The Alternative Universe Series

Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. While Approval still exists, more importantly these stories look at season 4 as most of the viewers saw it - Laura and Remington had crossed that line, imbuing that Season with the "Mr & Mrs Steele" feeling that most experienced.

To get the most out of my stories, I recommend reading them in the following order:

Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)
Steele Mending (Part 2 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)
A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series; Takes place during and after Steele Searching)
Holt the Presses (Takes place during and after Steele Blushing)
The Holt Truth (Takes place during and after Forged Steele)
You've Gotta Know When to Holt 'Em (Takes place during Premium Steele)
Holt the Sugar (Takes place during and after Coffee, Tea or Steele)

As usual, I do not own the characters. I simply borrow them.


A/N: I challenged readers to make suggestions on what they would have liked to seen in this episode with only three rules: 1) It had to honor canon; 2) it had to fit with the AU series to date; and 3) it had to work with where my thoughts on this story were already heading. I would then take the best suggestion and give it life.

It's actually been great fun and I managed to take several ideas from readers and weave them into the tale.

I tip my hat to LizzieGatz, SteeleRSFan4ever (I used an inference of your great suggestion to close out the story), Guest #3 (with whom I fully agree on the point about 'Bifferino'), Guest #5 (well the bathroom and the drink are involved), and Guest #6 (the disconnect is certainly addressed, albeit differently.)

I hope you all enjoy!


Chapter 1: Disconnect

Laura strode briskly through the doors of the Agency on Tuesday morning, mulling the case she and Mr. Steele were about to undertake. Platinum Airlines catered only to the most affluential of clientele, an assessment of each customer's assets the only qualification for booking a seat. If they could solve this case, the Agency would receive not only a good deal of publicity but the Remington Steele Agency would always be lurking in the back of the minds of those same rich and famous. The key will be wrapping the case up expediently and privately, she thought to herself.

So caught up in her thoughts, was she, that she failed to realize Mildred was aggressively opening the morning's mail delivery, a frown crevicing her face.

"Good morning, Mildred. Let me know when Mr. Steele arrives," she instructed as she walked past her desk towards her office, without so much as a glance in Mildred's direction.

"He's arrived," their trusted secretary informed her brusquely. That made Laura stop in her tracks. This early?! was her stunned thought. Turning to face Mildred, she didn't even bother to conceal her surprise.

"This early?" she asked, voicing those thoughts aloud.

"He's hiring," Mildred informed her, with no little sarcasm. Laura's eyes widened, before she leveled a suspicious look on the closed office door of the man himself.

"Hiring?" she sought to clarify, redirecting her attention to Mildred.

"One of his students," Mildred provided, clearly displeased. Laura gave her head a quick shake, then leveled a perplexed look upon the major domo.

"What students?"

"From USC," Mildred answered, clearly taking a bit of enjoyment at busting out the boss. "He's been guest lecturing," she continued with a derisive little laugh, before pointing to her temple with a pencil. "Introduction to the Criminal Mind."

"Well, he should know," Laura commented, dryly, clearly a bit miffed by the news. "Time to give the professor a little pop quiz." Crossing the reception area, she swung open Remington's door, then took in the scene before her. Remington laying propped up by an elbow on his couch, ankles crossed, more than a bit of imperiousness in the pose.

"Although it takes years to develop the imagination of a master sleuth," he told the spectacled young man which harkened images of Howdy Doody to Laura's mind. "To hone the instincts to a razor-sharp sensitivity, to-" She surveyed the scene with annoyance, before rolling her eyes at his grandiose behavior. Clearing her throat, she stopped his 'instruction' in its tracks.

"Ah, Miss Holt. Come in! Come in! Please. Yes, yes. I'd like you to meet Marvin T. Slottman, Jr," Remington introduced the young man while slinging an arm around his soldiers, still wonderfully oblivious to his partner's annoyance.

"What a pleasant surprise," she acknowledged the young man, her tone far too sweet, her smile far too wide, as she shook his hand.

"Yes, indeed. Marvin has come on board as our intern. Our detective in the making. Ours to… ours to shape, ours to mold," he continued to forge on.

"I can't tell you what an honor it is to be working for Mr. Steele," Marvin oozed, as Remington held up a hand in feigned modesty.

"I've always found it a challenge to find the right words. May I…" she zeroed in on Remington with widened eyes sparking with irritation "…see you in my office…" she pointed towards her office with her purse and a sharp nod of her head,"… Mr. Steele?" Remington's smile faltered then faded.

