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)
Not So Merry Steele (After Dancer, Prancer, Donner and Steele)
Snippets of Steele (Missing scenes from Steele on the Air, Steele Inc, and Steele Spawning)
Holting Down the Fort (During Suburban Steele)
Steele Admired (During and After Santa Claus is Coming to Steele)
Steele Moving Forward (Sensitive Steele)
Steele Yours (Steele at Your Service)
Her Holt Heart (Pre Beg, Borrow through the end of Season 4 [No Bonds])
To Have and To Holt

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


Chapter 1: Pós mé

Laura walked through the doors of the Agency at ten past eight, wearing a sharp white suit, with blue and white blouse beneath, and a matching white fedora slung low over her forehead. She was running behind after a lengthy and fruitless attempt to conceal the black eye, abrasions on her cheeks and chin and the considerable goose egg on her forehead that was currently being squeezed uncomfortably the brim of said hat. She knew there would be questions to be answered inevitably, but she hoped to put them off just long enough to get a second cup of coffee into her.

"Good morning, Mildred," she greeted briskly, walking directly towards the breakroom. Mildred whistled low.

"Whoa-ho, don't you look snazzy today," she called after Laura. "What's the occasion?"

"Thank you, Mildred," Laura answered from the breakroom, where she poured herself a cup of coffee. "No occasion," she continued, stepping out of the breakroom and going directly towards her office. "I have to prepare for my interview with Jarvis. Hold all my calls, unless it's Mr. Steele." Mildred's brows furrowed at the odd behavior. No stopping at her desk for messages? No exchange of chit chat? She and the Chief must be going at it, she surmised.

"You got it, hon," she replied, then turned back to her computer monitor as Laura shut her door behind her.

In her office, Laura yanked off the fedora then gave a soft sigh of relief, the removal of the offending item reducing the pounding pain of that sutured bump to merely an annoying throb. Out of habit, she flopped down onto her desk chair – then gasped, as the numerous contusions reminded her of their presence. How they had gotten there, she was unsure. Was it possible a boot to her backside had helped propel her into that wall? She didn't know. Maybe. She shifted gingerly in her chair until she found the most comfortable position then reached for her purse. The box and the contents of that translation had been the very first thought on her mind when she'd awakened that morning.

Alright, maybe not the first thing. Her first thought was how she wished she'd awakened to Remington sleeping soundly next to her.

Okay, not the second either. Those thoughts had been centered firmly around how many areas on her body stung, ached or creaked, beginning with her head.

But, as soon as she'd remembered the box, revealing its contents had been foremost on her mind.

Opening the purse, she removed the box, Remington's original notes and the translation, still sealed in the envelope. Impulsively, she picked up the note that had begun this little mystery and reread it.

Inside this box are three objects: Something stolen, but at the same time freely given; something priceless but far too often underestimated; and, a token whose significance exceeds its worth. The box has traveled a great distance and has somehow been delivered into your hands. Curiosity piqued, you are tempted to open the box, except for the handwritten note upon it. The message gives you pause. What if the contents of that package were to change your life in ways you were neither prepared for nor wished for?

Fortunately, for you, there are three people who know of the package, and while none of them know its contents, each has in their possession a clue: A trusted business partner; a respected patriarch; and a former government agent. Once all three clues have been collected, find the fourth and final person – a connoisseur with the gift of gab – to decipher the clues you'll hold in hand. It will be up to you, then, to decide if the treasure within is worth the risk of your life changing in unexpected ways.

She had to hand it to the man: He had a flare for the dramatic… and romantic.

She set aside the three clues, seeing no point in staring at words that were Greek to her and turned to the envelope the professor had handed her. Although she was fairly certain what she'd find inside, she was suddenly nervous.

Were the ready to move in together? More importantly, was he? Did he have any idea what he might be getting himself into, or was this simply some romantic flight of fancy on his part, maybe spurred on by their current, forced separation? Had he given consideration to where they were going to live? He'd only recently purchased his flat, after all. Was he really prepared to give it up?

