By
The first thing MacGyver did was vomit. It certainly wasn't fun, but he realized it was a clear sign that he was still alive, and that alone made it tolerable. He was sore. The sand under his body was wet and cool; it sloped enough to show him he was sprawled just above the shoreline, with his legs still in the water. By the light in the sky he could see it was a little after dawn, which meant that roughly six hours had passed since the explosion on the Good Tern.
His head hurt, his mouth tasted vile, and he was completely soaked, but other than that he seemed to be in one piece.
I'm not normally an ocean type of person but I can swim well enough to survive--I sure hope someone else has too, he thought.
Getting up was slow; one of his Nikes was gone. Mac stepped away from his regurgitated dinner, rinsed his mouth with salt water, and took a good look around to get his bearings, but what he saw didn't cheer him up very much at all.
The shoreline was a meager strip of fine sand fringing the water. He could see a line of reef over the far horizon of the water, coral standing out like teeth on a lower jaw. Bits of wreckage were drifting on the waves, and more was already washed up on the shore around him. Slowly Mac realized that some of the debris might come in handy before nightfall, and began pulling bits of it above the tide line, thinking hard all the while about what he should do next.
There has to be someone else here besides me, he thought grimly, Five other people had been on the Good Tern besides yours truly, all of them part of the Foundation's reef reconstruction project.
Burly pipe-smoking Randy Howard was the dive master, Hanna Kong the lead marine biologist. The rest of the team should have around too: Lewis Pangolin a coral specialist, ichthyologist Wilson Mays and of course Briar Rose Clowderbock. Thoughts of her made Mac shake his head in rueful frustration. She'd been annoyed when Thornton made him part of the team, he remembered, but the two of them had managed to get along most of the trip, going through their complicated little personal shuffle again, with neither of them ever sure where each stood with the other. A strong attraction was there, and Mac suspected that an exasperated Pete had deliberately thrown them together in a last ditch attempt to let it blossom or burn out.
A squeaking noise brought him out of his jumbled thoughts and he looked down to see a box washing up on the shore. Mac's spirits rose as he recognized Randy's huge tackle box. The sides were lined with cork, so it floated--Randy had pointed out that safety feature nearly a week back. He scooped it out of the water and popped the latches to open it. The contents were jumbled, but intact: fishing line, hooks, lures, a few knives and an assortment of other stuff all tangled up together. It was clearly a godsend, and he carefully re-latched the box.
Which way to go?
He scanned the beach again, looking for anything human or helpful. The shoreline stretched out to the left of him, but the right ended at a cliff, forming a natural cove complete with at least three towering ancient coconut trees. It seemed the right sort of spot to drag all the things he'd found washed up, so he left a pile under the tallest tree. Among the other treasures were some nylon rope, several pieces of canvas, the tackle box, and part of a deck chair, the metal tubing twisted in odd contortions.
After taking off his wet socks and the one shoe, he began walking down the beach, trying to sort out his thoughts. Already his clothes: a Phoenix Foundation sweatshirt over a tee shirt and khaki shorts, were drying out in the growing breeze. He shot a worried look at the sky. A pat to his pocket reassured him that his knife was still handy, and he was fairly sure he could find water . . . but all of it was just distraction from the bigger fears on his mind.
What exactly had happened to the Good Tern? We had been heading back out-running the storm, making good time back to Palau. Randy and I had just taken the watch from Wilson and Hanna. Then--boom. I remember the explosion and hitting the water, but the rest of it is vague. All I know for certain is that I'm alive. Which leads to a depressing thought--namely, that it's one thing to choose solitude, and quite another when it's thrust on you.
As he hiked along thinking, he stumbled over something, and drew back so fast he nearly fell. Mac's stomach lurched, but since it was already empty, all he did was gag; the flies he'd disturbed buzzed angrily and then settled back on the severed human arm tangled in the clump of seaweed.
