DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to the characters or storylines of SWAT. I just write fics for the
entertainment of others, and do not recieve payment for this service. Please do not sue me.
A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.
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He'd served in the army for twenty-five years, without a single black mark to his name. He'd heard of the Rider family, owed his life to the man named Jonathan Rider, and his son had teethed on many of the same creche toys as Alexander. But now, he was being hauled up in front of military court on some ridiculous charge.
"I'm innocent, dammit!" he said to the lieutenant general, who ignored him, striking him from the army register. Well, that did it. The world was going to pay.
Which really said a lot for his innocence.
--------------------
Fuller glared at Alex when his cell phone went off in the middle of briefing for a training session.
Alex put a finger up, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and took the call, picking up a couple of drawing pins as he did so. There was a map up on the briefing room wall, and Alex threw each of the pins at it.
"A friend of mine," he explained to Fuller. "Has links. I mark 'em up, inform the right unit. Crime rate stays the same, arrest rate doubles. It's called tactics, look it up."
"Rider," Hondo warned, "Leave the smartass put downs to me."
"Sorry, sarge."
Fuller looked disgusted. Sanchez, Deke, Street and Lewis all bit down to keep from laughing. Hondo raised an eyebrow at Fuller, who looked Rider in the eye, and said "I want you to go through the course until you drop. I think you need to learn some respect for your superiors."
"This is SWAT, Fuller, not the army," Hondo reminded the Captain. "Army brat could go at that course all day without breaking a sweat."
--------------------
Alex was starting to slow, but only to conserve energy, not because he was tiring. He'd run the assault course non-stop for the last three hours. He figured he could do it blindfold by now. But Fuller made him go again. And again. And again. Shit, Alex could see the older man working up a sweat just watching him. Deke, Hondo, Lewis, Sanchez and Street were watching with interest.
"He's gonna drop soon," Deke commented. Daniel shook his head.
"No way in hell. Alex'll keep going until Fuller quits riding him. Then he'll run it again, just to rub it in . There's no point in winning if the loser don't know he's lost."
"He looks fit to drop. His time's almost tripled," Hondo commented.
"Conserving himself," Daniel returned. "Trust me, I saw the juvenile record his father filed as his reference for the Academy. His father trained him. From being three, he's run assault courses day and night. From being five, he had a different martial arts instructor every year, until he graduated Police Academy. His stamina has had its foundations laid since before he could walk. Sixteen years of physical training. You wouldn't think it to look at him. But then, he prefers anonymity to the attention musclebound posers get."
The other members of David-70 looked at Daniel in disbelief. "You yanking my chain, boy?" Hondo asked.
"No sarge. Straight up honest to all mercy."
--------------------
Alex was done. Lactic acid poured through his muscles, and he winced as he warmed down cramping muscles. He'd worked his way into Fuller's leave alone books, and knew he'd pay for it in the morning. Not that he'd let on to his father. No, all he needed now was some caffiene and a hot shower. Not that the shower was an option. David-70 were marked down for target practice that afternoon. But caffiene?
Alex could have hugged the four members of his team, Hondo excluded, who each bought him a bottle of Coca Cola. Although Street did give him the whole 'caffiene makes you jittery' speech, which Alex acknowledged and immediately ignored, gulping down the four bottles as if they contained the Elixir of Life itself. Irregardless of Sanchez, he pulled off his shirt and wiped his face with it,
pulling a towel and a fresh shirt from the locker he'd claimed that morning by picking the lock. Keys be damned.
His torso was covered with scars, his back also having its fair share. A couple of newer looking ones burned red with sweat, and he winced a little as he dabbed them dry. Daniel looked at him.
"So that's why you never showered at the same time as the rest of us," he said softly.
"I grew up in some tough neighbourhoods," Alex replied, equally softly, pulling his shirt roughly over his head.
"Seems to me like you're still living there," Hondo commented, walking in, Fuller behind him. Hondo's stare, the one he used to get Fuller riled up, was matched by the blank look in Alex's reflective eyes. Lewis saw the look and gulped. Street saw the gulp and raised an eyebrow. Deke saw the raised eyebrow and smiled. Sanchez saw the smile, the raised eyebrow, the gulp and the look, and pulled Lewis to one side.
"What?!" she hissed in his ear.
"Gunslinger eyes," Lewis answered, whispering like a scared child.
"Gunslinger? Bullshit. He's only nineteen."
Fuller looked at Sanchez and Lewis. "Don't go bringing your old unit superstitions to SWAT," he told the pair. "We don't know, or need to know, what you're talking about."
Alex turned back to his locker. Hondo spoke up. "A gunslinger, Captain, is an old urban legend. A man, or a woman, who can shoot like Annie Oakley, and has better diplomatic skills than the whole UN put together. Deadly in both physical and verbal attacks. The perfect policeman, if you consider a cop who could kill you as soon as look at you perfect."
Alex pulled two things from his locker, and looped them over his neck. A celtic good luck charm and replica dog tags that his father had had made up for him when he was five. "David had the same look as me," he said softly, before looking Fuller dead in the eye, as six pagers and a cell phone went off.
