by LeFey

The heat seared his back. Mac felt the brunt of the explosion even through his jacket as he and Vic and Li Ann were flattened to the ground.

He rose slowly. The sound drew his attention, like water crashing over rocks. He glanced back. The old warehouse was engulfed in flames. A few feet ahead of him Li Ann appeared dazed, and Vic was at her side helping her to stand. Mac managed to rise to his knees. He planned to help Li Ann himself, but found his legs had turned to jelly. Vic reached him in a few long, rushed strides. He lifted Mac, levering him up with one arm under his.

Mac nearly laughed at Vic's worried expression. He felt a giddy fatigue take control of him and all he could think of as Vic held him up was the guy's young sister calling him 'Moose'. It was true: he was a moose compared to Mac. Not as tall as Mac, but with a much more substantial body that could, as he'd just proved, lift him easily from the ground. It wasn't just the strength, or the big boned frame that made the name so apt. There was a working class valour to him that made Mac imagine him on a construction site, a logging camp, or wiping his hands off as he rolled from under a car he was repairing. The name would be deserved and worn like a badge of honour.

"Thanks Moose," Mac said with an exhausted giggle.

Vic gave him a puzzled frown, but then flinched as part of the building behind them collapsed, sending a gust of heated air rushing past them. The night sky lit up with the implosion like a fireworks display.

Vic reached out his hand to Li Ann. "We have to get away from here!" he yelled above the sounds of the burning building.

She grabbed Vic's hand, and they ran as best as they could with Mac in tow.

Mac saw a figure running towards them. Well, not really running, more like stumbling. His tired brain finally made the connection and realized it was the Director. A stain darkened the front of her coat and he remembered that she had been shot.

Vic reached across Mac and motioned to Li Ann. "Go on," he insisted and pointed at the Director.

Li Ann nodded and sprinted towards the staggering woman.

"I'm okay," Mac said, with no real attempt to move out of Vic's grasp.

"Sure you are," Vic answered, but tightened his hold on Mac.

Mac heard sirens wailing in the distance as the building blazed behind them. He knew the first group to arrive would be Agency personnel. Their own EMT's would treat and transport them. A handful of Agency police would direct the evacuation, and in the confusion of a fire this size the real emergency services people would be too busy to notice a few ringers.

They caught up with Li Ann who was kneeling beside their boss. The Director reached out and Vic took her hand for a moment. The contact seemed to reassure her, and she settled with her back resting against the car as Li Ann held her own jacket against the other woman's wound.

Vic turned Mac around and held his arms as he tried to guide him to sit. Mac resisted for a moment but it was just that, a moment. Vic's firm grip— Moose's bulky strength— had him sitting with his own back against the car in no time.

Again, Mac wanted to laugh. A short smirking scoff to tell the other man that he'd allowed himself to be overpowered. Mac knew he had the skill and finesse to make kindling out of Vic in a couple of swift moves. Vic possessed limited fighting skills relying, instead, on his strength and a few dozen guns. Vic only had his Moose moves. The thought drew a smile from Mac.

"You in a lot of pain?" Vic asked, and began to feel around Mac's ribs and abdomen for any signs of injury.

Mac changed his smile into the grimace Vic took it for. "Nothing serious," he answered, dismissing the few bruises he did feel.

It was an odd sensation to let Vic touch him like this. Even when they were in the thick of things there was a barrier between them. They never touched beyond the occasional helping hand up. They never even stood close to one another if they could help it. Now, in the middle of hell with flames roaring behind them, a building crashing to its death and sirens blaring towards them, Mac allowed Victor Mansfield, his rival for everything, to press his hands gingerly over his torso and down his legs.

Vic's breath was warm on Mac's cheek as the other man kneaded and explored his shoulders. The scent of cinnamon wafted around him. Through all this Vic still had a wad of that damn cinnamon gum in his mouth. Mac could never smell the spicy aroma of cinnamon anymore, and not think of Vic Mansfield. He never wore red, but that was Vic's colour as far as Mac was concerned. Vic Mansfield, walking red-hot. Moose, red hot Moose, he corrected himself, and laughed at the twisted image the words evoked.

"Does that hurt?" Vic stopped at the sudden noise, but when Mac didn't respond he continued to work down Mac's arms, feeling for any damage.

Mac was mildly surprised that Vic didn't find any. It almost felt good as Vic gently manipulated his neck. Mac looked past him at the ever-increasing fire and wondered if Michael had made it out alive. If he hadn't, how would they find his brother's ashes after the building stopped burning? Mac thought about who would keep the urn. Would Li Ann want it? Should they send him back to Hong Kong? How much of Michael would be in the container and how much would just be the remains of the old warehouse? Was there some household god who would object to the mixing of mediums? Would there be karma to pay for having more burnt wood than cremated Michael? Mac wondered, in the haze of shock that surrounded him, if a penalty had already been exacted from him tonight for some other cosmic debt. Is that why Michael played him for a fool? Why did he have to make him trust, open up that door of hope that they could be a family again, and then betray him so profoundly? Why did he have to give him a reason to believe? He'd felt the emotion open him, a glimmer of faith when he and Michael had reconciled in the warehouse. Some vengeful god had looked down on him, though, and proclaimed, "Trust is not for you, Mac Ramsey."

"Mac?"

His face was wet. He could feel the chill on his cheeks in the cold night air, but he was too tired to wipe it away. He wondered what caused the dampness on his skin. The firemen were beginning to spray the building. He thought it might be the mist floating from the great arches of water that played against the fire.

"Mac?"

The Agency's people were running towards them. They reminded him of the opening of that old American TV show M.A.S.H., right down to the concerned face of the EMT as he examined the Director. Maybe they were spritzing her with something and it was drifting over and wetting his face.

"Mac?"

Then, he felt the touch and it jerked him back to reality. The noise from the fire, sirens and concerned voices grew loud and urgent. The cold felt like it seeped into his bones, and he began to shake. The anguish of everything that had happened gasped from his lips as Vic wiped the tears from his face with a couple of fingers.

"Mac?"

"I believed him." Mac rocked and sobbed as Vic wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "In the end, I believed him. Why did he make me believe him? Why?"

Mac awoke slowly, drifting up from the fragmented images of the disaster in the warehouse. He became aware that he was lying in a bed, surrounded by the muted scent of antiseptic. He blinked and his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could see the digital readout of the monitor that tracked his vitals.

He was able to move one hand from under the blankets and ran his fingers over his dry mouth. His other hand wouldn't budge. Something was holding the blankets down and keeping his right arm snug against his body.

That something was actually somebody. Vic lay with his head cradled in his arms on the bed, asleep.

Mac quickly covered his mouth with his free hand. He would have expected Li Ann to be at his side, but not Moose. He was able to stifle the unbidden laugh that bubbled up at the thought of that name. He must be drugged, he decided, to laugh this easily with Vic Mansfield in the same room.

