The Courtesan's Mirror
By
The little B & B off the cobblestone Rue Demaray in the outer city limit of Brussels Belgium was completely charming, set back from the road by a stone wall and ironwork fence, surrounded by ancient oaks and a quietly peaceful front garden. Rose MacGyver, however, was so tired that all she got was a quick impression of a cottage as they passed through the gate and headed up the three wide steps to the front door. The combined flights from LA to New York, New York to Paris and now the last leg to Brussels had taken their toll on her enthusiasm for travel. Currently her body was twelve hours behind its normal circadian rhythm, and she was ready to collapse.
MacGyver wasn't doing much better. Although more of a seasoned traveler than his bride, he too was feeling the aftereffects of too much sitting, too much stress and too little water. He steered her into the B & B gently as a clock chimed two in the afternoon.
"Come on Brat--we're checking in and going to beddy bye, Toots," he promised. She gave him a weary smile and wobbled in.
"Bon après-midi, etes vous le MacGyvers?" came a soft rumbly voice. They looked up to see a large man with a snowy white beard and half-moon glasses. He bore a startling resemblance to Santa Claus as he smiled at them. Mac struggled to remember his basic French as he shifted the suitcases.
"Mmmmm, oui, c'est nous--avez notre chambre?" he yawned tiredly.
"Certainment, mais, serait-il plus facile de parler en anglais?" the Santa man offered kindly. Mac sighed in relief.
"Oh yeah, speaking in English would be a whole lot easier," he admitted honestly. His host laughed.
"Then we shall. I am Emil Duval of Demaray house--welcome. Your rooms are in the garret, three stories up," so saying he picked up a ring of keys and came around the counter, holding out his huge hand to them. Rose gave him a sweetly sleepy smile.
"Santa--"
"Not quite, Madam MacGyver. My, she is *very* tired, isn't she? No matter--up we go--"
Leading the way, Duval took one of the suitcases and headed up the wooden stairs on the far side of the living room. Mac steered Rose up, pushing her small back to keep her going forward. She moved in slow motion, like a sleepwalker up the wooden creaky stairs.
"The main bathroom is here on the second landing, but you have a small shower and toilet with your room above. Even though you are tired I suggest you shower first, Madam MacGyver--it will help take off the grime of travel and let you rest easier, non?"
"Okay," Rose agreed sleepily. She stood swaying until Mac lightly prodded her rump. The followed Duval up one more set of stairs to a small landing where he pushed open a door and waved them in.
For a moment, Rose's blue eyes widened and she made a happy sound. Duval crinkled a smile at her.
"I sense you are pleased with the room?"
"It's perfect!"
The room had white walls, and a low slanted ceiling with a skylight window overhead. The few pieces of furniture were heavy dark wood, including a huge white lace covered four-poster bed that stood so tall that it had a small step stool next to it. An armoire was on one side of the bed, and down the wall, an open door revealed a tiny bathroom.
"Wash up, rest up--Madame and I will have breakfast ready in about nineteen hours--" Duval murmured, closing the door behind them. Mac set his suitcase down with a groan. Rose blinked.
"Okay--shooooower," Slowly she began to peel off her clothes, letting them drop to the hardwood floor as she drifted towards the bathroom.
Under the thin stream of lukewarm water, Rose and Mac stood naked, sleepily supporting each other like partners at the end of a dance marathon as they showered. Both had their eyes closed; Mac was resting his chin on top of Rose's head as she sluggishly washed his back.
"Mac we gotta turn to rinse . . ." she mumbled into his chest. Wearily they did finally getting the last of the soap off of each other. Rose wrapped up in a towel and handed one to him, then padded to the bed. For a moment, she looked at it, perplexed.
"It's too high!" she pouted, trying to climb onto the mattress and failing. Mac caught her hips and gave her a quick boost; she flew up, landing in the middle, a pretty heap of clean skin and damp towel.
"The little steps are on the other side, Shorty--" he snorted. She stuck her tongue out at him, but scrambled under the thick white down covers. MacGyver dropped his hands on the mattress and pushed off, dumping himself onto the bed with a small grunt.
"I hope you used the bathroom, because I'm not getting down to help you up again for about ten hours--" he warned Rose but she was already asleep, huddled in a warm little kitten-like ball. He draped a possessive arm around her and dropped off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
*** *** ***
Rose awoke with a small shiver, wondering for a moment where she was. The sheets weren't familiar, but as she turned her head she sighed with relief to see Mac sprawled on his back on her left. The entire trip all came back in a rush, and as she checked her watch she grinned.