She was prepared to take the plunge, but only after they had a long, honest discussion about the pitfalls and benefits of what he had in mind.

With her decision affirmed, she removed the sheet of paper from the envelope and folded it open.

You are my heart, my one true love. I wish to spend the rest of my days with you, arguing with you, laughing with you, sharing a bed with you. I want a home, a family with you. Marry me, Laura, and let's make a life together.

She blinked her eyes several times, convinced she'd misread what was written. Maybe my concussion is worse than I thought. Am I seeing things?

Focusing on the paper again, she reread the four sentences. Then slowly lowered the paper to her desktop.

Married? He wants to get married?

She laughed aloud.

No, it's not possible. Remington Steele is not the marrying kind.

The thought was so outrageous that she laughed again, although anxiously.

It took the man three years to offer a commitment! Four years to say those three little words. Married?

She rolled her eyes ceilingward. The idea was preposterous. Hughes must not be as fluent in Gaelic as he says he is, she reasoned. Then again, Remington had left Ireland when he was a very small boy. It was plausible that his skills were rusty.

Live with. That's what he'd meant to say. Supplementing 'marry me' with 'live with me' she reread the sentence again.

Live with me Laura, and let's make a life together.

Yes, that made perfect sense.

This time, her laugh was one of relief.

The man would be amused for weeks should she tell him of the gaffe. It was only the very real possibility that the word 'marry' passing her lips – in regards to him, of all people - might send him running for the hills that promised she'd never tell him of the blunder.

Eyes sparkling with mirth, she reached for the gift. Easing the bow off the package she set it aside, then carefully peeled away the tape, removing the paper in a single sheet. Lifting the lid, she lay it on her desk as she peered inside the container. Her eyes narrowed. Reaching inside with a pair of fingers she lifted the small heart locket on a gold chain from within.

My necklace?

Well, that inspired a trio of questions. When had Remington managed to nick it from her? How had she not realized it was missing? And what would inspire him to regift it to her?

Yet, even her confused curiosity couldn't hold at bay the warmth that enveloped her heart as the memory of the night he'd given her the necklace played in her mind. Derek Vivyan. Remington had been positively star struck by the aging movie star – not that his awe of former film stars was a unique phenomenon. For a man who was usually the epitome of grace and decorum, he could be reduced to a babbling, bumbling fan when his path crossed with an actor or actress of some acclaim: Veronica Kirk, Virginia Mayo, Dorothy LaMour and Lloyd Nolan all came to mind. But Derek Vivyan had been… different. Remington had formed a friendship, of sorts, with the man, had trusted him. When she'd revealed Derek had hit on her, it had set into motion a pair of actions on his part that had both thrilled… and confused… her.


"Now, dammit, how physical did- did the bloody twit get?"

"A few kisses."

"Did you respond?"

"Of course I responded!"

"How?"

"I told him to get off."

"What was he on?"

"The couch."

"And where were you?"

"Under him."

"Good God. The more you reassure me, the worse it gets."


He'd stormed from the room, off in search of Derek, to defend her honor and his place in her life. He'd considered it a personal insult that someone he not only admired but had come to enjoy spending time with would take liberties that the woman he'd claimed on some level as his own.

She lifted her brows and pursed her lips: Not that he would have admitted as much to her, or maybe even himself, in those days.

That night had marked the first time he'd ever publicly displayed what some might consider jealousy. Oh, he'd shown a bit of it in private with piques of temper, most notably when Creighton Phillips had traipsed through their lives, but never publicly. On that evening, however, he'd stormed from the office, to search out Derek and then, that very evening, had gifted her with the very necklace she now held in her hand.

Yes, flattered, she'd been very much so. But so very, very confused as well. Only a week before he'd made it clear that he could offer no commitments, no promises of a tomorrow.


"I'm not planning on cutting a fast tango through your life and I'm not going to stop wanting you but those are the only guarantees I can give you."


