Close Quarters (a Tom Hiddleston fanfiction)

Close Quarters

-Hour One-

7:05-8pm

The elevator lurches to a halt, the overhead lights flickering off and switching to the dimmer - yep this is what it looks like when there's a malfunction - setting. It is perhaps meant by the developers to conserve energy and forestall panic. All it really does is effectively make it difficult to see the other occupants of the elevator clearly. That, for you, actually is a blessing. Why? Because the only other occupant of the elevator today is the one person in the building you can't stand: Sunshine.

Tom's first words regarding the circumstance: "Well. This doesn't look good."

You just barely contain the urge to groan out, "No shit," in reply. Instead of airing a sarcasm laden comment, you busy yourself with pulling out your phone to pray that of all the days for reception to magically work deep within the building, today might actually be the day.

No wifi - and no service. Your heart flutters when you note the lack of signal, but then a shift in your stance causes the image in the corner of the screen to change. One bar. The slightest bit of signal made possible for having already risen towards the upper floors of the complex. It's the smallest bit of hope - the chance that you might not be trapped with Sunshine for all that long.

"I'm just going to call maintenance." Your explanation to him isn't entirely needed. Lord knows what else he might assume you're doing, but you don't want him doing the same thing and risk ending up clogging the line. If the power has gone out to the entire building, if it isn't just a problem with this elevator, maintenance will have their hands full.

The lack of wifi connectivity is worrisome, but then, if you've risen high enough in the building for signal you're definitely out of range of the free wifi in the lobby. You latch on to a flare of hope before it fizzles out - maybe it's just a glitch in the elevator's systems. Something easily rectified. Maybe. Hopefully. Please.

You listen to the tones coming through the speaker of your phone, holding as still as possible and hoping the signal doesn't cut out again. One ring, two, three, four... At least the line is active and ringing, even if nobody is answering. The fact that he is standing there, immobile and seemingly unbothered by the situation, grates at you. You glare at him in the dim lighting, "Wanna call and report it to fire and rescue, too?"

Your snark nets you a short nod and mock salute before he busies himself with his phone. You do your best to bite down the annoyance when he doesn't seem to have any issues with signal, his call getting answered seemingly immediately. You've been put through to voicemail. Voicemail. Because that's going to do you much good. At least help will be on the way after his call is complete. Message left for maintenance, you turn your attention to him.

He explains the situation as briefly as he apparently is capable - which is to say, not brief at all - and then pauses, listening to instruction that has his focus glued to the elevator control panel.

With the intensity of his focus you find your attention drawn to the panel as well. Is there any way to guess how high, exactly, the pair of you have risen? You hadn't paid much attention while the elevator was moving. Now the screen just shows a set of dashes rather than floor level.

"No." Tom turns away from the control panel to glance at you for a moment before looking back at the many buttons adorning the wall of the elevator. "Two of us. No. Yea... Yea. Sure. Ok."

He ends his call, grimacing at his phone before lifting that expression to fix it upon you. There's an almost unsquashable urge to tell him - yea, the feeling is absolutely mutual - but squash it you do, in favor of hearing about what you hope will be a rescue that is inbound. "Are they on their way?"