Spur of the Moment

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Spur of the Moment

by SRoni and Aadler
Copyright November 2006

Fandom(s): MacGyver and Modesty Blaise
Rating: G
Dedication: to LSO, loved by all who know her
Disclaimer: Modesty Blaise is the property of Peter O’Donnell. MacGyver is the property of Lee David Zlotoff and Paramount Pictures. This brief piece is intended merely for entertainment and as tribute.

This was an unanticipated story, in that I not only didn’t intend to do it, I stated flatly that I couldn’t do it. SRoni took on a challenge meme: “Name me any two characters (from the same or different fandoms), and I’ll write a ficlet saying how their first kiss came out.” She specified het pairings only — thank you, SRoni — and happily did her best on the couples submitted to her.

I brought this to the attention of a third party, who made a request of her own, to me: MacGyver and Modesty Blaise. I declined, feeling that I had no solid sense of the characters … but I mentioned it to SRoni, who shot back her version of how that kiss might have gone, and (in my humble opinion) it worked so well, and felt so thoroughly in character for both parties, that I was inspired to do an enhanced version. SRoni approved of the result, so here it is.

She hadn’t expected ever to use this particular trick again; it had been formulated to meet a specific situation, of a type that didn’t come often. Still, here she was. The scuffle in the maintenance tunnels had left her victorious but weaponless, and, though she had fought barehanded many times before, this didn’t seem the time for it. The man at the vault, whoever he was, had penetrated security by the far more arduous route — the one she herself had dismissed as prohibitively difficult — which meant she couldn’t give away any advantages … but most of the techniques she could use from this position were lethal, and he might be merely a competitor, rather than an enemy.

So she did what came naturally to her: she improvised. He still didn’t know she was there; he was preoccupied, doing something with a pipe, a roll of duct tape, and some wire. She spent a few moments in silent preparation, then moved in to take advantage of his distraction.

* * *

He almost had the jury-rigged cutting-torch ready when he felt the pair of arms drop around his neck and tighten. By the scent, it was a woman (at least, he hoped no man smelled like that!), but she was strong, and his fingers slid from her skin when he tried to pull the arms away: she had greased them in anticipation of resistance. The choke would take effect in seconds, and there was no way he could break it directly.

So he did what came naturally to him: he improvised. He swung back over his shoulder to hit her with the pipe, and twisted inside her arms the moment that grip slackened, moving to take advantage of her distraction. They were too close for most combat-moves, and in the instant’s glimpse of her, he couldn’t bring himself to head-butt that face … so he improvised again. He kissed her.

* * *

She was gone when he regained consciousness, and so was the device he had come to acquire. But at least he was alive … and the kiss hadn’t been bad at all.

On the way out of the complex, he found the technical schematics tucked neatly into the inner pocket of his jacket; so, maybe she also had liked the kiss. And maybe, someday, he would have the chance to repay her properly.

Modesty — and circumstances — permitting.

– end –

As always, commentary is welcomed.