Once in a Steele Blue Moon

A/N: I feel like this story needs something of an introduction. It is my first crossover, and I was hesitant at first because I felt like there are not too many people out there looking for combined RS and ML fanfiction. This may be true, but I've also come to realize that there's a pretty limited supply of either, and with that in mind, I set out to write a story that could appeal to fans of one or both genres. So you don't know the gory details of Remington Steele's past? That's ok, neither does he. So you don't care David Addison drinks chocolate milk and can belt out "Respect" like no other? Fine—Maddie's not too crazy about it herself. Com'on and live a little :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing—rien, nada, niente, zip, zilch, zero…

Warning: minor spoilers ahead

Time lines: It's a little loose, but it mostly fits together with the real air dates.

RS: Fourth season—a week before Laura and Steele arrive home from a wild weekend in New York at the beginning of "Beg, Borrow, or Steele."

ML: Second Season—sometime after Maddie and David's kiss that didn't happen in "Witness for the Execution."

Assume for the sake of sanity that David and Laura are roughly the same age.

Background:

Remington Steele(Twentieth Century Fox—I think they own it now, 1982-1987, Stephanie Zimbalist, Pierce Brosnan, and Doris Roberts): Who is Remington Steele? No one really knows, not even him. He's a man with no name—a lost little boy finally beginning to dig into his past. Along the way he's been a pickpocket, conman, jewel/art thief, and South American kick boxer called the Kilkenny Kid. Four years ago he walked into Laura Holt's detective agency and assumed the identity of Remington Steele—the masculine superior she invented to generate more business. They have a little trouble keeping business out of pleasure, and while their relationship is full of promises—increasingly serious ones—they've never quite sealed the deal. Laura's the brains of the operation, but she'd be nowhere without the loving help of their secretary and Mr. Steele's preoccupation with the cinema.

Moonlighting (ABC, 1985-1989, Cybill Shepherd and Bruce Willis): Maddie Hayes was a successful model until she retired seven years ago and trusted her financial affairs to an untrustworthy accountant. Five years after that, he ran off with all her money, leaving her broke with a list of expensive tax write offs. She meant to scrap them all, but somehow David Addison and the Blue Moon Detective Agency (named for her time as the Blue Moon Shampoo girl) got into her heart. She's not quite sure if she wants them out yet. They have a few cash flow problems, along with an office of slightly defunct employees, and a seriously spaced out receptionist. They solve cases, sure, but the most action in their office goes on behind closed doors (or slammed ones) while David and Maddie fight, flirt, and make up.

One week ago…

Maddie Hayes watched her office door creak open inch by inch. She waited, pencil pressed to her lips. David Addison's face appeared just above the door knob, his ridiculous grin making her smile a little herself.

"Hey, Blondie Blonde—we got a case?"

She sighed, her smile disappearing. "Do we ever? The office is empty; I sent everyone home early. Agnes is out there calling herself and playing with her new rhyming dictionary."

"Great! We've got time then."

"Time?"

"Yeah, time. Time to solve the Missing Minutes Mystery: what really happened in that garage?"

"Addison, that case is closed."

Three days ago…

"Hey, Blondie Blonde—"

Maddie didn't even look up from typing up the accounts. "Mommy's working right now, Addison."

He pulled her door shut again, muttering under his breath. "Gee, Ma, give a kid a chance…"

Yesterday…

"Hey, Blondie Blonde, I was thinking—"

"Again? The doctor warned you that was dangerous!"

David exited again, pouting. "Fine, I'll go endanger others…"

Today, Monday…

"It's a vacation, Laura, not a one way fare to Sodom and Gomorrah."

"Oh, please. I'm starting think a visit to Hell itself would be more enjoyable than another of our—your vacations."

"I think that's a bit harsh—"

"Is it? Name me one trip—one so called vacation that didn't end up with some madman a) trying to kill us, b) trying to frame one of us—and by one of us I mean you—for some heinous crime, c) actually catching us—and again, I mean you—committing a only slightly less heinous crime, or d) some delightful cocktail of all of the above."

Steele opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it, at a loss. He turned away, the better to pace, and thought for a few moments before shrugging and turning back to face her.

"All right, I'll admit no one instance springs to mind. But that's why we have to go—we owe it to ourselves, Laura. If we continue on this course of disastrous vacations, we'll never be able to leave LA again. We'll be captives of the city and her environs for the rest of our earthly days."

He paused in his pacing to look thoughtfully at Laura. "But I suppose we'll manage; your sister does live here at least—we'll always have somewhere to go for the holidays. I mean we'll never be able to just take off for Paris at Christmas time or spend Easter in Rome, but then Francis will be so pleased. I'm sure even your mother would be overjoyed to visit for the holidays once we explain the situation to her."