"Yes," he said, with a small grimace. "Certainly. Probably a crime solving case that demands my immediate attention, Marvin," he informed the intern as the realization he was in hot water fully sunk in. "Please, enjoy the photographs, will you?" Waving an arm towards the wall, he frowned as he walked into Laura's office and she closed the door behind the two of them. He prepared himself for an explosion.

"You've been lecturing at USC without telling me?" she asked, raising her brows, mouth tight. On the defensive now, he acted as though the incident was insignificant.

"Oh, just one or two special appearances, Laura. I didn't think you needed to be bothered."

"And- now what are you doing?" she wanted to know, pointing towards his office and the young man waiting there.

"Oh, merely easing the burden of an unwieldy caseload," he soothed, resorting to charm, which would have been far more effective had he not briefly flashed a smile which clearly said 'I hope you're buying this.' She wasn't buying what he was attempting to sell. A knock on the door which they stood in front of provided him a temporary reprieve.

"Yes?" he called. Marvin swung open the door and leaned partially inside the office.

"Excuse me, sir, may I ask you a question?"

"You see? Eager to learn," he pointed out to Laura, who remain unimpressed. "Fire away, my boy."

"Was that heavy, or medium starch on those collars?" Laura looked away with disdain, while taking a deep breath, trying to control her anger.

"Uh, we'll- uh, we'll clarify that later, Marvin. Thank you very much. Good boy." Remington wisely shooed the young man from the office and pulled closed the door… then held his breath, looking down at Laura, preparing for her to take his head off.

"Unwieldy caseload?" she bit out.

"Well," he grimaced, knowing full well he'd been caught, "there are some ancillary responsibilities I had in mind for the lad," he confessed. Glancing at her watch, she set aside the topic for now. The case called.

"We've gotta fly. We will discuss this later," she informed him, jaw tight in anger.

"Laura, can I just point out-" She waved a sharp hand at him.

"Later," she told him dismissively. "We've got a case," she snarled.

Remington's own temper flared at her high-handedness and he raised a brow at her departing back, jaw twitching but followed in her wake regardless


While driving to LAX and the Platinum Air private baggage claim area where the body had been discovered the day prior, Laura filled Remington in on the details of the case. The conversation between them had been strictly business although both of them simmered in their annoyance with the other. This was not new territory for them: set aside personal feelings for a case… or until they relegated their unhappiness with one another to the "easier to pretend it hadn't happened" file in their heads. Avoidance. Both talented at it, both understanding if they wanted to move ahead it was a habit which had to be broken. Both still far too often falling into that rut.

The drive from LAX to Laura's loft to pick up what she'd need for the trip ahead, and then to Remington's apartment to do the same, was thick with silence as both stayed lost in their thoughts.

Laura leaned her head into a hand propped by elbow to door, wallowing in her humiliation at Ace Ketchum's hands. The experience had been as mortifying as suddenly finding her face superimposed upon the completely unclad centerfold of Bedside Babes, maybe even more so. The man had refused to acknowledge her, keeping his back to her during the entirety of their meeting, directing answers to her questions to Remington, as though she wasn't even in the room. At one point, he'd even looked over his shoulder, clearly questioning if she should even be part of the meeting at all given the need for absolute discretion. It had been out of nothing but a peevish desire to make him acknowledge her existence, that she'd grabbed his hand and shook it at the conclusion of the meeting. He, of course, hadn't offered it. She'd taken it.

As for Mr. Steele? He'd been oblivious to it all, not noting her discomfort, her mortification, as she'd shifted from foot-to-foot while staring at Ketchum's back. Him! Her partner. He who knew better than anyone that it was that very behavior she'd been battling against her entire life.


"Man is seen as many things. Doer, thinker. Woman? Bottom line? Flesh. Nobody told you what to be when you grew up. You're a man. You smoke cigars. They used to come by the office in droves. 'Steal away with me, Laura.' 'How's Palm Springs sound, Laura?' But handle a case? 'Better let Mr. Steele do that, Laura.'"


It wasn't as though she'd expected Remington to say anything. The man was a client and would bring in a heavy fee to the Agency once they'd solved the case. Was it too much to ask that he'd noticed what was happening under his nose? To see and send her a sign of commiseration? He was her partner, her friend, her lo-… she forced her mind to quiet before it said that word… the man she shared a bed with on a regular basis these days. She blinked her eyes rapidly at the telltale tingling behind them. Oh, no, she wouldn't let Ketchum… or Remington… to reduce her to that.