Vic was such a judgmental bastard. It didn't help that he knew all about Mac's past, and wasn't shy about throwing it in his face. Mac knew he was unarmed when the fight came down to this. What could he say when Vic started in on him? 'You were too trusting, loyal and honourable to turn your partners in while they set you up.' He remembered the look of admiration on Li Ann's face when she described Vic as a Boy Scout. He'd countered by telling her honesty was highly overrated. Especially, because it was so difficult to produce when you were Mac Ramsey

He felt a familiar spike of anger as he thought about the personal war he and Vic always waged. It was too easy for Vic. Moose could go plodding along with his principles intact. He'd never had to live on the anythingforapound streets of Hong Kong before he'd hit puberty, and find his worth in what he could steal. Life was easy for Vic. Making the right decision was second nature to him. Damn Vic's integrity! Damn himself for not having any.

Mac continued to watch Vic sleep. His features looked soft and young in the faint ambient light that came from the hallway. He was nearly pretty. Long lashes fringed his closed eyes, and his almost full lips were parted as he breathed. Mac had never seen his face relaxed like this. There had always been some conflict between them to set their jaws and narrow their eyes.

As Vic slept Mac could even see why Li Ann had become infatuated with him. He saw the attraction that made Vic the Director's favourite. It must be some powerful drug they'd given him to see the man behind the Moose. He didn't laugh this time as the name came to him again. It wasn't funny or even fitting for the man who slept next to him. This wasn't just a man, Mac decided. This was again some cosmic justice for his own past sins. Mac Ramsey was condemned to live among the pure and blessed and never measure up.

Mac moved, just a little, in order to give the blankets enough slack so he could lift his arm out. He looked over at Vic, but he never stirred. He was dressed in his usual pair of workman's jeans, but he had on a pale green surgical top. Mac suspected he'd been examined as well, and that cheap white sweater of his was judged too dirty to put back on. The guy had absolutely no taste in clothes, but Mac knew he was clean to a fault.

Vic's breathing was even and slow. His eyes were still under closed lids. Mac could only imagine the responsibilities he had taken on tonight. Next to the dictionary definition of 'Take charge guy' it would state: See Victor Mansfield. Mac stifled another laugh at the thought.

Vic continued to sleep, and Mac realized he was a little disappointed by this. He wanted to wake him and have those big green eyes fill with concern and focus on him. Maybe if he turned over a little Vic would feel the mattress shift and that would wake him. Then they could talk. Mac could ask about the Director and Li Ann, and make some wisecrack that he'd survived despite Vic's help. Vic would be concerned at first, speaking softly, glancing down as he told Mac it had been touch and go with the Director for awhile, but she was resting comfortably now. He would explain that Li Ann was taking care of some Agency business, and would look in on him as soon as she could. Then he'd gradually grow defensive as Mac smarted off and poked at the emotional wounds between them. Finally, Vic would stand and all trace of the serene, fine-looking man that lay slumbering next to Mac would vanish. After that their conversation would end the way it always did: Vic would leave.

Mac wanted to talk, but more than that he wanted the comfort of Moose resting beside him. Gingerly, he threaded the fingers of his right hand through Vic's hair. The other man remained asleep. Mac let his hand rest lightly on Vic's bowed head. It was as good as talk and maybe even better. At least this way Vic wouldn't leave.

Mac walked down the long, stark corridor to the conference room that had been his team's headquarters for the last two years. A disgusted grunt escaped his lips at the though

"Some team," he growled.

He'd awakened in the Agency medical facility the morning after the fire wondering if Vic had really been asleep on his bed, or if it had just been some fever dream. He didn't have an opportunity to find out because he never saw Vic, Li Ann or the Director after that. By the time he was released a week later, after observation for a mild concussion and internal injuries, he would have welcomed a visit from the Cleaners or, God help him, even Dobrinsky.

He spent three days at home before anger, resentment and boredom sent him out on today's mission. He stopped in the middle of the corridor and started to turn around and leave. Instead, he caught himself and shuffled into a hesitant two-step as he tried to come up with a better plan than his original idea 'I'm going down there, damn it!'

Well, he was here and he was armed with an irate opening line, 'What the hell's the deal!', that sounded lamer every time he thought about it. The main thing was the Director would be just beyond that door. While not a perfect plan, it was better than watching one more dysfunctional idiot spill their perversions on yet another talk show.

Mac's pace picked up as he neared the door. He was in full barging in, give me some answers mode when he reached for the doorknob. Flinging the door open he drew up short on the small landing when Vic looked up from the stack of papers he was working on as he sat alone at the long black conference table.

"Mac," he called out to him. "I heard they released you from the Health Centre a couple days ago."

Mac let the door swing shut behind him. "Thanks for checking on me, partner." Sarcasm rang in the name. He descended the few stairs, and strode towards Vic. "I really appreciated all the calls and visits and just the concern you've all showed for me."

Vic put down the folder he had been studying when Mac appeared. "Your doctor told me you needed to rest, so I didn't bother you. If I'd known..."

Mac didn't hear the rest of the sentence. He was too busy trying to fight the growing embarrassment he was certain tinted his cheeks. Leave it to Mr. Perfect here to be able to show total concern by showing none at all.

"So that's why Li Ann didn't visit me?" he asked as he sat down.

Vic blinked, and then gave a surprised smile. "You mean you don't know?"

Mac sat forward, his stomach knotting at the thought that something could have happened to Li Ann.

"Don't know what? She's all right isn't she? She was a little battered, but fine at the warehouse."

"Calm down." Vic raised his hands in a gesture meant to quiet, but it just spiked anger in Mac.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I want to know what happened to Li Ann."

Vic settled back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest. "Nothing happened to Li Ann." The first words were angry, but he took a deep breath after saying her name, and his tone grew nearly apologetic. "I thought she would have told you herself. It's been in the works for awhile." He hesitated. "You know, maybe she just thought it was too much for you to handle being hurt and..."

"Enough with the damn set-up Victor. Cut to the chase! Where the hell is Li Ann?"

"She's gone, Mac. She's been made a Director and sent to another section. You know there's little or no contact between sections at our level, so she couldn't tell me where she was going."

"But she could tell you that she was going."

Vic shifted uneasily in the high-backed office chair.

"I think she just found it easier to talk to me, that's all."

"She couldn't talk to me?" Mac's voice rose as he gripped the edge of the table. "We've been together since we were teenagers. We lived together for a year. She could talk to me." He thumped one finger into his chest.

Vic leaned forward. "Maybe she would have talked to you if you weren't such a hot-headed jerk." Vic mimicked Mac's gesture and pointed at himself. "I listened to her. Instead of trying to get in her pants!"

Mac barked out a derisive laugh. "That's a good one, Vic. When did you stop doing that?"

Vic looked away. "When you came back," he answered softly. He sank back into the chair. "The truth is, Mac, she didn't want me for much else once you showed up."

The adrenaline was still rumbling through him but once again Vic had managed to make him feel like toxic waste. There was no denying that Vic had, and probably still did, love Li Ann. The guy had a pathetic track record with woman. When Mac wasn't congratulating himself that he was the reason Li Ann ended the engagement, he had a few lucid moments when he realized how much the loss hurt Vic.

He settled back in his own chair and studied his hands.

"I wish she would have told me."

Vic nodded his agreement. "No one wishes that more than I do right now."

"It's not your fault, man." He tried to make it sound like an apology because that was as close as he could come to one with Vic. "At least not this time," he added with a sarcastic lilt.

"Gee, thanks," Vic threw back.

Mac sat forward and began to paw through the papers on the desk, trying to distract himself. "What is this, our next assignment? Speaking of assignments, where is her bitch highness, the Director?"