He gave her his most winning smile. Laura glared back.

"My mother," she said through gritted teeth. "You want to invite my mother."

His grin grew. "Charming woman, your mother—a delight at any family occasion, and since we won't be traveling, she'll always know where to find us. I'll have to call and tell her to pop by anytime, now that we know we'll always be here." He reached for the phone, winking at her outraged expression.

Laura spoke in level tones, doing her best to suppress the panic-induced queasiness brought on by visions of her mother 'popping by.'

"Touch that phone, and you're a dead man."

He pursed his lips in mock disapproval, barely containing the smile hiding in their corners. "But Laura—how will I make the plane reservations?"

"You play very dirty, Mr. Steele."

His eyebrows rose as the sparkle in his eyes morphed from self-satisfied to seductive. Laura felt her cool anger beginning to thaw in spite of her best intentions. Damn his eyes. Nothing else in the world could affect her like his eyes—now sincere, now highly suspect—always steely blue and shining. One flash of those mischievous eyes, and she was a goner. And worse—he knew it.

He watched with a grin as the fury evaporated from her face, knowing full well that all his considerable charms would provide him no protection from her wrath if his threat had been serious. He stepped away from the phone to pull her into his arms, eyes softening with affection. She moved into his embrace without protest, a hint of a smile appearing in the corners of her mouth.

He leaned closer to kiss her temple. "Only when given half a chance."

"Oh?" She raised one eyebrow with amusement, watching him lean even closer. He nodded in answer to the query in her tone and paused to meet her eyes before brushing her lips with a soft kiss.

"Does this mean you'll consider a peaceful sojourn somewhere with new sunlight and white sand?"

Laura paused to give the illusion of thoughtful analysis. "Consider, yes. Though I highly doubt there will be any peace involved."

Recognizing her attempt to placate him, he sighed and accepted momentary defeat. "That's what I love about you, Laura—always so open minded." He kissed her again—because a vacation wasn't in the cards but necking was always a solid back up. This time she pressed even closer, bringing up one hand to stroke the back of his neck. She smiled into the kiss, and Steele was just beginning to plot ways of moving their activities to the couch when their secretary Mildred Krebs burst through the door.

"Mildred!" Laura jumped out of his arms, leaving him disoriented and lost. He stumbled forward, and caught hold of a chair before making it all the way down to the floor. His hair fell into his eyes and he tried to blow it away without much success. He finally settled for glaring at his secretary through the offending strands.

"Did you need something, Mildred?"

Mildred winced apologetically. "Sorry, kids. I did knock, but you probably had other things on your mind—important things—case things, um…"

Steele sighed and straightened up, pushing his hair back with his fingers and flopping into a seat. "Important things yes, but nothing a nice, long, tropical vacation couldn't solve, eh Miss Holt?"

Laura looked up from straightening her blouse and gave him a mischievous grin. "A vacation, Mr. Steele? Where do you get these ideas?" She turned to the mirror above the side board for aid putting her hair back into some semblance of order.

Steele admired his handy work with a smile and leaned back to place his feet on the desk. "Oh, they come and go, Miss Holt, they come and go."

She snorted. "Well, do me a favor next time—take two aspirin and wait for them to pass."

Mildred coughed in an attempt to get their attention. She hated to interrupt, but she knew she would have to if there was going to be any chance of reclaiming them for the rest of the day's business.

They both turned to look at her, almost surprised to find her there.

He recovered first and straightened in his chair, lowering his well-polished shoes to the ground. "Yes, sorry Mildred. You were saying."

"I was saying there's a client outside. She's been waiting almost a quarter of an hour."

He sighed and rose to his feet. "Well, show her in, Mildred, show her in."

"Hey, Blondie Blonde—whoa!" David pulled Maddie's door shut just as one of the porcelain knickknacks from her desk smashed into the other side.

"Truce, Maddie! Desperate times, kid," he called through the door.

There was silence on the other side for a few minutes. David envisioned her smacking stacks of paper onto her desk and gnawing on pencils in frustration. Finally, she called out, "Come in."

David poked his head into Maddie's office and glanced around hastily before meeting her raised eyebrows with one of his own.

"You busy?"

She sat back, straightening her blotter with a sigh. "Would it matter?"

He pretended to consider that question before shrugging. "Nope." He opened the door further and ushered a weeping Agnes Dipesto in underneath his arm.

Maddie rose from her chair immediately, rushing over to wrap her arm around the distraught receptionist and lead her to the couch. She made soothing noises against Agnes's hair and then shot a pointed look back at her partner in the doorway, already turning to flee from the scene. "Could we get some tissues over here, Mr. Addison?"

