ATF Universe Crossover with Grease
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money, I don't own them. (Though I would love to have Chris as my very own!)
Author's notes: This is just a bit of fluff, but I got it into my head and couldn't get rid of it. So, I typed it up so everyone could share it! Aren't I generous? *g* It all started with a "What if . . . ?" and went from there. It's a sort of crossover with Grease, and I'm sorry if I got any of the details wrong. Based in the ATF universe.
Feedback: Yes, please. This is my very first completed fanfiction, and I would appreciate any and all comments. Please go easy on the flames, though. It's warming up here at home and I won't be needing to light the fireplace for a while.
Thanks: I just wanted to say thank you to all those authors who've been writing already. (Especially Mog!) If it weren't for them I wouldn't have even thought about writing, and I really love to write about these boys. This one in particular. I've enjoyed their stories immensely for as long as I've been able to access them, and I hope they continue to write.
Chris sighed as he slid into his bed, grateful to get some much needed sleep. After positioning himself comfortably between the sheets, Chris closed his eyes and sleep embraced him immediately.
The sun was bright.
Chris squinted as he tried to figure out where he was. Thoughts swirled through his mind.
Basketball. He was playing basketball.
Chris shrugged mentally. It didn't really seem to matter why.
Who's that? Chris wondered. He didn't recognize the name, but it stirred a feeling of slight resentment and a bit of excitement that was related to retribution.
These thoughts flickered through Chris' mind quickly, and then he was moving, watching the ball. The fact that he didn't know how he got where he was and why he was playing ball with people he didn't know didn't seem to matter much.
His surroundings felt vague, as if he was there, but not all the way. And his body was slightly off; though the same, it was also somehow different.
Fortunately, Chris' mind didn't seem inclined to puzzle out that particular bit of illogic.
He watched as one of the boys, one from my team, Chris noted idly, quickly slipped the ball away from another, obviously inept, player and dribbled it down the court.
Then the ball was in his hands, and Chris was watching for an opening to pass it. The second player, Zuko, his mind supplied, was covering him surprisingly well. Just as he was about to hand the ball off to one of his teammates, he more felt than saw a fist swinging toward him.
Knowing it was coming to quickly to block, Chris hardened his stomach muscles against the blow, reacting instinctively. Dropping the ball, Chris brought his hands up to grab the fist just as it impacted with his abdomen. Lightning fast, he twisted the arm around and behind the owner's back into a painful, but not injurous, position.
As Chris registered the yell of protest made by the teenager he was restraining, he marvelled at how quickly part of his brain functioned while the rest seemed to be wrapped in cotton.
Dimly, he realized the others were trying to seperate him from the boy who had struck at him. Chris released Zuko and allowed them to be pulled apart. Instantly, he was surrounded by the indistinct presences of the other players. They were all grinning, asking where he learned how to do that.
Further puzzled, Chris was about to explain his history and training with the Navy SEALs when a revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning.
As soon as Chris made the connection the others faded away, and he closed his eyes against the strange feeling of vertigo.
Chris opened his eyes. Surrounded by darkness, he recognized the feel of his bed and the shadowy contours of his bedroom. Turning his head, he forced his tired eyes to focus on the clock. Once he could read the glowing numbers he saw he had only been asleep for an hour. Groaning, he rolled over and buried his head in his pillow, silently praying to gain the bliss of sleep without dreams.
His wish granted, Chris was swiftly born away once more on the soft and gentle wings of slumber.
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