Vic was trying to restack the papers as Mac rummaged through them.

"Mac, stop it," he said after a moment. "This isn't your assignment. It's the paperwork from the Tang family case." He snatched a page Mac was reading out of his hands. "I have these in a certain order, so leave them alone."

"Why are you doing all this?" He watched Vic's face crease into a concerned frown. "And don't even think about using that 'didn't you know,' line again."

Vic's frown turned into an annoyed grimace. He leaned back in the chair. "The bullet the Director took did a lot of damage. Nothing irreparable, but she has a punctured lung and some nerve damage to her left arm. It's going to be a while before she's back one hundred percent. She's out of intensive care, but has a lot of physical therapy ahead." He waved his hand at the files lined up on the table. "I never realized she had to do all this paperwork."

Mac laughed and leaned forward, snagging the file closest to him. "She never does paperwork." He shook the file at Vic who tried to grab it back from him. "What do you think Dobrinsky does? Where is he, anyway? Why isn't he doing all this crap?"

Vic finally managed to take the file away from him. He placed it on a stack out of reach.

"Dobrinsky is with the Director."

"You sure?" Mac teased. He was rewarded with a momentary flash of doubt that crossed Vic's features.

"Yes, I'm sure!" he answered, but didn't really sound that way. "Besides, some of us have responsibilities and take them seriously."

"Now, that sounded like a shot." Mac smiled. He always got off on how fast he could get to Victor.

"All I'm saying is," Vic leaned forward, totally serious, "this is the only place I have. My life is here or the Agency sends me back to prison. Now, you may think that you'll leave here someday." Vic shrugged. "That may be the case for you, but it won't be for me. So, I'm going to try and make the best out of this next life I've been given."

"Oh, Victor Mansfield, walking inspirational greeting card. Grow where you're planted, eh? Personally, I'm not into mushroom farming; and you, partner, are definitely being fed shit while they keep you in the dark."

Vic leaned back in his chair and tilted his head to one side.

"I'm not the one in the dark, Mac."

His voice was eerily cool and condescending. Any thought of a glib reply left Mac. This wasn't Moose. This wasn't even Vic. The man across the table from him was some version of the Director filtered through a hard edged and sophisticated rendering of Victor Mansfield who Mac never imagined could exist.

Finally, he gave a forced smile. "Is this the part where I ask, who are you and what have you done with Vic?"

"I've stopped fighting the inevitable. It's an idea you should try."

"That's your new philosophy, grow up and sell out?"

"No!" Vic was defensive again and thank God he was Vic again. "But that's a place for you to start. Grow up!"

"Jeez, like you? Come on, Vic, you were boring enough when there was a little life left in you. I'm afraid now, if you sit still too long somebody will call the mortuary." Vic tried to interrupt but Mac kept talking. "And tell me, my work-shirted friend— what is that you have on, a polo shirt? Some retiree die and will you his wardrobe? Did it just arrive from Florida?"

"Not that it's any of your fucking business," Vic leaned towards him, "but I've been so busy here, and I'm exhausted when and if I do get home, that I haven't done any laundry. I had to buy this on the way in this morning."

"Sorry, man." Mac raised his hands in surrender. "I wish I'd known. I didn't want to miss your fiftieth birthday. It's a very important milestone..."

"Are you here for a reason," Vic interrupted, "or should I just get the bug spray?"

Satisfied that he had stirred Vic up to a nice frothy boil, Mac rocked back in his chair. "I'm just checking in."

Vic turned and opened a briefcase on a chair beside him. He pulled out a file and slapped it down on the table in front of Mac.

"That's an assignment the Director saved for you. A little present for when you got back."

Mac looked quickly thought the file. It was a simple breaking and entering robbery. Files were to be taken from a safe.

"Insultingly simple. This is a nothing assignment. A trained monkey could do this."

"I think that's why she gave it to you." Vic flashed a mocking smile.

"Vic," Mac returned the smile, "even you could pull off this one."

"And don't think I wouldn't like to. Read on a little further. The papers are documents that outline a proposed takeover of a large U.S. based conglomerate. This move will destabilize a certain friendly African nation. Insider trading is illegal in the States. We pass this information on, and the merger stops."

"What's the big deal? It's still the equivalent of thief grunt work."

Vic put a hand to his forehead for a second and then leaned towards Mac. "God! Just how damn slow do you read? The guy is a diamond merchant! It's on page three. There'll be a lot more in his safe than just the papers you're sent after."

"And..."

"And we don't care about anything else you take. I need the papers back here by Tuesday. Can you do it?" The last words were an undisguised challenge.

"In my sleep." Mac bristled.

"Yeah? Well, try to stay awake long enough to get the job done." Vic picked up a folder and returned to his work.

"So that's it?" Mac asked, when it became obvious that Vic was ignoring him.

Vic looked up from the file and gave an exasperated sigh.

"You know how to get any supplies you need. You have the assignment file with all the information. What else do you want, a kiss goodbye?"

Mac raised his hands and grimaced in mock horror. "I'm going, man! Jeez, you don't have to threaten me."

He stopped at the landing again, his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at Vic, lost once again in the details of the Tang case.

"You know she's got you doing grunt work, too. There's just no diamonds in it for you."

Vic looked up, but it wasn't Vic. It was the cool, almost frightening spirit that had possessed him earlier.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." He smiled knowingly.

The conference room was empty when Mac returned on Tuesday. It annoyed him to have to hunt Vic down, it took the edge off his fun. He was eager to gloat over the killing he'd made with the stolen diamonds. He'd show poor, paper shuffling Vic that he was more than just a brilliant thief. He was a shrewd businessman as well. He'd even bought a couple of shirts so he could share the wealth with Vic. That was the story he'd tell him when he presented the clothes. Then he'd get in his digs about allowing Vic even more time to be a clerical drone.

He finally found Vic in the research archives. At least the guy standing by the stacks with a book in his hand resembled Victor Mansfield. But he had on an outfit that Moose would never wear.

Mac walked up and grabbed the belt loop on Vic's khaki pants, and gave it a shake. Vic jumped, but then turned on him with an angry frown.

"Don't do that!"

"What are these?" Mac turned him slightly in order to read the label on his back pocket, while Vic tried to slap his hand away. "Dockers? My God, Vic! You are wearing Dockers?"

Vic twisted away from him and raised the book. His stance promised he would use it to strike.

"And that's a nice little button down shirt. Trés middle management."

"Do you have the information?"

"Of course." Mac pulled a manila envelope from under the gift-wrapped box of shirts and slapped it down on the table next to him. "I told you it was a waste of my talents. But I made a pretty good haul..."

"Nathan!" Vic interrupted as he picked up the envelope.

Nathan appeared almost immediately, startling Mac.

"Copies for the usual distribution," he said, handing over the envelope to the sweaty researcher. "Arrange a courier to take it to our contact in the U.S. Senate. Tell me when it has left the building, and when it arrives in Washington."

Nathan nodded in that stoop-shouldered, near worshipful manner he had around Vic, and turned to go.

"And Nathan..." Vic stopped him. "Bring me some coffee." He turned and pointed at Mac. "You want anything?"

"Yeah, a dose of reality."

