Music III: So Clear
by Te
1/99

Disclaimers: They belong to a bunch of people who really 
aren't at all me. 

Spoilers: Not a one, I don't think.

Ratings Note: R for language, violence, and implied m/m 
interaction.

Summary: A night on assignment with Vic and Mac.

Author's Note: All Pares' fault. She put a naughty 
thought in my head. <g> In chronological order:

"Music"
"Music II: Over My Head"
"Music III: So Clear"

This takes place about ten days after the events of Music 
II. 

Acknowledgments: To Sister Blue for understanding the 
importance of good intentions, to Pretty Pretty Pares
for fine audiencing and general therapy, to Viridian for 
many helpful comments, and to the lovely and talented Rae 
for fine beta. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Music III: So Clear
by Te
thete1@earthlink.net
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mac Ramsey looked down at his uniform and smiled.

It wasn't that the bright red poly/cotton thing was 
particularly *attractive* -- even in the dimness of the van 
it was frighteningly unfashionable -- but rather the fact 
he was wearing it at all. 

He'd maneuvered Li Ann into taking the inside end of this 
assignment....

//"I *always* have to be the spy!"

//"You're the only one of us who doesn't fuck it up 
regularly..."

//"Well, OK... but it's pretty disturbing that we can share 
clothes, Mac."//

//"Like it's the first time."//

... for the sole purpose of being on the other side of 
Vic's wire.

Victor Mansfield.

He hadn't actually *planned* to try to seduce the man, but 
Vic had reacted so *inspiringly* when Mac had shown up with 
the six pack... Well, that wasn't the whole truth. The man 
was six feet one inch of somehow *plush* heat. He was 
certainly broader than Mac, at least, a trait he'd always 
appreciated in lovers. 

Meat. The man had meat on him and all Mac wanted to do was 
get some barbecue sauce and start eating.

He knew Vic would let him. Talk of working on their 
relationship aside, the man *wanted* him, and neither of 
them had succeeded very well at keeping things purely 
platonic. 

Which was just fine with Mac. 

"Testing."

Husky purr in his right ear. Mac lifted the binoculars and 
double-checked that Vic was in the right position. He was 
precisely in place, which was the sort of professionalism 
he'd come to expect from the other man. It certainly made 
things safer. 

Perhaps safe enough to play...

"You're coming in loud and clear, partner." He knew Vic 
would hear the smile and promise in his voice.

"No sign of the suspects yet, I'm gonna go a little further 
into the alley. Say fifteen feet."

He also knew Victor would at least give lip service to the 
idea of behaving. When it had been Vic's "turn" to show up 
at his place with beers, Mac had had to give the other man 
*three* smoldering looks before they could get into the 
kissing and heavy breathing and Not Having Sex. Five entire 
minutes. 

"Make it ten, Vic, I won't be able to track you much 
further than that."

"Are you *sure* this was the best alley?"

"Unless you wanted to get all the boxes and trash out of 
the Southeast one--"

"And alerted Bryce and company, gotcha."

"Tch. No faith. You're not doing well with this whole 
friendship thing, Victor... I suppose you really *don't* 
want me to shove my tongue up--"

"Stop that!"

Mac couldn't stop himself from giggling a little into the 
mic. As soon as he'd figured out where Mac was going, Vic 
had spun around to his general direction before immediately 
slamming himself back against the wall. The motion was 
visible even without the binocs, which was probably not a 
good thing, but it was certainly entertaining.

"Mac, Christ, *behave*! We're on *assignment*, in case you 
haven't noticed."

"Prudish queen really doesn't work on you. Besides, Bryce 
won't arrive for another forty-five minutes--"

"We *think* he won't arrive for another forty-five minutes. 
If he and his boys show up early I'd really prefer not to 
have my dick in my hand."

Mac sucked in a small breath. They'd jerked off together 
again last night, and Vic... Vic was incredible when he 
lost it. Flushed, head back, lashes sweeping his cheeks, 
lips parted... 

Mac squeezed his own cock in harsh denial. Vic had let him 
lap at the head a little last night before regaining 
consciousness and/or his sense of responsibility and 
pushing him off. Mac wanted another taste. 

"I can't help myself Vic... you look so damned sexy when 
you're about to come..."

A groan in his ear and it was almost too much to bear. He 
could almost *feel* hot breath tickling the shell... 

"Mac, please..."

He hadn't lied when he'd said he wanted to hear that again 
and again, and he *knew* it wasn't fair or even remotely 
intelligent to be doing this to Victor, but...

