Primitive – Part III
By
The morning was bright and fair, promising to be a scorcher by noon. Standing in the waves just in the waterline, Rose spit into the mask, and rubbed it around absently. She cast a glance back at the beach, looking at the burnt remains of the nearest signal fire and involuntarily a blush crossed her face. Even the cool water didn't eradicate it. She splashed some into the mask to rinse it out and moved deeper until she was in the water up to her waist.
Sitting on the sand, MacGyver was busy straightening the deck chair tubing, his strong hands bending and twisting the soft aluminum until it conformed to the design in his head. He looked up to see Rose pull the mask down and adjust the straps around the back.
"Stay inside the reef . . . we don't know how strong the currents are near the drop off," he advised. She nodded, bit down on the snorkel mouthpiece and glided off across the top of the water as Mac watched her go. He rubbed his unshaven cheeks and smiled crookedly to himself.
/Stubborn as I am, and just as uncertain--if only she'd say something, *anything* about what she's thinking. What do you want, Rose? Whatever it is, I'll get it for you. /
He looked down, thinking hard. The aluminum frame would work, Mac knew. Stretch the silk flag over it, sew it down and keep it buoyant with floating coconuts trapped underneath, and voila, a bright eight by twelve foot floating sign they could anchor out on the reef. The white silk would be sure to catch anyone's eye.
It was a lot of work--the sewing alone would take a good part of the day. They could take turns at that, but the sacrifice would be that it would cut into their foraging time. Mac was heartily sick of mangos and longed for something a little different, so when Rose volunteered to check out the reef and possibly bring something edible back, he let her go.
"Let's see--got hooks, fishing line, rope--" he muttered to himself, keeping one eye out on the distant figure in the ocean. He worked steadily, drinking water from the bamboo bucket at his side. After an hour, he looked up just in time to see Rose walking out of the surf carrying one of the plastic grocery bags. She saw his grin and tried to cover up her chest.
"No ogling the mighty huntress, thank you. I got a whole bunch of green lip mussels and a nice sized snapper we can steam for lunch--or are you a really strict vegetarian? I can't remember."
"I'll do fish or shellfish in a pinch," he admitted, taking the bag from her and handing over the bamboo bucket. "See anything interesting down there?"
"Yeah," she took a long drink before continuing. "There's a thriving community of soft corals and related symbionts along the breakwater--lots of healthy ecosystems, but there's also a section of reef that's obviously artificial--the coral's growing on what looks like a bunch of scrap metal left by the Imperial Navy. One of the spots has an almost perfect orb . . ."
Alarmed, Mac shot her an intently serious look. "Perfectly round? Or does it have projections on it?" He made a quick drawing in the sand; Rose shook the water out of her ears and glanced at the sketch.
"Sort of like that--it's got a coral coating about six inches thick I think--"
Mac drew in a shaky breath. "It's not an orb, Rose, it's an underwater mine! And I bet that's what the Good Tern hit--the engine's vibrations must have set off those sixty year old chemically unstable explosives--"
Rose dropped to her knees on the sand, wide-eyed.
"Oh my God--but why is the island mined? As far as we can tell this place is too small to register on any map."
"It's got fresh water. Back then that was probably enough," MacGyver mused. Both of them looked around uncertainly, and Rose shivered.
"Think there are any mines in the sand?"
"No." Mac shook his head confidently. "Wouldn't have been worth the time to bury them. My guess is that this was a refueling rendezvous that had water--nothing more. The floating mines were all they intended to use."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Rose absently twisted her long hair, wringing the water out of it. She looked at Mac's project and brightened.
"Hey, it looks good. Here, let me do some while you take a break, okay? No sense in straining your eyes any more than you have to."
"Fair enough--I need to refill the bucket anyway, and bring down one of the footlockers." He gave her shoulder a squeeze as he got up, dusting the sand off his legs. Rose picked up the fishhook needle and continued the stitching around the edge, letting the sun dry her as she worked.
After a while, she could hear footsteps approaching behind her; she glanced back to see MacGyver lugging the steel footlocker, corded muscles of his arms standing out. He dropped it with a loud grunt, sending sand over her thigh.
"Kinda heavy," he apologized. She gave him an arch look, but brushed the grains off her leg and finished up the last stitches on the third side of the frame. Mac had his knife out and was squatting in the sand, taking the lid off the footlocker.
"Mac--"
"Brat?" he replied with easy affection, tugging on the hinges. She drew her mouth into a thin line.
"Don't do this to me, okay? You've got that whistling man happy attitude that's going to drive me insane, so stop it."