Remington sat with his arms tightly crossed over his body while staring out the passenger door of the Rabbit. Contrary to Laura's belief, he'd taken note of Ketchum's misogynistic behavior… and had perversely enjoyed it. A little dose, he'd seen it, of how she often resorted to treating him. Partners, true partners. That's what they'd agreed upon. But was that what they were? Absolutely not! Not a thing had changed since that day a little over a year before when they fought throughout the streets of Cannes.


"I'm not an equal. I'm more like an errant schoolboy who needs your guiding hand."


Partners? Equals? Like bloody hell. How could she, who was so concerned with being seen as equal to men… which, in his estimation, there was absolutely no comparison, she was far more competent, more intelligent than most of the so called stronger gender… How could she not understand the very things she fought against, she, at times, subjected him to. The dismissiveness, the expectations of unquestioning obedience, the demand he seek permission before he do virtually anything as Remington Steele? Why was it so bloody important to her that he never be allowed to be quite her equal?

Thus, his peevishness continued, once they boarded the plane, assuming their respective roles.

"Oh, Miss?" Remington called from behind his paper when Laura, undercover as a stewardess, walked past with a pot of coffee. Sighing, her eyes and lips narrowed, but she turned and approached him.

"A touch more coffee, if you please?" he grinned at her, enjoying the moment far more than he should.

"I hope you're enjoying this," she muttered, clearly annoyed with him. His eyes wandered her stockinged, shapely legs bared well above the knee by the short skirt, envisioning those legs wrapped around his hips as they moved, their two bodies joined as… He gave his head a mental shake. Those memories would do him no good at the moment.

"Oh, come now, Laura. We all have our place. You don't expect me to prance around in a little tutu like that, now, do you?" he inquired, perversely pushing his luck. She glared at him from under her lashes, while he pretended not to notice. "Thank you." Resisting the urge to pour the hot coffee in his lap, she straightened up and walked away, stiff with fury.

"With scenery like that, who needs a window seat, huh?" asked a thirty-ish businessman and broker, Barry Holden, commented while watching Laura's slim form disappear into the kitchen. Remington gave a wolfish laugh that accompanied like grin, while thinking, who indeed? Look all you want mate, but hands off, she's mine. From the looks of you, you couldn't handle her anyway. "I could use another club soda."

"Oh, allow me," volunteered Remington, flipping the switch to call Laura back to the table with a little too much glee. Laura returned to the table, coffee pot in hand, playing the friendly stewardess once more.

"You buzzed, sir?"

"My companion appears to have run dry."

"I'll take care of it right away," Laura answered, voice treacly and smiling graciously.

"Thank you," the other man says. Taking his glass from him, Laura hadn't taken three steps away from her before Remington called for her.

"Oh, miss?" Back stiffening and biting her tongue, she returned to stand before him.

"You bellowed, sir?" A slip, granted, certainly not part of her role, but a woman can only take so much, right?

"My pillow," Remington directed, indicating with a spoon the pillow behind his back while smiling smugly.

"Yes." It was the only word that could pass her lips that wouldn't blow their cover. Setting the coffee pot on the bar, she pulled the pillow from behind his back, and pounded it several times. Remington's smile faltered, realizing he may have just pushed her too far. Dropping the pillow behind his back, she sauntered away, taking refuge in the galley before she throttled him.


Laura hung up the phone in her hotel room, confused by the rather bizarre phone all she'd just had with Mildred and its abrupt end.

"I guess we got cut off," she muttered, as much to herself as to Remington as she lay down on the bed and stretched out facing him. Before the phone had interrupted, he shown a marked fascination for the uniform she was wearing, releasing the single button on the blazer and taking a peek beneath. He'd made no secret about the fact romance was on his mind, and throughout their call had made himself comfortable on the bed in preparation for when she turned her full attention to him.

"Now, what is a big league hit man doing on the baggage carousel of Platinum Air?" she asked, her mind clearly on the case. Shifting slightly, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Not much, I presume," he answered, clearly having decided to allow 'grey matter' to rest for the evening in pursuit of more worthy causes. "Laura, I'm much too weak to move tonight. Perhaps I'll just, uh, pitch my tent here, hm?" His hand slid up her back and pressed against the back of her neck, drawing her lips to his for a taste.

