dS snippet
I have this AU in my head where Fraser and Thatcher meet at Depot, fall pretty much instantly for each other without all the problems of rank and chain of command that plague them on the show, and then, just before graduating, wind up solving a crime in a politically inconvenient way that gets them both exiled to Chicago, there to have assorted adventures with Ray, Ray, and/or Stella.
I doubt I'll ever actually write this AU, because a.) eeek, a plot!, and b.) so much of all the characters', well, character, is formed by the events of the twelve or fifteen years prior to the show starting that I think it would be too weird, like writing something somewhere between fanfic and original fic, to pursue. (I think this is part of the reason I dislike high school AUs for any series. Well, that and the fact that I've never been able to get into anything set in high school, even when I was in high school.)
However, I had an image and a line of dialogue in my head from that AU, and I couldn't resist writing down the scene they came from. Uhhh, it is likely very, very obvious that I know nothing about hand-to-hand combat, just FYI.
He looked across the mat at his partner for the morning, Meg Thatcher. He'd met her at orientation, but though he'd seen her occasionally in the mess hall or walking on campus, he hadn't gotten the chance to speak to her since. He quickly sized her up: he had about six inches on her, which gave him more mass and a longer reach, but her smaller size likely meant she was quicker. He sensed a wiry strength in the way she stood, stretching her arms up, her bare feet pressing into the mat, centering herself.
Corporal Wilson told them to begin. After circling each other warily for several long moments, she landed the first blow, a jab to his side; the swiftness with which she danced away confirmed his impression that she was quick.
They traded a few more punches, but spent most of their time on defense rather than offense; he grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back once, but she wriggled out of the hold, elbowing him in the ribs for good measure.
Moments later, she came after him with a series of blows to his stomach, which he was mostly successful at blocking. The hits left her right side unprotected, and he had a clear shot that would probably send her to the mat. He balled his hand into a fist, ready to strike, but hesitated the barest fraction of a second.
Before he entirely realized what was happening, he found himself flat on his back, her knee jammed into his solar plexus and her forearm wedged under his chin. She didn't look pleased with her win, though; instead, she glared at him, her dark eyes full of anger. "If you go easy on me again, Ben Fraser, I really am going to kick your ass," she hissed, then rolled off of him, leaving him gasping like a fish on dry land-for more reasons than one.
This entry was originally posted at http://icepixie.dreamwidth.org/756010.html. It has
comments over there.
I doubt I'll ever actually write this AU, because a.) eeek, a plot!, and b.) so much of all the characters', well, character, is formed by the events of the twelve or fifteen years prior to the show starting that I think it would be too weird, like writing something somewhere between fanfic and original fic, to pursue. (I think this is part of the reason I dislike high school AUs for any series. Well, that and the fact that I've never been able to get into anything set in high school, even when I was in high school.)
However, I had an image and a line of dialogue in my head from that AU, and I couldn't resist writing down the scene they came from. Uhhh, it is likely very, very obvious that I know nothing about hand-to-hand combat, just FYI.
He looked across the mat at his partner for the morning, Meg Thatcher. He'd met her at orientation, but though he'd seen her occasionally in the mess hall or walking on campus, he hadn't gotten the chance to speak to her since. He quickly sized her up: he had about six inches on her, which gave him more mass and a longer reach, but her smaller size likely meant she was quicker. He sensed a wiry strength in the way she stood, stretching her arms up, her bare feet pressing into the mat, centering herself.
Corporal Wilson told them to begin. After circling each other warily for several long moments, she landed the first blow, a jab to his side; the swiftness with which she danced away confirmed his impression that she was quick.
They traded a few more punches, but spent most of their time on defense rather than offense; he grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back once, but she wriggled out of the hold, elbowing him in the ribs for good measure.
Moments later, she came after him with a series of blows to his stomach, which he was mostly successful at blocking. The hits left her right side unprotected, and he had a clear shot that would probably send her to the mat. He balled his hand into a fist, ready to strike, but hesitated the barest fraction of a second.
Before he entirely realized what was happening, he found himself flat on his back, her knee jammed into his solar plexus and her forearm wedged under his chin. She didn't look pleased with her win, though; instead, she glared at him, her dark eyes full of anger. "If you go easy on me again, Ben Fraser, I really am going to kick your ass," she hissed, then rolled off of him, leaving him gasping like a fish on dry land-for more reasons than one.
This entry was originally posted at http://icepixie.dreamwidth.org/756010.html. It has
comments over there.