IT Could've Happened (ITCHY) Stories

There's not a single series to be found in these stories, only what ifs and could have beens, that give rise to some interesting thoughts, occasional angst, some surprising honesty and a lot of romance. These stories, unlike the Canon and AU series may, or may not, follow canon and there may be some liberties taken in what I see as in or out of character for the actual characters, plot devices and poetic license may be used, and reader request will, on occasion, steer the story in a direction I had never intended to take.

Fractured Steele (Post Steeled with a Kiss Pt II)
A Holt in the Heart (Takes place during and after Woman of Steele)
Threadbare Steele (Takes place during and after Steele Threads - for RS Fan 17)
Steele in Her Heart (Alternate ending to Steele of Approval - for Steele86)
Steele Going At It (Takes place after Have I Got A Steele For You - for MM33 and Elinskaja)
Steeling A Little Romance (Not tied to an episode - Merry Christmas one and all)
Hold Out Holt (Not tied to an episode - A seed of thought planted by MM33)
The Steele Who Stole Christmas
Holt for the Holidays (Takes place after Dancer, Prancer and Steele - includes an explanation for Chibijem)
Isn't it Steele Romantic (Takes place directly after Steele Alive & Kicking - No Bonds!)

As always, I do not own the characters. I simply write them because I love them.

A/N: Every once in a while a piece of inspiration comes along, provoking a new story. You set it aside again and again, only for kismet to drop reminders in your lap , over and over and over again until you can no longer resist. So, my fellow RS fans and armchair detectives, what was the inspiration for this story?

Chapter 1

Remington held Laura in his embrace, as soft strains of music filtered out onto the moonlit terrace.

The gala they'd attended that evening had been solely of Laura's doing. The attendees were some of the wealthiest and most influential members of Los Angeles society, and the very nature of the gala permitted them to cultivate potential future clients. While he was never one to snub his nose at hobnobbing with the rich and famous, when she'd informed him they'd be spending their Friday evening working, she'd earned herself a grunt of disapproval. Still, he'd donned his tux and had dazzled the fairer sex while Laura's girl-next-door affect had left the men eating out of her hand. She'd been so pleased with their efforts that she'd been easily swayed into leaving the gala a little more than an hour before it was to end and it had been her suggestion, in fact, that they return to his flat for a spell before she called it an evening.

It has been an enjoyable and successful evening, but it was this moment here, as he and Laura swayed to the music, that made it the perfect evening – at least in his estimation: No more business to attend to until Monday and Laura in his arms.

"Laura, I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight," he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead.

She was a vision in the red, form-fitting and beaded gown that left her shapely back completely bare. That she'd worn her hair up, enunciating the graceful curve of her neck, and the dress was cut low enough to make him wonder precisely how far down her chest those tempting dapples of cinnamon were sprinkled, had left him aching for her. Unseen and with a furrowed brow, he recalled how she'd not only enchanted potential clients but had also caught the eye of many a man this evening, making him simultaneously proud… and, in truth, a bit insecure. It had long been his fear another man would sweep her away before he'd ever truly had a chance to have her.

"I've never seen so many men ask you if you wanted to dance," he commented casually, shamelessly searching for a bit of reassurance. "They were looking for a little romance," then with a lift of a brow he hoped appeared light hearted, he added, "Given half a chance." A small smile played on her lips, and she tilted her head slightly, her chocolate colored eyes considering him. Recognizing his insecurity for what it was, she drew a soft hand through his hair, then left her hand to linger at the back of his neck, to toy with the short hair at his collar.

"But now there's nobody here," she reminded him, with a pointed glance around the terrace, the lilt in her quiet voice beguiling him further. "It's just you and me." Pressing up on her toes, and, holding his eyes with hers, she brushed her lips briefly to his.

He palmed the back of her head, before she could flit away to a safer distance. It had been nearly two months since their trip to the Friedlich Spa and while they had taken steps forward, they'd been show in coming, as they each battled their demons. He'd made a concerted effort to share with her a few glimpses into his past and to resorting less to pithy responses that on the surface seemed amusing but were, in fact, his own way of keeping some distance between them... and her off balance.