It was three twenty in the morning, and silvery moonlight was shining down through the skylight onto the white down covers. Rose shifted to her side, propping her head up with her hand and studied the man sleeping next to her. Quietly, she flicked away the sheet without disturbing him. He was quite beautiful, she thought, in a classically masculine way. Mac's dishwater blonde hair was glinting in the moonlight, unkempt and slightly tangled across the pillow. It was getting longer than usual, Rose noted, starting to brush his shoulders. She let her gaze take in his long dark lashes, graceful ears, his high cheekbones and narrow, well-defined nose before smiling at the sight of his lips.
They were tapered but expressive lips, even in sleep; slightly pursed as if Mac was about to say something. Rose knew from delicious experience that even though that mouth could be stern and uncompromising, it also smiled often, and kissed with intense depths of wet sweet passion that even now could make her tingle. She smiled, and even though she was sorely tempted to kiss him, Rose held back, and went back to contemplating her sleeping husband.
Genetics had blessed MacGyver with a classically handsome jaw line, and Rose loved his chin, even when shadowed with a day's worth of beard. His neck was lean and well defined. Strong broad shoulders caught her eye; Rose drew in a breath, appreciating the muscled curves and hollows of his frame, remembering the power in it. She shifted, leaning closer to look at him in the moonlight, trying very hard not to wake him up. He stirred slightly, one hand aimlessly flung to his side. Rose smiled to herself again.
Mac's chest was perfect, she decided seriously. The wide flat, lightly furred pectorals were wonderful to snuggle against, and fun to tease. She longed touch him, to play with those rivet-like nipples and make him growl at her; to fight the urge, she bit her lips instead. The fur trailed down his flat muscular stomach to his navel. Rose sighed. She adored his belly button, and knew that fact alone drove Mac crazy. It was cute. She once had caught him studying it in the bathroom mirror, a serious, incomprehensive expression on his face; Rose could never explain her passion for it.
His hips were also very nice, she knew. Trim, lean but with enough manly delineation to make every pair of jeans look good. She risked a peek lower, her mouth becoming dry. Ah yes--
Mother nature had definitely balanced out MacGyver's delicate eyelashes and high cheekbones with more considerable evidence of manhood, and Rose blushed, even as she chided herself for doing so. There was nothing wrong in looking, she argued with herself. For heavens sake, you're married! Nonetheless, she could feel the heat on her face and between her hips as she gazed upon the substantial heft of Mac's cock resting against his muscular thigh. A sudden urge to giggle grew in her; she stifled it by biting her tongue, and returned to her perusal of him. Long powerful legs; skater's muscles evident from his thighs through his shins--Rose bent further to see his feet, and a long strand of her hair brushed his hip; immediately she froze, but he merely sighed, shifting towards her and sleepily tugging at the covers. Rose rolled over herself, pressing her back against him. Mac curled around her, his breathing deep and even. She drew in a deep breath contentedly, savoring the warmth that his body radiated against her spine from shoulders to rump. Gradually she drifted off to sleep again, sheltered against his lanky frame.
By five thirty seven, the faint grey light of impending dawn glowed through the skylight, and the heavy thrum of rain added soft sounds in the background. Mac stirred, groggily rising out of sleep into awareness. He flexed his toes and stretched, feeling a renewed energy flow through him. When he opened his eyes he gave a small murmur of contentment. Even the rain didn't depress him; he looked at the woman slumbering away at his side and smiling, watched her sleep.
Rose was facing Mac, her long, curly auburn hair in a fragrant cascade across the pillow. MacGyver admired her elegantly arched brows, aware of their expressive ability to broadcast Rose's every mood. Her lashes were long and thick, a dark fringe against her freckled skin. Mac knew from experience how softly ticklish those lashes could be. He let his gaze sweep over her pointed nose, and soft cheeks to rest on her mouth.
Rose had exactly the sort of full lower lip that the average man yearned to nibble, MacGyver decided. Lush and pink, it could quiver in the most enticing way whenever she was upset and was completely delicious when kissed. Mac contemplated pouncing on it, then decided to wait a moment, savoring the thought that he could return to that tempting morsel shortly.