He forced himself to look at it. Long fingers. Delicate nails. Something inside him twisted hard, forcing his eyes to water up. The pit of his stomach ached as the fact sank in that either Hanna or Rose hadn't made it. Carefully he looked around, but there weren't any other remains along the shoreline that he could see. He didn't know what to do--burying it seemed the decent thing, but he couldn't quite bring himself to touch it. Instead, Mac slowly piled rocks on the remains, trying not to think about what he was doing. He wiped his eyes a lot.
Finally, he finished, and started walking again, a hell of a lot more depressed than he had been before.
Damn. I knew not everyone might survive, but cold reality hurts.
He'd hiked another half mile down the meager beach and was just reaching the end of the sand, studying the coral boulders that jutted out into the water when he heard the voice.
"Mac! Oh my God, Mac! We're over here!"
MacGyver's heart jumped; he swept his vision to the right just in time to watch a tattered and wet Rose race towards him from the edge of the jungle undergrowth. He shot forward himself and snagged her, clutching her close, savoring the warm solid feel of her form against his. A deep chord of relief chimed within him.
She's alive. Thank you.
MacGyver could have stayed that way for hours, and by the strength of her hug suspected she felt the same way, but after a few minutes, Rose sighed, wriggled out of his grip and looked up into his face. She had scratches on the side of her neck, a deep cut splitting her lower lip, and her hair hung in wet tangles around her pale face. She wore tattered thermal long johns that would have seemed ridiculous if the situation weren't already so unreal.
"I found Wilson about two hours ago, hanging onto part of the decking. I dragged him up by that big rock, but he's in really bad shape Mac-- I don't think he's going to make it!" she whispered. "I haven't seen anybody else."
"Hanna's dead," He replied shortly, following her as she led the way. She didn't ask how he knew and he was grateful for that. Wilson was propped up against a coral outcropping, waving weakly. Rose wasn't kidding about his condition: Half of his chest was crushed, and his left leg was obviously broken. A thin trickle of blood kept bubbling out of his mouth to stain his Foundation tee shirt.
"Hey . . . MacGyver," the ichthyologist wheezed. Mac knelt down by him, looking him over. Their eyes met; Wilson gave a slow blink that spoke volumes. Mac had seen that look too many times before, and braced himself internally.
"Not much . . . time."
Unable to lie, Mac nodded. Wilson feebly waved a hand at his feet.
"Hey--Remember?"
Mac did--their conversation a week back, all on the merits of Manitou boots for hiking. They'd both told their favorite trail stories over dinner, entertaining the rest of the team.
"When I go--take them."
"Wilson! --" Rose interjected. Mac could hear that she was dangerously close to tears; he shook his head.
"Don't be stupid, man . . . if you're . . . stuck here a while . . . you'll . . . need them," Wilson rasped out. The blood trickling over his lip and his chin grew heavier; he spasmed forward.
MacGyver sat Wilson up again, feeling the pain wracking his friend's body.
"Okay," he muttered, just to placate the dying man. Rose wrapped an arm around Wilson's shoulders, but he didn't seem to notice her now. He struggled to say something more.
"My girl, Carole . . . tell her--" and then he was gone, consciousness fading from his gaze as a final gout of blood cascaded out of his lips. Rose and Mac locked gazes; she choked back a sob, and he felt more helpless than he'd ever felt.
*** **** ****
It took most of the morning to bury the body, marking the site with a cairn of beach rocks. Rose quietly insisted Mac take the hiking boots, and he didn't put up much of a fuss about it. Wilson did me a favor by giving them to me, he acknowledged. Rose had a pair of Teva sandals that looked kind of funny with her flowered long johns, but at least her legs were protected from the sun. Sort of, anyway, since there were some rips in a few interesting places. After a prayer and a long moment of silence, Mac told her about the tackle box, so they headed back down the beach to the coconut trees, keeping a good pace.
"So what happened?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at the overcast sky. Mac shook his head slowly, a frown on his face.
"I don't know. I was with Randy at the helm when it happened, and everything sounded fine."
"I was on my way to the bathroom. Did we hit something?" Mac pondered the idea for a moment, shrugging.
"Possibly, but I can't imagine what would cause that kind of explosion short of a torpedo or a mine."