"2-11 on West and third," Fuller said, hanging up his phone. "Move out."
A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.
--------------------
He'd served in the army for twenty-five years, without a single black mark to his name. He'd heard of the Rider family, owed his life to the man named Jonathan Rider, and his son had teethed on many of the same creche toys as Alexander. But now, he was being hauled up in front of military court on some ridiculous charge.
"I'm innocent, dammit!" he said to the lieutenant general, who ignored him, striking him from the army register. Well, that did it. The world was going to pay.
Which really said a lot for his innocence.
--------------------
Fuller glared at Alex when his cell phone went off in the middle of briefing for a training session.
Alex put a finger up, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and took the call, picking up a couple of drawing pins as he did so. There was a map up on the briefing room wall, and Alex threw each of the pins at it.
"A friend of mine," he explained to Fuller. "Has links. I mark 'em up, inform the right unit. Crime rate stays the same, arrest rate doubles. It's called tactics, look it up."
"Rider," Hondo warned, "Leave the smartass put downs to me."
"Sorry, sarge."
Fuller looked disgusted. Sanchez, Deke, Street and Lewis all bit down to keep from laughing. Hondo raised an eyebrow at Fuller, who looked Rider in the eye, and said "I want you to go through the course until you drop. I think you need to learn some respect for your superiors."
"This is SWAT, Fuller, not the army," Hondo reminded the Captain. "Army brat could go at that course all day without breaking a sweat."
--------------------
Alex was starting to slow, but only to conserve energy, not because he was tiring. He'd run the assault course non-stop for the last three hours. He figured he could do it blindfold by now. But Fuller made him go again. And again. And again. Shit, Alex could see the older man working up a sweat just watching him. Deke, Hondo, Lewis, Sanchez and Street were watching with interest.
"He's gonna drop soon," Deke commented. Daniel shook his head.
"No way in hell. Alex'll keep going until Fuller quits riding him. Then he'll run it again, just to rub it in . There's no point in winning if the loser don't know he's lost."
"He looks fit to drop. His time's almost tripled," Hondo commented.
"Conserving himself," Daniel returned. "Trust me, I saw the juvenile record his father filed as his reference for the Academy. His father trained him. From being three, he's run assault courses day and night. From being five, he had a different martial arts instructor every year, until he graduated Police Academy. His stamina has had its foundations laid since before he could walk. Sixteen years of physical training. You wouldn't think it to look at him. But then, he prefers anonymity to the attention musclebound posers get."
The other members of David-70 looked at Daniel in disbelief. "You yanking my chain, boy?" Hondo asked.
"No sarge. Straight up honest to all mercy."
--------------------
Alex was done. Lactic acid poured through his muscles, and he winced as he warmed down cramping muscles. He'd worked his way into Fuller's leave alone books, and knew he'd pay for it in the morning. Not that he'd let on to his father. No, all he needed now was some caffiene and a hot shower. Not that the shower was an option. David-70 were marked down for target practice that afternoon. But caffiene?
Alex could have hugged the four members of his team, Hondo excluded, who each bought him a bottle of Coca Cola. Although Street did give him the whole 'caffiene makes you jittery' speech, which Alex acknowledged and immediately ignored, gulping down the four bottles as if they contained the Elixir of Life itself. Irregardless of Sanchez, he pulled off his shirt and wiped his face with it,
pulling a towel and a fresh shirt from the locker he'd claimed that morning by picking the lock. Keys be damned.
His torso was covered with scars, his back also having its fair share. A couple of newer looking ones burned red with sweat, and he winced a little as he dabbed them dry. Daniel looked at him.
"So that's why you never showered at the same time as the rest of us," he said softly.
"I grew up in some tough neighbourhoods," Alex replied, equally softly, pulling his shirt roughly over his head.
"Seems to me like you're still living there," Hondo commented, walking in, Fuller behind him. Hondo's stare, the one he used to get Fuller riled up, was matched by the blank look in Alex's reflective eyes. Lewis saw the look and gulped. Street saw the gulp and raised an eyebrow. Deke saw the raised eyebrow and smiled. Sanchez saw the smile, the raised eyebrow, the gulp and the look, and pulled Lewis to one side.
"What?!" she hissed in his ear.
"Gunslinger eyes," Lewis answered, whispering like a scared child.
"Gunslinger? Bullshit. He's only nineteen."
Fuller looked at Sanchez and Lewis. "Don't go bringing your old unit superstitions to SWAT," he told the pair. "We don't know, or need to know, what you're talking about."
Alex turned back to his locker. Hondo spoke up. "A gunslinger, Captain, is an old urban legend. A man, or a woman, who can shoot like Annie Oakley, and has better diplomatic skills than the whole UN put together. Deadly in both physical and verbal attacks. The perfect policeman, if you consider a cop who could kill you as soon as look at you perfect."
Alex pulled two things from his locker, and looped them over his neck. A celtic good luck charm and replica dog tags that his father had had made up for him when he was five. "David had the same look as me," he said softly, before looking Fuller dead in the eye, as six pagers and a cell phone went off.
"2-11 on West and third," Fuller said, hanging up his phone. "Move out."