Rose's throat was smooth, her shoulders small and silky. Mac ran a finger along the edge of the sheet and quickly flicked it down, a grin crossing his face as he did so. Yes, there were the delectable breasts that never failed to stir him--softly rounded, full and sweet, Rose's chest. He drew in a sharp breath, well aware that his pulse was quickening. Up until now, Mac had never thought of himself as a breast man, but Rose had changed that. From the first day he'd seen her, chest thrust out unabashedly, he'd felt tiny stirrings of lust in an unrelenting current, like the erotic charge of a micro battery run through his psyche. With a little sigh, Rose shifted, rolling on her back, one arm flung over her head as she settled back into sleep. Mac refrained from touching her, but he quivered, like a cat near a mouse.
The delicate cage of her ribs sloped down to a flat stomach graced with a charming belly button. Mac shook his head; many a time he'd flicked a tongue there, making her squeak. Rose's hips flared out, bones rising on each side in a cradling fashion and sweetly nestled between her long thighs was the soft nest of silky fur that brought a blush to Mac's face even as he smiled again. A secret garden. Well named she was, with a velvety rose hidden from everyone but him. A surge of possessive pride raced through MacGyver, a surge that concentrated itself in an all too familiar fashion. He shook his head grateful for the simple joyous symphony of his wife's body and dropped his mouth onto hers lightly.
Rose purred sleepily against his lips, her mouth opening to his questing tongue as he shifted closer, arms slipping around her shoulders. MacGyver broke off the kiss to nuzzle her neck; Rose turned her head, letting him do it with a smile.
"Bonjour, chéri -- quelqu'un amoureux?"
"Hmmmm--" came his thoughtful murmur between kisses, "Oui--nous avons un mariage au consumate, ma Rose--"
She giggled, shaking her head.
"Oh Mac--You only speak French because it's the international language of--"
"--Love?" his hands slid down her spine, and Rose wriggled.
"--Hockey. And half the stuff you know how to say isn't language you want to repeat, pal."
"True," he admitted absently with a grin. "But in hockey and love, actions speak louder than words . . ."
"My my--I think you're high sticking there, sweetie--"
"You're sooooooo right--I'll just throw myself in the penalty box . . ." he pressed kisses down her throat and under her chin; Rose had no breath left for a reply as she eagerly hooked a leg over his hip and busied herself with nibbling his ear.
*** *** ***
By the time they trotted down the stairs, breakfast was nearly over. Emile Duval looked up at their slightly embarrassed expressions and smiled understandingly.
"Renewed your energies I see--we still have croissants and jam left."
"Thanks--" Mac settled in at one of the breakfast nook tables with Rose, who busied herself pouring a glass of juice. As Duval walked into the kitchen, she shot a glance at her husband.
"Thanks to *you* we almost missed breakfast--" she whispered. He smirked back at her, waving a croissant in her direction.
"Hey, who *begged* me for a hat trick--before eight in the morning I might add--"
Rose went completely pink and refused to answer. Before Mac could do more than dimple a smile at her, Duval returned with a platter of pears and grapefruit sections.
"Pour les vitamins--do you need a cab this morning?"
"No, we hoped to take the Metro into old town and look around--maybe at the Grand Market," Mac told him. Duval nodded.
"Always an interesting trip. I have a cousin, Etienne, who works in the corner nearest the park--he'll be happy to tell you who's worth doing business with and who is not. Happy bargain hunting."
They dressed for the weather, which was chilly and damp--Rose had her green Phoenix foundation sweatshirt over a denim skirt, black leggings and ankle boots. She wore a simple headband, and long dangly silver fish earrings. Mac chose jeans and a bulky cable sweater over a button down shirt. Wisely, he took a collapsible umbrella too. They found the closest stop and caught the train: Rose was too short to reach the overhead rings so she wrapped her arms around MacGyver instead, to his amusement.
"Do I know you?" he teased.
"Intimately--" She pressed closer as the train became crowded with morning commuters and shoppers all heading into the center of the Low Town.
The cobblestones streets were wet and the sky overcast, but the market was busy with hundreds of shoppers. For a few hours, Mac and Rose poked around, looking at the mishmash of collected junk and treasure at each stand. MacGyver found a packet of antique postcards featuring ice sports, promptly bought them and tried to talk Rose into helping him make a collage for one wall of the Grotto. When she found a second packet at another stall, she agreed, and they purposefully threw themselves into the search.
"Oh no--not more of these--" she wrinkled her nose at the bundle of risqué cards. Mac peeked over her shoulder and his mouth twisted in a smile.
