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Secret Admirer
by Lianne Burwell
February 2004
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Vic drove through the streets of Toronto, trying to ignore 
the storefronts that lined either side. It wasn't 
difficult. After three days of snow, the roads weren't in 
the best of conditions. Slush filled the streets, and the 
city still hadn't removed the piles of plowed snow from the 
edges. As well, Toronto drivers seemed incapable of 
adjusting to the slick conditions, resulting in a 
depressing litany of accidents.

But even with his concentration focused on the road in 
front of him, his peripheral vision was still assaulted by 
a constant barrage of red and pink, hearts and flowers, 
filling the store windows, and even his favorite radio 
station was continually reminding him what day tomorrow 
was.

It was a crappy day in February, that's what it was.

Vic turned off Yonge Street finally, and thankfully left 
the worse of the Valentine's Day displays behind. Twenty 
minutes later he was pulling into the parking lot outside 
his apartment building, with sanctuary in sight.

Inside his apartment, he turned on the stereo and started 
the CD player going, slowly relaxing as the beautiful voice 
of Billie Holiday filled the space. He flicked on a couple 
of lights, but left the television off. He had no intention 
of turning it back on for a few more days, until the last 
of the Valentine's Day advertisements disappeared. Right 
now, the last thing he wanted was to be reminded that he 
was single, and as a result, in the eyes of the marketing 
world, a failure.

Not that he'd enjoyed the manufactured holiday any more 
when he'd been in a relationship. He'd bought the flowers 
and the candies because it was expected him, but not with 
any real enthusiasm. It seemed so pointless. If you loved 
the person you were with, you brought them little things 
all year round; you didn't need a day when you *had* to do 
it. At least LiAnn had agreed with him on that one. In 
fact, LiAnn had been the least romantic person he'd ever 
been involved with.

Now, when he was a kid it had been different. February 
fourteenth was a day of secrets. Sneaking into an empty 
classroom to slip an anonymous valentine into the desk of 
your secret crush, then waiting to see her open it, 
furtively watching for her reaction, never quite working up 
the nerve to tell her that it was from you.

Vic sighed. Another holiday ruined by commercialism. Now 
you couldn't escape it.

Well, this year there was nothing to force him into the 
celebration of love and money. This year he would eat a 
solitary dinner at home, listen to his albums, then go to 
bed. Alone. Pretty much like every other day of the year.

It was fucking depressing. Welcome to the life of one 
Victor Mansfield. Ex-cop, ex-con, secret agent.

Lonely man.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic woke the next morning to the shrill of his alarm clock. 
His first impulse was to go for the pistol tucked under his 
pillow. Luckily, he restrained himself long enough to just 
hit the off button. Then, still bleary-eyed, he stumbled 
into the bathroom for his morning routine. Brush teeth, 
shave, take shower.

Feeling slightly more awake, Vic stepped out of the shower, 
blinking water out of his eyes. He reached for his bathrobe 
and pulled it one.

Then froze, his eyes closed.

The sleeves were too long, the fabric too plush. Verdict: 
this was *not* his old, threadbare robe. The one LiAnn had 
tried long and hard to convince him to replace. Someone had 
broken into his apartment and stolen his robe. Dreading 
what he would see, Vic opened his eyes.

Well, at least it wasn't red in honor of the day. It was 
actually a very pleasant hunter green in a sinfully soft 
terrycloth. Everything about it was simple, plush, and very 
definitely expensive. In fact, it was just the sort of 
thing he might have bought for himself if he'd been the 
type to spend that much money on a bathrobe.

Now the question was, who had? The Agency-installed 
security system meant that the list of possibilities was 
small, despite the one slip-up that had left him with the 
new stereo system. LiAnn still had a key to his place and 
the Director didn't need one. Mac could probably break in 
and Jackie...? Who knew. But why would any of them want to 
get him a new bathrobe? Vic shook his head. LiAnn was the 
most likely culprit, even if she had made it clear that 
they wouldn't be getting back together.

It was a puzzle, but one that would have to wait until 
later. He would have to get moving if he wanted to have 
anything to eat before reporting in to the Agency.

He left the bathroom, still running his hand over the 
sleeve of the new robe.

>>>~~~<<<

The surprise of the robe kept Vic so distracted that he 
barely made it to the Agency in time for the morning 
briefing. Even LiAnn, usually guaranteed to be the last 
person to arrive, was waiting, a small smile on her face. 
Beside her, Mac was watching him with a smirk, while Jackie 
was outright snickering.