What was he trying to convey with the gift? Was he trying to convey anything at all? Confused. Yes. Very much so. Confused enough she'd only managed to mutter a thank you.

So, why lift the necklace only to return it to her now?

Carefully she opened the locket, then with a sharp gasp, flopped backwards against her chair, her face scrunching when those bruises reminded her of their presence. Not knowing what meaning, if any, to attach to the piece of jewelry, she'd stubbornly left the twin panes within empty. They were no longer so. She glanced at the picture of herself on the left, and then admired the picture of him on the right. She'd couldn't refute, as he'd once pointed out, that they made the perfect couple.

Even though she'd denied as much for years, she chuckled to herself.

Closing the locket, she sat up again when her eye caught an inscription newly nestled amongst the scrolling artwork on the back of the locket.

My heart.

Two simple words that left her scrambling for the message that had accompanied the gift.

Inside this box are three objects: Something stolen, but at the same time freely given; something priceless but far too often underestimated; and, a token whose significance exceeds its worth

Another whoosh of breath left her as she recognized the symbolism of what she held in her hand. Something stolen, but at the same time freely given.

His heart, both stolen and given. She rapidly blinked a pair of eyes left moistening at the sentiment.

The man certainly knew how to lay it on thick.

She laid aside the locket then removed a layer of tissue paper. Her brows furrowed as she eyeballed a folded piece of crinkled paper, the edges on which were somewhat tattered. Picking it up, she unfolded it. Her eyes widened.

Where did he get this?

In her hand she held a picture of herself, garbed in a strapless, red ball gown, her hair piled atop her head, her chin tipped up proudly, her posture perfect… and her brown eyes glimmering with unconcealed anticipation. She knew without hesitation when the picture was taken: As she'd walked into the ballroom the night Gordon Hunter revealed the Jet Star 6000. She'd been expecting unadulterated praise from Hunter for her hard work guarding the Royal Lavulite, but later in the evening had been blindsided when the man she'd known as Ben Pierson had taken the credit…. As Remington Steele.

Wherever he'd gotten the picture, it was clear he'd either carried it with him for some time or had looked at it often. Turning it over, she found only a single written word: Laura.

Again, she referred to the original note he'd sent with the gift. Something priceless, but far too often underestimated. He meant her, she knew. He'd never once underestimated her abilities or intelligence, which had only served to make him all the more attractive to her. With a slow shake of her head, she lay the picture on the desk next to her necklace, then pulled out the final layer of tissue paper.

She didn't find what she'd been expecting. A singular key, or even a key ring with key attached… a key in a see through jeweler's box, even, given Remington could be grandiose in his gestures.

Her hand shook as she reached into the box and grasped the small, black velvet jeweler's box. She held it in front of her, heart pounding, for several long seconds, before daring to pry open the lid with her free hand. The sun streaming in her office window bounced off the ring, making prisms of light dance off the diamonds.

Had she not been seated already, she would have found the legs beneath her giving way.

Married? He wants to get married?

Setting the ring on her desk, she bolted from her chair to pace.

Married?!

Three quick strides took her back to her desk, where she plucked up his first note and Hughes' translation. Pacing again, her eyes shifted back and forth between the two pieces of paper.

"…a token whose significance exceeds its worth."

"I want a home, a family with you. Marry me, Laura, and let's make a life together."

She couldn't even reconcile the idea with the man she'd known for nearly four years. The aimless wanderer who'd never stayed anywhere long enough to permanently unpack his suitcases. The shameless lothario who'd once paraded a bevy of bimbos through the office. The confirmed bachelor who'd made his inability to commit clear from the very start.

The man who'd disappeared into the misty night only a year ago.

The man who'd refused her proposal when it could have saved his neck…

Married?

Spinning on her heel, she swung open the door to the reception area.