"Not quite the sport we're looking for--" But he studied them anyway until Rose tweaked his nose in exasperation.
"I'm getting hungry, and it would be nice to find a spot to sit down for a while."
"Food sounds good--" He agreed. They drifted across the plaza to the nearest café until Mac snapped his fingers.
"Umbrella. I think I left it on the counter of the last stall--" he gave her a 'wait here' gesture and sprinted back across the cobblestones. Rose stood at the door of the café, where enticing smells were drifting by. She stepped to the edge of the small alley, and swiftly a pair of hands grabbed her, one snaking around her waist, the other pressing firmly on her lips. Too startled to react for a moment, she felt herself yanked backwards into the wet shadows of the alley.
"Don't panic, Miss, I'm not going to hurt you--" a man's low voice rumbled in her ear. "I'm really sorry for grabbing you like this, but I've got a desperate situation here. Do you know Peter Thornton?"
The question took Rose by complete surprise; she tried to turn her head, but the man had her back pinned against him. He smelled nice, she thought in a fleetingly distracted thought. His hand lifted an inch from her lips and she mumbled,
"Of course I know Pete. He's my CEO."
"So you *do* work for the Foundation. Good. Can you prove it?"
"My ID's in my purse--who the hell *are* you?"
He ignored her question, and dug one hand into her purse, pulling out her wallet. The standard Phoenix Foundation ID was right next to her driver's license, and the man sighed.
"Briar Rose, huh? Well listen, Ms Clowderbock, it's vitally important that I get a package to Pete Thornton, and I'm hoping you'll deliver it for me. It's a matter of national security."
"National security? Oh *please!*" her hissing voice dripped sarcasm. "What the hell could be so important that you can't go through the embassy anyway? Let go of me before I scream my damn head off!" She moved to struggle, but the man squeezed her more tightly against him, cupping her mouth again.
"Man, it figures," he sighed, "What the hell ever happened to good old American patriotism?" There was something so sad and so disappointed in his voice that Rose took a deep breath instead.
"Look, I might be a little more inclined to help you if you told me more--" came her muffled words. "My husband's going to come back in a minute, and he's not going to be thrilled if I'm gone--"
"Good point," the man agreed. "Okay, right now my partner is leading a group of Iraqi counterintelligence agents on a wild goose chase through most of Lower Town and I've got to catch up with her before they do. All I know about the package is that it's vital they don't get a hold of it."
"So what's this got to do with Pete?"
"Pete's former DXS and he'll know how to get it to Billy--Look, I've got to go--meet me tonight at the Belle Vue brewery tour, around seven. And just to make sure you do--" He pocketed Rose's wallet. She wanted to protest, but he gave her a gentle shove, and she stumbled forward against the wall. When she turned around, the alley was empty. Cursing, Rose stepped out to see Mac looking up and down the street.
"Hey Brat--"
"Mac, we've got a problem," she announced flatly. He looked at her expression and cocked his head, so she led him to one of the tables and tossed her purse down.
"I just got mugged by someone who wants me to take a package to Pete to give to someone called Billy."
It was a little frightening to see the change in MacGyver's expression: his eyes narrowed, he leaned forward and laced his fingers with hers.
"Start from the beginning--" he ordered tersely.
*** *** ***
Belle Vue was crowded; the tour obviously ranked high in many of the guides to Brussels. Rose found herself squeezed in at a little corner table, and looked around to see if she could spot Mac. He was across from her in the brewery tasting room, wearing his sunglasses, and making a point not to look directly at her, just as they'd planned.
Earlier in the day it had taken a while to figure out what to do. Mac was clearly uncomfortable discussing his DXS days.
"Brat, there are a lot of things I can't talk about--a lot of national security issues I'm morally and legally forbidden to discuss. Believe me, I wish I could, but I can't."
Rose understood. Men like Pete and Mac were forged through events beyond her range of experience, and even though they were morally good to the core, they had areas of gritty experience that frightened her.
Mac had openly admitted he didn't want Rose involved but she pointed out that the man was expecting *her* to show up at the brewery.
"Even if you have an idea who it is, he's going to be looking for me--just make me the bait, and you can run interference."
Mac had sighed harshly.
"I hate this, Rose--it's risky."
"Mac, he's got all my ID! Sure I have my passport, but if anyone pulls me aside at the airport or into a police station, I'm seriously screwed for at least seventy two hours."
"I know. If it's who I think it is, he's counting on you to come through and do the patriotic thing--"
"--Practically his exact words!"