Vic couldn't help looking down to make sure he was zipped, 
which created a chorus of snickers, then glared at the 
three of them. Doing his best to pretend he didn't care 
about whatever it was that had set them off, he moved to 
his usual seat and pulled it out.

There was an envelope sitting on the seat. *Not* red or 
pink, thank god. He picked it up.

"Open it!" Jackie urged, leaning forward eagerly.

For a moment he was tempted to toss it, unopened, but the 
texture caught his attention. Thick and stiff, in a rich 
creamy white, with his name written on the front in fine 
calligraphy. He turned it over and looked at the blob of 
green wax holding it shut. No clues of who or why. He 
sighed, and broke the seal.

The card slid out easily, and was made from the same 
cardstock as the envelope. A sun motif, highlighted 
discretely with a bit of gold, was embossed at the center 
of the card, while a delicate lace pattern was cut around 
the edge. There was no print on the back, implying that the 
card was handmade.

"Get on with it," LiAnn said. Neither she nor Jackie were 
concealing their interest, while Mac simply rolled his 
eyes.

Vic opened it. Inside was a short poem, written in the same 
hand as his name on the envelope. There was no signature.

	Close enough to touch,
	Always just out of reach,
		I still dream

Vic frowned. "What the...?" Well, it was nicer than 
something cheesy like 'Be my valentine'. He started to tuck 
the card back into the envelope, but Jackie plucked it out 
of his hands before he could stop her.

"Let's see," she said, dancing out of reach as she opened 
the card. "Oooh, nice. Listen to this."

Vic winced as she read it out loud. At least it slowed her 
down long enough for him to grab the card back. This time 
he got it back in the envelope and tucked into his jacket's 
inner pocket before anyone else tried to grab it.

"Sounds like someone has a secret admirer. Now, whoever 
could that be, Victor?"

Great. Just great, Vic thought to himself as their boss 
came through the door. When it came to teasing -- any kind 
of teasing -- the Director was grandmaster.

She was also dressed for the day.  A sleeveless blouse in 
powder pink with a discreet floral pattern with a navy 
skirt that went down to her knees but was tight almost to 
the point of being indecent. She had her hair piled up on 
top of her head, and there was a pink orchid touched into 
it. It should have clashed with the unnaturally red hair -- 
not that he would dare call it that in her hearing -- but 
somehow worked. She looked like everything Vic had been 
avoiding all week.

"Why don't you tell me?" he shot back defensively. "Or 
aren't there any security cameras in here?" Like any of 
them would believe that.

"Well, true. But it's much more fun to watch you try to 
find out.

"But that will have to wait," she said, coming around the 
table to face them. "You did a good job on the last case, 
but now we have a new one..."

She started to drone on about real estate development and 
corruption in city politics -- like that combination was a 
big surprise -- and Vic tried to concentrate, but every 
time he moved, he could feel the card tucked in against his 
chest.

He should really toss it. There was little point in keeping 
it, after all. Someone's idea of a joke. But throwing it 
out here would just be asking for everyone in the place to 
start teasing him.

Yeah, when he got home it would go straight in the trash.

>>>~~~<<<

The job turned out to be unusually simple. It only took a 
few hours to track down the bribe-taking official and 
convince him of the error of his ways. Then they let him 
go, although Vic was sure that the Agency was going to hang 
on to the evidence, just in case they wanted to blackmail 
the man someday. As for the real-estate mogul, they didn't 
bother with him. The Director had promised to deal with 
that herself. Personally. A scary thought.

As a reward for finishing so quickly and efficiently, the 
Director gave them the rest of the day off, which would 
have been more impressive if it hadn't already been nearly 
four in the afternoon. LiAnn and Jackie had headed off 
together, arguing as usual. Mac had also disappeared, even 
faster than usual.

Vic found the last a little disappointing. He had been 
planning on suggesting a drink at their usual bar. It was 
becoming a post-op tradition with them, even when they were 
battered by the case.

Maybe Mac had a new girlfriend, Vic thought. That would 
explain his eagerness to get out, considering the day. But 
usually he mentioned his latest conquest to Vic, if only to 
tweak him about his own single state.

With everyone else gone, there was little reason for Vic 
stick around. Dobrinsky waved to him as he passed, but 
thankfully didn't stop to chat. Vic also saw Nathan rushing 
down a side corridor pushing a cart with a teetering tower 
of papers.

