by Lianne Burwell
ic drove through the streets of Toronto, trying to ignore
the storefronts that lined either side. It wasn't
difficult. After three days of snow, the roads weren't in
the best of conditions. Slush filled the streets, and the
city still hadn't removed the piles of plowed snow from the
edges. As well, Toronto drivers seemed incapable of
adjusting to the slick conditions, resulting in a
depressing litany of accidents.
But even with his concentration focused on the road in front of him, his peripheral vision was still assaulted by a constant barrage of red and pink, hearts and flowers, filling the store windows, and even his favorite radio station was continually reminding him what day tomorrow was.
It was a crappy day in February, that's what it was.
Vic turned off Yonge Street finally, and thankfully left the worse of the Valentine's Day displays behind. Twenty minutes later he was pulling into the parking lot outside his apartment building, with sanctuary in sight.
Inside his apartment, he turned on the stereo and started the CD player going, slowly relaxing as the beautiful voice of Billie Holiday filled the space. He flicked on a couple of lights, but left the television off. He had no intention of turning it back on for a few more days, until the last of the Valentine's Day advertisements disappeared. Right now, the last thing he wanted was to be reminded that he was single, and as a result, in the eyes of the marketing world, a failure.
Not that he'd enjoyed the manufactured holiday any more when he'd been in a relationship. He'd bought the flowers and the candies because it was expected him, but not with any real enthusiasm. It seemed so pointless. If you loved the person you were with, you brought them little things all year round; you didn't need a day when you *had* to do it. At least LiAnn had agreed with him on that one. In fact, LiAnn had been the least romantic person he'd ever been involved with.
Now, when he was a kid it had been different. February fourteenth was a day of secrets. Sneaking into an empty classroom to slip an anonymous valentine into the desk of your secret crush, then waiting to see her open it, furtively watching for her reaction, never quite working up the nerve to tell her that it was from you.
Vic sighed. Another holiday ruined by commercialism. Now you couldn't escape it.
Well, this year there was nothing to force him into the celebration of love and money. This year he would eat a solitary dinner at home, listen to his albums, then go to bed. Alone. Pretty much like every other day of the year.
It was fucking depressing. Welcome to the life of one Victor Mansfield. Ex-cop, ex-con, secret agent.
Lonely man.
Vic woke the next morning to the shrill of his alarm clock. His first impulse was to go for the pistol tucked under his pillow. Luckily, he restrained himself long enough to just hit the off button. Then, still bleary-eyed, he stumbled into the bathroom for his morning routine. Brush teeth, shave, take shower.
Feeling slightly more awake, Vic stepped out of the shower, blinking water out of his eyes. He reached for his bathrobe and pulled it one.
Then froze, his eyes closed.
The sleeves were too long, the fabric too plush. Verdict: this was *not* his old, threadbare robe. The one LiAnn had tried long and hard to convince him to replace. Someone had broken into his apartment and stolen his robe. Dreading what he would see, Vic opened his eyes.
Well, at least it wasn't red in honor of the day. It was actually a very pleasant hunter green in a sinfully soft terrycloth. Everything about it was simple, plush, and very definitely expensive. In fact, it was just the sort of thing he might have bought for himself if he'd been the type to spend that much money on a bathrobe.
Now the question was, who had? The Agency-installed security system meant that the list of possibilities was small, despite the one slip-up that had left him with the new stereo system. LiAnn still had a key to his place and the Director didn't need one. Mac could probably break in and Jackie...? Who knew. But why would any of them want to get him a new bathrobe? Vic shook his head. LiAnn was the most likely culprit, even if she had made it clear that they wouldn't be getting back together.
It was a puzzle, but one that would have to wait until later. He would have to get moving if he wanted to have anything to eat before reporting in to the Agency.
He left the bathroom, still running his hand over the sleeve of the new robe.
The surprise of the robe kept Vic so distracted that he barely made it to the Agency in time for the morning briefing. Even LiAnn, usually guaranteed to be the last person to arrive, was waiting, a small smile on her face. Beside her, Mac was watching him with a smirk, while Jackie was outright snickering.