"Yeah, I have a pretty good idea who it is. He must be desperate to pull in a civilian for a drop."
Mac wouldn't give her his name, and Rose cursed herself for not noticing more about the man who'd grabbed her. She thought back to what she could remember: He smelled nice--an expensive cologne, his hands were clean and well-manicured--his voice had been low and rumbly, with a flat American accent, and he was taller than her--not a big surprise.
She sipped the kriek beer in front of her, making a face at the bizarre cherry flavor of it, then looked at her watch.
"It's six fifty seven, Mrs. Clowderbock. Thank you for coming . . ." low voice rumbled next to her ear. She froze, and shot a look to her right. The man sitting there had a rain jacket on, the hood pulled low over his face, but she could make out a somewhat handsome profile.
"The name's not Clowderbock anymore--" she corrected him automatically. He turned a few degrees to look at her; she managed a smile as Mac glided up on the other side of the man.
"Just as I thought--Scarecrow."
The man sharply swung his gaze back towards MacGyver, his eyes widening in recognition.
"Merc!" came his delighted hiss.
"Yeah. Glad to see you met my wife--" MacGyver muttered, setting a huge stein of beer down and pushing his sunglasses up on his head. Nonplussed, the spy in the middle looked from one to the other, a shocked smile on his face.
"You're kidding!"
"Nope. Always did have the talent to hit the bulls eye without even looking, didn't you?" Mac kept his tone neutral, but something fierce in his words made the other man flinch; he drew in a breath.
"Listen Mercury, all three of my contacts are dead, and my partner's been wounded--It's not as if I had a lot of *options* in the last five hours. I saw the sweatshirt and took a gamble--"
"--Again. Christ, Lee! How many times do you think you can land on your feet? For all you knew, Rose could have bought that shirt at a garage sale--" Mac growled.
"Hel-lo, keep your voices down, people are starting to stare--" Rose warned them as she took another sip of the beer. Immediately both men did the same with their drinks.
"Okay, it was a hell of a long shot, and yeah, I could have been screwed royally, but the fact of the matter is that it's you, so there's a fighting chance this is going to work out, okay? Jesus, I forgot about that touchy temper of yours, MacGyver."
For a moment the two men glared at each other, then their expressions slowly softened into mutual grins. Mac ran a hand over his face.
"Okay. We're in, I guess, for all the good it does. You're still running with Amanda?"
"Yeah--" A hint of high color came to Scarecrow's cheeks at the mention of her name, and his tone softened when he added, "She broke her wrist after being pushed out of a car this afternoon."
"Getting away?"
"Barely. Now here's the situation--Billy needs this thing by next week at the latest. The airport and borders are being watched--"
"Ahem!" Rose interrupted. Mac looked at her with amusement.
"Sorry--Lee, this is Rose."
"The . . . wife?" he said it in a dubious way that left Rose bristling and Mac grinning.
"The lady who'd like her wallet back--" she snapped. Flushing a little, Scarecrow fished it out of his pocket and gently laid it on the table.
"Sorry, Ma'am--" the Boy Scout sincerity of his expression made her soften; Rose scooped it up and rolled her eyes but a smile crossed her mouth when he held out his hand.
"Lee Stetson. Call me Scarecrow."
No one could have looked less like a scarecrow, she thought. Stetson was tall and lean, handsome in an all American yuppie way, with thick chestnut locks and dark brown eyes. Compared to Mac, he was practically an opposite with his neatly combed hair and aristocratic bearing.
"Rose MacGyver. So you're a spy--"
"We prefer the label intelligence agent--looks better on the resume, --" he countered, smiling at her. Against her will, Rose found him charming, and it amused her to see Mac scowling a bit at her answering smile.
"Okay, turn it down a bit, Lee--this one's taken, if you hadn't noticed--" At that, both Scarecrow and Rose smirked again and let go hands.
"Shall we get to the point?" Mac muttered, pushing one of the steins out of the way. "Where's the package now?"
"In the trunk of a white rental BMW in the parking lot. I'll give you the keys--leave it in a Metro lot--"
"--Yeah, yeah and the agency will deal with it. How big a package are we talking about?"
"Two by three--it's a mirror," Scarecrow muttered. He raised his hands at Mac's skeptical expression; "Cut me some slack here, Merc--Something in it or on it is enough for the Iraqis to send three of their top agents after the thing. Could have microfilm or digital imaging or chemical formulas for all Billy told me. I'm just the errand boy, okay?"