"Recharge your batteries, so to speak?" she asked, when the brief kiss ended, raising her brows and looking down at him. He hummed his agreement then drew her head back down to his. Their lips met and lingered far too shortly for his liking. He covered her lips with his again, while his hand began loosening his tie. "I'm sorry, Mr. Steele," she told him softly, willingly leaning in for another brief kiss. "Company policy, remember? You wouldn't want me to lose my job," she reminded him, shaking her head at him as she spoke, a hint that there was only one answer he could give. She touched her lips to his one last time, before sliding out of his grasp and rising from the bed, as a disappointed and bewildered Remington was assisted up and off the bed by a hand to his back, only to be directed straight to the door.

"Wish I weren't so damned dedicated," he informed her, clearly disgruntled by the change of circumstance.

"Sweet dreams," she answered, raising her hand and waggling her fingers at him as he turned to leave.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, his displeasure clear.

Closing the door behind him, Laura allowed herself a small smile. It had given her a bit of satisfaction, turning him away, after how he'd acted all day. That satisfaction didn't last long, as after showering and climbing into bed, her thoughts turned to Remington. She longed to feel his flesh against her cheek, under her arm, her fingertips, her leg, as his warm body lay partially beneath hers while she fell asleep. She could feel those long, tapered fingers stroking her arm, playing with her hair as the early stages of sleep descended. That her fondest desire could happen so easily – a phone call to his room, an elevator ride up eight stories – made it all the worse.

She shook her head, and stared at the ceiling as though the answers were written there. She wanted to go to him, but there were too many reasons she couldn't… shouldn't. This was business, and paragraph 15, section 8, strictly forbade staff from imbibing in 'layovers'. She couldn't very well risk getting fired from the job in the middle of the case, could she? She snorted softly. As if I have any intention of reprising this particular role once we get back to LA, she admitted to herself. No, she'd had more than enough of the pinching, cupping, smacking, leering, pawing…

It also wasn't as though that particular paragraph and section of the employee handbook was truly feared by staff. Wanda, after all, was intimately involved with that broker, Barry Holden. Lorraine would happily toss aside the rulebook to get her Mr. Steele… errr, 'Trevor Keach'… between silken sheets. She idly wondered if that same employee handbook contained a provision making relationships between employees a no-no as well. If so, then Sally and Biff the Creep certainly flaunted that particular rule.

Truth be told, it wasn't the case or even the handbook holding her back. It was a mixture of anger and confusion. Anger that he'd taken so much pleasure out of her subservient position on the plane, enjoying that when he snapped his fingers, she'd have no choice but to jump. Frustration that he'd failed to note Ketchum's relegating her to the level of insignificant. Irritation over discovering he'd not only failed to disclose his guest lecturing at USC, but then had topped even that by bringing on an intern without consulting her. The reason for that particular action was no mystery: she knew she'd reject the idea straight out. She blew out a frustrated breath. She'd promised him they'd be discussing USC and Marvin T. Slottman, Jr, and it wasn't a discussion she was particularly looking forward to. So, relying on old habits they both devised over years of working together, she set the thought of that chat aside… for now.

Remington's unhidden admiration of her toned legs hadn't bothered in the least. Actually, she'd found it flattering, finding a definite satisfaction in the way he regularly admired her form. She'd seen the heat rise in his eyes, knew his vivid imagination had been set loose, and she'd walked away bemused by the fact he'd be the one sitting in the chair dealing with his physical reaction to his mind's musings. His obvious annoyance at finding Biff leaving her room hadn't raised her hackles either. No, 'Boff', leaving her room, she laughed to herself now. A brand of car wax? Only him.

What bothered Laura the most about the day's events, the main reason for her turning him away, was this feeling of… disconnect… between the two of them. Had it really only been less than a week ago when they'd completely let down their walls, laying themselves bare and vulnerable before the other? That night, and the day and weekend which had followed, had been overflowing with an intimacy they'd never dared risk with one another before. When she'd gone home on Sunday evening, both had been unable to conceal their regret at their parting.

So, what had happened over the last two days that he was back to playing his damned games? Frustration rolled over her, and she sat up, beating against her pillow under the guise of giving it a bit more shape, before she flopped backward again, staring once more at the ceiling above her, her arms crossed in vexation.