"Sabotage?" Rose gave him a skeptical glance, but Mac again shook his head.
"Why? We're a nonprofit research group, Rose--it's not like we're wrecking anyone's commercial venture. Besides, even if it were a deliberate strike, we'd have heard something approaching us--a plane or another ship. I've been running it through my mind for a couple of hours and I still don't have any explanation that makes sense." It was exactly the sort of vague answer he hated to give.
They walked in silence for a while. Rose drew in a deep breath.
"Well, let's get practical then. We've got a tropical storm that's going to hit in less than twelve hours. What do we need to get done?"
"Water and shelter," Mac responded promptly. "Those are the priorities. Nobody's going to be able to start looking for us until after the storm passes anyway, and I'm worried about our exposure."
"Yeah--" Rose cast a glance down at her hip, where a large rip flapped with every step. Mac flushed slightly, but he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.
"There's some fishing line in the box--if I can straighten out a fishhook, you'll have a needle and thread to mend some of those tears."
"Better cloth than flesh. What were you thinking of for a shelter?" Rose replied. Mac pointed to the end of the cove, where the limestone cliffs rose at the water's edge.
"Sections of that are coral, and probably pitted with caves. If we're lucky we might find one high enough to avoid the tide. "
"Okay. And water?"
"If we empty the tackle box we can use it to catch rainwater, but that's a last resort," he admitted. "I'd rather look for a freshwater runoff if we can find one."
"Or a bamboo grove--it grows along streams," Rose added thoughtfully.
They reached the end of the cove, and Rose studied the collected stuff with an approving eye. She was especially delighted with the tackle box.
"Look at all this stuff! Matches, fish shears, bug spray--Thank you Randy," she murmured, pulling out a dive knife and strapping the sheath to her calf. She looked slightly ridiculous; Mac grinned, but Rose caught his look and stuck her tongue out.
"I don't have any pockets in my jammies, so this is the only way I can carry it--" she protested, and he caught the logic of her comment.
"Let's walk along the edge of the cliff into the boonies and see if we can find a cave," he suggested. The sun was out, but large clouds kept scudding across the sky. Rose looked at the rope thoughtfully.
"Should we do the labyrinth thing and anchor a line out here to follow back?"
Startled, Mac looked at her with grudging approval.
"Makes sense."
They tied the end of a long spool of fishing line to one of the coconut trees. Rose stuck the spool on a stick and let it reel out as she followed behind Mac into the overgrowth. It was cooler under the green shade of the leaves, but slow going as they pushed through dense vines and saplings. The cliff was on their right. Mac stopped suddenly, forcing Rose to bump into him.
"What?"
"I think I hear water," he replied, concentrating carefully. Rose listened, too. Faintly it came to them both, and they shared a grin at the sound.
"Falls?"
"Sounds like it. Let's . . ." Mac stopped speaking and looked at his hand, where it rested against the coral. Rose caught his concern and frowned.
"What now?"
"Look carefully at where my fingers are resting--either I'm seeing things, or that's a step carved into the wall."
She looked. It was definitely a step. There was another below it, and another, but dangling vines hid the ones above. For a long moment, neither of them spoke until Mac frowned decisively.
"I've got it. I think we're looking at some sort of fortification from World War two--there's probably a Japanese lookout or pillbox up the face of this cliff," he announced. Rose bit her lip and looked up again. He followed her glance and added softly, "It could be the answer to our shelter situation."
"Yeah, but--" a world of unspoken doubts filled her words. Mac sighed, sensing her trepidation. The steps ran parallel against the cliff, like a fire escape ladder to a building.
"There wont' be much left, Rose. Forty years of exposure will have reduced--remains--to dust, I promise. Shall we look?"
"What about the water?"
"We've got time--let's see if what's up there is worth clearing out."
She shivered, but took the stick that held the spool and jammed it in the coral wall. Mac had already gone up several of the steps and had started to pull away the vines to clear the way. It was slow but steady going, and Rose was glad that the steps were wide, especially as they climbed higher along the side of the cliff. Mac counted the steps in a loud voice as much to scare off any animals as to reassure her.
