------------------------------
Taking One For the Team
by Lianne Burwell
June 2004
------------------------------

"Tell me, Mr. Lyons. Would it help you in your 
investigation and prosecution if I were to turn state's 
witness?"

Carl blinked. When he'd been hauled into Furst's office in 
leg irons, that had been the last thing he'd expected to 
hear. "My name's Morgan," he protested, even though he knew 
Furst had to have recognized him. You don't expect a man to 
forget the face of the cop who'd sent him up for five years 
for armed robbery. Still, he had to try.

Furst just chuckled. "Don't play me for a fool. I did some 
checking, and I'm told you're working for the feds now. 
That tells me that Monroe and his insane organization are 
going down. I don't plan on going down with him."

Carl thought fast and decided that it was time to drop the 
act. Besides, they might get further with Furst on their 
side. Certainly further than if he exposed Carl. "All 
right. Yes. It would."

Actually, they didn't have any intention of prosecuting 
anyone -- it wouldn't play well in the press, for one thing 
-- but if Furst believed it, he wouldn't go running to 
Monroe and Pardee. He would have more to gain by protecting 
Carl's cover, which would, in turn, protect Carl's 
partners.

"Good," Furst said with a self-satisfied smirk. Then he 
tossed something that jingled in Carl's direction. Carl 
caught it automatically: a key ring with a single key on 
it.

Carl bent over and undid the leg irons. He kicked them into 
a corner with a clang, feeling much more confident. Then he 
turned back to Furst and found the man eyeing him 
speculatively. "What?" Carl asked, the skin on the back of 
his neck starting to prickle with unease.

"I'm going to be a lot more useful to you and your bosses 
if I can stay closer to Monroe."

"And..." Carl said suspiciously.

"I need something from you so that I can do so."

He'd known it was coming. Carl's instincts were screaming 
at him to get out, but he knew it was too late. "What?"

"Come with me."

Not seeing much choice, Carl followed Furst through the 
French doors into the gardens. There was an eerie hush in 
the air. There were no guards on the house grounds, since 
it was supposedly impossible for an intruder to make it 
this far without being detected.

Furst led the way through the gardens, around the pool, and 
up to a small garden house. Inside, a few soft mood lights 
lit the place and its sole occupant.

Availa Monroe eyes him hungrily, and Carl wanted very much 
to run. He liked the ladies fine enough -- such as the 
lovely Flor a few days earlier -- but she was watching him 
like a cat watching a fat, juicy mouse; like she was going 
to eat him alive, and not in a good way.

Mrs. Monroe moved over to Furst's side. She ran red-painted 
fingernails that looked way too sharp to be safe down the 
side of the man's neck. "When I said bring men, I meant 
more than one," she purred in a husky, accented voice. "But 
this one..." She licked her lips. "He will definitely do. 
For now."

"I thought you'd like him," Furst said, slipping his hand 
inside her robe to fondle one breast. She clearly wasn't 
wearing anything underneath.

The woman was groping Furst openly, undoing his clothing, 
but they were both watching Carl with matching feral 
smiles. Her expression was hungry, but ever slightly 
glazed. Furst's was more expectant. Carl wanted to say 
screw the mission, but he knew that wasn't really an 
option.

Gritting his teeth, while keeping a pleasant expression on 
his face, he started to strip.

>>>~~~<<<

Mission accomplished. Monroe was dead, along with his 
nymphomaniac wife, her brother, Pardee, and Furst. Carl 
couldn't find it in him to regret even a single one of the 
deaths. They all deserved exactly what they got.

Carl lifted his face to the spray from the shower head, 
then grabbed the bar of soap and started lathering. He 
could still smell the oil and dust and blood, not to 
mention sex. The soap made the scratches on his back sting 
-- the bitch's claws had been as sharp as they looked -- 
but that was okay. It just reminded him that he was still 
alive.

Finally he had to turn off the water and head back out into 
the world, although staying right there was a temptation. 
He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before 
heading out into the bedroom, thinking that a nap before 
dinner sounded like a plan. Later, he'd find a sparring 
partner and work out his frustrations in the gym.