Nathan... Vic was suddenly reminded of the robe and the 
card. Could Nathan be the one who'd left them? He was 
constantly following Vic around, fawning after him. Vic was 
a Prince of the Illuminati, according to Nathan. Better 
than being a bug creature or queen alien. Mac had even 
suggested once that Nathan might have a crush on him, scary 
as that thought was.

Nah... Vic just couldn't seen the nervous, sweaty librarian 
as the type to break into an apartment to leave an 
expensive gift. He would probably have a panic attack just 
thinking about it.

Vic reached his truck, using the electronic key to unlock 
the doors before he got there. He grabbed the door handle 
and pulled the driver's side door open.

"Ah, crap. Not again," Vic said, then looked around quickly 
to make sure that there was no one around to have heard 
him. He eyed the package sitting on his seat like it was a 
bomb. Hell, for all he knew it *was* a bomb. This whole day 
could just be a setup for an explosive punchline.

So, what to do. Call the explosives techs to check it out? 
"Screw it," Vic muttered to himself.

He grabbed the package and shook it deliberately. Something 
shifted inside, but it didn't go boom. Whatever it was, it 
wasn't overly heavy, it didn't rattle like it had many 
parts, and it didn't sound like metal. All of which told 
him... nothing.

It was wrapped in a very nice paper; dark blue with a shiny 
pattern like the skyline of a city. In fact, looking 
closely, Vic was even able to pick out the distinctive 
silhouette of the CN Tower. Not the sort of thing you found 
at a Hallmark store.

His first instinct was to just rip the paper off and find 
out what was inside, but he found himself carefully 
detaching the tape and folding the paper the way his 
grandmother used to at Christmas. She actually had reused 
the paper the next year, not being willing to waste 
anything.

Once the paper was set aside, he turned his attention to 
the plain white box. He hesitated for a moment, then opened 
it.

A shoulder holster. Vic blinked. No exactly what he had 
expected, but very much appreciated. His old one was on the 
verge of falling apart. He'd already had to repair it twice 
since Christmas, Mac had only slightly sarcastically 
pointed out that it was going to get him in trouble if he 
didn't replace it, but he'd not gotten around to it yet.

This holster was a very well made one. Good leather and 
fine stitching. Even a slight decorative motif pressed into 
the leather. He tugged at it, and was pleased by both the 
strength and suppleness. It was also perfectly sized for 
both him and his favorite sidearm. Whoever his mysterious 
benefactor was, they had money, taste, and knew exactly 
what he both needed and wanted.

Which meant they were also watching him. He wasn't sure he 
liked that idea much.

He left the radio off the entire trip home, more for the 
chance to think than to avoid the sappy love songs for 
once, but by the time he got home, he was still undecided 
about what to do next. So far, everything had been 
harmless, but the fact that someone knew this much about 
him while he knew nothing about them made him 
uncomfortable. If he *knew* the gifts were from LiAnn or 
Jackie or even the Director, he wouldn't worry as much.

But he didn't know, so if this kept up, he was going to 
beard the lion -- or lioness -- in her den.

The Agency had surveillance cameras in all their 
properties, including agent apartments. Somewhere on a tape 
was whoever was behind this. He was reasonably sure that 
the Director would tell him if they were a danger to him, 
but only reasonably.

Strangely, though, part of him was reluctant to find out. 
They *were* nice gifts, and it was kind of... interesting 
being the recipient.

>>>~~~<<<

There was a single light on in the living room when Vic 
opened the apartment door. Since he knew he had turned off 
all the lights before leaving that morning, alarm bells 
were going off in his head. He dropped the package and the 
card on the floor just inside the door and drew his gun. 
Even after all the little 'surprises' that day, he wasn't 
taking any chances.

A quick pass through the apartment found nothing. He 
checked the door, and there were no signs that the lock had 
been picked.

The only other sign of invasion, other than the light, was 
the stereo. It had been turned on, and the indicator showed 
a single CD in the tray. Vic's finger hovered over the 
eject button for a moment, then shifted over and pressed 
play.

It was a jazz CD. Instrumental only, and unfamiliar, but 
beautiful. The musicians were pouring heart and soul into 
the notes, and it came through the recording. Vic's usual 
preference was for blues, but he had a number of jazz 
albums that he loved, and this put most of them to shame.

Robe, card, holster, and now music. Four gifts, all 
perfectly tailored to him. The only question was who.

