- Ferris Steele
by Leah B
This challenge fanfic takes place during the first season,
after "Etched in Steele."
Rating: "G"
***************************
She heard the knock and felt her heart race. Damn. He's early.
"Come in," she shouted, "I'll be ready in a minute."
"Laura," he said as he turned the knob and poked his
head in, "are you decent?"
"Help yourself to a soda," she called out, "or
whatever." A soda? What was she thinking? She'd never seen
him drink a soda. Still, it was a bit early for champagne.
Remington Steele wandered through her house, noticing every detail.
He'd been here before but always supervised, or entertaining
her mother, or busy concealing a dead man. There was a package
of photos sitting on the piano. He thumbed through them, counting
almost unconsciously. Twenty-three. They looked like insurance
photos, the kind you take in case of theft or fire so that you
can accurately identify items in a claim - appliances, jewelry,
the contents of the Agency's safe. "Not much jewelry here,"
he mentally noted. The ever efficient Miss Holt. Always prepared
for any contingency. He wondered if he was one of the contingencies
she had in mind. Twenty-three photos. One missing. He pulled
out the negatives and strolled to the window.
"Almost ready, Laura?" he asked in the general direction
of the bedroom, "I'm anxious to ride the, what is it . .
. roller coaster? Imagine something that's meant to make you
a little nauseous being so popular here in the colonies."
His lack of knowledge was feigned but his disgust wasn't. "Bloody
American nonsense," he muttered to himself.
"Just a few more minutes," she answered.
When he heard her hair dryer, he knew he had time. He examined
the negatives closely until he found what he was looking for.
His own face stared back at him, looking quite dashing and more
than a little mysterious. "The negative is here, but the
photo isn't. Hmmm. I wonder where it could be?" he said
aloud with a knowing grin.
Laura was wearing a frown when she finally joined him. "Why
is Fred still here?" she asked.
"I thought we'd take the limo," he smiled, "so
we can arrive in a manner fitting for Remington Steele."
"That's ridiculous. Fred sitting outside all afternoon.
For what?"
"All afternoon?" he said with a pained look.
"We don't have to go, you know," she replied.
"No, no. There's nothing I'd enjoy more, Laura, than you"
he took her gently by the arms, "riding me," and pulled
her close, "to the very peak of stimulation. Uh, with me
. . . riding with me," he smirked. She rolled her eyes and
pulled away. As she opened her mouth to speak, he lifted his
hands in defeat. "All right, Miss Holt, just mind your hands
while you're driving." No sense starting the day with a
spat. Not when he had so many more pleasant pursuits in mind.
As they pulled away from the curb in the Rabbit, Laura started
the conversation on a distressingly serious note. "I'm glad
we're getting together. There are a few business matters we need
to discuss."
He frowned but quickly recovered. Two could play at this game.
"Ah. Excellent, Miss Holt. I have an issue or two myself."
She took on an annoyed expression. "What? Salary not quite
covering your gambling debts? Excessive press making it too easy
for your bookie to find you? Tailor not returning your calls?"
"Actually, Laura, you're not far off." She gave him
a suspicious glance, but he waved her away. "No, no, I understand
it's all so new. For you, I mean - this playing hooky and mixing
business with pleasure, on the same day yet, but . . ."
"You're the one who insisted on . . . and we're not . .
." she sputtered then regained control. "Look, it doesn't
matter. What I need to talk to you about is this phone bill.
I know it's only one bill, but the charges are unusual."
She handed him an envelope from her pocket. Was she actually
carrying around the Agency's bills? She went on, "a number
of calls from your office, at odd hours, to several London and
Paris exchanges. Are these yours?"
"Laura, you've been monitoring my phone calls?" Steele
queried in a voice that was a cross between hurt and nervous.
"They're not just your phone calls. They're calls from the
Agency phones and I review them to see that I'm being correctly
charged."