Vic stared at him for a moment, and Mac thought he saw a twinge of embarrassment for trying to play boss in front of him. Vic quickly waved Nathan away.

"What was that crack supposed to mean?" Vic asked, as he turned back to the stacks, and reached for another book.

"Oh, you know, 'Chief Vice-Deputy in-charge of the whole world, Mansfield'." Mac propped himself on the corner of the table. "I just got the 'we're not in Kansas' willies watching you order your slave around."

"Then why don't you click your ruby slippers together, and go home?" Vic turned and laid a large book open on the table beside Mac. "I have a lot of work to do."

"You still cleaning up our last case? You'd think she'd get you some help."

Vic didn't look up. "I finished. This is something new."

"New? So when do we start?"

"We don't." He turned a page in the book.

Mac could feel a tense heat prickle up his neck. This new superior Vic was starting to piss him off. Just because the Director was using the poor sap, he thought he was special.

"So, Mr. Fashion, I brought you a present." He held the wrapped package out to Vic.

Vic looked up and gave him a suspicious frown. After a moment he reached for the box, but Mac jerked it away. Mac smiled at the angry snort the gesture elicited.

"First you have to tell me what's up with the threads. Tired of looking like a farm-hand, want to take a fashion risk?" Mac looked him up and down. "Well, a riskette in this case."

Vic sat down, and folded his arms across his chest. He was glaring, and Mac was satisfied that once again he had poked Moose to the point that he was ready to turn and charge.

"You know, if it will get rid of you I'll tell you." His voice was tight and exasperated. "It's nothing earth shattering, and probably not enough to get you off my back. Anyway, I've been working at the Agency so much lately..."

"Jeez, Vic there is such a thing as a laundry service. Get your slave Nathan to do your laundry." Mac began to laugh. "Or are you afraid he'll start stealing your shorts as souvenirs?"

"Get out of here!" Vic exploded out of the chair. He stepped to the bookcase, but then spun around on Mac. "This has nothing to do with laundry. It has to do with something you'll never understand: appropriate behaviour. I spend all my time here. I'm not out on the street, anymore. I don't have to wear something that I could hit the ground and roll in when someone's shooting at me. I'm wearing this," he pulled at the hunter green shirt, "because it's appropriate for the job I've been assigned."

A clammy fear engulfed Mac. This sounded permanent. Li Ann was gone, the Director was recuperating, and now Vic may have been reassigned. Where did this leave him? Maybe Vic was right; he was the one in the dark.

Vic threw up his hands. "But look who I'm talking to, a guy who won't carry a gun because it ruins the line of his jacket. Yeah, I'm talking to the man who knows what's right in any situation."

Nathan appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong?" he demanded weakly. He worried his hands as if he were washing them. His face gleamed more than usual, and a wild fear replaced the usual craziness that lurked in his eyes. Mac saw him glance his way before he asked, "Do you want me to call security?"

Mac was ready to tell him who he could fucking call when Vic put out his hand to stop Nathan.

"No. Everything is fine. Mac and I were just discussing something." Vic leaned back against the bookcase and let out a deep sigh. He raised his head and looked at Nathan. "Is the package gone?"

"It left approximately seven minutes ago. I was on my way down here to tell you when..." He broke off suddenly at the sight of the box on the table. "It's not your birthday," he stated. "Your birthday is on November..."

"It's from Mac," Vic interrupted. "There's no special occasion."

"You forgot to say it's 'just' from Mac," Mac added.

The acerbic remark had scored a hit. Mac watched the colour rise in Vic's face.

"You can go Nathan."

"But..."

Vic gave him a scathing look. "Just get my coffee," he barked, and Nathan skulked away.

Mac slid the package across the table and Vic stepped forward to catch it just before it sailed off the other side.

"These probably won't be appropriate now," Mac told him. "I got them for this guy I used to know. We were partners. But I don't see him around much anymore."

Vic held the package against his chest, crushing the rich satin ribbon. "This is difficult for me, too." He hesitated as if he were mentally editing what he was about to say. "You... you... you don't understand everything about this situation."

"Everything?" Mac gave a helpless laugh. "I don't understand anything about it. One day, I have two partners and a shadowy Government Agency runs my life. The next day I wake up, everything is changed, and I'm the last to know. I'm pretty much on my own."

"I thought that's what you wanted?" All the anger and challenge was gone from Vic's tone, leaving a note of sincere confusion ringing in his words.

Mac wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Was this Vic's way of telling him he was free to go? Or maybe the Agency finally trusted him enough to make him a solo Agent? This had test written all over it, though. Still, good old Moose was standing there looking so genuinely concerned.

"I want to be back in the loop," he answered, finally.

"Okay," Vic agreed. He put the gift on the table and began to unwrap it. "You know that Li Ann is gone, and has been made a Director." He looked up and shrugged. "As far as that goes, you now know as much as I do." He looked back at the package, and set the ribbon aside as he pulled the tape away from the paper. "The Director is trying to get well faster than is humanly possible, and I'm doing the prep work on an assignment for another team."

"Another team?" Mac asked. Vic wasn't just reassigned. He must have been promoted, as well. That's what all that bullshit about new life, next life must be about. Vic had been made a team leader.

Vic pulled the paper aside revealing the pricey men's store box.

"She has more than one team, you know."

"What?"

"The Director. She has another team besides us. I have to get them ready for this assignment to stop an Orangutan poaching ring in Sumatra."

Vic opened the box and pulled out the first shirt. Urban rural chic, the shirt was light denim with long sleeves. It was Ralph Lauren, and a little more stylish than Moose would have worn, but Vic smiled as he held it at arms length.

"This is great. Thanks."

"In this incarnation you could probably wear it on casual Fridays."

Vic laughed softly, and took out the next shirt.

It was a deep red Pendleton plaid with a bright turquoise pane woven through. The shirt had drawn Mac's attention immediately. It was Moose: big, red-hot Moose.

"Man, this is terrific," Vic whispered as he ran his hand over the soft wool.

"Yeah, well if you ever get any time off you can wear it."

A startled laugh erupted from Vic when he found the package of white t-shirts in the bottom of the box.

"What's this for?" he asked, as he came around the table and perched on the edge in front of Mac.

The move was intimate and unexpected. Mac felt uncomfortable with the sudden closeness, but held his ground. He didn't want to be obvious, and step away from the other man.

"The last time we talked you said you didn't have time to do your laundry. I just thought this would keep you going for a few more days."

Vic smiled up at him, amusement lighting his eyes. He shook the plastic wrapped package of t-shirts at Mac.

"I'll have to get one of these printed up with, My partner scored big-time with the diamonds he stole, and all I got was this crummy T-shirt."

The remark surprised Mac. Caught off-guard, he took a step back.

"You know about that?" He tried to stop himself, but he gulped anyway. He had looked forward to rubbing Vic's nose in his new found wealth, but the fact that he already knew about it scared the hell out of him.

"I know about the large deposit made in the Swiss account you keep under another name."

Mac could feel the blood drain from his body. His legs were lead, and his fingers began to tingle from the cold that encased them.

Vic studied the t-shirts for a moment. He tapped on the label through the plastic. "But these are one hundred percent cotton, so I did get the best possible t-shirts out of this deal."

