-----------------------------------
Confined
by Lianne Burwell
April 2004
-----------------------------------

Carl gave the door one last kick before turning to pacing. 
They hadn't been able to disarm the bomb in time, but the 
bank's vault had provided plenty of shelter, and a supply 
of oxygen that would last them for a couple of days if need 
be, but the vault door had locked automatically when they 
closed it, which meant that they were stuck until someone 
found them.

"Gadgets. Hey, buddy, talk to me."

Carl turned to Blancanales. Pol had managed to hang on to 
his radio, but the signal was having trouble getting 
through the vault's thick metal and concrete walls. 
"Anything?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope, nada, nyet."

Carl growled, his trigger finger twitching. No one ever 
accused him of being a patient man -- at least not with a 
straight face -- and he wished there was something handy to 
take his frustration out on. Unfortunately, any of the bad 
guys who'd still been living had been left on the other 
side of the vault door when the bomb went off.

"Relax, Ironman," Pol said, putting the radio aside for a 
moment. "That bomb wasn't big enough to bring the building 
down, They'll find us soon enough."

"I know that," Carl said with a frown.

"So why the hell are you pacing like a caged panther? Take 
a nap or something. Or do you have a hot date you haven't 
told us about?"

Carl glared at him and Pol started laughing. "You do! Who's 
the date with? Tell all; inquiring minds want to know."

Carl rolled his eyes. "It's not a date."

"Ah... Must be a guy then. Ironman had a night of hot sex 
planned. No wonder you're so pissed off. Good thing those 
morons out there are all dead; getting between the Ironman 
and a chance to get laid is suicidal already."

"Very funny."

"So who's the lucky guy? One of the new blacksuits? There's 
a few of them you haven't gotten to yet."

Pol was just joking, but Carl was already on edge. "And 
what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pol held up his hands in a surrender gesture. "Hey, I'm 
just saying that you're charming enough to talk anyone into 
your bed. But if it's Hal, I don't want to know."

That made Carl laugh. The man who had organized the Stony 
Farm outfit and was their liaison with the White House was 
worthy of respect, but getting horizontal with him? No way. 
Besides... "I don't do married men," he chided. "You know 
that. But you make it sound like I'm a slut."

The mood had lightened, and Pol laughed. "If the shoe 
fits... You get around more than any other guy on the 
team."

"Well, I'm not a slut," Carl said with a mock huff. "A slut 
will sleep with anyone. I happen to have standards."

"Like when you offered Dempsey a lap dance?"

Carl couldn't help snickering at the memory from their last 
mission. The expression on the major's face when he'd made 
the offer had been priceless. First he'd gone white with 
panic, then red with rage. Put it together with the blue 
uniform and he'd been positively patriotic. "Did I sleep 
with him?" he pointed out.

"No, but you and Corporal Duncan sure vanished quickly 
afterwards. I'm still amazed that you managed to fit 
anything into the half-hour before Grimaldi showed up with 
our transport. And without Dempsey realizing it to boot."

"Talent," Carl said with a smirk. "Besides, after all the 
shit he had to put up with from his boss, Duncan deserved a 
little reward. And he was cute too, you have to admit."

Pol was shaking his head. "I don't have to admit anything."

"Uh, huh, suuure..." Carl drawled.

Pol just glared at him, although without any heat. "And a 
few hours later you and Garry were hitting the sheets. So, 
what would you call yourself?"

Carl dropped into a lotus position next to the older man. 
"How about promiscuous?" he suggested. "And no jokes about 
the big word, thank you very much."

Pol's mouth snapped shut, no doubt on just such a comment. 
He settled for shaking his head and sighing. "So, you still 
haven't said who it is *this* time."

"Hmm? Oh, Kissinger."

"Cowboy?"

"No, Henry. Of course I mean Cowboy."

"I thought he was straight. Never mind," Pol said, rolling 
his eyes. "I forgot who I was talking to. Ironman could 
seduce anyone; even a straight priest."

"Do they even exist?" Carl couldn't help asking. "Anyway, 
Cowboy has been teasing me for nearly two months, and now 
that he's finally going to follow through on his promises, 
*this* happens." He slapped the concrete floor, fighting 
the urge to start pacing again.

Thankfully, the radio chose that moment to crackle to life. 
"Iro...an, Po... do... read?" The signal was obviously 
barely getting through.

They both grabbed for the device, but Pol got to it first. 
"Gadgets, we're here! In the vault!"

"Th... od... take... hours to get...."

"Repeat, Gadgets, you're breaking up. How long to get us 
out?"

"Five... air?"

Pol glanced at Carl. Carl just slumped back against the 
wall of safety deposit drawers with a sigh. Five hours was 
going to feel like an eternity, but at least it should get 
him back to the Farm in time.

"Understood. Five hours it is. We'll be fine."

"...kay... Gad... out."

Pol set the radio aside. "Well, hopefully he was reading us 
better than we were reading him." He dug into his pocket, 
and amazingly, pulled out a deck of cards. "How about a 
game to pass the time?"

Carl sighed. "Sure, why not."

Pol shuffled the deck and was just starting to deal out the 
cards when the overhead light, which had stayed steady all 
this time on battery power, flickered ominously. They both 
looked up at it. "Crap," Pol muttered.

The lights obviously found that amusing, for a moment later 
they blinked out, then came back on. They held their 
breath. Then the lights went out again, plunging them into 
darkness. This time, they stayed out, and showed no 
interest in coming back on.

"Well," Pol's voice said from out of the pitch. "This 
officially sucks. Now what are we supposed to do?"

Carl laughed. "I can think of something," he teased.

Pol groaned. "Carl?"

"Yeah?" Carl said, leaning towards the warmth of his 
partner's form.

"Take a nap."

THE END