"Whistling man what?" came his puzzled response. She gave a noisy sigh and set the needle down.
"Whistling man happy attitude. Men get it after they get laid--it's like all's right with the world, even if it isn't--" she tried to explain. Mac's brows drew together and he cocked his shaggy head, trying to follow her reasoning.
"Wanna run that by me again, Rose?"
"MacGyver!" she punched a fist into the sand. "You act as if everything between us is settled, that it's all some sort of done deal just because we've . . . done the mattress mambo."
He laughed, unable to help himself as she pushed herself to her feet and stalked over to him.
"The mattress mambo? Whatever happened to plain and simple verbs, like made love?" he asked reasonably. She looked furious, and Mac rose up to quell her wrath.
"It wasn't--to be lovemaking, people have to be in love," she growled.
Moment of truth. I thought it would be a lot tougher than this--
Mac shrugged lightly.
"I love you."
"No you don't."
"Prove it," he challenged, crossing his arms.
"Prove you *do*."
"No. I called it first, Rose--so now you have to prove I don't love you. Rules of the game."
"What?" she glared up at Mac, confused. "How the hell do I do that?"
"That's your problem," he admitted cheerfully. "So it stands now, I win unless you can find some concrete evidence to make your case. While you're at it, could you start cleaning the fish?"
Totally bewildered, Rose blinked, turned away and picked up her dive knife while Mac grinned to himself and went back to the footlocker.
He started whistling.
*** *** ***
Both of them were hungrier than they wanted to admit, and it seemed to take forever to get the fresh water at the bottom of the footlocker to boil. Rose gently dropped the mussels in, and looked at the other fire, where MacGyver was frying the fish on the steel lid. She could feel her stomach rumbling. He used the edge of the dive knife to carefully flip one of the filets.
"If you pass me one of the bowls, I think this is going to be ready in about two minutes."
"Here--" She handed him one and turned back to the mussels. They had started to steam open, sending a sweet fragrance up in the air. Rose frowned.
"Mac, the mussels are done, but how do we get them out of the pot?"
"Use one of the other bowls as a scoop," he directed absently. She brightened, and gently did so, letting them cool for a moment while she wiped her fingers on her thighs.
"This is going to taste sooo good--" she murmured. MacGyver nodded.
"Protein generally does." He handed her a bowlful of fish, warning, "It's hot."
Rose sat cross-legged and passed the mussels to him, then started on the fish. For a while they ate without talking, simply enjoying the meal. Mac broke the other filet in two parts, give the bigger piece to Rose; she shook her head.
"You're doing most of the labor--you need it more," she acknowledged. He gave a modest shrug and ate it in a few bites. Rose sighed.
"Oh that hit the spot. I didn't realize I was so hungry," she admitted, lounging back. "Time for a nap."
"Good idea--for the next few hours the sunlight is going to be rough without sunscreen or sunglasses," MacGyver pointed out as he took the bowls to the edge of the water to rinse them. Rose squinted at him, realizing he was right. The footlocker was still too hot to touch, so she stood up, dusting sand off of her boxers and collecting the skin diving gear.
"Going to rinse the mask at the falls?" MacGyver asked her as they trudged up to the cliff wall. She nodded.
"Yeah, get the salt off of it, and maybe off of me too. My hair is starting to fry--I would give *anything* for some conditioner," she commented. Mac gave her tangled locks a speculative look.
"I've got an idea . . ." he didn't say anything further until they reached the water. Rose hesitated in stripping off her clothing, but Mac was busy opening a coconut, and she quickly took advantage of his pre-occupation to dive in.
"Coming in?"
"In a minute--let me finish this up--" came his absent reply. After a while, Rose waded closer, but he set whatever he was working on aside and pulled his clothes off. She drew in an appreciative breath as he waded in, wincing at the chill.
"Still blushing?"
"Habit--growing up in Minnesota doesn't give you many opportunities to skinny dip," he admitted. Rose laughed, and swam closer, splashing him.
"Cold water ought to be second nature to you then."
"Cold showers anyway," he shot her a knowing look; she blushed and dove under, heading for the falls. Once there, Rose let the falls cascade over her, enjoying the sting against her sunburned shoulders. Treading water below the ledge, Mac returned the long appraising look; she quickly turned her back to him.
"Isn't it a little late for modesty, Brat?" he chided.
"Maybe, but it doesn't mean I can't try--" came her retort. He laughed at that and swam off in another direction. Finally, when the water was too cold to take any longer, both of them clambered out and dressed, teeth chattering.
"How does it get so cold?" Rose complained. Mac handed her his tee shirt and motioned for her to dry herself off with it.