" . . . Twenty three, twenty four--and here's the entry, I think," he announced, peering at a dark and uninviting opening. Gripping the vines around it, he yanked, uprooting them and tossing them over his shoulder. He peered in, and took a cautious step forward. Rose followed.
The interior would have been cozy if there had been more light. Only a few glimmers of daylight shone through to highlight a sandy floor and a concrete room in an oval shape. Mac sniffed.
"A little dusty, but dry for the most part. The ceiling's low, so watch your head. There should be a port or a slot overlooking the cove--" Both he and Rose stepped over to the right, and began to tug again on the overflow of vines that sprouted from the wall. Mac fished out his pocketknife and began to saw through some of the thicker, woodier stems. After a few minutes of hard work, sunlight began streaming through into the room. Rose gasped.
"What a view!" It was spectacular, the low coral window opening up to reveal a clear panorama of the beach, the reef and the vast ocean beyond. Excited, Rose leaned out a little way.
"We're about fifty feet up--we can't miss anyone headed our way, Mac."
"Only if they're coming from the west," he amended, turning his attention to the rest of the room. He noted a few interesting rectangular shapes and squatted down to examine them.
"Steel footlockers. Maybe we'll find something useful in here--" With a tug, he opened the nearest one, sending a cascade of sand to the floor. The hinges creaked.
"Very old paperwork . . . ammo for a rifle, but no gun. Ah! But this--" he carefully lifted out a rusted machete, looking down the length of the blade carefully. Rose reached past him for something else in the trunk. The binoculars glinted in the light, their leather strap crumbling away. She handed them to MacGyver, who grinned.
"Nice. So what else have we got?"
The other two trunks held the rusted remains of a few canteens, some ancient maps that disintegrated the minute they touched it, and four good sized porcelain bowls with designs of chrysanthemums on them. Rose set them aside carefully, and pulled out the cloth they had been wrapped in, holding it up for inspection.
"Silk--and in pretty good condition too," she noted, admiring the red rising sun in the middle of the huge banner. MacGyver cocked his head and stood up.
"There are collectors out there who'd pay a fortune for that." His tone of voice made it clear what he thought; Rose shrugged and draped the banner over her shoulders.
"The only thing about this that interests me is that it's a natural insulator--if we don't have sleeping bags, at least we can wrap up in the banner and keep our body heat in." She looked down to hide her faint blush.
"What we need now then, is to find a water source, and then start moving things up here for tonight," Mac changed the subject easily. He hefted the machete, and began gathering up the ripped vines, carrying them down the steps. Rose carefully set the bowls back in the footlocker and followed him once more.
The light had changed now, casting longer shadows on the ground. Through the gaps in the leaves overhead, Rose could see the thunderheads approaching across the sky and pointed them out to MacGyver. He nodded. Carefully, he began cutting a path, stopping to listen every few minutes for the falls. Gradually the ground began to slope downward and the sound grew louder.
Rose saw the falls first. A lovely cascade of water crashed down from a gully in the cliff wall to spill into a shallow pool. She brushed the hair out of her face and stepped down to the water, dipping a tentative sandal into the cool water. MacGyver followed her and cast his glance over the scene with a broad smile.
"Postcard perfect--" she murmured.
"--And as potable as we're going to get, I think. Right now we still don't have anything to carry it . . . what are you *doing? *"
"Skinny dipping," Rose announced tugging her shirt up. "I'm ready for a swim."
"Whoah, listen Rose--" Mac tried not to look at her, arguing over his shoulder, "While I'm all for cleanliness, we need to start thinking about how we're going get some of this water back."
"You'll figure out something--you're MacGyver!" she threw back at him in amused frustration. A splash told him she'd gone in; he risked a peek and caught a flash of bare legs as Rose dove into the water.
He sighed. Part of him knew that this break was needed, that both he and Rose were already overstressed not only by the shipwreck, but also by the sudden and gory death of Wilson. At the same time, he was well aware of the continuing perils of their situation. He looked up at the sky, judging the time.
