Steele After You
A Remington Steele Story
by AMY STONE
Disclaimer This story is not in any way associated with the owners of Remington Steele. The character of Alan is borrowed from Tron. The characters, except for those I invented for the story, are not owned by me (if only they were...), and the story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. It is meant as fan fiction and is purely for entertainment.
___________________________________________________________________
"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."
-- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
PROLOGUE -- PAINTING
"So this is how you like to spend your Saturdays, eh?" Remington Steele asked, pushing a lock of hair back underneath his painter's cap. "I've always known you enjoyed hard work, but I hoped it didn't extend into your leisure time quite as much as it apparently does."
"You're the one who volunteered to help me repaint the loft," Laura answered, playfully thrusting a roller at him.
He took it and smiled.
"I recall that you said you'd be too tired for an evening out tonight if you had to tackle the job on your own."
"I wasn't trying to coerce you."
He looked sidelong at her and said, "Yes, you were." He was enjoying what he took to be his influence on her.
"Maybe a little." Laura adjusted the drop cloth over her grand piano. She looked up and added, "Thank you."
Four years ago, she thought, would she have wanted to spend a domestic afternoon with him? Would he with her?
"My pleasure," he said softly, holding her gaze. "I never thought I'd find menial tasks like paperwork and painting appealing. It must be the company."
Laura philosophized, "Every menial task has its reward."
"Oh?" he asked with a mischievous look.
"Dinner and a movie, Mr. Steele," Laura chided. She turned to the yellowing wall and began to paint.
** ** **
"Aren't we done yet?" Remington Steele plopped on the tarp-covered sofa and wiped his brow with his painter's cap. He studied his paint- covered fingers with feigned disdain.
Laura put down her roller and crossed the room, replying, "No. One more wall." She sat down next to him. "We can take a break, though."
"Sweeter words were never spoken," he said, putting his arms around her.
She twisted around in his embrace to face him. After a moment, their lips brushed.
"I don't know if I have the energy for this, Laura, but I'll give it my best."
"Good," she said, rising suddenly and retrieving a paintbrush. "One more wall."
He studied the ceiling for a bit, shaking his head and grinning.
"Come on, Mr. Steele," Laura said, returning to the couch and putting out her hand to help him up. He took her hand and hoisted himself up with exaggerated effort. Halfway, he pulled her to him and fell back onto the couch.
"I thought you didn't have the energy for this," Laura said, dropping the brush and kissing him.
Remington Steele replied devilishly, "I was referring to painting the last wall." Their kiss was longer this time. "What were you talking about?"
Laura fished around on the drop cloth-covered floor for the brush. She handed it to him and kissed his cheek.
"The last wall."
"A promise is a promise."
** ** **
"And for the lady?" The waiter looked bored.
Laura ordered.
"Very good, madam," he said flatly. He disappeared into the dark.
"Why is it waiters always sound so disinterested?" Laura asked.
Remington sipped his wine. He made a face as he sucked the disappointing liquid off his teeth.
"If waiters were too interested in their customers, people would feel self-conscious. Dinner conversation would suffer; people would decide to eat at home. Restaurants would close, followed by clubs, theaters, and other establishments that thrive on the dinner crowd." He raised a playful eyebrow. "Waiter interest would signal the end of western civilization as we know it."
Laura laughed. "Well, the waiters of Los Angeles are certainly doing their part for western civilization."
"And it's our civic duty to keep them in business," he joked. "That goes for the movie theaters as well, even if they do show drivel occasionally."
"It wasn't that bad!"
His pained expression told her he disagreed.
She continued, "At least we'll never have to think about it again. I can't think of a single scenario where a movie called Undersea Doctors would parallel a client's case."
He raised his glass. "To small miracles."
She flashed her smile again and touched her glass to his. "To small miracles."
The waiter reappeared with their salads. He quietly placed them on the table, asked if the wine was satisfactory, then promptly ignored the response. As he skulked off, Laura and Remington shared restrained smirks.
When the waiter was out of earshot, Remington Steele said, "Oh, the things we do for the good of the public."
** ** **
Remington Steele put the top up on the Auburn as Laura climbed the steps to her building. As she fumbled for her key in her purse, he trotted up the stairs and stood in the dark nearby.
"I left my key in the loft," Laura admitted finally.
Remington immediately pulled two lockpicks from inside his jacket and stepped into the streaky light. Over his shoulder, he said, "This is the first time I've broken into a building for a nightcap."
Laura laughed, "I hope whatever I've got in the fridge is worth a misdemeanor."
He popped the door open and shrugged.
