Summary: What happens when Julie Gaffney and Gunnar Stahl are accidentally locked together in a cold room overnight, only to be "rescued" by Dean Portman? The possibilities are endless. Julie's POV. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no money is made. I think that just about covers it.

Author's Note: Hello, Everyone! Well, I must admit this is yet another fandom that I never imagined I would be contributing to, yet here I am. I think it all started a couple of weeks ago when my sister and I decided to have a spontaneous "Duck Marathon" and watch all three movies in succession in a less than twenty-four hour time period. Fun stuff.

So that got me checking out fanfics, and unfortunately, I didn't find a whole lot that intrigued me. But, I have recently heard a quote that "action is the best form of criticism," so instead of being all bummed out about it, I have decided to take matters into my own hands and write the sort of story that I'd been hoping to find all along. I confess I'm quite pleased with how it turned out, and hopefully there some of you out there who have been waiting for a fic like this, as well. So enjoy!

Sympathy for the Icelanders: Part I

Frozen Hell - Recognition

Medical tape. Of all times for Banks to run out of medical tape, why did it have to be now – after we'd just returned to the dorms from a late-night practice? Of course, no one had any on-hand; and I, being true to my kind and generous nature, had volunteered to return to the locker room and retrieve some for him. Curse my kind and generous nature.

I had no idea it would be such an ordeal! At least I'd had time to change into some comfier clothes and get my hair up in a loose ponytail instead of a tight braid before I left. It was just past eleven o'clock now. Most of the lights were out, and when I didn't come across another living soul, I began to fear that I was the last person left in the entire stadium. Hopefully, at least a cleaning crew was still here, and I wouldn't be setting off any alarms.

I arrived at the locker room, conducted a very thorough search, and came up with absolutely nothing to show for it. Blast! Everyone else was probably in bed already, and I had really hoped to see Ms. MacKay about our latest school project before turning in for the night. Not to mention, I was bound to be out past curfew by now. Oh, boy, does Banks owe me for this! Breathing a soft curse that my dad would surely have boxed my ears over had he been there, I turned off the lights in the locker room and headed for the facility's main storage space.

I say "space," but it's really more of a huge room, cram-packed with piles of anything and everything required for an ice arena of this size to function. There had to be some medical tape there! It took me a while to find the place, as I had only been there once before – immediately after the Iceland game, when there was such a high demand for aspirin that we ran out.

Iceland. Only a month ago, I might have thought it an interesting place to visit someday. Now, the name alone was enough to simultaneously send chills down my spine and make my stomach turn in bitter anger. In all reality, they were the ones who had gotten me into this mess in the first place! If that big brainless oaf Sanderson hadn't come within an inch of breaking Adam's arm, I wouldn't be here right now on Mission: Medical Tape.

They were all big brainless oafs on that Iceland team – every single one of them. Their brute strength was the only reason they kept on winning. I cannot express in words how happy we all were to read that the high and mighty Vikings had fallen to Russia yesterday. Hallelujah, we were tied with them again!

Having finally reached the storeroom, I shoved the heavy door open and stepped inside. Wow, this place was even bigger than I remembered! As the door latched shut behind me, I couldn't help thinking how strange it was that the light should be on already. Perhaps maintenance had been in here earlier and simply forgotten to shut it off?

Shrugging off the oddity, I was just about to resume my charitable search when suddenly there came the sound of hurried footsteps, followed by a sharp exclamation that could have been profanity in any language but English.

Startled beyond reason, I let out a frightened cry of my own and whirled around to see exactly who had managed to sneak up on "The Cat." I immediately wished I hadn't, for standing there just a few feet away from me was a tall young man with the unmistakable logo of an Icelandic flag on his black sports jacket.

In less than a heartbeat, my surprise had turned to fear, and fear to anger. Speak of the Viking devils…

"You!" Now, mind you, I had no idea as yet which player I was addressing. They all looked the same to me – big and blonde. Oh, and did I mention brainless?

"What are you doing?" he spat, his heavy accent thickened by obvious agitation.

"What are you doing?" I shot back automatically. Great, Gaffney – way to paralyze him with your scathing wit.

His predictably blue eyes smoldered. "I am trying to get out!"

"What?" Now I was really getting ticked. Who did this loser think he was? "What do you mean you're 'trying to get out'? Why don't you just open the door, genius?"

Practically shaking, the enraged Icelander drew a visibly deep breath to compose himself before slowly explaining, "Because the building is shut down now, and the door will no longer open from the inside. It must be part of the security system."

