Galvanized Steele
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Disclaimer: The characters of Laura Holt and
Remington Steele are the property of NBC Entertainment; I am only
borrowing them temporarily. No copyright infringement on REMINGTON
STEELE is intended, and this story is for entertainment purposes
only. Be warned that this story can be considered NC-17,
and depicts consentual sex between adults. If you want to distribute
this story, please let me know to where/whom, and keep my name
and e-mail address attached. Please feel free to send me any comments
or feedback you may have. My heartfelt thanks to Nancy Eddy for
housing this story, my first RS fanfic ever, on her site (and
hopefully many more!).
What if, that fateful night in "Red Holt Steele,"
he COULD ask...?
Galvanized Steele
by Nicola Simpson (nsimpson@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca)
copyright 1998
galvanize: to arouse to awareness or action (THE AMERICAN HERITAGE
DICTIONARY OF
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE)
- The tears streamed down
her cheeks like the hard rain at the windows.
EVERYTHING WAS GONE.
The realization devastated
her, and left her breathless with agony. It was an unfamiliar
feeling; one that frightened and overwhelmed her. She scraped
her hair back from her face with her cold hands and pressed her
lips together until they were numb.
Laura Holt was a survivor.
Laura Holt was an intelligent, professional woman who could handle
anything life pitched at her. WELL, ALMOST ANYTHING, she
mused wryly and tilted her head in the direction of the bedroom
door a few feet away. YES, she told herself, LAURA
HOLT WAS A TROOPER; A STRONG-WILLED AND OCCASIONALLY BRILLIANT
DETECTIVE. Her lips curved at the memory of a long-ago dimly
lit dinner when she had been taken aback to hear similar words
uttered so smoothly, so convincingly.
She swiped the tears from her hot
cheeks and shrugged at the futility of it all. She didn't feel
very strong-willed right now. And brilliant? Ha! She hadn't even
considered the possibility that they would be after her. If Nero
hadn't run out the door, they might have gone inside... The flash
of light through the window blinded her temporarily and then
everything blurred again in the darkened room as her eyes filled.
LAURA HOLT WAS HOMELESS.
A low keening noise emerged
from her cracked lips and the sobs rose jerkily from her chest.
The last time she had felt this vulnerable, this ALONE was when
her father... No, it was pointless to travel down that road.
The past was where it belonged--in a scorched pile of rubble
on the other side of town.
Light flashed behind her--dimmer,
different than the lightning at the window. She heard the soft
thud of bare feet on the carpet and knew he was there, watching
her, unsure of what to do or say. Sympathy, mingled with discomfort,
radiated from him, and though part of her resented the intrusion
on her self-pity, she suddenly realized that the desperate feeling
of aloneness had receded like the thunder that rocked the building
and then moved on down the block.
There was a whisper of movement
behind her and instinctively she KNEW. "Don't go."
Her voice, and her heart, cracked with the plea. It galled her
to suddenly feel so damn needy, but right now he was all she
had. Her mouth twisted at the realization. She was worse off
than she thought.
Steele sighed behind her. "Couldn't sleep." He padded
into the living room and stared unseeingly out the window. "Must
be the rain."
Laura rose unsteadily and moved
towards him, her head bent. Ashamed of her lapse in poise, but
reluctant to let him go just yet, she nodded and bit her lip.
"Must be."
"Perhaps I should make
us some coffee."
Coffee was the LAST
thing she needed. She wanted to fall asleep for a hundred years
and wake up in a time where things were back to normal; where
her LIFE was back to normal. "Yeah." She nodded
miserably. "Some co--" Her throat closed up suddenly
an d she willed the lump down. "Coff--" Breathing in
deeply, she tried again, but her brain shut down at the smell
of soap on his skin. She fell into his arms and burst into tears.
"Shhh, Laura, it's okay."
His soft murmurs were indistinguishable in her ears, and competed
with the roaring of blood and anger in her head as he held her
close.
"Why'd they have to burn down
my HOUSE?" she wailed plaintively. She couldn't stop
crying, but somehow she knew she was safe here. The warmth of
his body enveloped her, surrounding her with a protective force
field.
"I don't know." He sighed
and repeated the meaningless words again and again and again.