He had the good grace to look momentarily guilty before the barefaced boldness she'd come to respect brazenly manifested itself. "Me? Tissues? Sure thing. In fact, I'll run downstairs right now—clean the store out. Need anything else? Ice cream, sappy movies, some cute little bunny slippers? I'll tell you what—I'll get it all—all they got. You don't have to tell Dave twice. I'll be right back."

He attempted to escape, only to be foiled once again.

"Actually, the box on my desk will do—if you think you can manage that."

He froze halfway out the door, contemplating the benefits of making a break for it. Which would be more painful—crying now or bitching later? Tough choice.

He finally turned and retrieved the tissue box, muttering mutinously. He took a seat beside Agnes and held the tissue box out to her. "What seems to be the problem, Agnes?" he asked brusquely.

"David," said Maddie, coupling her disapproving tone with a disparaging shake of her head. She patted Agnes' shoulder. "Is everything all right, Miss Dipesto?"

"Maddie, she's sobbing—no, everything's just fine."

They glared at each other over Agnes's bent head until a tiny voice broke through the open mouth sobs, bringing their attention back to the woman between them.

"My—" Agnes managed one syllable before relapsing back into tears.

David leaned forward, trying to catch her words. "Your?"

"My g—"

"Guy? Your guy?" He looked at Maddie in confusion. "She has a guy?" he asked, using a stage whisper that achieved nothing.

Maddie shrugged. "It'll be all right, Agnes. He'll be alright."

Agnes shook her head, frustration beginning to cut through the tears. "No, not my guy! My g—"

"Guru? Grandfather? Geologist?"

"Gynecologist. "

David eyes went wide with horror. Maddie cleared her throat to catch his attention. "Perhaps Mr. Addison should go out for those tissues and ice cream, now."

He met her eyes, barely registering her words. "Wha? Oh, um—right. Tissues, right. Uncle Dave's got this one."

Still dazed, he stood slowly and made his way to the door. "Tissues and ice cream comin' right up. Dave's all over it."

When he was gone, Maddie returned her attention back to the slightly drier, but still upset Agnes.

"Do you want to talk about it, Agnes? What happened?"

"He's dead, Ms. Hayes," said Agnes, the sobs beginning to seep back into her voice.

"Mr. Addison? No, honey, he just—"

"No, Ms. Hayes! My gynecologist. He's dead."

"Oh," said Maddie, momentarily stunned. "Oh," she said again, as the meaning of Agnes words began to sink in. "Oh, dear. Umm—wait here just a second, all right Agnes? I'll be right back."

She patted Agnes's arm and hurried to the door, wrenching it open to call into the outer office. "Mr. Addison, I think we're going to need you in here after all. Bring that ice cream."

"Charlotte Gear to see you, Chief."

Steele looked up from the drawer he'd opened to suggest he actually used his desk as anything but a handy surface to sign the papers Laura handed him. He slid it shut as he stood and extended a hand and the accompanying con-artist smile to the beautiful woman following his secretary.

"Remington Steele."

The woman before him was the essence of loveliness and while he liked to consider himself a previously committed man—although some days it was hard to pin down just to what—he couldn't help but notice that she was a vision in red. Her legs were smooth and creamy and long—lord, were they long. As his eyes traveled upward, her skirt seemed to shrink and by the time he reached her angelic face, he felt a little dizzy. Her lips curved in an amused smile—as if she could read his thoughts. She squeezed his hand softly—red nails, dear Lord—and released it to toss her long, perfectly curled, blonde hair back from her face.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Gear. It is Miss?"

`"Yes, just for a little longer. I'm engaged."

"Splendid—splendid. No ring, I see. Bold choice, Miss Gear. Quite right, too. Constant worry—diamonds. You wouldn't believe the ones I've seen—cases I've seen, I mean—of course."

Steele felt a lightheaded again and steadied himself with one hand on his desk.

"You ok, Boss?"

"Fine, Mildred, fine. Some tea would be lovely, thank you."

Mildred looked mutinous, but left all the same, muttering under her breath. "Tea, hooey—a cold shower would be more useful."

He was babbling. He knew it. Seventeen years or more as a thief, conman, boxer, and detective, and he still sounded like sixteen-year old Harry chatting up Felicia for the first time. He laughed nervously and felt relieved when Laura exited the bathroom—makeup and hair returned to order—and brought him back to his senses with an exasperated expression.

"Ah, Miss Holt, there you are. Miss Gear, may I introduce my associate, Miss Laura Holt."

Laura smiled obligingly, trying not to hold their new client's gorgeous legs and long blonde hair against her. Beautiful people are people, too, she reminded herself. They have problems just like everyone else; even if they make everyone else feel like a mangy, flea-ridden stray to their pedigree perfection.

"Miss Gear, it's a pleasure." Laura extended her hand politely.

"Thank you, Miss Holt. Please call me Charlie—both of you. As my sister Emily used to say, Charlotte is such a mouthful."

