Steele In Love With You
By Amy S.
Timeline: It's now. Fifth season (say it with me now) never happened
Summary: A fatalistic view of where they might be today.
Chapter 1
Laura Holt slammed her way into the bathroom, muttering to herself. What kind of insurance company had arrogant children working for them? She was absolutely sick of Chad Fenton.
Did Mr. Steele approve of this? Did Mr. Steele okay that?
The twenty-year-old had gotten to her, and they'd never even met. The chauvinistic little dunce tormented her over the phone.
Maybe she just needed a real case. Enough of helping the rich posture.
She wanted someone to complain to, someone to talk her down, but she'd already given Murphy an earful earlier. With only employees around, she didn't have anyone to lean on but herself.
Laura checked herself in the mahogany-framed mirror. She frowned as she noticed a new wrinkle. The frown brought out another. She took a deep breath and then smiled a fake cocktail-party smile. Satisfied, she went on to check her hair and makeup. When it all passed muster, she adjusted the straps on the deep blue gown, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped into the bustling throng.
The gala evening marked the first stop on the world tour of seven multi-million dollar works of art, a tour backed by a solitary collector. William Foster had made headlines when he broke the Christie's Auctions record for most money spent on a single piece. The headlines a few weeks later gave him another record: he had refused to place a reserve on a Renoir that then sold for peanuts. Another firm would take over when the tour moved overseas, but, until then, Remington Steele Investigations was in charge of security.
Laura walked around the parquet dance floor, past the Gauguin and Matisse masterpieces on display, checking that the uniformed security guards were in place. She checked that the other art, shown in rotation at the behest of the insurance company, was safely locked in its unmarked storeroom with the plainclothes security guard outside.
Satisfied that everything was as planned, Laura climbed the spiral staircase to the balcony, where a buffet was laid and waiters busily kept glasses full. She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing attendant and went to the railing to watch the party.
"I've always known how I would feel if I ever saw you again."
The familiar brogue shocked her. Her eyes went wide, and she gripped the railing tightly with her free hand to calm herself before she turned around.
"Oh? And how do you feel?" she asked, taking in the dejected face of the tuxedoed man who had been known as Remington Steele.
"I believe the appropriate cliché would be 'a knife in the heart'."
Laura was at a loss for words. She thought about an appropriate response for nearly a minute. Finally, she said, "There's so much to say, but I can't come up with a single thing."
He nodded.
They stood there until a waiter appeared with a magnum of champagne and asked Laura if she wanted a refill.
"By all means," she answered, holding out her glass.
"And for you, sir?"
Without taking his eyes off Laura, he said, "A double scotch is definitely in order."
The waiter disappeared to fill the drink order.
Laura ignored her glass and aimlessly ran her finger around the rim.
"You look stunning tonight, Laura," he said at last.
"Thank you."
She looked him over. He'd aged well. His hair wasn't greying; it was just a bit lighter than its previous jet black. He had put on a few pounds, but, given his slender frame, it looked good on him. Laura decided to hate him for that for a little while.
"It never ceases to amaze me how handsome you look in a tuxedo, Remin –" She hesitated. "Sorry."
He shrugged. "Old habits."
She brightened a bit now that the ice was broken.
"What should I call you tonight?"
"The name on the guest list is John Van Doren, but I don't much like it."
"Not a Humphrey Bogart character?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I haven't been to Los Angeles since we..." He didn't know how to put it, so he continued, "I checked on tonight's security, and the agency wasn't the name I was given. Still, to be safe, I went with a name you probably wouldn't connect to me."
"It was a good choice. I went through the guest list personally."
"So you are providing security."
"I thought it would be an additional layer of protection if another agency's name was used in the press. It would send any would-be art thieves down the wrong path."
The waiter appeared with Steele's drink. He took it and thanked the young man.
"Good idea," he said.
"It was yours."
He swallowed a measure of whisky, glad its burn gave him something else to feel, and tried to remember the case Laura was referring to. He could not recall, so Laura began to remind him.
"Do you remember when Travis – "
"Excuse me." An older woman dressed in an atrocious yellow chiffon gown addressed Steele. "Remington Steele? I thought it was you! It's been years. Harold and I were beginning to think you didn't exist."
Laura allowed herself a small smile.
"It's wonderful to see you again," he said, with no idea who this woman was.
He tried to think of a quick way to get rid of her. As the conversation continued against his will, he watched Laura slip away into the crowd.
xxxxxx
"Murph?"
Murphy Michaels was busy rechecking the guards, but Laura got his attention.
"Hey, Laura. What's up?"
"Everything okay with the setup?"
"Yeah, fine, but I hate this tie," he said, tugging at his collar and looking generally uncomfortable in his tux.
When Laura didn't say anything else, Murphy said, "You didn't come over here to find out about my tie."
Laura faced the dance floor and tried not to make eye contact with Murphy.
"He's here," she said.