His hands dragged softly down her hair, one after the other,
in a soothing motion that set her teeth on edge.
Laura stiffened in his arms. Who
would protect her from her protector? She knew the taste of his
lips and his sardonic grin. She could even distinguish the different
kinds of twinkles in his cornflower blue eyes. But she didn't
KNOW him, not really. "I'm so scared." She rested
her head against his chest briefly and maneuvered the rest of
her body away as he led her to the fireplace, hoping he couldn't
tell she was pulling away from him. "It's gone. No house,
no things. No Bernice." She glanced up at him, then her
chin dropped again. "No Murphy." Everything and everybody
she could always count on were gone. She dropped onto the smooth
hearth and tried to ignore the shaky feeling in her legs.
"I'm here." His voice
was soft and reassuring, yet the words terrified her more than
the smoldering shell of her home. A faint smile crept across
her face at his quietly indignant tone.
- "The man with no name."
Steele chuckled. If she had more
energy, she would have bolted upright and slugged him. "Marcos,"
he finally said.
"Marcos?" She looked
up at him in anticipation. Funny, the name didn't suit him.
"Marcos Androkos." He
smiled gently. "Little man. Neck so short he said it wasn't
worth washing. Black mustache, thick like wire. And a big smile
with a gold tooth in it, right here."
He tapped his mouth and Laura's stomach fell back into her belly.
But as he told her the story, the sourness disappeared from her
mouth and her lips curved in a smile. She felt the tension slip
from her shoulders as she hugged her knees to her chest an d
the fire warmed her back. The crisp cotton of his shirt rasped
against her skin and she tilted her head to watch him.
Her Mr. Steele was a natural storyteller--animated,
descriptive, and just a little vague. The skill had probably
served him well for years. His whole life was a story he told,
and different every time he told it. Her heart tugged at the
genuine fondness in his expression as he remembered his friend's
ambition to own a tanker, and she suddenly wished she had known
the inimitable Marcos.
When Steele dropped onto the hearth
beside her, she shivered imperceptibly and rubbed her legs. For
a moment, the crackling fire was the only sound in the room.
"We all went down to the pier
to watch it arrive." He paused, lost in the memory. "She
wasn't out there more than two miles when an explosion in the
engine room ripped through the side of the hull. Before I could
believe what was happening, it sank like a stone." The clouds
in his eyes dissipated and his lips twisted ironically. "Since
he was twelve, he wanted nothing else, and like that--"
he snapped his fingers and Laura's heart lurched at the sudden
motion "it was gone. Bingo."
She wanted to reach out to him,
but didn't. Somehow she had the feeling he wasn't finished with
his story yet.
"The pier became so quiet
we could hear each other breathe." He let out a soft guttural
laugh. "And then Marcos...he starts to laugh--and I don't
mean a nervous titter, but a full-bellied, spit-in-the-sky laugh."
Steele's shoulders hunched and outrage swept across his handsome
features. "I couldn't bloody believe my ears; I was furious!
'Why are you laughing?' I screamed at him. 'Because, Xenos, because
from now on, everything is new again, eh? Eh? Just think of the
possibilities. THINK of the possibilities.'" Steele
grinned at the memory, and turned to
look at her. Hope, tempered with concern, gleamed in his eyes.
Laura hugged herself, feeling
the waves of heat ripple across her back and blister her skin.
THINK OF THE POSSIBILITIES. She had lost a lot today.
Her home, her possessions, her sense of security. But she hadn't
lost herself. At least not yet.
She tilted her head and glanced
up at him. "Tonight, if you asked me..." she paused,
not sure how she should say it. IF she should say it.
She exhaled sharply and the words fell from her mouth with more
ease than she felt. "I don't think I could say no."
Her lips curved, but she wasn't sure if it was with a smile or
a grimace. She hated feeling this way. Deep down she needed to
feel as though she belonged somewhere, as though her life made
a difference to someone. Maybe deep down she just needed to FEEL.
She watched the private battle
that was being fought behind his eyes. When he reached up to
cup her face, she knew she had won.
"Tonight..." He
trailed off, his breath warming her numb lips as he moved closer.
As he leaned in to kiss her, she realized it wasn't a battle
for the winning.