"I just hope that bottle of Chateau du Monde we had was the last on earth. Those vintners are felons."
Laura stepped forward, but he did not move his arm from the door. He studied her as he continued to block her path.
"Mr. Steele," she breathed, as their faces again hovered a hairsbreadth apart.
"Yes, Laura?"
"Aren't we going inside?"
"All in," he said, grazing his lips against hers, "good time."
He kissed her, harder this time. She snaked her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.
** ** **
Laura slid the loft door shut behind them and screwed up her face.
"Well, leaving the windows open didn't do it. It still smells like Pale Avocado in here."
"You're welcome to stay at my place," Remington said, trying to balance the offer between a pass and a friendly gesture.
Laura weighed the proposition for a moment.
"I'll take you up on that, Mr. Steele."
Laura went up the few steps to her bedroom to pack an overnight bag. When her back was to him, he furrowed his brow and grinned at the same time.
** ** **
At the apartment, Remington Steele emerged from his bedroom with an armload of pillows and bedding.
"I left two pillows for you."
He dropped the blankets on the couch and began to arrange his bed for the night. Laura grabbed an end of one blanket and helped.
"How do you know I like two pillows?"
"Lucky guess," Steele said as he tucked and folded.
Laura eyed him.
"How about that nightcap, Laura?"
"That would be nice," she said.
Remington went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of cognac and two glasses. He poured as Laura fluffed a pillow.
"To the rewards for menial tasks, Laura?" He handed one glass to her.
"And to those who do those tasks."
They sipped.
"You know, Mr. Steele," Laura said as she sat down on the sofa, "this was a wonderful day."
He sat next to her.
"Your idea of a wonderful day is six hours of tarps and paintbrushes followed by a mediocre film?"
"Don't forget dinner served by bored waiters. As you said earlier, it's not the activity. It's the company." Laura punctuated her statement with a kiss.
Remington Steele kissed her back.
"I can think of at least one activity tonight I've thoroughly enjoyed, however."
"Oh? And what was that, Laura?" he asked, tracing her cheek with one finger.
She showed him.
When they parted, Remington muttered, "It's both."
"Both what?"
He answered, "Activity and company."
Laura asked puckishly, "There are no other women you'd rather paint with?"
"No." Laura didn't think it was possible for two people to be closer together, but he managed. "And there is no other woman I'd rather have in my bed."
Laura was about to protest, taken aback by his directness, but then she glanced down at the sheets and blankets they were sitting on.
She blushed, then hooked her thumb in the general direction of behind them and said, "This is a sofa. Your bed's in there."
She watched in amusement as he tried to work out the intentions behind her observation. She let him suffer in exasperation for a moment. Then she unbuttoned his shirt.
CHAPTER ONE -- EGGS
When Laura awoke, she found the bed's owner propped up on one elbow looking at her. His free hand rested on her stomach. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.
Laura started with, "Good morning."
"Good morning, Laura," he answered, snuggling her closer.
She waited for him to say more. When he did not, she rolled toward him and went back to sleep with her head on his naked chest.
** ** **
The second time Laura woke, it was to the sounds of kitchen cabinets being opened and pans quietly clanging. She couldn't help but grin as she heard the refrigerator door open and Remington Steele mutter, "Bloody hell."
She threw back the covers and pulled on one of his shirts. She buttoned two strategic buttons as she padded to the kitchen.
"Something wrong?"
He jumped.
"Laura! I didn't hear you get up." He recovered from his scare enough to appreciate her attire. "I see you found something to wear, but you missed a few buttons."
He ran his fingers up the buttons, pausing at the top one to kiss this beautifully disheveled woman standing in front of him. He let her think for a moment that he was going to button her up, then undid the only two buttons keeping the shirt closed.
"What about breakfast?" Laura teased.
"No eggs," Remington informed her as he carried her back to the bedroom.
** ** **
"I'd better pop out for some eggs," Remington said.
"The way our luck runs, I was expecting phone calls, gunshots, or Mildred at an inopportune time. If no eggs is all I have to deal with," she smiled, "I can handle it. Cereal's fine with me."
"Then I'd better get some milk while I'm out."
Laura chuckled, "I thought I was the one with the bare pantry."
"Much as I like to dream, Laura, I wasn't expecting company last night."
He looked for his wallet.
"Do you really dream about me?"
"Dream, daydream... since the day I met you."
Laura raised an eyebrow at this bit of revelation, but knew he was telling her the truth. The man she knew as Remington Steele had earned her trust, bit by painstaking bit.
Remington pocketed his car keys and gave her a brief kiss.