Vic couldn't help looking down to make sure he was zipped, which created a chorus of snickers, then glared at the three of them. Doing his best to pretend he didn't care about whatever it was that had set them off, he moved to his usual seat and pulled it out.
There was an envelope sitting on the seat. *Not* red or pink, thank god. He picked it up.
"Open it!" Jackie urged, leaning forward eagerly.
For a moment he was tempted to toss it, unopened, but the texture caught his attention. Thick and stiff, in a rich creamy white, with his name written on the front in fine calligraphy. He turned it over and looked at the blob of green wax holding it shut. No clues of who or why. He sighed, and broke the seal.
The card slid out easily, and was made from the same cardstock as the envelope. A sun motif, highlighted discretely with a bit of gold, was embossed at the center of the card, while a delicate lace pattern was cut around the edge. There was no print on the back, implying that the card was handmade.
"Get on with it," LiAnn said. Neither she nor Jackie were concealing their interest, while Mac simply rolled his eyes.
Vic opened it. Inside was a short poem, written in the same hand as his name on the envelope. There was no signature.
Close enough to touch, Always just out of reach, I still dream
Vic frowned. "What the...?" Well, it was nicer than something cheesy like 'Be my valentine'. He started to tuck the card back into the envelope, but Jackie plucked it out of his hands before he could stop her.
"Let's see," she said, dancing out of reach as she opened the card. "Oooh, nice. Listen to this."
Vic winced as she read it out loud. At least it slowed her down long enough for him to grab the card back. This time he got it back in the envelope and tucked into his jacket's inner pocket before anyone else tried to grab it.
"Sounds like someone has a secret admirer. Now, whoever could that be, Victor?"
Great. Just great, Vic thought to himself as their boss came through the door. When it came to teasing—any kind of teasing—the Director was grandmaster.
She was also dressed for the day. A sleeveless blouse in powder pink with a discreet floral pattern with a navy skirt that went down to her knees but was tight almost to the point of being indecent. She had her hair piled up on top of her head, and there was a pink orchid touched into it. It should have clashed with the unnaturally red hair -- not that he would dare call it that in her hearing—but somehow worked. She looked like everything Vic had been avoiding all week.
"Why don't you tell me?" he shot back defensively. "Or aren't there any security cameras in here?" Like any of them would believe that.
"Well, true. But it's much more fun to watch you try to find out.
"But that will have to wait," she said, coming around the table to face them. "You did a good job on the last case, but now we have a new one..."
She started to drone on about real estate development and corruption in city politics—like that combination was a big surprise—and Vic tried to concentrate, but every time he moved, he could feel the card tucked in against his chest.
He should really toss it. There was little point in keeping it, after all. Someone's idea of a joke. But throwing it out here would just be asking for everyone in the place to start teasing him.
Yeah, when he got home it would go straight in the trash.
The job turned out to be unusually simple. It only took a few hours to track down the bribe-taking official and convince him of the error of his ways. Then they let him go, although Vic was sure that the Agency was going to hang on to the evidence, just in case they wanted to blackmail the man someday. As for the real-estate mogul, they didn't bother with him. The Director had promised to deal with that herself. Personally. A scary thought.
As a reward for finishing so quickly and efficiently, the Director gave them the rest of the day off, which would have been more impressive if it hadn't already been nearly four in the afternoon. LiAnn and Jackie had headed off together, arguing as usual. Mac had also disappeared, even faster than usual.
Vic found the last a little disappointing. He had been planning on suggesting a drink at their usual bar. It was becoming a post-op tradition with them, even when they were battered by the case.
Maybe Mac had a new girlfriend, Vic thought. That would explain his eagerness to get out, considering the day. But usually he mentioned his latest conquest to Vic, if only to tweak him about his own single state.
With everyone else gone, there was little reason for Vic stick around. Dobrinsky waved to him as he passed, but thankfully didn't stop to chat. Vic also saw Nathan rushing down a side corridor pushing a cart with a teetering tower of papers.