"Tell me what you want me to do to you. Everything."

"International terrorists, Mac. People with big guns who 
wouldn't like us even if they *did* to get to know us. Try 
to *remember*."

"The kevlar is chafing my nipples. I can't forget."

"Why aren't you wearing a t-shirt, you lunatic?!"

"Because it would make me look too bulky."

"Too bulk -- Mac, I want you to pull me back against you 
and grind your hips against my ass until I collapse forward 
because it feels too good to cope with."

It was Mac's turn to groan, and his hips bucked dangerously 
close to the steering wheel. "Aren't we allowed to do that 
anyway?"

Vic chuckled. "Maybe? You haven't tried it yet, so let's 
just assume it isn't."

Mac let his eyes slip half-shut, slipping the night vision 
goggles on in a nod to professionalism. Absolutely nothing 
but Vic leaning against the wall, head tucked into his 
collar. Not speaking, but his breath was so clear it seemed 
Mac should be able to see it, even if it was only early 
fall. 

Mac had no urge to *really* push Vic on the rules issues... 
his easy capitulation to almost every request was damned 
near impossible to believe in. He couldn't shake the idea 
that, at any given moment, Vic would pull back from him, 
push him away...

"Are you there?"

"Always." In the privacy of the fake pizza van, he could 
allow himself to wince for speaking without thought.

"That's good to know." Nothing but seriousness in the tone, 
and Mac was suddenly aware of *exactly* why he was settling 
for this... tease, adolescent or no.

"Tell me again what we're doing here?"

"As opposed to being back at my place, pawing each other 
fruitlessly?"

"We're *building a relationship*." 

"We're jerking off a lot."

"We talked on the phone for an hour the other night..."

"You weren't jerking off?"

"Well, yeah, but, we weren't talking about sex...."

"What *were* we talking about?"

"Ummm..."

"This is my point, Mac. I don't know if we're going about 
this right."

"Wrong's so much *fun*, though..."

"Mac."

"All right, all right. What *is* the right way to do this?"

"Do I look like I have any idea?"

"Not when you're kissing me you don't."

A sigh this time, so damned close Mac's arms ached to pull 
the other man to him. 

"Look, Vic... I'm flying blind here, too, OK? I mean, I've 
never really done the second date thing with guys, you 
know?"

"I kinda guessed that." A smile in the smoke and whiskey 
voice that dragged an answering one from Mac.

"But despite the hours and hours stuck at second base I 
*know* we're doing better, Vic."

"How?"

"You haven't punched me in a week."

"You punched *me* on Wednesday."

"You *deserved* it."

"I'm gonna push you down on your knees, rub my cock all 
over your face, and then fuck your mouth until your lower 
lip bleeds."

"Oh, Jesus, Vic--"

"You deserved that."

"We *both* deserve that..."

"I just... I just need a little more time, here, OK?"

"I'm not going to push you, Vic. I promise." Unspoken was 
the thought that he couldn't *make* the other man trust 
him.

A pause, and Mac's cock began to subside again. He didn't 
want to come anymore unless he knew Vic could at least 
*hear* it, know it was for him. He ran his thumb down the 
seam of his crotch and let himself flow into the touch a 
little, though. It had, abruptly, become *wrong* not to 
ache in the other man's presence.

Or maybe he just liked the near-resolution of exhibitionism 
for Vic. For himself. 

Steady, unfamiliar beep from the far right of the dash.

"What's that?"

Vic again, and if he could hear that.... For a moment Mac 
lost himself in wondering just when the sound of the other 
man's breath in his ear had become so natural he could 
ignore it like his own heartbeat... The equipment was 
sensitive, to say the least. 

"It looks like some kind of radar... it's been dark until 
now."

"Huh. It sounds like we're tracking somebody. Wait a 
minute, I thought we *weren't* wiring Li Ann?"

"Don't ask me. I would've killed her myself if I saw her 
wiring..."

"The Director knows these guys are too high tech to risk 
it, too."

"So what the hell?"

"I guess we're gonna find out. Stop feeling yourself up and 
get your gun out."

Mac snorted. "You, too, sugarplum."

"Hey, my hand hasn't been down my pants for three whole 
minutes."

"Liar."

"Wouldn't it have been a good idea to actually *teach* us 
what the equipment was for?"

"You're thinking again, Vic. You're trying to understand 
the workings of the Director's mind."

Another sigh, and he could almost feel the other man 
gearing up to slam his head against the wall. 

"Don't do it..."

Brief laugh. "Are you watching me again?"