The knock at the door was so unexpected that it almost made 
him jump out of his skin. Suddenly reminded that nice 
presents or not, someone was still breaking into his 
apartment again and again. Vic lifted his gun again and 
edged towards the door. His heart was pounding, despite the 
soothing music behind him.

He looked through the peephole, then lowered his gun with a 
sigh. He flicked the locks and pulled the door open.

"Avon calling," Mac sang out, leaning against the 
doorframe.

"Really? I didn't know that Avon delivered..." Vic sniffed 
appreciatively. "Barbequed chicken and ribs. What, no squid 
today?"

Mac grinned. "Nah, I figured I'd give you a break from my 
efforts to educate your palate for tonight." He brushed 
past Vic, heading for the dining room table. "I know we 
usually hit a bar, but they're all packed tonight, so I 
thought I'd supply dinner." He glanced back over his 
shoulder. "I might even be convinced to watch a hockey 
game. Um... I assume there is a hockey game on tonight?"

Vic shook his head, grinning. "Toronto at Vancouver."

"There you go. Grab the plates, would you? And lots of 
napkins!"

Vic was still shaking his headed as he collected plates, 
utensils, and a roll of paper towels, since he didn't 
actually have any napkins, from the kitchen. The smell of 
barbeque sauce filled the air, making him salivate. Usually 
when Mac stopped by for dinner he brought 'real' Chinese 
food. He claimed he was trying to bring some class into 
Vic's life, although Vic had no idea what was classy about 
things like pig's feet.

They set the table in comfortable silence -- no way was Vic 
letting the sauce get all over his couch -- then sat down 
and dug in. There was no talk other than the 'pass a towel' 
variety. The food had their full attention.

This wasn't the fake stuff from one of the chain 
restaurants that claimed to do barbeque; this was the real 
thing, from Vic's favorite restaurant. The owner was 
originally from Texas and prided himself on making his own 
sauce from scratch using a secret family recipe, and forget 
trying to buy the recipe from him. And as far as Vic knew, 
they didn't do takeout.

Chicken and ribs in barbeque sauce with a bite went down 
smoothly, chased by vinegar coleslaw, fresh-cut fries, and 
swallows of Mac's Chinese beer, which Vic had developed a 
taste for. Mac had even brought a pecan pie for dessert, 
even though there was no way that the two of them would be 
able to finish it in one sitting. Not after the rest of the 
food, at least.

They cleaned up, then moved to the sofa. The CD was still 
playing, so Vic turned it off before switching the TV on to 
the game. That was when he noticed the case sitting next to 
the stereo. It wasn't familiar, so he assumed it went with 
the CD. It also wasn't in English. He might not read or 
speak the language, but he recognized  Chinese when he saw 
it.

He looked at Mac. Mac was sitting with his eyes glued to 
the screen, even though Vic knew that the younger man 
didn't really like hockey. The pieces fell into place with 
an almost audible click.

He sat down and joined Mac in careful examination of the 
game. It was midway through the first period and Toronto 
was up by one, which was surprising considering how they'd 
been playing this season.

But despite his apparent interest in the game, most of his 
attention was on Mac. Every so often there'd be a flicker 
in his peripheral vision, as if Mac had started to move or 
speak, then controlled himself. Finally, Vic decided to put 
him out of his misery.

"I like the music." There was only a grunt in response, 
although suddenly Mac was almost vibrating with tension 
next to him. "The holster will come in handy too," Vic 
added.

A soft snort. "You'd get us all killed if that old one fell 
apart at the wrong moment."

"And the robe?" Vic asked, turning to face Mac.

Mac shrugged, not quite looking at him. "LiAnn said she was 
tempted to just burn it." The corner of his mouth twitched. 
"Having seen it, I have to agree."

"Hey! It's a perfectly good robe. I've had it for years."

"And it shows."

Mac had finally turned to face him. He was smiling now. "I 
take it you don't mind?"

"What, someone buying me expensive gifts?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "I mean *why* I bought them for you."

A flippant response came to mind, but Vic squelched it. 
Instead, he went for serious and honest. "I've tried 
relationships with partners twice in the past. Neither 
worked out. I'm not in the market to be bedded and dumped 
again."

He could see the understanding in Mac's eyes. Of course Mac 
knew about LiAnn; being her former lovers was something 
they had in common. As for Stan, Mac knew about that too. 
After the run-in with Vic's former cop team a few months 
ago, he and Mac had gone out and gotten drunk. Vic had told 
him all about Stan. That night was the first time he'd told 
Mac that he was bisexual, and he'd been relieved not to be 
judged. Then Mac had told him about Michael. At least Vic's 
tale had been reasonably pleasant, at least up until he'd 
been framed.