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
She settled on the couch, pulling one of the unused blankets over her. She picked up the television remote and decided to watch a few minutes of the morning news while she waited for him.
** ** **
Remington Steele crossed the street and slid into the parked Auburn.
"I trust you slept well, Mr. Steele."
Before he could place the voice or protest, a man sat down in the passenger seat. Remington's gorge rose as he recognized Major Percy DesCoine. He also recognized the revolver in the Major's hand as the one he and Laura sometimes used.
"We'll talk as you drive, Mr. Steele."
There was little choice, so he shifted into gear and pulled into traffic.
"What do you want, DesCoine?"
DesCoine laughed in a way Remington Steele did not at all like.
"Let me explain it to you, Mr. Steele," he drawled. "I released myself from prison a few weeks ago, thinking I had the perfect revenge planned once again. It was taking some time to get everything in order, so I kept an eye on you and Miss Holt. That observation gave me a much better idea."
He paused.
"That sure was some kiss on her doorstep last night."
Remington Steele's eyes searched the road as he tried to figure out where this speech was going. He did not like the possibilities.
"Pull off over there." DesCoine indicated an empty parking lot.
Steele pulled in and put the Auburn in park. He turned to face DesCoine, careful to stay away from the revolver.
"As you know, Mr. Steele," DesCoine began, "you were the cause of my Lily's death." He paused, as if waiting for disagreement. When Steele did not react, DesCoine went on. "You took the woman I loved, so I'm going to do the same to you."
Steele lunged, only to be pushed back with the muzzle of the gun.
"If you kill her, I'll find you."
DesCoine laughed.
"It's so much simpler than killing her, Mr. Steele, though I could kill her from here."
He produced a small black box, which then disappeared back into his
jacket.
"My plan is far superior to simple murder, and with significantly less official interest as well. Here's what you're going to do, Mr. Steele: you're going to stay away from her." Steele felt sick as DesCoine continued, "You don't see her, you don't call her, you don't send smoke signals."
Remington clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to strangle the man holding the gun.
"If you do contact her, I'll kill her. I realize, Mr. Steele, that it's not quite the same as just killing you both outright, but it does make my revenge that much more worthwhile. She won't know what happened to you. You'll just be gone."
Remington Steele searched his Greek sailor's vocabulary, but there weren't curses strong enough for this.
A Remington Steele Story
by AMY STONE
Disclaimer This story is not in any way associated with the owners of Remington Steele. The character of Alan is borrowed from Tron. The characters, except for those I invented for the story, are not owned by me (if only they were...), and the story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. It is meant as fan fiction and is purely for entertainment.
___________________________________________________________________
"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."
-- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
PROLOGUE -- PAINTING
"So this is how you like to spend your Saturdays, eh?" Remington Steele asked, pushing a lock of hair back underneath his painter's cap. "I've always known you enjoyed hard work, but I hoped it didn't extend into your leisure time quite as much as it apparently does."
"You're the one who volunteered to help me repaint the loft," Laura answered, playfully thrusting a roller at him.
He took it and smiled.
"I recall that you said you'd be too tired for an evening out tonight if you had to tackle the job on your own."
"I wasn't trying to coerce you."
He looked sidelong at her and said, "Yes, you were." He was enjoying what he took to be his influence on her.
"Maybe a little." Laura adjusted the drop cloth over her grand piano. She looked up and added, "Thank you."
Four years ago, she thought, would she have wanted to spend a domestic afternoon with him? Would he with her?
"My pleasure," he said softly, holding her gaze. "I never thought I'd find menial tasks like paperwork and painting appealing. It must be the company."
Laura philosophized, "Every menial task has its reward."
"Oh?" he asked with a mischievous look.
"Dinner and a movie, Mr. Steele," Laura chided. She turned to the yellowing wall and began to paint.
** ** **
"Aren't we done yet?" Remington Steele plopped on the tarp-covered sofa and wiped his brow with his painter's cap. He studied his paint- covered fingers with feigned disdain.
Laura put down her roller and crossed the room, replying, "No. One more wall." She sat down next to him. "We can take a break, though."
"Sweeter words were never spoken," he said, putting his arms around her.
She twisted around in his embrace to face him. After a moment, their lips brushed.
"I don't know if I have the energy for this, Laura, but I'll give it my best."
"Good," she said, rising suddenly and retrieving a paintbrush. "One more wall."
He studied the ceiling for a bit, shaking his head and grinning.
"Come on, Mr. Steele," Laura said, returning to the couch and putting out her hand to help him up. He took her hand and hoisted himself up with exaggerated effort. Halfway, he pulled her to him and fell back onto the couch.