He looked up again, and the icy gaze of the stranger who masqueraded as Vic studied Mac. Vic smiled that big pearl white smile that belonged on a movie star not a street cop. Above it his eyes were green steel and calculating. Mac felt like a bird being hypnotized by a snake.

"You know about that?" Mac muttered again, unable to get past the idea that something he'd planned out so carefully was common knowledge within twenty-four hours.

Vic reached up with his free hand and placed it against Mac's cheek. The flesh was soft and warm against the chill of his surprise. Vic patted him gently.

"I know everything, now."

Mac stayed away from the Agency for nearly a month. No one tried to contact him. He took a trip to Vancouver to visit a friend who had emigrated there from Hong Kong when the Communists took over. Mac's travels were more a test than a vacation. He knew he was monitored, and was certain he'd never make it to the airport before Dobrinsky, or Victor, or someone stopped him, and demanded to know what he was doing.

He stayed in Vancouver a week longer than he had planned, and still no one from the Agency contacted him. He even made a weekend side trip to an expensive spa in Banff before he returned to Toronto. Nothing happened before, during or after the trip. He wasn't delayed, approached, or even followed at any time. His credit card limits were the same, so the Agency was still paying his bills. When he arrived back at the airport he found his car had been taken from long-term parking, and returned washed and detailed.

The whole thing made him nuts.

He spent a day getting over a mild case of jet lag and went into the Agency the next afternoon, thinking that if he arrived around three he was bound to find someone there. He walked down the long corridor to the conference room, his solitary footsteps echoing around him. The conference room was empty. The elevators were locked off from going to the upper and lower floors. Mac had hoped he could find Vic below in the archives or maybe up in the cafeteria. After taking his frustration out by overturning a few chairs in the conference room Mac realized he was stuck. No matter what door he tried or stairwell he explored he only had access to the one floor, and the level of the garage he'd parked in. Mac tried to figure out what was going on. He'd never seen the building locked down like this. Was this some hightech pink slip? That didn't make sense. If he was being kicked out of the Agency, why was he allowed in this far?

"Why do any of the lunatics in this place do anything that they do?" he yelled aloud. He started walking towards the one elevator that would take him back to his car. "And why the hell should I care?"

While he waited for the elevator to arrive he wondered why he did care. When the idea entered his mind that he might actually be expelled from the Agency, it shook him. All he'd wanted, from the moment he'd been shanghaied into this shadowy Government Agency, was to get away from it. Now, he'd spent his afternoon trying to find the people who made his life miserable.

"I need a drink."

Mac pulled out of the garage as the security wall closed behind him. He drove around the block and parked in the back of the lounge that had been his team's hangout for the last two years.

The place was surprisingly busy for being... Mac looked at his watch. It was four-thirty already. He'd spent longer running through that maze of dead-end corridors then he'd realized.

"Mac!" It was Vic.

Mac looked around him as he stood by the bar. He didn't see Vic anywhere. He did catch movement out of the corner of his eye. A man, dressed in a very sharp suit, rose from a table he shared with another man and a woman. Mac had always been able to spot the competition, the one who could give him a run for the title of hottest guy in the place. It was a sort of sixth sense he'd acquired in his many years of clubbing. The man approaching the bar was competition, and most definitely not Moose. So Mac continued to scan the room. The guy was heading straight for him. The rest of the space at the bar was vacant, and Mac decided that if this idiot was going to pick the two square feet he occupied to place his drink order then the guy could just pick someplace else. When he reached the bar Mac turned to ask if he had a problem, and to his utter amazement he looked at Victor Mansfield.

"You look surprised to see me," Vic noted.

"I didn't see your car in the parking lot."

"My car is out there." He looked puzzled for a moment but then smiled. "Oh, you must mean the truck. The bronze Jaguar is mine. I don't have the truck anymore."

"But you love that truck!" Mac blurted out.

Vic raised his eyebrows and gave a knowing smile. "Well, I don't exactly hate that Jaguar." Vic slid onto the high bar stool next to Mac. "Where have you been?"

"In the twilight zone, apparently," Mac said, as he sat down.

Vic laughed, and motioned with the glass he held. "Let me buy you a drink."

"That's wine." Mac pointed at the long stemmed glass.

"It's Vouvray, to be precise." He swirled the gold tinted wine in his glass. "You want some?"

"You don't drink wine."

"I did some wine tasting when I took those cooking classes last year. Past couple of months I don't drink anything else."

Vic didn't dress like this, either. He had on an Italian cut midnight blue suit. The generic hoop he wore in his left ear was replaced with a small emerald stud. At least the finely woven pearl grey shirt was open at the collar. There was still that much of Moose left in whoever this demon was. Mac couldn't help himself, and reached for one narrow lapel.

"Is this Armani?" The cloth felt silken between his fingers.

Vic smiled appreciatively. "No, it's Versace. I think Armani is too plain, don't you?"

Mac couldn't answer. The guy sitting across from him in the tailored suit and hundred dollar haircut was the same hick who, only a few months before, had told him, while drinking his third beer, that real men aren't interested in clothes. Mac no longer knew what was real.

His silence didn't seem to bother Vic. He called over the bartender, and ordered a bottle of Mac's favourite Chinese beer, for him. After the bartender left Vic leaned on the bar, and looked at Mac.

"I wanted a chance to talk to you alone before I introduce you to my team.

He reached out and put his hand on Mac's knee. It was a casual gesture. Mac doubted that many of the bar's patrons would even notice. The act was disturbingly intimate. The physical barrier between them seemed to grow thinner each time they met. His leg felt like it was pulsing under Vic's touch. He wanted to jerk away, or very deliberately remove the other man's hand. He was going to win this one, though. He'd reacted too much already. Let Vic play his head games as he touched him. Mac was determined to act like he didn't notice.

He looked over at the young man and woman who waited for Vic to return. Maybe if he suggested they join them Vic would keep his hands to himself. Both in their midtwenties, the guy was handsome and blonde with an air of quiet confidence. The young woman was small with long dark hair. She was the type to pass unnoticed in a crowd. Mac thought she did have a certain elfin quality, but on second thought she was more hobbit.

Vic was actually stroking the inside of his leg, now, as his splayed fingers rested on top. His thumb worked back and forth on his thigh, just past the knee. Left hand on Mac's right leg, the action was shielded from view. The sensation was maddening, but Mac refused to acknowledge it, and was able to keep his voice steady as he asked, "Are those two the Director's other team?"

"No." Vic drew out the word. "They're my team. That's why I wanted to talk to you before you met them. I'd appreciate it if you didn't use my name in front of them. They only know me as the Director."

Mac grabbed Vic's wrist, and thrust his hand away. They stared at each other. Vic seemed amused by the whole thing. Mac felt angry and lost. The earth just slipped away from under him. The universe was a giant chasm, and Mac was on a luge ride to hell. He actually jerked as the bartender surprised him by setting the bottle and glass down on the bar next to him.

He let go of Vic's wrist. "Why didn't you tell me?" The words came from a place of confusion and hurt, but all Mac could hear as he uttered them was the whine of a pathetic child who hadn't been allowed to play.

"You haven't been around much lately." Vic took a sip of his wine.

"Yeah, I guess I missed the transformation. You have a picture of yourself locked away in a closet somewhere?"