Normally, after a mission he'd be looking to work up a 
sweat between the sheets also, perhaps with a willing 
blacksuit (he'd been a little surprised at just how many 
there were, even if he *was* a sexy beast). Maybe give Flor 
a call, or even just go visit Konzaki in his workshop to 
continue their ongoing flirtation. He still hadn't gotten a 
first-hand taste of what the man could do with those large, 
capable hands, but it was coming... In the meantime, they 
were both having too much fun just flirting.

But today, sex was the last thing he wanted to think about.

"There you are."

Carl nearly jumped out of his skin. "Damnit, Gadgets, don't 
sneak up on a body like that."

"And it's quite the body to be sneaking up on."

Carl grinned. "Careful, partner. I might take that as an 
offer you didn't intend to make," he joked, but even he 
could tell that it sounded a little half-hearted.

Gadgets noticed too. "What's wrong, Ironman? You've been 
off your stride since we got back from Texas."

"Weren't you going with Pol to Minnesota to visit his 
sister?"

"Don't give me the run around. Something happened, and I 
want to know what."

"Gadgets..."

The older man waved him off. "Furst has you hauled off in 
chains one minute, then the next he's defending you to 
Pardee. Something happened, and I think it was more than 
just him offering to turn state's evidence, so give, or I 
go talk to our lovely mission controller."

Damn him, Gadgets was like a terrier. And he would do it 
too, the bastard, and probably bring in Pol and Mack to 
boot.

Carl moved over to the bed and sat down. "Furst was under 
some pressure."

"From Monroe?"

That brought a smirk to his lips. "Yes, but not the Monroe 
you're thinking of."

Nobody could ever claim Gadgets was slow on the uptake. 
"Furst was doing Mrs. Monroe too?"

"Too?" Carl frowned.

"Let's just say her reunion with her brother involved 
things I would never do with my sister."

Eww. He'd missed that, thankfully. "Well, apparently she 
was quite the nympho. She told Furst that if he didn't 
supply her with some fresh bodies she would tell her 
husband that she was in love with him. Furst would have 
been dead within minutes."

"So he took you to do the lovely lady. I hope you used a 
condom," Gadgets joked. "Who knows where she's been."

"Oh, trust me, it was condoms all round."

That sobered the other man up quickly. "All round?"

Carl scratched at his arm, trying to delay the inevitable. 
"She didn't just like to do, she liked to watch."

Gadgets was looking equal parts concerned and murderous. 
"How bad was it?" Carl just shrugged.

"Let's just say that Furst might have needed me, but he 
wasn't adverse to getting a little of his own back for past 
history."

"Perhaps you should--"

"Don't!" Carl held up a hand. "If the words 'you should 
talk to someone' cross your lips, I will slug you."

"Okay, okay. The Ironman doesn't need any help. Except my 
room is next door and that was your third shower today, so 
obviously there *is* a problem."

Car grunted. "Whatever. I can deal with it on my own." Then 
he winced as Gadgets hit him.

"Hey there, partner. What do you think that word means?"

"Sex on demand?" Carl suggested, then ducked. "Hey, it's in 
the past. There's nothing to do."

"Yeah, right. Get in bed."

A little puzzled, Carl did was he was told. Then his 
eyebrows went up as Gadgets started to strip. "Um, buddy, I 
don't want you to take this the wrong way, but..."

"Oh, shut up and move over."

Gadgets had reached the point where all he was wearing was 
his shorts, but he left those on. Carl breathed a sigh of 
relief. He might want in those shorts, but not right at 
that moment.

Gadgets climbed in next to him, and bemused, Carl let his 
partner arrange them until he was cuddled up against 
Gadget's side, his face resting on the man's hair chest. 
"I'm going to wake up with hair marks on my face, aren't 
I?" he said wryly.

"At least I've got enough testosterone to grow chest hair," 
Gadgets shot back.

"Watch it, or I'll molest you in your sleep."

"Yeah, whatever. Go to sleep, Carl."

It sounded like a good idea, so go to sleep he did.

He would molest Gadgets in the morning.

THE END