Author's Note: Inspired by the episodes "Have I Got a Steele for You" and "Steele Knuckles and Glass Jaws."

Steele a Kid from Kilkenny

July 1986

The boxing gym should have been cool with the windows open to let the ocean breeze through, but the constant crush of sweaty men kept it humid and heavy with the scent of dirty socks.  The metallic flavor of blood was subtle and ever a part of the environment.

Some of that blood dripped off a tall, dark-haired Irishman who had just defeated another opponent.  He wiped his forehead, transferring a long red smear from his brow to his forearm.

“Steele, you look like hell,” Jackson told him from his place at ringside.  He’d been watching his old friend pummel the hell out of his challenger--a young fighter that should have been able to take Steele rather easily, given his size.  But the Irishman was fast--too fast for most of the contenders he took on.

“Bugger off, mate.”  Remington frowned as he stepped over the ropes.  His ribs hurt, and he was fairly certain he'd taken an accidental kidney punch.  He let none of that show as he dropped to the gym floor.

“Done?” the gym owner sneered.  Steele had taken on two men this evening.  Only at the end of the last bout had Jackson noted his friend's slowing down with fatigue.  Steele had known it too and had taken the younger man with a flurry of lightning-fast strikes.  The third time the young man had dropped to his knee, Jackson called the fight in Steele’s favor.

“I’m done. “

“Good.  You’re bleeding all over my gym.  Now go home and make up to Mrs. Steele.”  Remington shot him a sour look.  “Nah, don’t give me that face.  We both know you and the missus are fighting about something.     It’s the only thing that gets your goat this badly.”  Jackson snatched a towel off the bench and threw it at him.

Steele caught it on his forearm and frowned.  “Am I that bloody obvious?”

Jackson unlaced first one glove and then the other while Steele held out his hands.  “Only to another fighter.  If you'd been less angry, the kid wouldn’t have gotten up after the second round.  But you were pissed and got sloppy, so it took you longer.  A man with your build has no business trying to be a puncher.  You’re an in-fighter and you know it.  If the kid'd had a little more weight on ‘em, you'd have lost.”

A short nod was the only acknowledgement of the assessment.  Remington flexed his hands as the gloves came off and then offered one to Jackson.  “Thanks, mate.”

Jackson nodded just as curtly and turned back to the ring to watch the next pair of boxers.


*****


The scorching hot shower in the locker room washed away the mixture of sweat, blood and grime that seemed to stick to the skin in the muggy building.  It also cleared his head. 

Jackson was right.  He and Laura’d had a blistering fight late in the afternoon over their involvement in a case that had taken a rather dangerous turn.  She’d made a gutsy move that blew it wide open and had allowed the police to rescue a hostage and arrest a kidnapper.  In her elation afterward, he had berated her about the risks she’d taken.

In retrospect, yelling at her wasn’t the smartest move he’d ever made.  One thing he'd learned about Laura was that emotion rarely changed her mind.  Cold logic was far more likely to have an effect on her than any amount of guilt or number of snap remarks.

Case-in-point was the television coverage of Billie Young.  Laura hadn’t heard a word he'd said about her being in the limelight as long as he was making critical comments.  When he’d calmed and talked her through the issues, she’d immediately seen the problem and together they’d brought the case to conclusion.

He pushed open the door to their penthouse and found Laura poking about the kitchen.  She raised her brow as she set a bowl of cut fruit on the counter and nibbled on a strawberry.  Automatically, she noted the cut on his forehead and the reddened knuckles as he came around the island.  He touched her face and then laid a light kiss on her lips.  In response, she slid her arms around his waist and deliberately squeezed while savoring his mouth.  He grimaced, thinking she wouldn’t see his expression.

He should have known better.  “Strip,” she ordered before she left to retrieve the first aid kit from their bathroom.

Remington slowly removed his shirt and draped it over the barstool before gingerly sitting on it.  Laura came back and dumped a variety of items on the counter.  She started with cleaning the cut--blowing on it when it stung.  “Why do you do this?”

There was no point in pretending he didn’t understand what she was asking.  “Sometimes, love, it helps me to think--Ouch!”  He shied away when she started to tape a Band-Aid to his head, but she grabbed his hair and made him hold still while she finished.

Having grown up in a house full of girls where physical aggression was rare--although not unheard of between her and Kate--Laura had always found it fascinating that any number of men she’d known relieved stress in a similar manner.  But she never quite thought she would marry one--having always equated it with a bit more brawn than brain.  To find that Remington wasn’t any different had come as a surprise in these first few months of marriage.  In fact, he was probably a little more prone to working out
his problems with fists to the punching bag than most.  This was the second time he’d come home battered in the last few weeks but the first time she knew she was the reason.

“Do you want your middle wrapped?”  She looked at his knuckles, dismissed them, and then pressed her fingers against each rib in turn.  She found two that were tender, but he shook his head.

“No, I’ll be fine.”  He snagged his shirt and shrugged it on, leaving the buttons undone for the moment.  He tugged on her waist until she was standing between his legs.  “You took a rather large risk this afternoon.  I’m not saying it wasn’t justified.  It was and it worked.  It also scared the bloody hell out of me.”

She nodded.  “I gathered that.”

“Next time, and I’m quite certain there will be one, would you give me a hint before you do something like that?  I know you were reacting on instinct, and it was a good one, but my heart nearly stopped when you dove into the middle as you did.  A word, a signal, even a glance will do in a pinch.”

Casually, she leaned on the island.  “In other words, some sort of acknowledgement that I’m going to do something that might be foolish, but I’m going to try it anyway?”

He grinned.  “Something like that.”

Laura nodded.  “That makes a great deal of sense, Mr. Steele.  Especially when I realized that the brief moment it might have taken to signal you would have given you the chance to back me up.  I was out there on my own in that moment, and there was nothing you could do to cover me.”

“Exactly.”

“Done.”  She stood up and kissed his forehead over the adhesive strip, aware of his relief and the way his shoulders relaxed at her word.

He cocked his head at her.  “Does the fact that I box when I’m irritated bother you?”

“No,” she said lightly, knowing that it wasn’t something she could change.  “Do me a favor and learn to duck.  I don’t like seeing you bleed.”

“No, I know you don’t.  It’s an old habit, love.  I--"

She put her fingers to his lips.  “I’m sure it’s something along the lines of ‘you can take the kid out of Kilkenny'--” She paused and quirked her lips in a small smile.

His voice was pure Irish and his grin twice as charming.  “But ye can’t take th’ Kilkenny out o’ th’ kid.”  Remington slid a hand behind her head and brought her to within an inch of his mouth.  “Oh, but me Laura,     I’ve learned a few other things along the way.”  He flicked his eyebrows and touched his lips to hers.



27 May 2009