Vic laughed, and swirled the wine in his glass, sniffing at the bouquet that arose. His eyes were narrow and challenging when he looked up. "Haven't you screwed off long enough, Mac?"

Mac bristled immediately. "What? You jealous?"

"No, I'm worried. I'm worried that you're going to waste the few opportunities you have left. I can see your life becoming a series of women who only want your money, and you chasing after stupid thrills to get rid of your boredom. Is that the life you want?"

"What difference does it make?" Mac gripped the beer glass. It was all he could do to stop himself from yelling, making a scene. Li Ann was a Director, Vic was a Director, and he was just a glorified errand boy.

"You know what I think?" His voice shook despite the control he tried to exercise. "I think I never made it out of that warehouse. I think I died. I'm in the hell of the ever changing Vic Mansfield, and you're the fucking devil."

Vic laughed. "You've been watching too much Sci-Fi channel.

He motioned to the bartender to refill his glass. Then he leaned in towards Mac, and fixed him with a steel green stare.

"I know something, too. I was raised Catholic, and we know that you don't have to wait in purgatory forever." He reached over, picked up his fresh glass of wine, and raised it towards Mac. "How's the view from purgatory, Mac? Are you bored with it yet? You ready to see what your next life will look like?"

Mac stared at him. This was the guy he could trick out of his lunch. He was good, loyal and brave but he wasn't the man with the answers. Mac felt incredibly tired and drained. He was in some perverted world, and this was a funhouse mirror image of the Vic he'd known.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered.

"You should be asking yourself that, Mac." Vic looked over at his team, and gave them a short wave and a nod that said he'd be right back. "Why don't you come in tomorrow and I'll work up an assignment for you. Something exciting that will blow the cobwebs out." When Mac didn't answer he added. "Come on. You can miss your soaps for one day."

A current of anger straightened Mac's spine. "That's what you think I do all day?"

Once again Vic reached out but this time his hand was cool against Mac's heated face.

"I know that's what you do." he answered, as he patted his cheek once. "Let's go." He snagged Mac's half-empty beer bottle and stood. "I want you to meet the kids."

The sensation of Vic's touch lingered as Mac reluctantly followed him across the room.

From the beginning the scene was surreal. He was introduced as The Mac Ramsey, whatever that meant. Vic's kids, and Vic used the term with the same irritating condescension the Director had used children, seemed to know. They treated Mac with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

Mac gave Vic what he wanted. He never used his name as he spoke with the team. He didn't call him Director, either. That was just something he couldn't bring himself to do. Though he wouldn't let it show, this new discovery about Vic devastated him. It was an effort to even produce the smug Mac Ramsey smirk, and nod as the team prompted him with questions.

Jeanine, the little hobbit, was insistent that he give-up some dirt on Vic. She was testing her Director. Mac watched her glance at Vic just before she asked her questions. Most of the time Vic ignored her, but occasionally the inquiry would be personal enough to stir a disgusted frown and snort in response. Mac gave a derisive laugh at each attempt she made to rile Vic.

"Doll, you're an amateur when it comes to baiting Directors."

Her eyes blinked once as the remark caught her off guard.

Vic raised his glass in a salute to Mac.

"Thank you. I've been telling her to stop wasting her time."

At that moment Mac wanted to turn on Vic, show these kids how easily, and how quickly he could have their boss stammering with anger and frustration. Then he looked over at his partner, and there was the seduction of the secret they shared. Only he knew who this Director really was, and the power in that was worth his silence.

"You tell me something about him," Jeanine challenged. "Since you think you're so smart."

Vic's hand came down trapping her wrist. "You test me, and that's dangerous" he said in a voice calm yet laced with threat. "But you'll live to regret testing him."

"It's okay." Mac raised his hand to calm Vic. "Don't sweat it, man. The Hobbit Princess, here, thinks I don't know the inside stuff on you. I'll just have to prove myself."

"Mac," Vic warned as he released her wrist.

"I'm only going to tell her what she deserves to know."

"Mac!"

He leaned towards her, and she met him half way across the small table. She was grinning in anticipation of something she could use over her boss. Mac was smiling at how eager she was to be set up.

"When I worked with this guy." He pointed at Vic. "He was fashion impaired. He wore the same cheap jeans everyday. Shirt, jeans and boots, it was your basic unemployment office chic."

He watched her, and waited for the anger to rise as she realized he'd given her nothing. Instead, she wrinkled her pug nose, and shook her head in disbelief.

"You don't know him at all." She sat back, and folded her arms across her chest.

Her partner, Paul, who had sat quietly through her interrogation looked over at Vic and laughed. "The Director in jeans? I can't even imagine that."

Mac couldn't imagine Moose in anything else.

"Let me get you another drink," Vic offered, and reached for Mac's glass.

Mac tried to pull it away, as he said no. Vic's hand wrapped around his. They held each other's gaze for a long moment. Mac wanted to tell the kids just how well he did know this man. Vic squeezed his hand, and it felt like he was trying to say, 'thanks, we're in this together'.

Paul stood. "I'll get us all another round."

"Not me. I have to get going." Mac gently pulled his hand from under Vic's.

"Stay." Vic said, as Mac stood.

Mac shook his head no and he looked over at the 'kids' who were still laughing about his misconception of their Director. He didn't have the energy, now, to even fake a smile.

"You don't need me."

Mac arrived at the Agency a little before three again, still arguing with himself about whether he should come in at all. The memories of the time he spent with Vic and his team still haunted him. They were right, he didn't know the Director that Vic had become, but neither of them would ever know Moose. He still hadn't decided if that was enough to keep him around.

The hallway was deserted. Mac tested a few doors, almost surprised when they all opened. Still, he hesitated at the conference room door.

His bags were already in the car. He'd been made a fool of by this so-called Agency for the last time. He was going to give Vic one more chance to make things right. He had a list of demands he'd spent most of the night composing. He was going to be a solo Agent or walk. He had spent a sleepless night thinking about what he was going to say. If Vic wasn't here to listen to him he was going straight to the airport, catch a plane to someplace warm, and start his own new life.

But what if Vic was here? That kept him outside the door a little longer. If he went in and accepted the assignment did that mean he was working for Vic? It was bad enough when the Director ordered him around. He was absolutely certain he couldn't take that from Moose.

Finally, Mac turned the knob, and pushed his way past the door.

Vic was standing at the conference table, straightening piles of papers, putting some things in marked boxes, other folders he slid into his briefcase. He wore the red plaid shirt that Mac had given him. He had on jeans and brown snakeskin boots. Mac silently let out the breath he was holding. Except for the anomaly of the expensive footwear, and the designer label on his jeans, this was his Moose.

"You decided to show up." Vic said without turning around. "You know they make VCRs so you don't have to stay home to watch your programs."

"Yeah?" Mac ignored the dig. It didn't hurt to make Vic wait. Mac descended the short set of stairs, and walked towards him. "I thought I'd drop in, and see what you had for me."

"Well, Mac." Vic continued to clear the long black conference table. "I would have had something for you if you'd dropped in between nine o'clock and," he looked at his watch, "about a half hour ago."

"You told me to come in." Surprise turned to anger, and Mac balled his fists. He was one word away from turning Vic around, and smacking him back to reality. Vic was playing him, and he'd walked right into it.