"Well, I *am* your cover."

"What are we doing here again?"

"Waiting for whatever's on the other end of that tracer to 
come the last 300... 250 meters."

"It's in the metric system?"

"Another reason not to trust it, Vic? You *know* it makes 
more sense than the British system..."

"It's just wrong."

"You're adorable when you're acting ancient. 125. I'm 
getting out of the van, I'll be on the other side."

"All right, I'm moving in closer."

Outside the van the engine sounds were suddenly audible. 
Had to be at least a truck.

"Do you get the feeling that we should have bought bigger 
guns, Mac?"

"Often."

Headlights now, and Mac squinted in a late attempt to save 
his night vision. The roof of the truck was curiously 
lumpy...

"Jesus Christ, Li Ann's up there!"

... And swinging from the rope of her grappling hook as the 
truck barreled past their position. 

Mac winced as Victor looked at him, the empty road, him, 
the empty road...

"I probably shouldn't have gotten out of the car, hunh?"

*

Half an hour later the atmosphere of the van was less than 
serene. 

"It's not my *fault* they didn't stop where the informant 
said they would."

"The informant misjudged when they were going to make the 
border run with the arms."

It wasn't that Vic was arguing with him. On the contrary, 
he was just sitting there, monitoring the tracker and 
occasionally calling out directions.

"You know, Li Ann has great upper body strength. I'm sure 
she can hang on to the rope for *hours*."

"Um-hmm."

Half an hour. Mac was going insane. It was terribly 
unfortunate that the one accurate thing about the modified 
Land Behemoth was the way it got up over sixty. Or didn't, 
as the case may be. 

"Are we getting any closer?"

"No, but we're not getting any farther away, either."

"Oh, *that's* reassuring. God, this isn't the best example 
of how we handle things when the Director doesn't plan 
things and oh dear shouldn't we be talking about sex?"

Vic eyed him quizzically for a moment. 

Mac licked his lips. 

"What do you mean the Director didn't plan this?" Vic's 
voice was very, very quiet.

"Well, technically, she did."

"Technically."

It was the sort of not-question one had to answer anyway.

"She did the whole layout and positioning and stuff but..."

"Go on."

Mac resisted the urge to lie. "I was sorta supposed to be 
the one on the inside."

Silence. 

Mac chanced a look at his companion, who was just sitting 
there blinking, mouth agape. He reached out gingerly, 
squeezing one black clad arm. Vic didn't move.

"Ummm... Vic...?"

"I can't fucking believe you fit in her clothes!"

Mac let out a relieved sigh. Prematurely.

"And to make the late switch -- hell, it all makes sense! 
The reason why neither of us know how to work this fucking 
boat is that it was *Li Ann's* job to drive it! Fuck, 
Mac.... if we don't get her back and safe--"

"Li Ann can take care of herself, Victor."

Another glance and there was the anger he was expecting.  
Mac felt the muscles tighten under his hand and pulled 
back. 

"Vic..."

"This is *just* what I was talking about. You decide at the 
last fucking minute that it would be cool to tweak the plan 
*your* way and now--"

"Fuck off, Vic. You make it sound like things always work 
perfectly when we *do* follow the rules."

"And you honestly believe that's a valid reason to jump in 
and screw things up?" He was incredulous, body giving off a 
stiff, trembling brand of rage that made Mac's teeth ache.

"You think this was just a whim."

"If it wasn't then *what*?"

Mac turned to look at Vic for a long moment, catching his 
eye and holding it just long enough for him to start 
worrying about watching the road again. And then turned 
away. 

Another silence and Mac clenched his jaw. He knew he'd said 
too much, and he knew it wouldn't really matter. Not when 
it was the job. Not when it was Li Ann. He understood... it 
wasn't so long ago that he would've been the same way, 
after all. 

"Mac--"

"I'm sorry, you were right, I'm stupid. It won't... I 
won't..."

He couldn't finish the thought, and Vic didn't bother to 
try to do it for him. 

A few minutes later,

"Fourteenth and Walker is here... make a left here. They're 
headed due North and I know these streets well enough that 
we might be able to catch a shortcut." Pure professionalism 
again.

Mac followed orders without a word.

"There! Hit Maple and floor it -- we'll be able to catch up 
with them at a diagonal--"

"Right."

With an effort, Mac managed to get the van up to seventy 
and hold it there by sheer force of will. The buildings 
flew by, a blur of sleeping half-city in the curious 
brightness of purple night. To his right, a car was pulling 
out of a driveway, and Mac automatically swerved into the 
wrong lane to avoid it. One of the nice things about pizza 
vans is that people expected them to be driven by reckless 
assholes on a clock, but there was no reason to take 
chances...