Nathan... Vic was suddenly reminded of the robe and the card. Could Nathan be the one who'd left them? He was constantly following Vic around, fawning after him. Vic was a Prince of the Illuminati, according to Nathan. Better than being a bug creature or queen alien. Mac had even suggested once that Nathan might have a crush on him, scary as that thought was.
Nah... Vic just couldn't seen the nervous, sweaty librarian as the type to break into an apartment to leave an expensive gift. He would probably have a panic attack just thinking about it.
Vic reached his truck, using the electronic key to unlock the doors before he got there. He grabbed the door handle and pulled the driver's side door open.
"Ah, crap. Not again," Vic said, then looked around quickly to make sure that there was no one around to have heard him. He eyed the package sitting on his seat like it was a bomb. Hell, for all he knew it *was* a bomb. This whole day could just be a setup for an explosive punchline.
So, what to do. Call the explosives techs to check it out? "Screw it," Vic muttered to himself.
He grabbed the package and shook it deliberately. Something shifted inside, but it didn't go boom. Whatever it was, it wasn't overly heavy, it didn't rattle like it had many parts, and it didn't sound like metal. All of which told him... nothing.
It was wrapped in a very nice paper; dark blue with a shiny pattern like the skyline of a city. In fact, looking closely, Vic was even able to pick out the distinctive silhouette of the CN Tower. Not the sort of thing you found at a Hallmark store.
His first instinct was to just rip the paper off and find out what was inside, but he found himself carefully detaching the tape and folding the paper the way his grandmother used to at Christmas. She actually had reused the paper the next year, not being willing to waste anything.
Once the paper was set aside, he turned his attention to the plain white box. He hesitated for a moment, then opened it.
A shoulder holster. Vic blinked. No exactly what he had expected, but very much appreciated. His old one was on the verge of falling apart. He'd already had to repair it twice since Christmas, Mac had only slightly sarcastically pointed out that it was going to get him in trouble if he didn't replace it, but he'd not gotten around to it yet.
This holster was a very well made one. Good leather and fine stitching. Even a slight decorative motif pressed into the leather. He tugged at it, and was pleased by both the strength and suppleness. It was also perfectly sized for both him and his favorite sidearm. Whoever his mysterious benefactor was, they had money, taste, and knew exactly what he both needed and wanted.
Which meant they were also watching him. He wasn't sure he liked that idea much.
He left the radio off the entire trip home, more for the chance to think than to avoid the sappy love songs for once, but by the time he got home, he was still undecided about what to do next. So far, everything had been harmless, but the fact that someone knew this much about him while he knew nothing about them made him uncomfortable. If he *knew* the gifts were from LiAnn or Jackie or even the Director, he wouldn't worry as much.
But he didn't know, so if this kept up, he was going to beard the lion—or lioness—in her den.
The Agency had surveillance cameras in all their properties, including agent apartments. Somewhere on a tape was whoever was behind this. He was reasonably sure that the Director would tell him if they were a danger to him, but only reasonably.
Strangely, though, part of him was reluctant to find out. They *were* nice gifts, and it was kind of... interesting being the recipient.
There was a single light on in the living room when Vic opened the apartment door. Since he knew he had turned off all the lights before leaving that morning, alarm bells were going off in his head. He dropped the package and the card on the floor just inside the door and drew his gun. Even after all the little 'surprises' that day, he wasn't taking any chances.
A quick pass through the apartment found nothing. He checked the door, and there were no signs that the lock had been picked.
The only other sign of invasion, other than the light, was the stereo. It had been turned on, and the indicator showed a single CD in the tray. Vic's finger hovered over the eject button for a moment, then shifted over and pressed play.
It was a jazz CD. Instrumental only, and unfamiliar, but beautiful. The musicians were pouring heart and soul into the notes, and it came through the recording. Vic's usual preference was for blues, but he had a number of jazz albums that he loved, and this put most of them to shame.
Robe, card, holster, and now music. Four gifts, all perfectly tailored to him. The only question was who.
The knock at the door was so unexpected that it almost made him jump out of his skin. Suddenly reminded that nice presents or not, someone was still breaking into his apartment again and again. Vic lifted his gun again and edged towards the door. His heart was pounding, despite the soothing music behind him.
