall to the bathroom.

He sat down on the bed and began examining Steele's wound more closely. "Where'd you find yourself a nursemaid of that caliber, Douglas? She's a class above your usual bird."

Steele grimaced as the doctor prodded the wound. "Dumb luck, Doc. Although she's pretty peeved at me just now."

The doctor chuckled as he prepared a syringe. "Can't say as I blame the lass." He flicked the syringe. "I'm giving you a local so that I can stitch this up without you screaming fit to wake the dead. "

Laura returned with the bowl and the doctor thanked her before giving Steele the shot and cleaning the wound. The doctor worked quietly, only occasionally asking Laura to hand him something. After he finished stitching, he prepared another injection.

"You're not allergic to any antibiotics, are you, Dougie?"

Steele shook his head.

The doctor shoved his sleeve up, rubbed a spot on his arm with an antiseptic pad, and gave him the second shot as he said, "Good, then. I'm giving you a tetanus shot, and I'll leave some sulfamethazole tablets. Take one a day for seven days, starting tonight. Get a doctor to take these stitches out after ten days. Any swelling or fever, get yourself to hospital right quick. Got it?"

Steele grunted. "Got it." He shifted on the bed and reached into his pocket for his wallet, but the doctor shook his head. "Nay, my boy. This one's on the house. I haven't forgotten what you did for my girl."

Meeting his eye, Steele nodded slowly. "Thanks, mate. Give her my love, by the way."

Gathering up his supplies, the doctor said, "Will do. Take care of yourself." He turned to Laura, and handed her a small paper envelope. "Here are the tablets. It was nice meeting you, Miss. Do your best to keep our boy from poking any more holes in himself, will you?"

Laura smiled grimly and shook his hand. "Thank you, doctor. I don't know how much control I'll have over that, but I'll do what I can."

The doctor left, and Laura locked the door behind him. She leaned against it for a moment and then picked up a paper bag that she'd brought in with her purse. Reaching inside, she pulled out a wrapped sandwich and handed it to Steele, and then pulled out a bottle of juice and placed it on the bedside table. "Eat something, and then take a pill." She extracted one from the envelope and placed it next to the juice.

He looked at her for a moment, and then began unwrapping the sandwich. "You aren't eating?"

"I had something while I was waiting for the doctor. So what's his story, anyway?"

Steele chewed and swallowed, and took a sip of the juice. "He's a retired veterinarian. Makes a bit of pocket money patching up anyone who needs it and doesn't want to go to a doctor."

"I see." She stared at the floor for a moment, and then began moving around the room, adjusting the curtains and generally tidying things that didn't need to be tidied. "I called Mildred and told her not to expect me back at the hotel tonight."

He stopped eating. "Mildred's here?"

"Yes."

"What does she...does she know..."

"She knows something's up...I haven't filled her in on all the history yet."

The were both silent for a few minutes while he finished the sandwich and took a pill.

He crumpled the sandwich paper in his fist. She took the paper from him and asked, "Do you think you can sleep?"

He slouched further down in the bed and said, "I don't think that will be a problem."

She turned out the light and slid off her shoes and jacket before stretching out on the bed, as far from him as she could get without falling off.

They listened to the muffled sounds of the city outside for a few minutes.

"Laura? What are we going to tell Mildred?"

After a pause, she said, "Well, I suppose that depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're coming back after this is all sorted out."

After another pause he asked softly, "Do you want me to?"

In a flat voice, she replied, "No, actually, I don't; I just tracked you down so that I could buy you a sandwich." She turned away from him, and was now practically teetering on the far side of the bed.

He was silent for a long time, and she thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep.

"I want to come home."

She rolled onto her back, and her hand found his in the dark.

"But I thought you were done trying," he continued. "You said..."

"I know what I said."

They were silent again.

She heard him take a deep breath before saying, "Is there someone else?"

"No. There was...the possibility of someone else, but...no."

Again, neither spoke for a long time. Again, she wondered if maybe he'd drifted off.

Finally, he said, "Laura, I can't go back to the way it was after Cannes. That was bad enough the first time. If you want someone else, or if you just don't want me, then tell me."

In a small voice, she said, "I want you." She moved closer, and, being careful not to press on his wound, buried her face in his neck.

"Oh, Laura, don't...I've been wearing these clothes for three days; I'm disgusting."

"No, you're not."

She curled up against him, and he patted her arm. He felt wetness on his neck, and said, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying," she said, clearly crying. "I didn't cry over you--not once in the entire month since you left."

"Shhh...I know you didn't...I know," he whispered, running his hand up and down her arm. "I didn't cry over you, either. Not once in the entire five weeks and two days since I left."

Neither spoke again, and her tears gradually subsided. He waited until he was sure she had fallen asleep before allowing himself to do the same.

End