"I told you to come in today and..." Vic broke off and turned around. He leaned against the conference table, and folded his arms. "Mac, I expected you this morning. I actually have this weekend off, and I'm getting out of here early to drive up to the mountains. I want to leave soon, and beat the traffic. I'm sorry this didn't work out today, but let's make an appointment for Monday." He reached for an oxblood leather bound daytimer, and flipped it open. "That way I'll know when you're..."

Mac slapped the book out of his hand, and planted his feet as he waited for Vic to strike back.

Vic tensed, but then lowered his head, and seemed to be trying not to react. In a moment he raised his head, and smiled.

"Fine," he said slowly. "Take your money, and buy yourself a satellite dish. We'll get together whenever. Have a nice life."

Vic began to stand, but Mac pushed him back down. Blood pounded in Mac's temples as he took a step forward. Vic's legs straddled his, and at this angle the man wasn't going anywhere unless Mac allowed it.

"You'll talk to me now!" Mac shouted. "I'm here now!"

Vic shook his head. "Mac I don't have the time or energy to do this, now. I have a cabin, three inch thick steaks, and a few bottles of good wine waiting for me."

"Good wine?" Mac nearly laughed as he shoved him again. "What do you know about wine, or clothes, or bronze Jaguars? Who is this sophisticated act supposed to impress?"

"Nobody." Vic shrugged. "You, maybe." He looked up and gave Mac a mischievous grin that sent anger pumping through him. "That's it. That's the purpose in my new life: be like Mac."

Mac fought the tremble in his arms. It was a supreme act of self-control not to lash out and knock that smirk off Vic's face.

"Don't mock me, Victor," he warned. "It'll cost you."

"I'm not mocking you." Vic continued with the same teasing tone. "You're a hip, sharp guy. Who wouldn't want to be you? You've got that international Male model look going on. And you always wear the coolest clothes."

He waited for the punch line. Mac had been on the game all his life. He had shilled for his dad as soon as he could talk. Vic was a rank amateur. Go on, Vic. Play games with me. I was born to play games.

"Styling. Isn't that what people say about you?"

"Yeah, people who are ten years out of date." Mac threw back at him. He planted his palm on Vic's shoulder as he attempted to stand again. Vic's hands slipped inside Mac's jacket before he could be stopped. Mac tensed as he felt the first touch.

"I like this shirt." Vic's fingers slid over the soft fabric. "Is it silk?"

Embarrassment and rage, curiosity and horror kept Mac frozen as Vic teased at his ribs through the shirt. All pretence of a barrier between them was gone. How far was Vic going to go with this? Mac didn't want to find out. Yet he felt caught in a challenge to prove he could withstand the intimate caress of this man's hands. He dug his fingers into Vic's shoulder.

Vic frowned, but when he looked up Mac saw a sadistic mirth light his eyes.

"Did I tickle?" he asked, his fingers still moving gingerly over Mac's body. "I didn't mean to tickle you. You wouldn't think a hip, cool guy like you would be ticklish."

Mac ground his teeth as Vic's fingers traced over his abs.

"Nice fabric, very soft," Vic commented lazily as his hands made another pass.

Mac slackened his grip. Stay loose, he admonished himself. He wasn't going to give Vic the satisfaction of knowing that this was really getting to him. The sensation was tingling through his entire body. Even his cock started to respond from the light touch on his stomach. The unexpected arousal made Mac even angrier.

"You're real close to getting hurt," Mac warned, but his voice cracked on the last word as Vic scratched his fingernails along Mac's sides.

"Oh you sound so tough." Vic mocked, then laughed at him.

That's when Mac saw it. He knew the scent was different but it hadn't registered until now. He saw the half-dissolved ring of breath mint on Vic's tongue when he laughed. Moose hated mints.

Mac knocked Vic's hands away and grabbed his head. He covered the other man's mouth with his own. His tongue probed as he pressed himself against the struggling body. He wanted to taste the hot spice of the cinnamon gum Moose had always chewed. Instead, he was met with the bite of mint. Vic's tongue snaked around his, and in a moment he forgot what he'd wanted, as the sensuality of their kiss rattled through him. He held Vic by the hair sucking and exploring his mouth until he felt him relax.

Mac pushed away. Still holding Vic by the hair Mac studied the confusion of emotions on the other man's face that mirrored his own. Mac turned his head, and spit out the mint he had captured during the kiss.

Vic stood up, forcing Mac to step back. "What took you so damn long," he growled. He snagged Mac by the back of the neck, and jerked him close.

They slammed against each other, grappling and struggling as they kissed. Mac felt a caress of cool air as Vic pulled his shirt out of his pants. He squirmed while Vic's warm hands brushed over the skin he'd sensitized moments before.

Mac shrugged out of his jacket. He was insane with lust and anger. They slapped each other's hands away as each tried to be the first to get the other's clothes off. Mac had Vic's shirt open and feasted on the other man's heated skin, causing him to arch and then push away as the pleasure thrilled through him.

Vic opened Mac's pants. Mac shivered as strong hands seized him. He jerked as the electricity of Vic's touch jolted through him.

Mac grappled and teased as their arousal grew. Vic matched him on every move, just as hungry, needing his enmity and yearning fed just as much. Neither of them gave an inch as each tried to dominate the other. They taunted as involuntary reactions were drawn, a moan— first blood, an exch involuntary reactions were drawn, a moan— first blood, an exchange of bites that made them shiver— score, a long soulful kiss that made their cocks twitch against each other— the bout was nearly lost.

When there was no other way left to torment each other, Mac broke away, and pushed the carefully packed boxes onto the floor. Vic helped with a few hurried sweeps of his arms

Mac grabbed him by the back of the head as he leaned forward, and threw Vic face down onto the table. He pulled off Vic's boots and socks while he toed off his own. Mac undid his belt with one hand while he held Vic down on the table by the back of his tight jeans. Mac's pants and shorts were quickly puddled around his feet.

Then, he tugged down the tight designer jeans, bringing Vic's shorts with them. He bit the firm round ass that was revealed. Vic yelped and tried to turn over, but Mac climbed on the table and kept him in place. He worked the jeans off, and spread them on the cool marble of the conference table. He lay on the denim protecting him from the chill of the tabletop. Vic's shorts joined their shirts on the floor.

Vic was on his elbows, tensed and turning backward to try and see what Mac would do next. Mac swatted him hard on the butt. "Turn over!" he ordered.

"Make me." Vic challenged, and grabbed the end of the conference table.

"No problem."

Vic grunted as Mac dug his fingers into the sensitive flesh just below his armpits. His arms came down to protect himself, and Mac turned him over on the slick table surface.

Mac tried to pull away when Vic seized his head, pulling him into another heated kiss, but Moose was too strong for him. "Fucking cheat," Vic seethed when they broke away.

"There are no rules, Moose," Mac told him between licks as he teased at his nipples.

"That's not fair." Vic jerked and squirmed on the table as Mac tormented him.

"There were no rules," Mac panted between words, "while you fucked with me for the last two months."

"It got you here didn't it?" Vic gloated.

Mac sat up suddenly and took hold of Vic's wrists, pinning him to the table. He pushed himself forward, spreading Vic's legs, and taking away any chance he could sit up. Vic was caught in his grasp.