Her tone was matter of fact. She must not actually have tried
to call the numbers . . . yet. He couldn't decide which was more
disturbing, that Laura was reviewing his calls or that he hadn't
considered that she might. "They're . . . uh . . . personal
calls, Miss Holt," he stammered and looked down, hoping
she'd get the wrong idea.
Laura came to a stop light, looked at him, and seemed to understand.
"You mean, oh . . ." Her embarrassment turned to anger
in an instant. "Look, just keep your bimbo dialing from
the office to a minimum, all right?"
"Really, Laura, bimbos? These ladies are Europe's social
elite, or at least . . ."
"Masquerading?" her anger eased as she teased him.
"Anyway, aren't phone privileges one of my Remington Steele
perks?" he sulked.
"What isn't?" she dead panned. "As to your other
comment, we are not mixing business with pleasure."
"Come, come now, let's not squabble over semantics. The
point is how to handle Murphy."
"What do you mean? Murphy doesn't need to be handled."
"It should come as no surprise to you," Miss Holt,
"that young Mr. Michaels resents my presence at Remington
Steele Investigations."
"No," she corrected, "he resents your interference
at Remington Steele Investigations. Which is one of the things
we need to talk about."
"Well, whatever irks Mr. Michaels, he will not be pleased
that our relationship is now on another level."
"Yours and Murphy's?"
"No," he whispered, leaning in very close and slipping
an arm around her shoulders, "ours." He noticed her
face flush and smiled as he went on, letting his fingers trail
down her arm as he spoke, "I know you've harbored amorous
feelings for me and it's no secret that I've longed for your
presence in a more intimate setting." The car veered into
oncoming traffic for a moment while she pictured the setting
she had in mind.
She managed to get her breathing under control but had to put
a stop to this. "We've not . . it's just . . .I haven't
. . . ."
Laura sighed with relief when she saw they'd arrived. As she
parked the car, she turned to him and said brusquely, "This
is just a casual day out, to promote good morale and to facilitate
working relations. Like a company picnic."
"Oh certainly," he nodded. "You invited Miss Wolf
and Mr. Michaels to the company picnic then?"
"Well . . .actually, well . . ." she avoided his eyes.
He crossed his arms and waited.
"Well, no. Somebody had to watch the office if we were both
going to be gone all day," she defended.
"Yes, of course," he said as he helped her out of the
car and swept her hair away from her collar.
And so began their day at the carnival. On the log ride, he snuggled
up close to her and they both got soaked. If roller coasters
made him nauseous, he bore his discomfort well. He won so many
stuffed animals for her on the boardwalk, that they gave them
away to children they passed. It was late afternoon as she waited
in line for their third ride on the ferris wheel, and he returned
with a drink. He approached her from behind and slipped his arms
around her waist. She turned with a smile and before she was
really aware of what was happening, they were lost in a kiss.
As the embrace deepened, she suddenly remembered where they were
and who they were, but she smiled as she broke the kiss, "I'm
not sure that's allowed at the company picnic, Mr. Steele."
"Why don't we let the boss decide what is and isn't permitted?"
he murmured and leaned in to touch her lips gently. He'd been
so different since they arrived. So normal. She had to admit
she was charmed. She had let herself forget that he wasn't really
Remington Steele and that she had no idea even what country he'd
been in or how he had earned his keep six months before. She
let her head fall back with laughter and, as her hair spilled
out around her, he had to catch a sigh in his throat before it
escaped.
As they neared the end of the normal workday, Laura suddenly
grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "C'mon," she
insisted, "look, it's a fortune machine." His glance
fell on an arcade machine siting oddly askew just off the boardwalk.
Inside the glass was the grotesquely decorated bust of a bearded
man, undoubtedly meant to look mysterious, with his hand outstretched,
ending in a slot into which a card could drop. "Zoltar Tells
All" was painted on the side.
Steele was the embodiment of skepticism. "Fortune machine?