All was lost.
She was taken aback by the
gentleness of his kiss, and the restrained passion beneath it.
Pulling away slightly, she shivered and turned towards the fire.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all. A mistake. An aberration.
She had just gone too long with out a date, that's all. Too long
without HIM. Like
her whole life.
He stared at her. As he leaned
closer, his face was etched by shadows and firelight and it was
hard for her to see the expression in his eyes. "Laura,
why don't you trust me?"
She was silent, and pressed her
knees together to stop them from shaking. Her hand slapped on
the hearth as she tried to steady herself. Tried not to fall
in his arms again. The black tile was hot to the touch where
the firelight licked it, and cool in the shadows created by her
body. She idly rubbed at the edges of the tiles, following a
linear and logical pattern across the hearth--a linear and logical
pattern that her heart wasn't about to take for once.
"Is it just me, or is
it all men?" he prodded. He leaned in closer. Her fingers
curled against her palm and she pressed her knuckles hard against
the tile as she looked up and met his questioning gaze.
"Just you," she
whispered before his lips touched hers. A slow heat pulsed through
her veins and her head felt as though it were filled with helium.
This might be a mistake, but it was one she was willing to make
right now. Her impetuosity had already destroyed one relationship;
perhaps it was time it helped build another.
"Trust me," he
murmured against her mouth. He pulled back slightly to look into
her eyes, and what she saw there took her breath away. The intensity
in his gaze frightened her. Confused her. Aroused her.
She couldn't trust him with
her heart, but maybe she could trust him with her body. Would
that be enough for him? Would that be enough for her?
The pressure of his lips
increased and her mouth opened instinctively. She searched his
eyes for something; she wasn't sure exactly what. The simple
heart-stopping desire in his gaze reassured her and she relaxed
against him.
He slowly unbuttoned her
shirt and drew it off her shoulders. She inhaled sharply at the
movement of the warm cotton against her sensitive skin, and flushed
with embarrassment.
"You're beautiful,"
he murmured. His eyes narrowed to thin midnight slits as his
gaze wandered over her bare shoulder. Wordlessly, he reached
out a hand and let the backs of his fingers trail against her
collarbone towards her bicep. His lean fingers gently prodded
at the muscle in her shoulder and she gasped at the sensation
of his thumb painting the top of her breast.
Yes, she could trust him
with her body, she told herself and then gave herself over to
the tickling sensation that danced down her sticky spine.
Steele lowered her to the
floor in front of the fire and peeled the shirt from her trembling
body. Lowering his head, he touched the tip of his tongue to
the hollow at the base of her throat, then slowly traveled down
her body, over the ridges of her ribs and through the valley
between her breasts. His tongue whorled around her nipples, one
at a time, and traced the line of soft hair
towards her belly.
She twitched under his seeking
mouth and found herself holding her breath until she gasped and
shuddered. It had been so long since she had felt this clawing
urge, this warmth flooding her veins until she was surprised
that her blood wasn't throbbing on to the carpet, emptying her
body of precious life. TOO LONG.
His eyes gleamed at her as
she reached up and pulled him down beside her. He linked his
hands behind his head and she could see in his eyes that he wanted
her to explore his body as he had navigated his way over hers.
He was giving her the power to make him writhe beneath her touch
and she was thankful for it.
She carefully drew the silk
robe off his shoulders, letting the backs of her fingers trail
across his chest. Next she turned her attention to his boxer
shorts. Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against
him, hot and hard, and quickly tugged them down.
He let out a growl of frustration
and rolled away from her, bringing up his knees and dragging
the shorts over his lean hips. They landed somewhere on the other
side of the room and his naked body was bathed in the glow from
the fire when he turned back to her.
When she reached out her
hand, he inhaled raggedly at her tentative touch, encouraging
her wordlessly. The newfound sense of power awed her, and she
took her time exploring the alien landscape of his body.
She grew bolder, dragging
her fingers over his body, until he gasped suddenly and tossed
her on her back, moving sleekly over her, continuing his own
investigation of her aching body.
She squirmed against the carpet, her oxygen supply dwindling.