"Okay. We'll hold it for three days and then ship it Fed Ex to Pete. That should give you enough time to shake your shadows, right?"
"Good enough," and there was a tone of genuine relief in the man's tone. Rose finished her beer with a sigh. Mac looked at her.
"You liked that stuff?"
"Actually--yeah," she admitted in surprise, licking her lips. Lee chuckled.
"Here--you go scope the lot while your wife and I have another, Merc--"
"Send her out in five minutes--*five.*" he warned.
"Maybe--"
Mac made a sour face, but took the proffered car keys and left the brewery tasting room in long strides. Rose watched him go then turned her gaze back to the man next to her.
"You were both DXS, weren't you?"
"No, different agencies, but with a lot of mutual concerns, you might say. Pete would loan him out whenever we encountered something with wires or timers or fuses, which ten years ago was more often than I like to remember. One of the best demo men I've ever seen."
"Yeah," Rose agreed softly. Lee looked down at the table.
"I owe him my life at least twice, Rose--believe me, I wouldn't ask him this favor now if I wasn't flat out of options."
"I know--" Rose replied, toying with the empty beer stein. "He can't leave a friend in the lurch--not his nature. Surprised he's married?"
"A little, yes. He never really seemed the type."
"Love does strange things to a man--" she gave him a piercing look; he pinkened.
"I suppose--"
"Suppose *nothing*," she snorted knowingly. Stetson gave her a sharp look that she met square on.
"Oh please--it's written all over you. Look, we'll take care of your mirror, and you go take care of your Amanda, okay?"
The charismatic smile he flashed was enough for Rose to see how this man could be a real danger to the opposite sex. She winked at him, and got one in return as they left the table and headed out. He used his chin to point towards a dark corner of the parking lot.
"There--Merc should take you around the Circle once or twice before parking it. And tell him he still owes Francine a bottle of bleach--"
Rose gave him a curious look; Scarecrow looked smug.
"He'll understand the reference, trust me. It was a pleasure, Mrs. MacGyver--" he offered her his hand, she impulsively hugged him, then trotted off to the BMW, leaving him standing in the rain misty light of the Brewery doorway.
"Buckle up--driving in Europe is a pain in the butt--" Mac growled. Rose did, looking over at him.
"He said you should go around the Circle--"
"--At least twice, yeah I know the procedure, --" Mac snapped, pulling out into busy traffic. Rose sighed.
"Fine--don't bite *my* head off! He also said you owed Francine a bottle of bleach."
Unexpectedly Mac burst into laughter. He merged, settled into a lane and took a second to glance at Rose, who shrugged, so he elaborated.
"Francine Desmond was an agent too--blonde, pretty but kind of stuck-up--the three of us got ambushed in her hotel room one time, and I had to make something quick to discourage some folks intent on doing us bodily harm. The bleach was part of the chemical grenade I whipped up."
"What's so funny about that?"
"Francine was in the shower at the time, using the bleach. She has never *ever* forgiven us for exposing her--secret," Mac snorted. Rose giggled, biting her lips.
*** *** ***
The mirror was heavy. Mac lugged it up the front steps of the B & B with a grunt as Rose fumbled with the doorbell. Duval opened it after a long minute, looking even more like Santa now that he had a fragrant pipe in his teeth.
"Success in the antique hunting I see--" he muttered as Mac lifted it again. "Do you need help?"
"No, no I'm fine--" MacGyver grunted, hoisting it up and heading for the stairs. Behind the counter the tiny Madame Duval gave a knowing smile, and Rose blushed. When she caught up to Mac at the landing she muttered
"You *know* what our hosts are thinking don't you?"
"That we paid too much for a souvenir of Brussels?" came Mac's annoyed reply. Rose shook her head.
"Something much more embarrassing than that--" she sighed. Mac rolled his eyes.
"Just give me a hand with this--" he sighed. They managed to get the heavy mirror into the room, and Mac lifted it to the top of the dresser, hooking the wire on the back to a hook on the molding. Rose studied it carefully as he went to wash his hands and face.
The mirror was a long rectangle of polished glass in an ornately Rococo gilt frame that had seen better days. Chipped flowers, stained curlicues and garlands adorned the edge with four fat cupids holding smaller mirrors at each corner. The glass itself was slightly beveled, and because of the slackness of the supporting wire, sagged forward slightly, giving an angled view of the room. Rose could see her reflection, and absently touched her hair, noting Mac as he stepped out of the tiny bathroom and came up behind her.