"I thought you didn't have the energy for this," Laura said, dropping the brush and kissing him.
Remington Steele replied devilishly, "I was referring to painting the last wall." Their kiss was longer this time. "What were you talking about?"
Laura fished around on the drop cloth-covered floor for the brush. She handed it to him and kissed his cheek.
"The last wall."
"A promise is a promise."
** ** **
"And for the lady?" The waiter looked bored.
Laura ordered.
"Very good, madam," he said flatly. He disappeared into the dark.
"Why is it waiters always sound so disinterested?" Laura asked.
Remington sipped his wine. He made a face as he sucked the disappointing liquid off his teeth.
"If waiters were too interested in their customers, people would feel self-conscious. Dinner conversation would suffer; people would decide to eat at home. Restaurants would close, followed by clubs, theaters, and other establishments that thrive on the dinner crowd." He raised a playful eyebrow. "Waiter interest would signal the end of western civilization as we know it."
Laura laughed. "Well, the waiters of Los Angeles are certainly doing their part for western civilization."
"And it's our civic duty to keep them in business," he joked. "That goes for the movie theaters as well, even if they do show drivel occasionally."
"It wasn't that bad!"
His pained expression told her he disagreed.
She continued, "At least we'll never have to think about it again. I can't think of a single scenario where a movie called Undersea Doctors would parallel a client's case."
He raised his glass. "To small miracles."
She flashed her smile again and touched her glass to his. "To small miracles."
The waiter reappeared with their salads. He quietly placed them on the table, asked if the wine was satisfactory, then promptly ignored the response. As he skulked off, Laura and Remington shared restrained smirks.
When the waiter was out of earshot, Remington Steele said, "Oh, the things we do for the good of the public."
** ** **
Remington Steele put the top up on the Auburn as Laura climbed the steps to her building. As she fumbled for her key in her purse, he trotted up the stairs and stood in the dark nearby.
"I left my key in the loft," Laura admitted finally.
Remington immediately pulled two lockpicks from inside his jacket and stepped into the streaky light. Over his shoulder, he said, "This is the first time I've broken into a building for a nightcap."
Laura laughed, "I hope whatever I've got in the fridge is worth a misdemeanor."
He popped the door open and shrugged.
"I just hope that bottle of Chateau du Monde we had was the last on earth. Those vintners are felons."
Laura stepped forward, but he did not move his arm from the door. He studied her as he continued to block her path.
"Mr. Steele," she breathed, as their faces again hovered a hairsbreadth apart.
"Yes, Laura?"
"Aren't we going inside?"
"All in," he said, grazing his lips against hers, "good time."
He kissed her, harder this time. She snaked her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.
** ** **
Laura slid the loft door shut behind them and screwed up her face.
"Well, leaving the windows open didn't do it. It still smells like Pale Avocado in here."
"You're welcome to stay at my place," Remington said, trying to balance the offer between a pass and a friendly gesture.
Laura weighed the proposition for a moment.
"I'll take you up on that, Mr. Steele."
Laura went up the few steps to her bedroom to pack an overnight bag. When her back was to him, he furrowed his brow and grinned at the same time.
** ** **
At the apartment, Remington Steele emerged from his bedroom with an armload of pillows and bedding.
"I left two pillows for you."
He dropped the blankets on the couch and began to arrange his bed for the night. Laura grabbed an end of one blanket and helped.
"How do you know I like two pillows?"
"Lucky guess," Steele said as he tucked and folded.
Laura eyed him.
"How about that nightcap, Laura?"
"That would be nice," she said.
Remington went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of cognac and two glasses. He poured as Laura fluffed a pillow.
"To the rewards for menial tasks, Laura?" He handed one glass to her.
"And to those who do those tasks."
They sipped.
"You know, Mr. Steele," Laura said as she sat down on the sofa, "this was a wonderful day."
He sat next to her.
"Your idea of a wonderful day is six hours of tarps and paintbrushes followed by a mediocre film?"
"Don't forget dinner served by bored waiters. As you said earlier, it's not the activity. It's the company." Laura punctuated her statement with a kiss.
Remington Steele kissed her back.
"I can think of at least one activity tonight I've thoroughly enjoyed, however."
"Oh? And what was that, Laura?" he asked, tracing her cheek with one finger.
She showed him.
When they parted, Remington muttered, "It's both."
"Both what?"
He answered, "Activity and company."
Laura asked puckishly, "There are no other women you'd rather paint with?"
"No." Laura didn't think it was possible for two people to be closer together, but he managed. "And there is no other woman I'd rather have in my bed."