Breathing in deeply she smelt the soap clinging to his skin,
and the sharp ozone from the lightning outside burned the back
of her throat. He lowered himself on top of her, holding himself
up with his arms. A muscle danced in his shoulder and a trickle
of sweat ran down his right cheekbone. Rising up to gently kiss
the salty drop away, her entire body came in contact with his
and he flinched.
His jaw was clenched and
his voice cracked in her ear. "Laura, are you sure?"
Laura stilled. "No,"
she answered honestly, hoping that he wouldn't stop now. Or ask
her to explain. She needed him right now more than she had ever
needed anyone. How could she explain that she had been waiting
her whole life to experience this feeling, to feel this power
and abandon? Even with Wilson she had never felt this... this...
primal. It was wholly unlike her, and yet true to her soul. Her
fingers kneaded gently at his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Begging him not to stop.
He paused for a moment and
pushed himself a few inches up and away from her. Her mouth turned
down at the corners at the absent sensation of his skin pressed
to hers. A dark lock of hair fell over his left eye as he stared
at her. "Are you sure?"
She nodded silently. He searched
her eyes for a moment, then spanned her waist with his strong
hands and flipped her on top of him. Desire tempered with control
flashed in his eyes.
"Take me," he coaxed.
"Do whatever you want, whatever feels comfortable."
He spread his hands out flat on the carpet and waited.
She dragged her fingers through
her tangled hair. "Are you sure?" she asked.
Steele nodded.
She swallowed hard and eyed him
carefully. Then she straddled his lean hips and lowered herself
over him. When she felt him at her entrance, her eyes widened
at his size and the heat radiating from him. Lifting her panicked
gaze to Steele, she opened her mouth but no words came out.
His voice slid over her slick
skin in the dim room like black velvet. "Trust me."
She met his gaze and felt
him fill her, stretch her. She bit down on her lower lip in concentration
and a prickly sweat broke out in the small of her back. He stretched
a warm hand over her lower belly, soothing her.
"Trust me," he
repeated darkly. She tried, but she couldn't look in his eyes.
Her eyes fluttered shut and she sunk down on him.
A jolt ran up her spine and
light blasted behind her eyes as a sudden wave of intense pleasure
broke over her. She gasped out loud, trying to suck the air back
into her lungs. CAN'T THINK. CAN'T THINK. She kept her
eyes screwed shut as he started to move slowly underneath her.
"Look at me," he ordered. But she couldn't. She COULDN'T
open her eyes. If she met his burning gaze, it would make this
that much more personal. Right now she couldn't handle that.
Trust with her body, not her heart--that was the deal. And she
knew that if she looked into his eyes right now, her heart would
be lost, and eventually broken. This way only her body was lost,
not her
soul.
His damp hands clutched her
hips and he started rocking faster. She leaned down and tucked
her forehead into the groove of his flushed neck. Only when she
knew his hot skin and the brown carpet were in front of her did
she open her eyes.
The short circuit in her
body took her by surprise. Every muscle in her suddenly brittle
body clenched and a choking sound emerged from her dry throat.
Bright spots burst behind her eyes, as though she had been looking
at the sun for too long then she closed her eyes, and her mind
disconnected from her shuddering body and floated up towards
the stucco ceiling.
Somewhere far away, she heard
him gasp underneath her and become rigidly
still, and she felt a gentle warmth flood her.
Steele couldn't sleep.
MUST BE THE RAIN, he thought as he stared out the window
at the wild night.
He watched Laura sleep and
waited for his heart rate to slow down. He was surprised that
the loud thumping from his chest didn't wake her up. Her glossy
dark hair lay tumbled across a cushion from the couch, her hand
tucked neatly between it and the floor. She curled up in a fetal
position with his paisley robe draped over her, and the firelight
flickered on her flushed cheeks. Her expression in slumber was
blank and completely still, like a wax figure, and he wondered
if she knew that she drooled in her sleep.
Steele hoped that by
finally sleeping with her, he would exorcise the mystery of her
from the recesses of his mind. That by treating her like one of
his endless line of long-limbed, smooth-skinned bottle blondes,
he could get her out of his system. Instead, the scent of her
skin crawled up his nose and he found himself wanting her again.
And again.
He rose, careful not to wake
her, and headed for the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror
was pale under the fluorescent lights and shadowed with day-old
beard.