"Not exactly a subtle piece, is it?"
"No--man, I wonder what the provenance on the thing is?"
"Given the mounting of the wire on the back, I'd guess it used to hang over a fireplace somewhere--" Mac ventured. Rose looked over her shoulder at him, but there was no teasing in his tone--he looked serious.
"Really?"
"Smoke stains on the frame, and the glass is kinda bubbled in the back--exposure to heat would do that--" he guessed. Stepping closer, he examined the mirror more carefully. Rose yawned.
"I'm going downstairs to take a bath--"
"Okay," he murmured, running a hand over the frame.
By the time Rose returned all pink and fragrant, Mac was already in bed, studying the Lonely Planet guide to Brussels. He smiled at her.
"Which sounds more fun--a tour of the museum of antique musical instruments or the one of Natural History?"
"Oh the Natural History one! Did you know--" she climbed the steps to the bed and bounced up next to him, "That one of the world's greatest sedimentologists works there?"
"Sedimentologist? As in a guy who studies the layers of mud on the bottom of the ocean? How thrilling--" he muttered back. Rose nodded happily, missing Mac's expression.
"Professor Etienne Brolonge. He's done a great paper on the evolution of the trilobite."
"Riveting--" Mac snorted, setting the guide down. Rose picked up her hairbrush and sat on the edge of the bed but before she could start, Mac took it from her.
"Let me--" he asked simply. She agreed, and he deftly brushed her hair in long smooth strokes while she sighed happily.
"Mac?"
"Yes?"
"How'd you get the name Mercury?"
"That was my codename designation by the Agency. It's always based on the first letter of your last name--Stetson, Scarecrow, MacGyver, Mercury. Since I worked with dangerous materials, and I did have more of a temper than I do now, Mercury seemed to fit."
"Ummm. What was Francine's name?"
Mac laughed. "Francine Desmond wanted Diamond, but it was already taken. Behind her back, Lee called her Drag, and Drip and Dull--but her official code name is Debutante."
"And I'd be--Marine Biologist?
"Nope--" He bent to kiss her neck gently. "You'd be---Mata Hari--" he teased as they both looked at their reflections in the mirror.
*** *** ***
In two days they managed to take in most of the sights of Brussels. Rose was constantly awestruck by the classical buildings and design of the city. Mac enjoyed watching her as she took pictures of everything around them.
"Enough photos already!" he laughed as the sat for lunch in a small restaurant off of the Museum of the Royal Institute of Natural Sciences. Rose put away the camera with a sigh.
"I know--but I want to remember *everything!* you've been in Europe before, and I haven't so it's all a big deal to me still."
"I know--" Mac admitted gently with a crooked smile. "And it's fun to see it the way you do, Brat. Let's finish our soup and see if there's still time to get to Fed Ex today."
"Oh yeah--we've got something to ship besides postcards, huh?"
"Yeah."
On the way back, Mac ducked into one of the chocolate shops and came out again with a small wax bag. Rose eyed it excitedly.
"For me?"
"In a way--" he grinned, "You'll see--"
They headed back as a storm broke, showering rain down in the rolling waves of a late autumn storm. The afternoon was dark and dreary, and every time the thunder rumbled, Rose jumped.
"I'm not scared of it, but it's loud," she explained. Mac herded her back to the B&B, where Duval was busy stoking up the fireplace in the hearth.
"Someone is here to see you--" he told them, pointing a chin at one of the living room chairs. Mac stepped in, and smiled.
"Amanda!"
"Hello again Mac--" she shyly responded, "It's really nice to see you again--and this must be Rose, Lee told me all about you--" holding out a hand with a bandaged wrist, she smiled at Rose. Rose smiled back, very gently shaking the hand. Dressed in a light yellow sweater set, Amanda was tall and elegant, with a shy sweet manner and dark elfin features.
"What are you doing here? Where's Lee?"
Amanda spoke softly, but urgently. "Well he's busy driving a decoy mirror through the countryside right now--we thought it would be a little smarter to just substitute one package for another, and since he knows Europe a lot better than I do he chose to go," she rambled on. "We'll meet up back in D.C. sometime tomorrow but he asked me to tell you that the Fed Ex is being watched."
"Hmmmm," Mac mused. Amanda sighed.
"I really hate to ask since it's probably a breach of security but did you ever find out what's so special about this mirror?"