In for a penny, in for a pound I guess--
Carefully, Mac picked up Rose's tattered thermals and draped them on her sandals before kneeling and untying his boots.
"Coming in? It's wonderful!" Rose called to him, her head popping out of the water. He nodded.
"Better hope there aren't any leeches--"
She made a raspberry sound and ducked back under, her body a pale streak of pink through the ripples. Carefully, he peeled off his shirt and sweatshirt, then dropped a hand to his waistband, hesitating.
"I won't look, I prom-ise--"
"*Rose--*" Mac wondered how many more times she was going to make him blush. With a laugh, she turned away, and he hastily shucked out of his shorts, slipping into the water with a gasp.
After a few moments of adjustment, it felt wonderful. Mac scrubbed the dried salt out of his hair, and drank in enough to slake his thirst. Rose was swimming a few yards away, her back to him. In the sunlight, he could see the red hint of sunburn on her shoulders.
"There's some bamboo down here to the left--some pretty big stalks--" she told him conversationally. He looked over.
"That may be the way to carry the water. A big segment with the top cut open could act as a bucket of sorts."
"Yep. And I was thinking about a bed. If we got a bunch of fronds and bamboo leaves then covered them with some of the canvas, we'd be off the floor and padded a little."
Mac was suddenly grateful that the water was cold.
Both of us naked and talking about bed . . .
It was enough to steer his imagination in direction he had been delving into far too often of late, so he gave a grunt and dove under, swimming with powerful strokes across the pool to the shallow falls at the other side. Rose kept her distance, but watched him cautiously. He treaded water when he came up, looking at the cascading water.
"I think I see some sort of block and tackle up there--the occupying forces probably used it to haul buckets of water from under the falls."
"Can you reach it?"
"Only if I get up on the ledge, and right now, that's not something I want to do."
She giggled, and swam back to shore.
"Turn around, Mac. I'm off to gather fronds and coconuts before it gets dark."
Rose pulled on her thermals quickly, not giving Mac time to do more than call out "Be careful!" after her retreating form. He continued studying the weathered pulley dangling high above.
*** *** ***
Rose looked at the pile of fronds and gave a growl of frustration. Although she had managed to drag quite a few of them up, they refused to stay in any sort of neat pile. She set one of them down and glanced around the pillbox, looking at all the supplies Mac had brought up earlier. One of the segments of nylon rope caught her eye. Within half an hour, she'd bundled the fronds, weaving the rope to hold them loosely. The tattered canvas sail went over them, making a serviceable if somewhat scratchy bed. Using a spare frond she swept out the room. That done, she moved to the window and looked out.
Down below on the beach she could see Mac gathering firewood and kindling, stacking it in piles under the coconut trees. He had his sweatshirt off, and was using it to carry something across his back. Rose leaned out and whistled; startled, Mac looked up.
"Whatcha got?" she called down.
"Mangos," he yelled back. "The wind's really picking up, so I don't think we ought to try starting a fire."
"Okay. Is there anything left to bring?"
"More coconuts wouldn't hurt."
He arrived a few minutes later and gently set the fruit in one of the cleaned out footlockers. Rose was kneeling at the window, watching the sunset among angry thunderhead clouds. She shivered, rubbing her arms.
"Storm's almost here. It's weird, Mac, but now I'm scared. We have food, shelter, water and yet right now I'd give anything to be somewhere else."
She said it lightly, but something in the undertone made Mac look down at her woebegone expression. He laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, we've gone through a lot today," Mac reassured her. "It's normal to be scared. *I'm* scared."
"Not you, the great unflappable, unsinkable MacGyver--" Rose weakly smiled up into his face. "Honestly, if you'd been on the Titanic the ship would still be around."
He held her gaze, and for a long moment, they merely studied each other. Mac felt a strong temptation to kiss the cut on her lower lip, and keep kissing until things ended who knew where. For the moment, Rose was vulnerable, a rare state of affairs that Mac knew wouldn't last but one that never failed to drive him to distraction.