"Bloody jerk."
A sick feeling clawed at his
stomach. He had used her. He had used women before, but this--tonight--didn't
sit well. Laura deserved better. Hell, anyone deserved better.
He had finally gotten her
to trust him, had broken down her seemingly impenetrable walls,
and he did it by telling her an old story, and then seducing her.
The knowledge made him ill.
The fiberglass was chilly
on his skin as he sat down on the side of
the tub and held his head in his hands, racked with guilt. His
head dropped to between his knees when he suddenly realized that
he hadn't even protected her. Even though his ears were tucked
between his kneecaps, he could feel the blood rushing away from
his head.
He stood up suddenly, his
face gray and serious in the mirror. His fingers tingled as he
pictured Laura, belly swollen and eyes bright with love.
"Damn it," he said
to his reflection, and sighed.
He was in love with her. Like
the slipperiest of con artists, Laura Holt had wormed her way
into his heart and left him clutching his chest with the staggering
irrevocability of his love for her. Cupid didn't pull his punches,
or his arrows--that was for sure.
Padding out of the bathroom,
he dragged his hand through his hair and tried to figure out what
to do next. With any other woman, he would have been out the door
by now. But this was HIS apartment. He perched on the edge of
the couch and watched her. Laura sighed and turned over, leaving
a damp patch of drool on the cushion. The silk robe fell down
to her stomach and the skin
curving over her spine shone in the firelight.
He swore softly, his heart
twisting. The rain beating against the windows suddenly became
more irritating than soothing, like Chinese water torture, and
he crossed over to yank down the blinds. When he turned back,
her brown eyes were open and watching him.
"I'm sorry," he
whispered.
She propped herself up on
her elbow and her gaze shifted from him to the fire. "It's
okay."
He dropped into the chair
to the right of the fireplace and stretched his legs out in front
of the hearth. He could feel the hairs on his legs slowly being
singed by the heat, and hung his head. "No." He
cleared his throat softly. "I'M SORRY."
Her gaze flickered back to
him as she sat up and pulled the robe around her freckled shoulders,
and she held him in it breathlessly. "IT'S OKAY,"
she repeated. That was when he realized she knew what he meant.
Her eyelashes swept over her cheeks briefly as she closed her
eyes, breaking the tenuous connection between them. Then she turned
back to the fire and opened them again. "It was a mistake,"
she said tonelessly.
His body clenched at the matter-of-fact
words, and he crossed his legs. Propping his chin on one fist,
he watched her and chose his words carefully. This was her game,
and he knew it. "Mistake," he echoed.
She nodded grimly. "Yes,
a mistake. I needed something..." She paused and licked her
lips, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Comfort. Sensation.
The feeling of being alive and needed." She rested her chin
on her knees and tilted her head towards him. "Thank you
for giving me that."
"You're welcome,"
he bit out, his voice low and dark.
She turned her attention back
to the fire and her knuckles whitened as she clasped her legs.
"It won't happen again," she said.
Steele saw something glisten
on her eyelashes and didn't reply.
"Will it?" she ventured.
Steele closed his eyes briefly
and ignored the shattering sensation inside his chest. "No.
It won't," he agreed. It was better that this was forgotten.
They weren't meant to be together; that much was obvious. He would
disappoint her... somehow, someday.
Her hand passed over her face,
shadowing her eyes, and she combed her hair back with trembling
fingers. "Good," she said firmly. "We'll pretend
it never happened."
He snorted softly, wondering
how long they could dance this waltz. A week? A year? How long
would it take for him to fall out of love with her? His jaw tightened.
A lifetime wouldn't be long enough for THAT. "Go sleep
in the bed," he ordered through gritted teeth. Laura turned
to him and raised one eyebrow. "I'll take the couch."
She nodded and rose unsteadily.
He reached out a hand and snatched it back before she could notice
that he was trying to help her.
The sound of her stifled sobs
from the next room competed with the beating of the rain on the
windows for the rest of the night, but this time, he didn't go
to her. She didn't want his help; she never had. Fiercely independent
was his Miss Holt. Someday it was going to be her undoing. Or
his.
JUST THINK OF THE POSSIBILITIES.
THE END
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