Rose looked at Mac and back again to Amanda.
"Yeah, I did. You know, there may still be a way to do this--let's go on up--" Mac headed for the stairs and the two women followed. Duval watched them go and kept his grin to himself.
Once in the room, Mac stepped up to the mirror, touching it lightly. Amanda gave a small grimace.
"I know a lot of people would think this is a pretty fancy mirror and they'd be right but I can't help thinking it's a bit much even for a nice room like this."
"A bit--" Mac shrugged. "However, the charm lies in what's presented in plain view. I told Rose that this mirror used to hang over a fireplace because of the stains on the frame and the bubbling of the glass here and here--" he touched it as Amanda and Rose watched. Swiftly, Mac pulled out his knife and opened a blade. Gently, he worked it along the edge of one of the small mirrors that the nearest cherub was holding.
"But these aren't stained or bubbled. Therefore, whatever this mirror is has to be here. And this---" he popped the glass out into his palm, "--is it."
"But that's not a mirror, it's just a piece of glass--" Rose pointed out. Mac shook his head.
"No Brat, it's a lens. What we've got here are four separate lenses."
"For glasses?"
"For lasers. I bet these four combine to create an intensive concentration that would be perfect for any combination of weapons the Iraqis might be interested in. Amanda, you take these with you. Rose and I will still ship the mirror to Pete as agreed, and let the thing be tracked back to California while you meet up with Lee."
"Oh my gosh, laser lenses, what if I drop them or break them or--"
"--The glass is unbreakable, Amanda--it would have to be to take the intense heat it focuses," Mac cut into her babbling gently. "Just pack them in something soft and nonabrasive--lingerie for example, and get them back to DC."
"Lingerie?" Amanda pinkened, but Mac gave a mild smile.
"Or sweaters, or the inner cotton fluff of a pillow--whatever you can use, okay?" He reassured her, gently. "Get a layer between them and you'll do fine."
Gingerly Amanda took the lenses, wrapping them in a man's handkerchief from her purse. Rose was amused to note the monogram in the corner of it: LS. Mac made no comment himself, but he winked at Rose over Amanda's shoulder.
"Oh gosh, I guess I should be going then--it's been nice meeting you, and I'm really grateful that you figured this out, Mac," she beamed at him.
"Not a problem. Say hi to Billy when you see him."
"Oh sure, he'd be glad to hear it--well, so long, I'll just see myself out, and thanks again--" Amanda burbled, waving a hand and heading through the door, closing it behind her. Rose climbed the steps to the bed and flounced on it. She and Mac looked at each other and laughed at the same time.
"She's a spy?"
"No, she's a talented civilian who's got more on the ball than most--" Mac admitted wryly. "And she's got Lee Stetson wrapped around her pinkie tighter than a Chinese finger puzzle."
"That part I could believe--man, you were pretty smart to find those lenses though."
"Not smart, just deductive--" MacGyver mused. "They'll get those to the right people, and things will work out just fine--they usually do."
"Yeah--"Rose glanced over at the mirror, pouting. "In the meantime, Pete gets a gaudy red herring from Brussels--"
"True. But, we can't take this thing to the Fed Ex office until the rain stops--" Mac picked up the wax bag and tossed it from hand to hand teasingly, "--and in the meantime . . ." Rose arched an eyebrow at him as he advanced on her.
"Ever play a game called truffle buttons?"
"No--"
"Ah. Well not everyone has all the game pieces, but you need about twelve bits of fine Belgian chocolate--the good stuff--" he held up the bag.
"What else?" Rose giggled as he advanced on her and nuzzled her ear. He turned his head and they both looked at themselves in the glass.
" You also need, let's see--A big bed, a mirror, and two imaginative naked people--fortunately, we seem to have all of those right here--"
"We're not naked--" she pointed out, smirking. He mock-sighed, hands coming up to undo her blouse.
"I was just getting the game board ready--give me a minute--"
EPILOGUE
The floor was littered with Styrofoam peanuts and paper. Pete Thornton stared at the unwrapped mirror, sighing. Helen shook her head in sympathy, and waited for him to say something.
"Melrose told me to keep it--what on earth am *I* gonna do with this thing?"
"Hang it in the lobby?" she suggested. He winced. Leaning closer, Pete touched a section of the glass and frowned.
"There are chocolate smudges on this--Helen, I don't care what it costs, you ship this over to MacGyver's. Tell him he can keep it for a souvenir or something--"
END