"Mildred, can you come here, please?" She had already resumed her pacing when Mildred stepped into the office and sidled around her to sit I a chair. "I swear, Mildred, I don't know what gets into that man's head sometimes," she ranted. It was only then that Mildred took a good look at her employer. Her hand flew upwards to her mouth, her eyes widened and she gasped.

"Miss Holt!" she drew out the name, her voice rising an octave. "What happened?" Laura drew up short, her brows snapping together, then realizing what Mildred was referring to, held up a hand before the woman could start fussing over her.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Monroe insisted on taking me to the ER last evening where I was stitched up and sent home with a clean bill of health," she fibbed. While normally Mildred would press for more details at the moment she was more curious about what had gotten Laura all riled up.

"So what's the Boss gone and done this time?" She hadn't even needed to ask who 'that man' was. There was only one man on the planet that could get under Laura's skin the way Mr. Steele did.

"This!" Laura exclaimed slapping the papers on her desk. Mildred cast a concerned look in Laura's direction while picking up the first sheet of paper. As she skimmed it, she began smiling, then to laugh.

"You gotta give him credit," Mildred praised the man of the hour, "He knows you can't resist a good mystery." Laura snorted her agreement, still pacing.

"Keep reading," she suggested. Mildred's only reply was a curious lift of her brows as she reached for the second paper. A slow smile spread across the older woman's face.

"Well, it's about time he got around to it!" Mildred crowed, launching herself from her seat. "Was that gift what I think it is?"

"See for yourself," Laura grumbled, then stopping mid-stride, threw herself down in a chair. Ouch! She shifted slightly in the chair while watching Mildred open the lid to the jeweler's box.

"You gotta give it to the guy: He has taste," she complimented, studying the dazzling ring. She frowned at the disgruntled look on Laura's face. "Aren't you happy he finally got up off his duff and popped the question?"

"I don't know what I am," Laura answered, throwing her arms up in the air and huffing. "I thought I had it all figured out: He was planning to ask that we move in together. But marriage? We have never…" she cut a hand through the air in emphasis, "…discussed marriage in any way, let alone as it pertains to us." Mildred hustled over and sat on the couch near Laura.

"Well, you wanna marry the Boss," Mildred insisted then grew uncertain when Laura remained obstinately silent. "Don't you?" Laura crossed her arms in front of her body.

"I don't know," she answered with a frown.

"Aw, c'mon, you must have thought about it before," Mildred nudged. "Maybe daydreamed about what your wedding would be like? How he'd propose?" Laura launched herself to her feet to pace some more.

"No, I haven't," she refuted, passionately. "And that's part of the problem! Despite Mr. Steele's struggles with the truth, he's always been very honest about his inability to commit to anything or anyone beyond today. I've spent most of the last four years not knowing if he'd be here the next morning. Daydream about our wedding? Ha!"

"You love him don't you?" Laura heaved a sigh to which Mildred lifted her eyes heavenward. These kids. "And if he'd asked you to live with him, what were you gonna say?" Laura's chin tilted up slightly, a sure sign she was about to dig in her feet.

"I was planning on saying yes," she admitted begrudgingly, then pointed a finger at the older woman, and qualified, "But only after we'd had a long talk and I was sure he knew what he was getting himself into!" Mildred pretended to mull what Laura had said, but she was inwardly gloating, as she'd just cornered her prey and Laura had no idea that she had.

"Where were you going to live? His place or yours?" she inquired, feigning innocent curiosity.

"Neither. He hates the stairs at the loft, my kitchen is too small, and as much as I love it, we can't have business dinners there." She shrugged her shoulders. "I like his condominium fine, but there's no place for my piano."

"So, you buy a place that works for you both," Mildred concluded logically. The finger pointed in Mildred's direction this time was one of approval.

"Exactly," she confirmed.

"And share the mortgage and expenses," Mildred added. Laura gave her a look that suggested she wasn't thinking things through before asking the question.

"Of course."

"So, what's the difference?" Mildred pounced, with a gleam in her arm.

