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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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