And that was the hell of it. He really was trying to do 
better about that -- having a death wish might have been 
all the rage among the younger generation of Tangs, but it 
had no real place here. The following thought -- he had no 
place here, either -- was old and worn enough to act as a 
piggyback, trailing Hong Kong to the back of his mind 
again, where it would stay until he needed to use it for 
something. 

It was just a routine stakeout, get Vic there, get Bryce 
when he went to make this week's drop of classified 
information in that particular Dumpster. Try not to think 
about how disturbing it was for a terrorist to grow 
contemptuous enough of the law to become *routine*. Get 
back to headquarters, get some time off. 

Get to Vic's place. 

This was just supposed to be a moment's pleasant 
distraction, a chance to test Vic's need for him, increase 
it if it all possible. Anything at all to loosen the man's 
mind enough that he'd agree to Mac staying over the whole 
weekend. 

Anything could happen in a weekend. 

But he'd fucked it up in the most stereotypical of ways, 
and while part of him was blaming the universe for 
punishing him when he was trying to do something halfway 
decent, the rest was painstakingly memorizing that latest 
look of... *betrayal* on Vic's face. Like he'd begun to 
expect better of Mac than to piss on a mission just because 
his dick demanded it. 

And the hell of *that* was that Vic's only possible 
responses to Mac telling him that it *wasn't* just his dick 
were a quick distancing -- undoubtedly for the sake of 
efficiency -- or just... just plain believing Mac was lying 
in an attempt to be forgiven for his latest fuckup. 

Fuckup.

And whose fault was it that Mac had done his absolute best 
to make sure *everyone* close to him knew he could play his 
emotions for the benefit of the crowd?

"Two-fifty meters and closing."

He could've made a joke about how lovely Vic made the 
metric system sound, but he settled for pulling out his 9 
mm and resting it on the dash, firmly in hand, safety 
fairly twitching to be released. 

"Two-thirty."

A click and Mac knew Vic had his own gun out. The 
passenger, of course, had the luxury of *immediately* 
removing the safety.

"One-ninety."

Quick glance at the speedometer. "They're slowing, why?"

"I think they're approaching the drawbridge.... One-thirty 
meters. I think we just got lucky."

//Or the closest we'll get to it.// "Only one lane, we 
won't be able to sneak up the rail."

"We couldn't sneak this thing if we tried. Sixty-five 
meters. Stop *now*."

Mac braked as quickly and quietly as he could. The angle 
was in that area of uncertainty -- they may or may not have 
been seen. He checked his watch, the bridge lights--

"Two minutes?"

"Probably less. Let's go."

They moved in tandem, slipping out of the van, splitting up 
and staying low. Vic took point, Mac stripped off the 
uniform shirt, knowing his own pale skin and the dark 
kevlar vest would blend better than Montoni's fire-engine 
red ensemble.

Vic topped the rise first--

"I see her, she's trying to stand. I can't fucking believe 
they haven't seen her yet."

Mac jumped a little -- it had been easy to forget that Vic 
was still in his ear.... The other man must've switched off 
his mic when he'd jumped in the van.

"How many passengers?"

"I count three. There couldn't possibly be anyone in the 
trailer."

"Does Li Ann look wounded?"

"No, just wiped." Mac closed his eyes for a half-second. 
"Let's move. From this position it looks like at least two 
of 'em are just watching the bridge lights."

"Only takes one... I'm coming in on the driver's side."

"Got it."

Just a few more steps and Li Ann saw him. The way she 
looked at him was a forceful reminder of his old suspicion 
that kevlar only suggested that people aim for the head. 
Her arms were visibly useless at her sides. 

The bridge was starting to go down. 

"Vic, when you see them look up, shoot out the rearview."

"Check."

He gestured wildly at Li Ann to stomp. It only took her a 
moment to catch on, and Mac was abruptly thankful for their 
years of partnership. The vaguely hollow boom was loud, 
echoing off the water. The terrorists, as expected, tried 
to find the source of the sound, and Vic's gunshot came 
right on time. 

Mac was in motion, moving in close to the body of the truck 
in the moment's distraction and sliding in. Quick glance up 
revealed that Li Ann had managed to get her own gun out, 
and was pointing it shakily toward the rig. He could hear 
curses, more gunshots, as at least one of the passengers 
spilled out toward what they had to think was a single 
attacker--

But then he caught the driver's eye in the cracked rearview.