I could literally feel the blood drain from my face. Quick as the cat for which I was named, I bolted back to the door and pulled at the handle with all my might. It wouldn't budge. My own heartbeat whirring in my ears, I did the next best thing I could think of – pound on the door and yell for help at the top of my lungs.

As I proceeded to make a complete fool of myself, a small voice in the back of my mind told me that my undesired companion had probably already tried this approach, with no success. I argued back that I, as a girl, could most likely scream louder than him, and therefore, it was worth a shot.

I needn't have bothered. There was no rescue, and I was stuck. With him.

Feeling my hands start to tremble at the nightmarish situation in which I found myself trapped, I slowly turned around to face my cellmate. He was staring me down as he leaned against the far wall, with his arms crossed over his chest and an air of ill-concealed condescension about his features.

"What luck that you were the one to find me," he sneered. "Of course a woman wouldn't remember to keep the door open."

A sharp retort rose to my lips but never made it past. Wait a minute – I may not know the face too well, but I would recognize that sexist tone of voice anywhere. Sending a woman to do a man's job…

"Gunnar Stahl?" There I go, stating the obvious again, but it was all I could manage to get out at the moment.

He merely nodded in confirmation, appearing far too pleased that his identity alone had caused me so much grief.

"Well, if you're so smart," I fumed, "why didn't you think to prop the door open?"

"I did. Someone else closed it while I was in the back; they were probably the last ones to leave the building, too."

Oh no, please, this could not be happening! Not only was I was stuck here in this frozen hell with someone from Team Iceland, I was stuck with their star player whom I despised above all others. Well, except maybe Sanderson.

"But there's got to be another way out!"

"There isn't. Believe me, I've looked."

I started to pace, growing more restless by the second; but he still stood there, just watching me with those cold blue eyes.

"How long have you been here?" I asked at length.

He spared a glance down at his watch. "Almost half an hour now."

My questioned answered, I kept pacing, and he kept watching. The weight of his stare eventually started to wear on me, so that as much as I hated to, I just had to pick up the conversation.

"So, what did you come here for?"

"Ice packs," he answered nonchalantly. "Our goalie's hand is still sore from stopping your teammate's shot."

For the first time since my imprisonment, I felt a small smile tug at the corner of my lips. Way to go, Fulton!

"I actually came for a teammate, too," I elaborated with feigned casualness. "Banks needed some more medical tape for the bandage on his wrist."

I'm sorry, the opportunity had been too perfect! And surprisingly, I didn't need to spell out all the details for him, either. I could tell by the look of cognizance on his face that Gunnar knew exactly who I was talking about.

His next words were spoken with great deliberation. "You would blame me for something Olaf did?"

"He's still your pal, isn't he?" I argued hotly, but his ensuing hesitation caught me off guard. He looked confused, uncertain. Was it possible he didn't know what "pal" meant?

I tried again. "I mean he's your buddy, right? Your friend?"

"Yah, of course." That last word had finally sparked some recognition. "Olaf and I have played together since I was nine years old."

"Which proves my point, thank you very much." Feeling admittedly self-righteous, I fought to hold back my triumphant smile at the sight of his discomfort. "What Olaf did was a violent and altogether worthless display of poor sportsmanship."

Gunnar smiled suddenly, the expression smug. "And you would know nothing of that, I'm sure."

Ouch! Okay, so maybe this oaf wasn't completely brainless. He was, of course, referring to my own "display of poor sportsmanship" that resulted with Sanderson and himself both sprawled flat on their backs on the ice. Now, I do realize it hadn't been the most mature thing to do…but at the time, it had been so worth it!

"Right," I countered. "Just like I'm sure your friend was a perfect gentleman last night when you guys lost to Russia."

Yes! That one seemed to hurt him, as a visible grimace flitted briefly across his face.

"That was…not a good night. Our coach was furious. He worked us harder in practice today than in our first week of team training six months ago."

Did he just say six months? Team USA had only worked together for less than half that time before coming to the Jr. Goodwill Games.

"I know how you feel," I commiserated, trying not to sound too empathetic. "Our coach wasn't exactly thrilled when we lost to you guys, either."

"Yah, but at least that loss was expected."

His smug smile had returned, and I glared poisoned arrows back at him. All right, this one's definitely not brainless! What a bummer. It just made bickering with him all the more infuriating, rather than gratifying like it should have been. This was going to be a long night.

Author's End Note: And there's the start. As you can probably guess, Gunnar was my favorite character in all the MD movies. Just can't help it, lol. So if you know of any good Gunnar Stahl stories, please let me know. I'd love to hear from you. Thanks, and we'll see you at the next segment!