She spoke in perfectly modulated tones—soft and airy with just a hint of some accent, carefully suppressed by years of extensive practice.

Of course, thought Laura, even her voice is rich and beautiful.

"Used to?" Steele asked, his natural curiosity fueling his detective's intuition.

It took Laura a moment to find her place in the conversation. Good sense: vanity's first victim. Laura wasn't even sure why the woman bothered her so; Laura was an attractive woman in her own right, smart, dedicated, loyal, tough—tougher than this floozy—bad, Laura….

Charlie was already answering Steele's question—the one Laura should have asked instead of wishing her client ill. Maybe it had something to do with the glazed look in Mr. Steele's eyes.

"Oh, Emily's a free spirit," Charlotte was saying with an indulgent smile. "I haven't seen her in—well, about five years. I'm not worried. When she was six she ran away from home for a whole week. Most kids get as far as the hedge or the tree house, but not my sister. She hit the road and kept on going. She spent five days riding the merry-go-round and filching cotton candy before anyone noticed. She'll be back."

"Then you don't want the Remington Steele Agency to find her for you?"

"Heavens, no. She's very much like Little Bo Peep's sheep. Leave her alone, and she'll come home, dragging her pride behind her. Unfortunately, what I've come to see you about is much more serious."

Laura nodded, channeling efficiency and dedication. "Of course, Miss Gear—Charlie. Won't you please take a seat?"

She motioned to the chair before the desk and moved to stand behind her partner as he took his seat.

"Tell us all about it, Miss—ah, Charlie," Steele said, employing his best sympathetic smile.

"Well, it's quite a long story. It begins with Emily, I suppose. Well, the two of us anyway. We're twins—identical. When we turned nineteen, we moved out here to LA, thinking all sorts of ridiculous things. We were going to be dancers—singers—actresses. We didn't know what we were going to do, but it was going to be exciting and glamorous.

"And then reality reared its ugly head. We had beauty, sure—a fluke of nature. Nothing to be sniffed at, but nothing to make a career out of either. I became a hair stylist, I've been working on my degree at night and if it's not as glamorous as my early ambitions, at least it pays the bills. That's also how I met Jake—my fiancé. He's such a sweetheart—such a head of hair.

"But Emily never was the steady job type. She's a wanderer by nature and—well—a con artist by trade."

Laura felt Steele stiffen in front of her and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. He relaxed slightly but not before Charlie noticed.

"Oh, I don't really mean that. She never stole anything—not that I know of anyway. She just—well, men went stupid for her. Hordes of them. Expensive presents, expensive dinners—an apartment in the swanky part of town. All sorts of down payments on promises not quite fulfilled. She never had to lift a finger so long as a man was there, ready to kiss it. I love my sister, but I can't condone her behavior.

"Anyway, a few years passed and then she was ready to move on. The well was beginning to dry up—too many promises to keep, wives beginning to get suspicious, that sort of thing. She took off five years ago, much to the relief of wealthy society, I assure you. But before she left, she had a brief affair with the man who was then our gynecologist."

Steele's eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent. Charlie nodded at his expression.

"I know. It's not a subject that comes up in polite conversation, but it is relevant to the case."

"Of course, Charlie." Laura nodded encouragingly. "Mr. Steele is first and foremost a professional." She gave his shoulder a squeeze to emphasize the point.

Charlie nodded. "Well, I was appalled. I mean I know this man—one could say quite intimately, and my sister is my exact copy in every way. I was furious, and I refused to return to his office. I found a new gynecologist"— Steele winced—"and soon Emily left town. I thought that was the end of it.

"But a few months ago my new—ah—doctor moved. I hate finding a new one. There are certain aspects of myself to which I'd prefer to limit access. So rather than find a whole new practice and a completely new set of eyes, I decided to revisit my former doctor, foolishly thinking that enough time would have passed for all the awkwardness and recriminations to fade away. I was wrong.

"The doctor recognized me all right, but he thought I was Emily. Or at least I assume he did because as soon as I stepped into the office he had his hands on me. It was hugely embarrassing for the both of us and worst of all, my fiancé Jake had dropped me off. He confronted the doctor in front of an entire office of witnesses and threatened to kill him if he ever came near me again. And the whole time Dr. Symmons just stood there looking shocked and puzzled. That was last week.

"I just couldn't stand it if Jake goes to jail. They will kill him; he's such a sweetheart. I need you to prove that he didn't do it. I need you to prove that my Jake is innocent. Please help me, Mr. Steele."

Laura looked confused. "Do what? So far I haven't heard anything that could send your fiancé to jail, Charlie. He threatened the man, but—"

"That's just it, Miss Holt. He threatened Dr. Symmons—threatened to kill him. And now Dr. Symmons is dead."