He looked through the peephole, then lowered his gun with a sigh. He flicked the locks and pulled the door open.
"Avon calling," Mac sang out, leaning against the doorframe.
"Really? I didn't know that Avon delivered..." Vic sniffed appreciatively. "Barbequed chicken and ribs. What, no squid today?"
Mac grinned. "Nah, I figured I'd give you a break from my efforts to educate your palate for tonight." He brushed past Vic, heading for the dining room table. "I know we usually hit a bar, but they're all packed tonight, so I thought I'd supply dinner." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I might even be convinced to watch a hockey game. Um... I assume there is a hockey game on tonight?"
Vic shook his head, grinning. "Toronto at Vancouver."
"There you go. Grab the plates, would you? And lots of napkins!"
Vic was still shaking his headed as he collected plates, utensils, and a roll of paper towels, since he didn't actually have any napkins, from the kitchen. The smell of barbeque sauce filled the air, making him salivate. Usually when Mac stopped by for dinner he brought 'real' Chinese food. He claimed he was trying to bring some class into Vic's life, although Vic had no idea what was classy about things like pig's feet.
They set the table in comfortable silence—no way was Vic letting the sauce get all over his couch—then sat down and dug in. There was no talk other than the 'pass a towel' variety. The food had their full attention.
This wasn't the fake stuff from one of the chain restaurants that claimed to do barbeque; this was the real thing, from Vic's favorite restaurant. The owner was originally from Texas and prided himself on making his own sauce from scratch using a secret family recipe, and forget trying to buy the recipe from him. And as far as Vic knew, they didn't do takeout.
Chicken and ribs in barbeque sauce with a bite went down smoothly, chased by vinegar coleslaw, fresh-cut fries, and swallows of Mac's Chinese beer, which Vic had developed a taste for. Mac had even brought a pecan pie for dessert, even though there was no way that the two of them would be able to finish it in one sitting. Not after the rest of the food, at least.
They cleaned up, then moved to the sofa. The CD was still playing, so Vic turned it off before switching the TV on to the game. That was when he noticed the case sitting next to the stereo. It wasn't familiar, so he assumed it went with the CD. It also wasn't in English. He might not read or speak the language, but he recognized Chinese when he saw it.
He looked at Mac. Mac was sitting with his eyes glued to the screen, even though Vic knew that the younger man didn't really like hockey. The pieces fell into place with an almost audible click.
He sat down and joined Mac in careful examination of the game. It was midway through the first period and Toronto was up by one, which was surprising considering how they'd been playing this season.
But despite his apparent interest in the game, most of his attention was on Mac. Every so often there'd be a flicker in his peripheral vision, as if Mac had started to move or speak, then controlled himself. Finally, Vic decided to put him out of his misery.
"I like the music." There was only a grunt in response, although suddenly Mac was almost vibrating with tension next to him. "The holster will come in handy too," Vic added.
A soft snort. "You'd get us all killed if that old one fell apart at the wrong moment."
"And the robe?" Vic asked, turning to face Mac.
Mac shrugged, not quite looking at him. "LiAnn said she was tempted to just burn it." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Having seen it, I have to agree."
"Hey! It's a perfectly good robe. I've had it for years."
"And it shows."
Mac had finally turned to face him. He was smiling now. "I take it you don't mind?"
"What, someone buying me expensive gifts?"
Mac rolled his eyes. "I mean *why* I bought them for you."
A flippant response came to mind, but Vic squelched it. Instead, he went for serious and honest. "I've tried relationships with partners twice in the past. Neither worked out. I'm not in the market to be bedded and dumped again."
He could see the understanding in Mac's eyes. Of course Mac knew about LiAnn; being her former lovers was something they had in common. As for Stan, Mac knew about that too. After the run-in with Vic's former cop team a few months ago, he and Mac had gone out and gotten drunk. Vic had told him all about Stan. That night was the first time he'd told Mac that he was bisexual, and he'd been relieved not to be judged. Then Mac had told him about Michael. At least Vic's tale had been reasonably pleasant, at least up until he'd been framed.