"The aquifer's pretty deep under the limestone, and we're close to the source, so it hasn't had enough time in the sun to warm up."
"Lucky us," Rose muttered. She started to dry her hair with the shirt, but MacGyver shook his head and took it back from her.
"No, you want it damp. Sit down--" he directed. Puzzled, Rose found a spot on the bank in the shade of a hibiscus tree. Mac retrieved the coconut he had opened earlier and moved to sit behind her, his legs bracketing hers. She looked over her shoulder at his bare chest.
"What the heck are you doing?"
"Gonna detangle this mop of yours, Brat. Fortunately your typical coconut has just about everything we need--a non-processed monosaturated oil, plant protein and fairly nice fragrance. I chopped it up and let it steep a little while we were swimming."
"MacGyver: scientist, environmentalist, hairdresser--" Rose giggled. He continued, loftily ignoring her.
"We haven't got a comb, so I'm going to have to use my fingers, but I'll try not to pull too hard . . ."
Gently, he poured the grated milky mass on the top of her head; she squealed as it trickled down. His big hands lathered it though all the way down to the ends. Rose began to relax as he gently, section by section, started to rake her hair through his fingers.
"Oh man, I think you missed your calling," she purred after a while. He grinned, working on a knot.
"Somehow I just don't see adding it to my resume," Mac drawled lightly.
"I'll never tell," she agreed, "As long as you make house calls."
"Well I'm pretty much booked through Prom season--"
Rose giggled again, the sound floating up to join the rustle of the wind overhead and the occasional call of the birds.
"If you want to keep it out of your way we ought to braid it," Mac announced thoughtfully. Rose agreed.
"But how are we going to tie it off? The fishing line's too slick and the nylon rope's way too thick."
Mac already had the knife out. He took his t-shirt and cut the hem off of one sleeve, picking up the tube of material and handing it to Rose.
"Whoa, instant scrunchie--sort of."
MacGyver began sectioning her auburn hair into thirds; the long glossy strands hanging down her back shone in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees.
"Not too tight, okay? I want to be able to blink--" came her warning. He dropped a quick kiss to her shoulder; she shivered.
"Trust me, I'm going to make you look fabulous--" he murmured in a teasing tone. She erupted in laughter.
"Please! And where did you learn to braid anyway?"
"Boy Scouts. We had to make our own lariats--" fingers moving quickly, he plaited her hair into one long lustrous rope, and wound the t-shirt loop around the end tightly. Rose rolled her head from ear to ear, pleased.
"I wish I had a mirror--"
"Ah, not quite done--" Standing, Mac reached up and plucked one of the red flowers off the hibiscus bush and neatly tucked it behind her left ear. She gave him a shy smile, touched by the intimacy of the gesture. MacGyver swallowed hard and turned away.
/Inside, outside, she's beautiful. How the hell could I have missed it?/
"And now Brat, nap time. Later we'll get back to arts and crafts on the beach," he hoarsely announced as he squatted on his haunches and rinsed the coconut off of his hands. She was sniffing the end of her braid.
"I smell like a giant macaroon."
"Could be worse--I could have used fish oil--" He slung the tee shirt over his shoulder as she picked up the dive gear.
"Urgh--" They made their way up the cliff to the pillbox, where Rose promptly dropped herself on the canvas covered fronds with a sigh. Mac set his boots down and went to the window, scanning the horizon with the binoculars.
"Anything?"
"Ocean. Sky. Rocks," he reported dutifully. "Tide must be going out because I can see the coral formations you mentioned. Where would the mine be?"
"On the left, about twenty yards in from the edge of the drop off," Rose murmured sleepily. He shifted his gaze and refocused the binoculars until he found it.
"Yep, there it is, on the bottom. Normally they float, so it must have gotten waterlogged at some point. It could be a dud, or just corroded after sixty years--or, it could be waiting for one sharp blow--"
There was no answer; Mac looked over to see Rose sound asleep, and a smile crossed his face. Moving gently, he settled in beside her. She curled against him without waking, and contentedly, MacGyver closed his eyes.
*** *** ***
"How many more do you think we're going to need?" Rose asked anxiously. MacGyver counted the coconuts and thought a moment. The framed flag sat on the sand, weighted down by two of the bamboo buckets.
"Probably about ten. If we can find another tree, or pick up a few from the tide line we'll have enough to keep this marker floating for a while. Up for a little hike?"
"Sure--let me get a bag." She picked up one of the plastic tissue ones and tucked it into her waistband. MacGyver hefted the machete and used it to point up the beach.
"We haven't tried that way yet."