"I'm not in the market to be dumped either," Mac said 
hotly, his eyes flickering away briefly.

"Good," Vic said. "Just so we understand each other."

That seemed to be all the reassurance Mac needed, because 
suddenly Vic found himself with a lap full of the younger 
man, and Mac was kissing him furiously.

Mac was a pretty good kisser too, although strangely 
familiar. It took Vic a moment to realize that he was 
recognizing LiAnn's techniques. It shouldn't have surprised 
him, really, since Mac had once told him that they'd 
practiced on each other as teenagers, even before becoming 
lovers.

"So," he said when Mac pulled away. "Am I still out of 
reach?"

"I don't know," Mac shot back, leaning his forehead against 
Vic's breathing heavily. "Am I dreaming?"

Vic pinched him, making him yelp. "Nope, you seem pretty 
awake to me."

"Shit. You are a fucking tease, you know that?"

"Look who's talking. You're the one with the line of women 
going around the block, all hoping for a chance at you," 
Vic shot back.

Mac frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Vic winced. Open mouth, insert foot. "That you'tr 
attractive and fun, and women like that?"

"You think I sleep around?"

"No!" Vic was just digging himself in deeper. He wrapped 
his arms around Mac's now tense form and tried to repair 
the damage. "I've seen you turn too many of them down to 
think that."

"Good. Because I've only had two lovers since joining the 
Agency, and I nearly married one of them."

Now Vic really felt like a heel. Claire was still a touchy 
subject with Mac, considering how badly she'd duped him. 
"Why do I feel like I've killed the mood?" he said with a 
sigh.

Mac was silent for a long time, then smiled slightly. 
"Maybe just wounded it."

That was hopeful. "So how do I fix it?"

Mac's smile widened, although the hurt didn't completely 
vanish. "You could try kissing it better," he suggested.

Vic exhaled a sigh of relief. "I can do that," he said, 
then pulled Mac's face back down to within kissing 
distance.

This kiss was softer, gentler. Vic was trying to put his 
apology into it, and from the response, the apology was 
accepted. All the tension drained out of them both, and Vic 
began to feel so light that it seemed like the only thing 
holding him down was Mac's weight. He hadn't felt like this 
since the early days with LiAnn, back before they started 
to take each other for granted. He had the feeling that 
even if Mac hadn't shown up, the relationship wasn't like 
to have lasted much longer anyway. Hopefully this would 
work out better. He'd like that

"So," Mac said, pulling back again. "Now what?"

"Huh?" Vic was in no shape to figure out what the man 
meant, although he was glad to see the playful gleam back 
in his eyes.

"Any ideas?" Mac asked, tugging at Vic's collar.

Ideas about what? Oh. "I thought you were the one doing the 
seducing," Vic said, trying to match Mac's tone. "Shouldn't 
you be the one with the ideas?"

"Hmmm... Actually, I do have a couple, and the couch is not 
exactly big enough for them. You want to take this 
someplace a little more comfortable?"

"You'd have to get off me first," Vic pointed out.

Mac made a show of thinking about it. "I don't know. You're 
awfully comfy."

"Hmmm, comfy." And they weren't even handcuffed to a 
support.

That inspired laughter. It was nice to hear. Mac was witty, 
flirty, sarcastic, but he rarely laughed. "Body bags are 
comfy," Mac quipped.

"But my bed is even more comfy," Vic shot back. Part of him 
wondered what LiAnn would think when she found out about 
this, but at the moment, he didn't really care. Worrying 
about that could wait until later.

Almost immediately his lap was empty and a little cold. 
"You talked me into it," Mac said, tugging his hand.

Vic let himself be pulled to his feet, but he grabbed Mac 
before he could move away. "You know," he said, wrapping 
his arms around the other man. "They say friends make the 
best lovers."

"And?"

Vic kissed the side of Mac's neck. "And you are definitely 
the best friend I've ever had."

Mac smile was almost incandescent. "Well then, why don't we 
find out if that makes me the best lover you've ever had."

Vic thought back to all the lovers he'd had over the years, 
and felt a warm feeling in his belly. "Oh, you already 
are," he said. "You already are."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Vic."

Behind them, cheers came from the television as Toronto 
scored again.

THE END