Laura was about to protest, taken aback by his directness, but then she glanced down at the sheets and blankets they were sitting on.
She blushed, then hooked her thumb in the general direction of behind them and said, "This is a sofa. Your bed's in there."
She watched in amusement as he tried to work out the intentions behind her observation. She let him suffer in exasperation for a moment. Then she unbuttoned his shirt.
CHAPTER ONE -- EGGS
When Laura awoke, she found the bed's owner propped up on one elbow looking at her. His free hand rested on her stomach. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words.
Laura started with, "Good morning."
"Good morning, Laura," he answered, snuggling her closer.
She waited for him to say more. When he did not, she rolled toward him and went back to sleep with her head on his naked chest.
** ** **
The second time Laura woke, it was to the sounds of kitchen cabinets being opened and pans quietly clanging. She couldn't help but grin as she heard the refrigerator door open and Remington Steele mutter, "Bloody hell."
She threw back the covers and pulled on one of his shirts. She buttoned two strategic buttons as she padded to the kitchen.
"Something wrong?"
He jumped.
"Laura! I didn't hear you get up." He recovered from his scare enough to appreciate her attire. "I see you found something to wear, but you missed a few buttons."
He ran his fingers up the buttons, pausing at the top one to kiss this beautifully disheveled woman standing in front of him. He let her think for a moment that he was going to button her up, then undid the only two buttons keeping the shirt closed.
"What about breakfast?" Laura teased.
"No eggs," Remington informed her as he carried her back to the bedroom.
** ** **
"I'd better pop out for some eggs," Remington said.
"The way our luck runs, I was expecting phone calls, gunshots, or Mildred at an inopportune time. If no eggs is all I have to deal with," she smiled, "I can handle it. Cereal's fine with me."
"Then I'd better get some milk while I'm out."
Laura chuckled, "I thought I was the one with the bare pantry."
"Much as I like to dream, Laura, I wasn't expecting company last night."
He looked for his wallet.
"Do you really dream about me?"
"Dream, daydream... since the day I met you."
Laura raised an eyebrow at this bit of revelation, but knew he was telling her the truth. The man she knew as Remington Steele had earned her trust, bit by painstaking bit.
Remington pocketed his car keys and gave her a brief kiss.
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
She settled on the couch, pulling one of the unused blankets over her. She picked up the television remote and decided to watch a few minutes of the morning news while she waited for him.
** ** **
Remington Steele crossed the street and slid into the parked Auburn.
"I trust you slept well, Mr. Steele."
Before he could place the voice or protest, a man sat down in the passenger seat. Remington's gorge rose as he recognized Major Percy DesCoine. He also recognized the revolver in the Major's hand as the one he and Laura sometimes used.
"We'll talk as you drive, Mr. Steele."
There was little choice, so he shifted into gear and pulled into traffic.
"What do you want, DesCoine?"
DesCoine laughed in a way Remington Steele did not at all like.
"Let me explain it to you, Mr. Steele," he drawled. "I released myself from prison a few weeks ago, thinking I had the perfect revenge planned once again. It was taking some time to get everything in order, so I kept an eye on you and Miss Holt. That observation gave me a much better idea."
He paused.
"That sure was some kiss on her doorstep last night."
Remington Steele's eyes searched the road as he tried to figure out where this speech was going. He did not like the possibilities.
"Pull off over there." DesCoine indicated an empty parking lot.
Steele pulled in and put the Auburn in park. He turned to face DesCoine, careful to stay away from the revolver.
"As you know, Mr. Steele," DesCoine began, "you were the cause of my Lily's death." He paused, as if waiting for disagreement. When Steele did not react, DesCoine went on. "You took the woman I loved, so I'm going to do the same to you."
Steele lunged, only to be pushed back with the muzzle of the gun.
"If you kill her, I'll find you."
DesCoine laughed.
"It's so much simpler than killing her, Mr. Steele, though I could kill her from here."
He produced a small black box, which then disappeared back into his
jacket.
"My plan is far superior to simple murder, and with significantly less official interest as well. Here's what you're going to do, Mr. Steele: you're going to stay away from her." Steele felt sick as DesCoine continued, "You don't see her, you don't call her, you don't send smoke signals."
Remington clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to strangle the man holding the gun.
"If you do contact her, I'll kill her. I realize, Mr. Steele, that it's not quite the same as just killing you both outright, but it does make my revenge that much more worthwhile. She won't know what happened to you. You'll just be gone."
Remington Steele searched his Greek sailor's vocabulary, but there weren't curses strong enough for this.