His first two shots took out the mirror and the window. The 
driver fell to the right with a strangled curse and 
immediately moved in for the kill.

Too fast. The man -- younger than himself and dead-eyed -- 
had *dived*. 

And Mac was looking down the barrel of a gun. 

He spun himself back and down, feeling the air thicken 
around him in resistance. Too slow, too slow, and the 
bullet that took him high in the left shoulder was ample 
proof of that. The ground hit him with an oddly muffled 
thump.

*

He opened his eyes to the bright, predatory ones of the 
Director, who was looming above him rather menacingly. Mac 
was pretty sure the woman *lived* to loom -- it would 
certainly explain how low the chairs were. There was 
something to be said about how she managed to be more 
unpleasant than the sight of the terribly familiar clinic 
walls.

"Stop pretending you're sleeping with your eyes open, Mac."

He winced at the insinuating purr and opened his mouth to 
say something about ignoring her and her resulting absence 
from his -- suddenly very painful -- life. What came out 
was, "ow."

"Suck it up. The bullet barely grazed your bony little 
shoulder. You'll be fine."

Mac glared at her for a long moment, she smiled sweetly. 

"How's... Li Ann?"

"When I left her she was trying to get Dobrinsky to teach 
her how to hold and fire a gun with her toes."

"Dob -- hunh?"

"He's a man of many talents. You could do worse than to 
look to him as an example. And before you ask, Li Ann just 
strained her shoulders. Nothing serious."

Mac nodded, took a deep breath. "Vic?"

"He didn't even stain his vest. *And* he managed to bring 
one of them in alive." Sometimes listening to the Director 
was the absolute best way to avoid mourning for a mother. 
Which thought made his stomach twist unpleasantly when she 
ran one razor of a fingernail down his cheek in a less than 
maternal fashion. 

"The driver?"

"No, Li Ann shot him. And she had a very interesting 
explanation for why you were wearing *her* uniform." 
Pointed look which Mac pointedly ignored. 

"She got him through the roof? Nice... What about Bryce?" 
While it wasn't a question he precisely *wanted* to ask, he 
figured it was the best way to get the pain over with.

"Bryce is, apparently, in South America."

Mac winced again. "Look, I don't know how--"

"Specifically, in Buenos Aires."

"Oh, I--"

"I do think our new friend will be able to specify even 
further once we're quite through with him."

"So it wasn't a complete screwup, then?"

The Director looked him over once and again. And then 
walked out the door. It was apparent he would be paying for 
this for a long time. He let his eyes slip shut and tried 
to dream of food. 

*

It was the doctor this time, a small thin woman with flat, 
black hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an utterly 
unpronounceable name. That made it a little more difficult 
to flirt himself out of the in-house clinic, but he still 
managed. Some women really did react well to "ma'am."

He'd had to agree to take a cab, though, and the 
overwhelming smell of patchouli and rapidly aging fast food 
wasn't doing much for his stomach. The painkillers weren't 
doing much but exacerbating the problem. He couldn't 
remember ever being on a prescription medication that 
*didn't* fuck with his stomach, which made him wonder if it 
was all part of a well-meaning attempt to help people avoid 
addiction. 

It fit perfectly with his theory that "well-meaning" was 
just another way to say "disaster imminent." But the odor 
and general feeling of illness managed to keep him alert 
enough not to overtip when they reached his place. 

Which was distressingly quiet and *large*. He switched on 
the stereo, but the sound just reminded him forcefully that 
he'd landed at least partially on his head. He was hungry, 
but everything in his refrigerator was aging. He wished 
he'd made a point of checking just how long he'd been out. 
Mac checked the pill bottle Dr. Ma'am had foisted on him as 
a condition on his leaving. 

Just to round off the day, the pills were of that sort that 
made drinking a potentially deadly proposition. The only 
thing left to do was crawl into bed, and he couldn't help 
but think that he could've done *that* at the clinic.

On cleaner sheets.

Where there were people around. 

Mac put his head in his hands and just stood for a few 
moments, trying very hard not to think about the fact that 
he hadn't heard from Vic.

Or to at least make himself consider the fact that he'd 
been unconscious for... for some as yet unknown stretch of 
time.

He could, conceivably, go over to Vic's and Not Drink while 
they Didn't Have Sex, and, most probably, Didn't Even Talk. 
Unfortunately, Mac sincerely doubted it would be their 
usual brand of Not Talking and Not Having Sex.  And so he 
just took another pill and went to bed. 

~~~~
End.
~~~~