Music IV: Little Ones Who Stumble
by Te
1/99

Disclaimers: None of the characters here belong to me,
they're merely moonlighting in an attempt to avoid 
their Gauda Prime for as long as possible.

Spoilers: Reference to True Blue.

Ratings Note: R for some bad language and m/m 
interaction. 

Summary: Discussion in the aftermath.

Author's Notes: This one came about because I didn't 
want to leave things as they were at the end of Music III 
for too very long. In chronological order:

"Music"
"Music II: Over My Head"
"Music III: Hear It So Clear"
"Music IV: Little Ones Who Stumble"

This takes place about twenty hours after the events 
of Music III.

Acknowledgments: To Viridian for many helpful suggestions,
to Alicia for OaTish help, and to Spike for great beta. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Music IV: Little Ones Who Stumble
by Te
thete1@earthlink.net
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vic stared at the empty room and scowled. 

It wasn't precisely out of character for Mac to have 
skipped out on the clinic as soon as he was conscious, 
but.... Well, the fact that Mac was gone -- and most likely 
home -- made things difficult. 

Here in the tiny but frighteningly well-appointed clinic of 
the Agency, there was enough of an air of work, 
responsibility, and general discomfort to give what Vic had 
to say an air of rightness he feared it would lack in any 
other environment. His own mind was no exception.

And yet, Li Ann could have very well been killed. Never 
mind the fact that Vic would've married her if she'd said 
yes, never mind the fact she'd been the closest thing to a 
real lover he'd had since high school, she was their 
*partner*. 

While a large part of him was slowly, painfully, being 
callused over by the actions of damned near everyone in his 
life, no one could take the core ideal of partnership away 
from him.

Not even Stan. 

This was Vic, and this was his life, and if you couldn't 
hold on to your partners and keep them safe twenty-four 
hours a day, you damned well better do your best to protect 
them on the job. And that meant the sort of professionalism 
Mac and himself had barely managed at the... worst... of 
times. 

Mac...

He'd never accuse Mac of not caring about a partner. Well, 
he might have, once, but never about Li Ann. She must have 
been a grounding influence, the sort of tether that manages 
not to seem at all binding. Or maybe she'd just been 
different then...

Chances were, their partnership had been vastly different 
than the ones he'd been used to -- more a study in 
machinery than in friendship. While Mac hadn't really been 
cavalier about her swinging off a speeding truck, he'd 
certainly been calmer. The only thing he'd really been 
worried about was... upsetting Vic.

Which brought him back to why he was looking for Mac in the 
first place. The official reason at least. They were moving 
too fast, and moving blind. His plan of actually trying to 
get to know the man beyond his vague and spotty suspicions 
had died hard by the fifth, or maybe the third taste of 
that surprisingly generous mouth. Surprising, considering 
the personality.

Or the personality Vic had *thought* Mac possessed. 

At this point, he wasn't sure of anything beyond wanting to 
get everything he could out of the other man, and the 
distressingly weak idea that he *needed* to make sure the 
two of them went back to something like normal. After all, 
it was clearly affecting the way they made decisions, which 
was proven by the fact that Li Ann was still walking around 
like she'd been numbed from the waist up and Mac himself 
had narrowly avoided nerve damage from a bullet he 
shouldn't have taken. 

Li Ann, while a passionate lover, had made it perfectly 
clear from the get go that the job was the *job*. 

Mac left him aching in his pants whether or not he was even 
actually *there*.... And he certainly didn't care about 
such niceties as the proper time for whispering things in 
Vic's ear. 'Right now,' his mind supplied, and he was less 
than shocked to find himself walking to his car. He shook 
his head, resigned to the fact that, within in hour, he'd 
be doing his best to shake off the need to surrender. 

*

Half an hour later, Vic was leaning on the bell. Ten 
minutes of periodic, polite rings had earned him nothing 
but a growing impatience that felt too much like worry. 
Knowing intellectually that Mac had been healthy enough to 
get home on his own, and that the Director had him 
monitored even heavier than usual was one thing, no answer 
was another. Thoughts of reopened wounds had him trying to 
determine the best angle to knock the door down when it 
simply opened. 

Part of the way. The apartment was dark, and its inhabitant 
showed an extreme reluctance to let the light from the hall 
alleviate the problem.

"Mac? Are you OK?"

"Yeah. What are you doing here?" The voice was low, not 
quite slurred but thick and muzzy.

I had to see you, touch you... "I just wanted to check on 
you--"

The door began to close and Vic instinctively slid a foot 
in to stop it, trying to push it back. 

"You said you wanted to check on me. You've checked on me, 
now go."

"We have to talk, Mac."

Slow, humorless chuckle. "If ever there were words *less* 
likely to encourage conversation..." But he eased away from 
the door, allowing Vic to push it open. 