"I'm not in the market to be dumped either," Mac said hotly, his eyes flickering away briefly.
"Good," Vic said. "Just so we understand each other."
That seemed to be all the reassurance Mac needed, because suddenly Vic found himself with a lap full of the younger man, and Mac was kissing him furiously.
Mac was a pretty good kisser too, although strangely familiar. It took Vic a moment to realize that he was recognizing LiAnn's techniques. It shouldn't have surprised him, really, since Mac had once told him that they'd practiced on each other as teenagers, even before becoming lovers.
"So," he said when Mac pulled away. "Am I still out of reach?"
"I don't know," Mac shot back, leaning his forehead against Vic's breathing heavily. "Am I dreaming?"
Vic pinched him, making him yelp. "Nope, you seem pretty awake to me."
"Shit. You are a fucking tease, you know that?"
"Look who's talking. You're the one with the line of women going around the block, all hoping for a chance at you," Vic shot back.
Mac frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Vic winced. Open mouth, insert foot. "That you'tr attractive and fun, and women like that?"
"You think I sleep around?"
"No!" Vic was just digging himself in deeper. He wrapped his arms around Mac's now tense form and tried to repair the damage. "I've seen you turn too many of them down to think that."
"Good. Because I've only had two lovers since joining the Agency, and I nearly married one of them."
Now Vic really felt like a heel. Claire was still a touchy subject with Mac, considering how badly she'd duped him. "Why do I feel like I've killed the mood?" he said with a sigh.
Mac was silent for a long time, then smiled slightly. "Maybe just wounded it."
That was hopeful. "So how do I fix it?"
Mac's smile widened, although the hurt didn't completely vanish. "You could try kissing it better," he suggested.
Vic exhaled a sigh of relief. "I can do that," he said, then pulled Mac's face back down to within kissing distance.
This kiss was softer, gentler. Vic was trying to put his apology into it, and from the response, the apology was accepted. All the tension drained out of them both, and Vic began to feel so light that it seemed like the only thing holding him down was Mac's weight. He hadn't felt like this since the early days with LiAnn, back before they started to take each other for granted. He had the feeling that even if Mac hadn't shown up, the relationship wasn't like to have lasted much longer anyway. Hopefully this would work out better. He'd like that
"So," Mac said, pulling back again. "Now what?"
"Huh?" Vic was in no shape to figure out what the man meant, although he was glad to see the playful gleam back in his eyes.
"Any ideas?" Mac asked, tugging at Vic's collar.
Ideas about what? Oh. "I thought you were the one doing the seducing," Vic said, trying to match Mac's tone. "Shouldn't you be the one with the ideas?"
"Hmmm... Actually, I do have a couple, and the couch is not exactly big enough for them. You want to take this someplace a little more comfortable?"
"You'd have to get off me first," Vic pointed out.
Mac made a show of thinking about it. "I don't know. You're awfully comfy."
"Hmmm, comfy." And they weren't even handcuffed to a support.
That inspired laughter. It was nice to hear. Mac was witty, flirty, sarcastic, but he rarely laughed. "Body bags are comfy," Mac quipped.
"But my bed is even more comfy," Vic shot back. Part of him wondered what LiAnn would think when she found out about this, but at the moment, he didn't really care. Worrying about that could wait until later.
Almost immediately his lap was empty and a little cold. "You talked me into it," Mac said, tugging his hand.
Vic let himself be pulled to his feet, but he grabbed Mac before he could move away. "You know," he said, wrapping his arms around the other man. "They say friends make the best lovers."
"And?"
Vic kissed the side of Mac's neck. "And you are definitely the best friend I've ever had."
Mac smile was almost incandescent. "Well then, why don't we find out if that makes me the best lover you've ever had."
Vic thought back to all the lovers he'd had over the years, and felt a warm feeling in his belly. "Oh, you already are," he said. "You already are."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Vic."
Behind them, cheers came from the television as Toronto scored again.
THE END
February 2004