It's not enough that people pay for some turbaned drama queen
to feed them a line so general it could apply to anyone, but
you want me to waste my hard earned money on a preprinted card?"
Now it was her turn to look skeptical. "Well, hard earned
might be stretching it a bit," he admitted.
"If I can't unravel your past, maybe I can catch a glimpse
of your future," she laughed. He put on his most patronizing
grimace but dug a token out of his pocket. Laura dropped it into
the machine and rubbed her hands together in anticipation as
she waited impatiently for the card . . .waited so long that
they were both sure Zoltar was broken. Then he saw her face change
to the concentrated frown he already knew so well - the work
look. Laura turned away from Zoltar and began to look for a pay
phone. As they walked away, a small white card fell into Zoltar's
hand.
"I don't understand why you have to check with the office,
Laura," he complained. "Don't you trust Murphy and
Miss Wolf?"
"Of course you don't understand," she responded, never
stopping her search, "you've never owned your own business.
Aha, there's a phone."
"You know, Miss Holt," he started, "you have no
idea whether I've owned a business. Don't you think it's a little
insensitive to assume I haven't?"
She stopped in mid dial and started firing questions, "Have
you? Legitimate? Where? When? Racetrack? Bookie joint? Massage
parlor?"
He smiled nervously at the inquest and held up his hand to stop
her, "No, no, I can see you're absorbed with a compulsive
need to check on your own business. Far be it from me to impede
the progress of Remington Steele Investigations."
"That's what I thought," she smirked. "This will
just take a minute."
He could hear only one side of the conversation but what he heard
left him with an intense desire to be somewhere else, anywhere
but standing next to Miss Holt.
Laura spoke quickly, "Yes. Hello, Bernice. It's me. Anything
I need to know about? A box? By messenger? From Charlotte Knight?
For him? For me?" Laura's head shot around to glare at Steele,
while he pretended to examine the construction of the phone booth
. "What's in it? Books? All of them? She didn't even write
the things. A note? It says what?" Steele could barely repress
a grin. "Mr. Steele mentioned how much I enjoyed steamy
romance novels so she sent the entire collection. Yes, that was
awfully nice of her." The red of Miss Holt's face didn't
tell him whether she was embarrassed or angry, but her tone came
through loud and clear. "No, I have no idea why he thought
I would enjoy that particular gift." He tried to hold it
back but the laughter started to bubble to the surface. "What
else? Oh, a separate note for Mr. Steele. He was so interested
in her methods? Collaborate on research for a new book? But she
writes . . . or her husband wrote. . . . She's waiting for him
now?" He couldn't be sure, but that might very well be smoke
coming from Laura's ears. "She's wearing what?" He
erupted in a guffaw as Laura hung up the phone and turned to
him, her hands on her hips.
He knew he shouldn't. He was fully aware that it would be the
final straw, but he couldn't resist. "Laura, you don't already
have them all, do you?" he asked innocently. As she opened
her mouth to speak, or more likely to scream, he tossed the final
volley, "if you'd like, you're welcome to join us."
"That's it," she ground out as she stormed away, literally
stamping her feet as she went, small children and concerned parents
scattering in her wake.
"Laura," he called after her, "how will I get
home?" He chuckled as he leaned up against the phone booth,
gazing at the sky. "Ah," he said aloud to no one in
particular, "it is one very small step from anger to passion.
I have you right where I want you, Laura Holt."
As he made his way slowly to the exit, a breeze started to pick
up and the small white card was lifted by the wind from Zoltar's
grasp. It sat in the middle of the boardwalk, trampled by the
crowds and ground into the pavement by bicycles, strollers, and
scantily clad girls on roller- skates, until its message was
barely discernable . . .barely . . . "Once you have found
her, never let her go."
THE END
Challenge Items
a set of negatives
a package of diapers
a collection of steamy romance novels penned by the same author
a phone bill
the Sydney Harbour Bridge
an automated fortune teller, as in the movie "Big"
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