Tonight, watching as men openly admired her with a gleam in their eyes that suggested they wished to call her their own, he'd been served a potent reminder of all he stood to lose if he didn't stop 'beating around the bush' as she'd accused not so long ago. Yes, this evening and its events had proven the impetus he'd needed. Tonight, they'd clear the air between them, once and for all, and move forward… Elsewise they'd be locked in a padded cell soon, having sufficiently driven one another mad.

"You mean the world to me," he whispered against her lips.

His heart slammed against his ribs and his pulse raced. He knew he'd once again fallen short of the mark, yet to even say that much felt as if he'd exposed his very soul. But if the warmth in her eyes and the way she eased his head downwards to merge their lips again was any indication, she'd appreciated what he'd managed.

He fed on her supple lips, savoring her flavor, his mind barely taking note of the hands that wandered through his hair, caressed his back, stroked his shoulders, but his body had registered every nuance of her touch. Instinctively, driven by the need to be close to her, his arms released her and he surged forward, trapping her between the terrace wall and the hard plains of his body, while clutching her face in his palms. His tongue slipped between parted lips and he delved deep, stroking her tongue with his in imitation of the act in which he yearned for them to engage.

This was a new facet of their personal relationship, one of those steps forward that was a fair mixture heaven and hell. She'd stopped backing away when his kisses turned from tender to demanding, instead sharing peeks at the passion he'd long known laid beneath her surface.

Needing more, he shifted, changing the angle of the kiss.

"Remington," she breathed, her fingers clutching the back of his neck to keep him close.

And here was another of those new developments, as she'd, with casual aplomb, torn down yet another barrier meant to keep distance between them: His name, or lack thereof. Three weeks before, in the midst of asking what he'd like to do that evening, she'd finished the question using his name with what had seemed to be remarkable ease. Yet, as he'd stood there blinking in disbelief, he'd taken note of the way her fingers had flexed next to her sides, a telltale sign of how nervous she actually was. Since that evening, she'd taken to using the name with in private with increasingly more frequency… and less effort.

If he'd thought hearing 'Mr. Steele' roll of her tongue with a captivating lilt was intoxicating, he'd been jolted to the core when she'd used his given the name, the one stolen so many years before and now earned.

Then, this last weekend, something he'd long dreamt of – although not quite in the way it had come about – they'd spent the night together. Yes, yes, they'd shared lodgings in the past, but always for professional reasons or because they were on the run. But last weekend had been purely personal, and wholly by her choice.

A particularly grueling case had carried over into late Saturday evening, neither of them having slept more than a few winks over the last three days. Sleep dulled senses had seen to it that he'd been on the wrong side of a few more blows to his body than he would have taken under normal circumstances, but despite his aches and bruises he'd brushed off Laura's concerns, lest she become suddenly protective - as she'd done on a handful of occasions previously – and grounded him to an indeterminate future of deskwork. With the case wrapped up, his thoughts had immediately turned to three thing: A hot shower to work out some of the kinks, a filling meal followed by at least a half day's sleep. But when Laura had asked if he'd like to join her for pizza, beer and a Dodger's game on the telly, what as a man to do?

He'd believed he'd adeptly hidden the discomfort caused by the various contusions scattered over his back and dotting his ribs, but her discerning eye had easily picked up the barely detectable winces that had passed over his face each time she shifted against him. With a muttered oath, she'd bolted off the couch and with a finger pointed towards her bed had ordered him to strip off his shirt and stretch out. The massage she'd bestowed upon him had been utter bliss, despite the pungent smell of the Ben Gay that she'd applied liberally to his skin.

He awoke shortly after sunrise, aching for a wholly different reason than the fisticuffs he'd engaged in the evening before. His dreams had taken an erotic turn near dawn and the star of those dreams had been Laura. That in and of itself wasn't all that unusual given she'd been the focus of his dreams for nearly as long as he could remember now. But, even as he slept, some part of his subconscious recognized this dream was richer than all the others before it. He could smell the sweet floral scent of her perfume. He could feel her soft breath against the skin of his neck, her silky hair against his chest and the weight of her body against his. The stirring of his loins in answer had reluctantly drawn him from the dream.