Got to get through this--
He let the hand slide up her shoulder to cup her jaw line. She laid her cheek on his wrist for a few seconds, and then seemed to pull herself together; she rose and picked up a mango, peeling it. MacGyver moved to the doorway and studied it carefully.
"Which will make a better door--the last piece of canvas, or palm fronds?"
"Are we merely considering aesthetics, or is there a practical side to this?" she asked through a mouthful of mango as she stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder.
"Both would keep out the rain, but we have to jam a lot more pegs into the coral to hold the fronds up."
"Canvas then. Do we have enough?"
"Yeah. Hand me some of those frond spines . . ." he took off one of his boots and used it as a hammer, pounding a row of sticks around the arched doorway. The canvas had a series of brass eyelets that hooked onto the sticks, and when Mac was done, he smiled.
"It's a little long, but we can use a few coconuts to hold it down and keep it from flapping if the wind gets bad."
"Nice job," Rose called sleepily from the window. She had pulled up one of the steel footlockers and was sitting on it. "Hey, do you think you could try and straighten out a fish hook for me tomorrow?"
"Sure--"
Another awkward pause filled the room. The light had faded, and the mournful rustling of the jungle sounded loud as the wind gusted through it. Rose stood up.
"Look, I'm tired, and you're tired, and let's just get some sleep, okay?"
"Fine by me." Mac parked his boots by the door and waved a hand at the bed. "Ladies first--if you're on the wall side, the wind won't be as bad."
With alacrity, Rose climbed on the stiff canvas, curling into a ball as Mac followed her. The fronds rustled under their weight, and Rose gave an annoyed gasp as one poked into her side.
"Ow!"
"Relax--take the flag and wrap up good in it, then get comfortable. I don't think we're going to get too cold." He assured her as he rolled to face the door. She sighed.
"You do realize that if I have to pee in the middle of the night I'm going to have to crawl over you."
Mac laughed, the first genuine one of the day. He reached back and patted her hip gently.
"And here I was thinking that you needed my help. Go to sleep, Rose."
*** *** ***
Within a few hours the storm hit with full intensity, ripping through the jungle with savage fury. The rain smashed down in hard sheets. Fortunately, the cliff was on the southern side of the onslaught, so only a minor amount of the water tricked down through the coral window. The wind blew across the opening in a wild whistling sound. Rose huddled close to MacGyver's back savoring his warmth. She slid her arm around his waist and he drew in a breath.
"Sorry, but--
"It's okay--sort of nice to know you're there," he responded drowsily. Comforted, she tried to go back to sleep, but the howl of the wind was too loud, and they were both content to lie there while the storm raged outside. Finally Rose whispered,
"Mac, just why *did* you sign up for the reef recovery project anyway?"
He spoke reluctantly. "Well it's an important cause, and I knew the team could use an extra diver, and . . ." he trailed off. Rose prodded his shoulder with her chin.
"--and?"
"And Pete told me that you were thinking about leaving the Foundation, so I offered to talk you out of it," Mac admitted uncomfortably. Rose let out a long sigh.
"Oh Mac . . ."
"Come on, Rose you know you've got a great career here with lots of chances to work on your degree."
"It's not about the work, MacGyver. You're right--the Foundation as enough resources and projects to earn me all the degrees I could ever want. But life isn't just about a job, you know."
He tried again. "You've got a lot of friends here too: Evelyn, Jack and Pete--"
"Maybe even you?" she teased.
"Well of course me," came his exasperated reply. "That goes without saying."
"Why?"
He rolled over to face her even though the shadowy darkness made it impossible to see each other. He felt her head settle on his shoulder and he struggled to find the right words.
"Rose we haven't always gotten along, and I know part of that is because I'm not used to anybody getting . . ."
Past my radar and squarely into my libido--
" . . . Under my skin the way you do," he admitted. Unexpectedly Rose reached over and tweaked his nose.
"You bug me too, Mac. I've never met another soul as self-reliant as you are. You don't really need anybody else, and probably never will."
"That's not true," he muttered, but she continued.