God, she wanted him. Wanted to feel his flesh pressed against hers. Wanted to feel his graceful hands caressing her body. Wanted to feel his lips over hers. Wanted to taste him. Wanted to feel him buried so deep inside of her, that she couldn't quite figure out where he ended and she began. Wanted to feel his warm breath tickling her neck as they slept, his arms wrapped around her, holding her firmly against his form.

With a growl of frustration, she flung her arm over her eyes and turned her attention to willing her body to sleep.

Laura might have been comforted to know, she wasn't alone in contemplating the ceiling above her. Eight stories above, ensconced in a suite befitting the role he was currently playing, Remington's eyes, too, were focused on the plaster overhead. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, the half dozenth time he'd done so in the last hour, as he resisted the impulse to climb from bed, sling on his robe, and hop on the elevator to descend eight floors and find out if she'd perhaps changed her stance on him staying the night with her. But, he knew it was of no use. Laura Holt was nothing if not hard-headed. There'd be no swaying her from her course.

Which is why he'd never brought up the subject of the young Marvin T. Slottman, Jr., with her. There would have been no discussion, no give and take, just a motion with her hands indicating the conversation was done and they'd do whatever it was she commanded. He hadn't lectured at USC in near on a month now. Had forgotten, in truth, that he'd agreed to taken the lad on as an intern. He wasn't quite certain why he'd agreed to lecture, although it was likely a bit of peevishness on his part, if he had to hazard a guess.

He'd been approached right after the Crunch Kramer case, when he'd still been stinging from Laura's overriding his decision not to take that particular case, and Mildred's obvious delight that she'd gotten the hand up on him. Two evenings was all it was to have been, and certainly it could only enhance the image of Remington Steele, right? Surely, this qualified as a decision a so-called equal partner was entitled to make, right? Those were his thoughts at the time he'd accepted the speaking engagements. As for young Slottman? Well, how could he say no to the poor little nebbish? A want-to-be investigator whom no one would give a shot. It had seemed a very magnanimous gesture in his mind, setting aside the part, of course, that there would benefits for himself as well: someone to fawn all over him as Mildred once had. Truth be told, he missed it. Missed being seen by another person as being able to do no wrong. It rather nicely balanced out rarely being able to do right in Miss Holt's eyes. And in recent months Mildred's. Still, he'd been so caught up these last weeks in their cases… and, even more so, in Laura… that he had forgotten until the phone call the day prior.

Which, by-the-by, was not a confession he'd be making any time soon. Laura, I might well have bodged this a bit as my mind's been on you. Hmmm, a sure way, indeed, to hear another round of 'maybe we need to take some time.' Besides, even if he were to admit to a little bit of forgetfulness, she'd still nail him to the wall for his other, less altruistic reasons. Maybe even rightfully so. But that would require more thought than he was able to devote to the idea, his mind already moving on to Laura lying in one of those beds alone, when he damn well should be sharing it with her.

Good god, four straight evenings hadn't been enough with her and while he'd relished the extra days with her, it'd just made watching her leave that much harder. He'd wanted to grab her by the hand, pull her back in the door, to lock it soundly after. Instead, he'd been only able to steal a couple sweet kisses from her lips before she turned and walk away.

Something had changed between them that night at the Downtowner Motel. They'd shared themselves with one another in a way they'd never dared to risk before. After that night, she held his heart firmly in the palm of her hand, it was hers to do with as she would. Unable to say the words he might still be, but he was irrevocably hers, if only she'd have him. It was a place he'd once swore he'd never again find himself, that place where he lived in heart and mind for much of his early childhood: You finally have me, all of me, treat me kind, find me not wanting, love me… only to be disposed of again.

Perhaps that accounted for why her imperiousness had rankled even more than it normally would. In that one moment of dismissiveness, of evoking her authority over him, he'd felt as though they'd not perceived the events at the hotel in the same way… in fact, had felt as though they'd suddenly warped backwards three years in time.

He rubbed his face with his hands again, turning to his side to stare at the clock instead.

He ached for her, that was the long and short of it. And not just a certain impertinent part of his body which had refused to settle down since their hopeful tete-a-tete on her bed below. He wanted her petite frame tucked into the curve of his body. Wanted their joined hands resting between her breasts. Wanted the smell of honeysuckle and fresh grass filling his senses. Wanted to feel her soft breath against his skin. Bloody hell, he wanted to be roused from sleep to fish a strand of wayward hair from his mouth.

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to forget all he wanted and to accept what he'd gotten instead: a cold, lonely bed in which, he wagered, little sleep would be found.