"Who's here?"
Murphy put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him.
"Laura, if there's someone I need to keep an eye on, just tell me. It's what you contracted my agency for, after all."
Laura wished she hadn't said anything at all to Murphy.
"You don't need to keep an eye on him. I just want you to know he's here."
Murphy was confused. He didn't need to watch this person, but Laura felt the need to alert him to his presence? What the hell was going on?
"Who is this guy, already?"
"Remington."
Murphy wasn't sure he heard right.
"Remington... as in Steele?"
Laura nodded.
"And you don't think we need to keep an eye on him?" Murphy asked, raising his voice slightly. He never had trusted the former shadow man who brought life to the fictitious Remington Steele.
"No, I don't," she said, looking him directly in the eyes. "If he was here to steal something, he won't anymore. He didn't know I was providing security."
"So what, Laura! The guy left you."
Laura cringed as Murphy's rant continued.
"That jerk left you and went back to stealing anything that wasn't bolted down, and you say we don't need to watch him?"
Laura said firmly, "He did not leave me. You know that very well." She took a breath. Calmly, she said, "I just didn't want you to be surprised if you ran into him. Finish rechecking the guards."
Murphy was close to boiling over. "Laura, the guy – "
She cut him off.
"Finish rechecking the guards."
xxxxxx
Murphy completed his rounds on the main floor and went up to the balcony, getting angrier with each stair climbed. At the top of the staircase, he turned to check the position of the security guards on this level. As he swung his eyes back, he caught a glimpse of a man standing alone at the balcony rail, away from the masses of art lovers.
Murphy couldn't see the man's face, but the height and hair were right. So was the manner as the man knocked back his whisky.
Murphy strode across the floor, not stopping when he reached his target. Instead, Murphy caught him by the jacket and hauled him into the shadows at the far end. When they were away from the crowd, Murphy shoved him away.
"Murphy, there's no need for this," Steele said evenly, raising his hands in surrender. "Truce? Can we have a truce?"
Murphy fumed for a minute, then decided to calm down.
"It's been a long time," Remington said, feeling genuinely glad to see an old friend again.
"Not long enough."
Remington began, "Laura – "
That was it. Murphy lost his temper. The punch he threw sent Steele into the wall.
Murphy pushed his hands through his jostled hair to settle it as he looked to see if anyone was paying attention to the commotion. A few eyes were turned their way, so Murphy stuck out his hand to help Steele up.
"Feel better now?" Steele asked with a dry sarcasm, pushing his own hair back into place and rubbing his reddening jaw.
"Sure do. Thanks."
"You're welcome. Glad to help."
Steele, who had beaten himself up for a long time over the demise of the relationship, understood Murphy's hostility, so he did not pursue the confrontation. Instead, he walked to the balcony rail once more. Murphy followed.
"Tell me, Murphy," Steele began. "What do you see when you look down there?"
"Marks."
Remington quickly tired of the antagonism.
"Can we be grown-ups for just a moment?"
Murphy sighed and pushed his anger down.
"Fine," he said. "Well, I see a whole lot of people with more money than they know what to do with, all having a good time. They'll spend tonight dancing and having meaningless conversations; tomorrow they'll be back to making a killing from anything they can get their hands on." He paused and looked at Steele. "You fit right in."
"They certainly aren't discussing last night's hoops game."
Murphy laughed involuntarily, surprised that Steele remembered this little tidbit from their former lives, and even more surprised that Steele seemed to have figured out what a hoop was.
"I'm sure they're not," Murphy agreed, "unless they own the team."
"Right," Steele chuckled.
They watched the party silently for a few moments.
Finally, Murphy spoke.
"So, what do you see when you look down there?"
He didn't get an answer right away.
"Well?"
Steele pointed off to their left, toward a dark corner away from the dance floor.
"All I can see is Laura, standing there alone."
"She's working," Murphy said, trying to keep Steele from feeling like he had to go talk to her again.
"No, she isn't."
Murphy studied Laura, not seeing whatever he was supposed to see.
"How do you know?"
"One of your goons dressed up as party guests just left his position and walked right in front of her."
"What?" Murphy started toward the stairs, but Steele stopped him.
"It's okay, Murphy. He'll be right back." He pointed at the man entering the restroom. "Laura's not paying attention."
After a moment, they watched the guard emerge and return to his post.
"I know you'd rather I just disappear."
"So why don't you? After all, you're not here to take anything," Murphy said.
Remington raised an eyebrow at the presumption.
"I'm not, actually. As I told Laura, I didn't know she was providing security. But I'm not going anywhere until I tell Laura I'm leaving. I won't do that to her; I won't simply vanish."
Remington watched as the antipathy returned to Murphy's face.
"Once was enough, huh?" Murphy goaded.
"Damn you, Murphy," Steele muttered as he headed for the stairs.
Murphy watched him walk away and thought, for a split second, that maybe he'd been out of line.