There were no lights on in the apartment, but Mac was 
clearly visible in the harsh yellow light from the hall. 
The man was paler than usual, had dark circles under his 
eyes, and was clearly medicated. 

"How many painkillers did you take?"

He held up one finger, scowled briefly and seemed to settle 
on two, but, abruptly, he turned away and began to make his 
way to the couch. Vic couldn't help noticing the way he 
moved, and the way the smooth, pale back narrowed to the 
waist and long legs less hidden than hinted at by the -- 
perhaps predictably -- silk pajamas. 

"I don't really remember, Vic. I'm a little out of it."

"Yeah, no shit, partner. What kind of crap do you think 
you're pulling, anyway?"

Mac eyed him darkly for a long moment before beginning to 
laugh. A drugged hiccough that gradually developed into 
that brand of giggles that speak more of edge than ease. 

"Mac?"

"Vic, you... you think I took them all at *once*?!" The 
voice was breathy with laughter, but still fuzzed. 

"When did you take them?"

"Come a little closer and I'll tell you... I promise."

Vic shivered at the unsubtle reminder. Same words, wrong 
apartment... but the position was almost the same. Mac was 
a loose-limbed sprawl of dangerously seductive inebriation, 
but only from the waist down. The rest... one arm in a 
sling, the other hugged around his stomach. Mac's face was 
lined with pain and confusion, and his smile had lost the 
lasciviousness of that other night for a weary brand of 
ruefulness. 

Vic tried to answer it with one of his own briefly before 
giving up and joining the other man on the couch. On his 
right. There was too much space in this corner without 
Mac's hand staking its claim to the back of the couch and 
whatever parts of Vic he could reach. Mac was staring down 
at himself, and, while Vic watched, an extended tremor 
racked him.

"Mac--"

"I've only taken six since yesterday."

"You look like hell."

"Look at it as my gift to you, Victor. Take a good long 
look at me in my stoned, pathetic, lo -- Oh, and let's not 
forget the fucking gunshot that was my own damned fault in 
the first place--"

"What are you saying?" Vic winced internally at the 
disingenuousness of the question. Acting like he didn't 
know that Mac knew--

"You want us to end it." Mac didn't show any signs of 
noticing his slip, but then Vic had seen corpses show more 
signs than the other man was right now. 

"Look, Mac, I just think we need to cool off for a while. 
It's interfering with work and I can't risk anything else 
happening to--"

"Li Ann, yes I know."

"Mac, dammit --" But for a long moment, Vic had no idea 
what to say, and the way the other man was sitting seemed 
to project an almost visible aura of spines, thorns to 
punish the unwary. 

Fuck it. 

Vic grabbed the good shoulder and spun Mac to face him, 
wincing inwardly again at his small, but very real squeak 
of pain. 

"Sorry--"

"What is it, Vic? I'm a little tired here, in case you 
haven't noticed. Painkillers, dark apartment, pajamas.... 
Can you make this brief?"

Mac's eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. He didn't 
really look like hell at all. He looked useable. And, while 
Mac was still mostly tensed, Vic could feel muscles 
loosening a little under his touch. Encouraged, he ran his 
hand up and over to the back of Mac's neck and began to 
rub. Which earned him a chuckle.

"I seem to recall that being *your* sweet spot, Vic."

One of them, certainly. "Hey, can you blame a guy for 
trying?"

"You came over here to, well, break up with me. Having done 
so, you start hitting on me."

"Well, when you put it that way it's pretty absurd..." And 
it was, it was, but Vic knew he had no chance of putting 
his confusion into words.

"... *absolutely* absurd, Vic, what do you *want*?" 
Apparently, Mac decided he needed to emphasize his point. 
To that end he gingerly scooted to the far end of the couch 
and eyed Vic from the relative safety of seven feet. 

Mac had one leg bent up, the other planted on the floor, 
good arm rested on raised knee, hand dangling between. The 
only thing Vic's mind offered as a response was "you, 
naked."

"Well?" 

The curious thing was that Mac didn't seem at all 
exasperated. The only negative detectable in his sleepy 
tone was the slight strain of physical discomfort. If it 
were Vic in his place...

"You honestly don't know, do you?"

Vic looked up into the other man's eyes again and had to 
revise his view of why Mac had left some distance between 
them. Mac had promised not to push him, and, while his 
definition of not-pushing was rather broader than Vic's 
own, he'd certainly never done anything Vic hadn't been 
just about ready to beg him for. Mac was proving to be more 
patient than he ever would've suspected.

And that's just what he was doing now. Sitting there, 
patiently waiting for Vic to say something, smiling a 
little... Mac gave every impression of being the antithesis 
of expectant, seemingly content to sit there and take 
whatever he could get from Vic, even if it was just 
confused silence. It was getting to be undeniable that what 
he wanted, perhaps more than anything, was to be told 
precisely why they *shouldn't* end things. And he knew 
*Mac* knew that all he had to do was touch him...