"You're right--you need other people, but it takes an act of God to get you to admit it. And every time Pete, or I, or whoever it is actually manages to help you out, we get shoved away the minute your feet are back under you."
The accusation stung; Mac tensed but Rose hugged him tighter, not letting him roll away as the realization hit him.
"So it's me. *I'm* the reason you're calling it quits with the Phoenix Foundation?" came his slightly hurt response. Rose didn't speak, but he could feel her nod slowly against his shoulder.
For the first time in ages, he cursed; a single hard guttural Anglo-Saxon four-letter word that hung in the air.
"You're not taking this well--" Rose ventured.
"You could say that. Were you planning on telling me this before you left Rose, or was it just something I was supposed to figure out after you were gone?" He demanded bitterly.
"Why would it matter? It's not as if you . . . oh God--Mac?" This time realization hit *her*.
He tried to let her go, but Rose was quicker, and shifted to straddle him. Mac felt her weight settle on his stomach as she peered down into his face.
"Fine, we'll do it the hard way. Say you love me, or say uncle," she demanded. Alarmed, he grabbed her upper arms and suddenly stopped, unsure whether he wanted to push or pull. She lifted her bottom and dropped down hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs; he gasped as the fronds under the two of them creaked.
"Say you love me--" She wound fingers through his hair, tugging it hard.
"Rose!" Mac growled angrily, "Stop it!" He tightened his grip and heaved, rolling both of them over to pin her under him, all fumbles and bumps on the makeshift bed. She wriggled, but in the dark, the solid weight of his bigger stronger body on hers turned their struggle into something much more primitive. With a whimper, Rose rocked her hips against him, pulling his face down to hers.
Mac groaned, his entire lanky frame shivering when their tongues slid hotly against each other. His hands, normally so deft and sure, fumbled as they caressed her hair. Rose muffled a gasp against his hard mouth.
When he tasted the copper of her cut lip, a fresh surge of arousal shot through him; Rose pressed hot kisses under his chin, working her way up to lick his ear while his hands blindly stroked her body. Neither spoke. Each kiss intensified as the long denied mutual lust flared between them, driving all rational thought away.
Rose felt one of Mac's hands shift under her thermal top to cup her breast, thumb flicking over her hard nipple. She writhed impatiently, wrapping her legs around him, savoring the heat of his muscled thighs. Somehow they each slipped out of their shirts, and when MacGyver's teeth nipped her ear, Rose squealed.
"Rose--" Lonely desperate desire made his voice husky. She silenced him with another kiss, this one tenderly erotic as her hands glided down his bare back. Breaking off, Rose arched up, letting his mouth travel down her throat to her breasts and for the first time in his life, Mac willingly relinquished himself to a drive stronger than reason. The taste of Rose's mouth, the smell of her skin overrode conscious thought; he gave into the hunger to possess all of her.
Through the slow ache of anticipation, they managed to tug and shift and toss away the rest of their clothing. It was too dark to see each other, but all their other senses were heightened, lending a surreal quality to the night. Mac gasped when Rose curled her hand around the rising thickness between his thighs.
"For me?" she whispered sweetly. Helplessly Mac thrust himself against her palm, his face pressed to her cheek. Rose gently stroked him, feeling his frame shiver against hers as he became more and more aroused. He growled in frustration, and reluctantly she let go, her fingers running up the soft trail of fur on his bare stomach to reach his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.
"We can't--" he sounded shaky, a man on the edge.
"It's all right," she reminded him, bringing her knees up around his hips. Mac stomach tightened and he thrust into her, the sensation so overwhelming that both of them gasped. Rose clutched him, feeling the powerful drive of his body as it fused with hers. They rocked together, making the fronds creak and rustle under them when the pace began to quicken. Rose cried out softly, and the sound seemed to drive MacGyver over the edge; moments later he shuddered and collapsed on her, surrendering to the pleasure of the moment.
Rose held him, running her fingers through his tangled hair, feeling the scrape of his unshaven chin on her shoulder. She tasted the sweat on his cheek.
"Uncle," he whispered resignedly, and Rose smiled in the dark.
*** *** ***
continued in part II