"That's not the point, Mildred," Laura retorted in a pained voice, as she returned to the chair she'd vacated and sat again. Tell me," she held a hand out in Mildred's direction, "How many happy marriages do you know of? That have lasted?"

"Aw, honey, a piece of paper doesn't mean things aren't going to work out," Mildred reasoned.

"And it doesn't mean it will," she countered, then contemplated aloud, "I don't know that I need to sign that license, to say those vows, to exchange those rings to make our relationship real. It's as real as we say it is."

"Maybe the Boss is trying to tell you he needs all of those things, did you ever think of that?" Mildred proposed. Laura looked at her with unconcealed curiosity.

"What do you mean?"

"Aw, honey, think about it," Mildred answered in a scolding tone. "He's never had any of the things that most of us take for granted: Legitimacy, parents, family, a home, school. He got nothing! Not even a birth certificate. Maybe he wants that piece of paper, to say those vows, to exchange those rings because you mean so much to him that for the first time in his life he needs those ties, that legitimacy – something real to call his own." Laura fingered her throat. The idea hadn't occurred to her, but, in all fairness, the whole idea of marriage had just been thrust upon her less than a half hour ago. Mildred held out the still open jeweler's box to sweeten the deal. "Who wouldn't be proud to wear this rock?" Laura took the box from her and admired the ring.

"It is beautiful," she agreed. It also spoke to how very well Remington knew her, her tastes. The ring was elegant, but practical; traditional, yet not old fashioned; striking yet not ostentatious.

"It should be. It's a Harry Winston." Mildred veritably preened for knowing this little gem of information, while Laura's brows knitted together, as she studied the ring and case.

"How do you know that?" Laura wondered, then her suspicious mind grabbed onto the most logical reason. "You knew!" she accused, "And you didn't tell me!"

"Nah, I didn't know," Mildred denied. "You know how the Boss can get into your head when he goes on-and-on about something. A couple years back when the Smithsonian leant the Hope Diamond to Harry Winston, he couldn't help talking about the history the diamond, which led to a discussion on the necklace Richard Burton had commissioned for Elizabeth Taylor." She shrugged. "I got curious, made it a point to read up on the more famous Winston pieces." She pointed to the ring. "That "HW" on the box is for Harry Winston, and you can take that to the bank!" A wide, proud smile lit her face, to be replaced by a conspiratorial look. "Go ahead, give it a whirl." Laura eyed the stunning ring at length, then with a shake of her head snapped the lid shut, definitively.

"As tempting as it might be, I can't do that," she reasoned, drawing out the last four words as she stood. "Putting the ring on, trying it out for size, that's not fair to him. Until I decide to say yes…" she pointed a finger at Mildred and gave her a stern look before the she could misinterpret what Laura had said and qualified "…if I decide to say yes, the ring stays in the box. I'll only put it on if I intend for it to stay there permanently. He deserves no less."

"But—"

"We have work to do, Mildred," Laura announced, effectively ending the discussion. "I need you to check hotels, motels, bed and breakfasts – anywhere someone might find lodging in London – for Keyes. I'll feel a lot better if we know where he is." No offense taken by the abrupt change, Mildred stood to leave.

"I'll get right on it, hon." She paused with the door halfway open. "Wanna order in lunch from that deli on Wilshire?" She winked at Laura. "I'll show you what I ordered last night for our trip to Portugal."

"You're shopping already?" Laura grinned.

"Hey, a girl's gotta spoil herself sometimes and a trip to Portugal seems as good a reason as any. Turkey or Pastrami?" Laura pursed her lips in thought.

"Actually, I'm feeling a little nostalgic for the British Isles, today," she said thoughtfully. "Make mine a corned beef on rye."

"All the way?"

"You know it," she confirmed.

"You got it. I'll make sure they have it here at noon straight up," she promised. "Door open or shut?"

"Open's fine."

She watched as Mildred returned to her desk then slid then she opened the Sheffield file to review her notes before Jarvis called.