Rose nodded, and followed him as they set off as a good pace, looking around.
"So--who was your first crush, Mac?" she asked, looking up at him. He thought a moment, and replied,
"Miss Cindy Pheltzer. She was barely twenty, had big blue eyes, and the greatest perfume I ever smelled. I'll never forget the day she leaned over me and whispered those special words--"
"Which were?"
"--'You have a real aptitude for science, young man.' She made me the happiest second grader alive," Mac finished with a sigh. Rose snorted and lightly punched him on the arm.
"What were you doing? Making baking soda volcanoes?"
"Something like that. What about you?"
"Oh he was an older man--very continental, very sophisticated," Rose blushed. "I hung on his every word, and knew someday we'd be together."
MacGyver shot her a sidelong glance.
"Sounds serious--how much older?"
"Well, when I first saw him, I was ten, and he was--about fifty two I guess? Hard to say," Rose admitted. Mac stopped walking.
"Fifty two?"
"And married, with two sons. But that didn't stop me from believing that someday I'd be with him, exploring the mysteries of the sea, sailing on--"
"--The Calypso. You had a crush on *Jacques Cousteau*?"
"Oh yeah--that accent, those sweet eyes, all that knowledge--I was seriously smitten for the longest time," Rose sighed. Mac shook his head.
"Jacques Cousteau. It figures. Nice to know that the only serious rival for my affection is not around any more--"
"There's no rival for your affection, Mac. I thought you were wonderful within a month of meeting you," Rose confessed candidly. She scooped up a coconut from the tide line and dropped it in the bag before adding, "But I sure as heck wasn't going to tell you."
"Why?" Mac asked curiously. She raised an eyebrow in a slightly exasperated gesture.
"Because as far as I could see, you had girl friends, but no girlfriends. At first I thought it might have been because you were playing the field, or maybe you'd just broken up with someone, but after a while it didn't seem to make sense."
"All right, I may be somewhat commitment-phobic--" he reluctantly admitted.
"Only beyond a certain point," Rose interrupted. They both spotted the towering palm tree at the same time and moved towards it.
"You make good friends, Mac, and you're loyal to them. I daresay that if Pete or Jack or Penny needed a kidney, you'd be first in line to get tested for compatibility. But if *you* needed a kidney, you'd never tell anyone until you were in your last hours."
"I don't want to be a burden to anybody--"
"I know. And so does every one who already loves you, MacGyver," came her disheartened mutter. He had no answer for that; he impatiently grabbed the coconuts and jammed them roughly into the bag, almost tearing it. Rose frowned.
"Mac, stop it! You may not be crazy about the truth, but don't take it out on me--"
In sheer frustration, he threw the bag down, coconuts bouncing through the undergrowth at their feet.
"The truth! Okay fine. The truth is that the ultimate price for my loving anybody is to see him or her die, Rose. And that price is pretty damned high."
She blinked, startled at his vehemence. He drew in a shaky breath.
"That's why I've never owned a pet, never gotten engaged, never given serious thought about anything beyond the camaraderie of the moment. I'm tired of paying that price."
Rose narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
"Of course it's high, MacGyver. The ultimate risk is really only a long-term bet. I'm going to die, Pete's going to die-- it's a fact, accept it, and stop trying to fight off reality with your duct tape and Swiss army knife!"
"What?" Confusion diffused part of his anger; Mac blinked as Rose scooped up a coconut.
"Stop fighting the natural course of events! People love, fight, die, marry, are born, grow apart--it's the way of life, Mac. They're all connected. You can't pick and choose them, honey, it's a package deal."
She stepped closer; looking up into his haunted face and lightly rubbed his stubbly chin with the palm of her free hand.
"There--I think I just proved you don't love me, so I win," Rose turned away. "Let's get these picked up--"
He grabbed her with a strength that startled both of them, and yanked her back. She dropped her armload and winced as he pressed her back against the palm tree.
"Rose, stop it! Don't you think I know I've got problems?" he hissed unsteadily. "And that maybe, for the first time in my life, I might be ready to start dealing with them?"
They stared at each other for a long moment. Rose studied his face, and a faint hope lit her features. Mac held his breath, his pulse racing.
/It hurts. I never thought I'd drop the shell for anyone, but it's worse than I thought. So much is hanging on this moment! I can't do it--If she hates me, if she laughs--/
Slowly Rose reached out, took his head in her hands and slowly brought it to her chest, letting him rest his scratchy cheek against her tattered shirt. Mac's arms went around her tightly. Leaning back against the tree, Rose murmured soft soothing sounds as she held him; his shoulders shook soundlessly for a long time.
*** *** ***