"I don't think I could walk away if I tried, Mac." His own 
voice was a surprise. It seemed hoarse, disused, certainly 
unfamiliar, louder even than the tomato chair still 
positioned somewhere between tacky and awkward to their 
right. 

"You wouldn't be here if you could."

"I know."

Another few moments of silence, and it was Mac's turn to 
look Vic over, heat in his eyes as had become usual, but it 
was muted. Vic couldn't stop himself from saying,

"Take fewer painkillers."

Mac's eyes swept up to his own and stayed there, flashing 
in the gloom. "If I wasn't so pleasantly stoned I'd be rock 
hard right now."

Vic licked his lips, abruptly aware of the incipient 
heaviness in his own jeans. "I know that, too."

Small wince of lust, slowly smoothing to something more 
serious. "How long before you decide you can walk away just 
fine, Vic?"

Vic shook his head, started moving closer before he knew 
what he was doing, but Mac halted him in place. "Mac, this 
isn't..."

"What happens after you let me get you off?"

"I come back for more."

"And then?"

"Keep coming back."

"Until when? The next time I disappoint you somehow? Maybe 
when Li Ann gets tired of being the Director's pet?"

"Li Ann doesn't want me as anything but backup."

Mac snorted. "Do you have any idea how many times she 
pulled away only to come right back over the years? Why do 
you think I was so surprised she didn't immediately take me 
back?" He narrowed his eyes. "You really do think I'm that 
arrogant, don't you?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"All the wrong times."

Vic put his head in his hands. "Mac... I didn't know you 
wanted... more than just sex."

"*And* you have no idea what *you* want." 

"I was wondering what was taking you so long to point that 
out."

"Well, there was always the chance that if I did, your true 
desires would suddenly occur to you and--"

"I'd tackle you, rip your clothes off, and *really* hurt 
your arm?"

"You'd walk out the door -- Christ, you're right. Nothing 
but Tylenol from now on."

Vic chuckled. "I think I like you this fucked up."

"Take your clothes off. I want to see you naked."

And there it was, deadly insinuating voice and Vic was 
aware of his cock, and the tightness of his pants, and how 
warm Mac's apartment really was... "You just want to 
reestablish a power balance."

"See how well we know each other? We should be partners." 
There was little humor in the other man's tone.

Vic gave up on respecting Mac's space and firmly squeezed 
one silk-clad knee, trying not very hard at all to avoid 
thinking about how the material would feel on his cock. Mac 
looked away, but didn't tense under him. "We should be. 
Partners, that is."

"You're not making it very easy to stay.... professional, 
Vic."

"I know... we need some new rules."

Mac turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "No more talking 
dirty?"

"On the job. Most of the time."

Mac's mouth twitched. "No more stealing Li Ann's clothes?"

Victor let his hand slide down the leanly muscled decline 
of the other man's thigh, briefly caught by a darkly 
fascinating image of a garter belt. "Umm," was all he could 
come up with. 

"Voyeurism and now..." Mac trailed off suggestively. "You 
surprise me every day, Mansfield. How about, no more 
stealing Li Ann's clothes during work hours?"

"That works."

"What else?" Serious tone again, jarring Vic out of moving 
closer. 

"Just one thing. We have to... have to trust each other 
*with* each other. Wherever this goes."

"Are you sure we can control ourselves around each other, 
Vic?"

Another shift and Mac's long, finely made foot was behind 
him now. "Probably better than we would be able to if we 
thought we *weren't* going to get any, ever..."

Mac reached out and buried his fingers in Vic's hair, a 
sensation somewhere between seduction and tickle. It was 
something of a shock to realize he'd gotten that close. 

"And you think we're gonna get some?"

Vic leaned in and kissed him, letting his tongue slide 
between those soft lips, tasting and thrusting slow. Mac 
moaned quietly and ran his hand down Vic's back, pulling 
him in further. He smelled like sleep, tasted like more. 
Vic braced himself on the couch to keep from crushing the 
injured shoulder and kissed harder, not breaking it until 
his head started to pound from lack of oxygen. 

Mac smoldered up at him, slid his good hand around to pluck 
at Vic's shirt. "We're not having sex again, aren't we?"

"Not until your shoulder--" He was cut off, groaning, when 
Mac's fingers found a nipple and twisted. When he opened 
his eyes again the hand had slipped to innocently resting 
on a shoulder, and Mac was grinning evilly.

"A week. Maybe two. Suffer with me, partner."

"Share the pain?"

"It seems to me that friends do that, yes?"

Vic chuckled and settled back on the couch, still close 
enough to touch. "I have to admit something to you, Mac."

Ostentatious cock of the head. "Hmmm?"

Vic smiled. "You make suffering fun."

~~~~
End.
~~~~