The first thing that registered with his sleep befuddled mind was the smell of Laura's perfume surrounding him. Well, that was certainly enough for his brain to roar to life and he took detailed note of their current status: Laura, sleeping with her head in the crook of his shoulder, an arm laying on his chest, and a leg flung over his hips, with a very bare thigh pillowed against a very sensitive piece of anatomy. He hardened instantly. Being no one's fool, he instantly determined to commit this moment to memory and allowed his eyes to take their fill as his mind evaluated the situation he'd found himself in. That Laura had changed into a satin nightshirt and matching shorts spoke volumes: She hadn't dozed off as he had, but had chosen not only not to awaken him and send him home but to join him as he slept. His heart stumbled at the thought.

He hadn't realized his hand had been absently stroking the curve of her bottom, until she squirmed restlessly against him, her thigh rubbing against his erection making him shudder with need. His hand stilled, as desire warred with the distinctly uneasy feeling that she would freeze him out for months if she were to awaken to find him doing such when an invitation hadn't been extended.

But she had awoken, and the eyes that peered up at him weren't filled with indignant anger but molten desire. Frankly, at that moment he'd been more petrified than overcome with passion. He'd no idea what to do, as he'd never found himself in this particular position with her before: The object of his greatest desire sprawled halfway across his body, on her bed and wearing her nightclothes no less, her thigh rubbing against his pronounced erection, her fingertips caressing his chest. One wrong move and all the progress they'd made the last weeks could be completely obliterated.

With an amused smile twitching at her lips, she solved his quandary. Pushing up on her elbow, she dragged her fingers through his hair in a way only a lover would, then leaned in and kissed him.

He muttered an epitaph against her lips when a buzzer announced Frances arriving with the children's pets. Of course, he couldn't be found there at this early hour, partially clothed and in an obvious state of arousal or it would invite all sorts of questions… which was how a promising moment had turned into him being stashed in quite an undignified manner in Laura's bathroom while she'd tended to her sister on the opposite side of the door. He'd entertained some small hope that they might pick up where they left off, but her suggestion of a solitary shower followed by Vinnie Dowd crashing through her kitchen windows had quickly dispatched that fantasy.

Yes, heaven… and a bit of hell.

"Laura," he rasped, his lips leaving hers to pepper kisses over her cheek then along her jaw, as he drew a pair a fingers down the length of her bare back, his sensitive digits feeling the goosebumps as they arose over her skin. With quick, indrawn breath, she unconsciously molded her body into his and let her head fall back so his lips could find her neck. "Stay here a little while," he urged. He realized his mistake a half second too late when he felt her stiffen subtly in his embrace. It had been the wrong thing to say to the woman who'd long worried she'd find herself alone the morning after, nothing more than a challenge to him after all. He attempted to hastily correct himself. "Don't you want to fall asleep with me tonight?" He hoped the reminder of their opportunity missed might sway her to stay.

It didn't. He felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the tremor that passed through her slim frame against him. He watched as she did battle with herself, what she wanted warring against what she needed, hoping against hope that this time she'd decide in his favor. When her eyes skittered away and her shoulders slumped, he knew he'd lost… again.

"I really can't stay," she sighed, with keen disappointment

The last weeks, the last years, the sensation of waking with her in his arms, the attention she drawn on the evening, the Cannes agreement, the devastation that had accompanied her decree that they needed time – all of those things collided in his mind. He was weary to the bone of it all: Their hesitations, their fears, their lines in the sand, their refusal to allow the other the upper hand in this relationship of theirs.

With a soft kiss meant to bid him adieu, she slipped away, prepared to call it a night. Rather than escorting her to the door as he'd done an infinite number of times before, he caught her around the waist from behind and stepped close again.

"Don't you want me, Laura?" he asked, gruffly. Unseen, her face fell. She'd never once denied wanting him. Attraction had never been the issue between them.

"You know I do."

"Then, tell me, are we ever going to stop playing these games?" She drew in a breath and let it out slowly, emphasizing just how weary she'd grown with them.

"I'm tired of playing games, too," she admitted, caressing the hand on her waist.

"I don't know what we're afraid of," he murmured, dropping a kiss on her hair.

"Fear of the unknown," she whispered, then lifted her head, her face solemn. "What comes next?"

(TBC)