"You think you won? Your ass is mine! So, you like to tickle?" Mac stuck his tongue out making it pointed and stiff. He feathered it under the head of Vic's cock. Vic struggled under the torment. Mac teased him until Vic's breath came in desperate gasps, and his cock twitched from the endless sensation. When he tasted the first salt of Vic's pre-cum Mac slipped his mouth over the rigid member.

Vic arched up against him and let out a low guttural moan. Mac gave him more. He executed a long, slow series of erotic plays. He stopped periodically and floated his tongue against the sweet spot as Vic ground his hips trying to get more stimulation. Then Mac attached him, sucking and pumping until Vic was on the verge. He brought him close, and backed off several times.

"Stop showing-off, and let me come!" Vic moaned, and tossed his head

Finally, Mac increased the intensity of his rhythm.

While he sucked, Mac rubbed himself against the ridges of the double seam on Vic's jeans. It lay like a finger under his rock hard cock. He could feel Vic tense, ready to shoot, and he strained not to be the first to come.

"Mac... Mac... Mac..." Vic stammered and shook with pleasure as his orgasm was forced from him.In seconds Mac was moaning as the friction of his rub against the jeans gave him an incredible, intense release.

He felt Vic soften in his mouth, and pulled away. He rested his head on the other man's stomach. They both lay in silence.

Mac felt Vic's fingers thread through his hair. The touch sent a pleasant tingle down his back, and reminded him of that night in the hospital when he had done the same to a sleeping Vic. That memory seemed like a scene from some other life.

When he spoke Mac had expected Vic's tone to be thick and sated. Instead his words were a tense plea.

"Mac, I do need you." His finger's tightened in Mac's hair.

An insatiable Vic. Not what Mac had imagined but that could be fun. "Give me a minute," he answered without looking up.

"Not that!" Vic said, surprised. "You said I fucked with you. I had to. It's different when you're the Director. I understand now why she did some of those things to us. I don't forgive her for it, but I understand."

Mac shifted his weight, and propped himself on one elbow. He looked up, and it was Moose talking, sincere and troubled by the ethics of what he'd had to do.

"I can't do this by myself. No Director can."

Mac wasn't sure what Vic was talking about, but he was certain there had been some other way to get him here today besides subjecting him to the uncertainties he'd endured for the past couple of months.

"Why didn't you just ask me, Vic?" he challenged.

"I couldn't, Mac. You had to come to me on your own or you'd never stay."

Mac gave a harsh laugh and shook his head. "I think I had a little direction from your amazing, ever changing Vic act."

Vic touched Mac's hair again. "You had to see me as a Director. You had to see the person I have to be with my team. You know, you came here today despite that."

"All I know is that guy isn't you." He pointed away as if marking those moments in the bar. "That guy was... well he was... scary."

Vic sat up, Mac still propped across his lap. "You think I want to be like that? Those two, the kids on my team are just like we were. They're here because we've trapped them. They have special skills we can utilize, but all they want is to get away. They're not going to listen to me talk about duty, honour and world peace."

He stopped for a moment, and took a deep breath. Mac could see the frustration in the frown he wore. He wondered how many times Vic had talked this through by himself. How many drives in that cool Jag had come down to nothing more than time alone to mentally argue both sides.

"It's my job to make them into a productive and cohesive team," he shrugged hopelessly, "but I can't do that by myself."

Mac sat up. He folded his legs under him, and glanced away for a moment. When he looked back he was almost afraid to say what he was thinking.

"So, you want what? You want me to be Dobrinsky?"

Vic grabbed his arms. "Mac I don't want you to be anybody but you. You wrote the book on being a disgruntled Agency employee. Those two are no match for you." Vic let go, and smiled. He rocked back, and propped himself on one hand. "When we're up and running people are going to say Dobrinsky who? The only name anyone will remember is The Mac Ramsey."

"You mean I get to fuck with those punks for a living?"

Vic nodded. "If you want. I need you, Mac, but only if you want it. That's why things came down the way they did. I had to give you the opportunity, and the money to walk away. This will only work if you want to be here."

"What about us... this?" he added quickly, and ran his hand up the inside of Vic's leg.

Vic leaned forward to kiss him softly on the lips. "I think this was inevitable." He covered Mac's hand with his own.

Mac kissed him back. When they broke, Mac pressed his forehead against Vic's.

"I want one thing."

"What?" Vic whispered. "Anything, Mac. Anything."

"When we're together, just you and me, I don't want any boss or Director I just want... Moose."

Vic pushed away, and grabbed Mac's face with both hands. "Mac that's the whole point."

"Because he's the only one I can..." Mac started.

"You're the only one I can..." Vic spoke at the same time.

"Trust," they both said together.

Mac knew his own pleased surprise was mirrored by Vic's reaction.

Vic ran one finger down Mac's cheek. "I'll try to undo Michael's betrayal, if you give me the chance. I want to make it safe for you to believe, again. If you believe in us, I promise no one will ever take that away from you."

"I just want my partner back." Mac grasped Vic's hand, and held it against his chest.

"I'm here, man. I'm always going to be here. How about you?"

Mac smiled. It seemed like the first time in months that it was an act of pleasure instead of derision. "Screw with the kids, for a living? Maybe have more smoky hot sex..."

"A lot more," Vic interrupted. They grinned at each other for a moment like goofy teenagers who had just discovered sex.

"And I finally got you out of those cheap jeans and motorcycle boots. I'm not going anywhere."

Vic gave a teasing smile. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. You like the Caribbean, Mac?"

"I've never been there."

"That's my sector. Our sector," Vic corrected himself. "It was assigned to me last week. I'm spending the weekend up in the mountains, for the last time. Tuesday I fly out to Antigua. If that's not enough time for you to be ready I can put it off a few days."

"My clothes are in the car. I wasn't going to stay if you weren't here."

Vic pulled him into a hug, and Mac found himself embracing him back. It was becoming so easy, so quickly, to touch this man. He realized as soon as the thought crossed his mind, that it had actually taken him years to find safety in Moose's arms.

"You have plans for the weekend?" Vic whispered into his neck.

"I guess I do now." Mac pushed away, and fixed Vic with a serious frown. "When we get to Antigua, no matter how busy you get, I'm not doing your laundry."

Vic laughed. "We'll take Nathan along for that."

Mac shook his head at the prospect of overseeing Nathan along with everything else. Then he looked into the intelligent, caring green eyes of the man who had been beside him through everything. He reached out tentatively and touched Vic's soft, dark hair in the same gesture that had given him so much comfort that night in the hospital. "I never congratulated you. Welcome to the Director biz."

Vic leaned into his touch, and closed his eyes.

"Welcome to your next life, Mac."

All my gratitude and affection to Nicole, who is my other self, for her beta, support, and just all the fun we have together.

Many, many thanks to Kestrelsan for all the work she did on this story. She's my 'best' set of eyes, always spotting that missing element, and what doesn't ring true. Any improvement I have made as a writer is truly her doing.

This story is brought to you by Mockery, my cosmic family member, who suggested the idea, and gave up several evenings to perfect it. I am forever in your debt, Dark Angel.

Ned and Leny, thank you for this zine. I value your input, creativity and integrity. I will always be grateful that you were there post fiasco!

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