I hate you just a little bit now. I went looking through summaries to see if I ended up writing something, much as you suggested, but unfortunately this morning was not the best time (though that bit is entirely my fault of course) as I had been dreaming about Public Eye all night and kept putting Frank Marker/Helen Mortimer in the summaries and and thus completely killing any element of romance/action/actual story they might once have possibly held, until I found this:
78) Between Strangers – Linda Conrad
rescuing a stranded mother and baby from a raging blizzard hasn’t been part of Frank Marker’s plans. Yet he couldn’t abandon Helen Mortimer. And ended up getting snowed in with her, tasting those fiery kisses. She was all wrong for him, so why did she feel so right in his arms?
Which I have now written most of in rough, but is utterly pointless of me. /o\ (Also there are NO FIERY KISSES. Honestly, people. Nappy changing, yes. Fiery kisses, no.) Because in 1947 Britain had one of its worst winters, and Helen Mortimer was canonically a single mother with a baby and a selfish bastard of a future husband who didn't marry her till four years later when it was convenient for him. (I don't know what Frank was doing, but as of now in my AU he is rashly attempting to sell encyclopedias in a snowstorm, in a car that last worked properly in 1935.)
In short, give me May 2nd please. Or shoot me before I burden your fest with utter obscurity and lack of romance. Whichever you prefer. /o\
I saw one that would be great for Dayna and Tarrant, but the fic-writing brain is an unruly thing and will not go where you point it sometimes.
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Date: 2014-03-22 05:49 pm (UTC)78) Between Strangers – Linda Conrad
rescuing a stranded mother and baby from a raging blizzard hasn’t been part of Frank Marker’s plans. Yet he couldn’t abandon Helen Mortimer. And ended up getting snowed in with her, tasting those fiery kisses. She was all wrong for him, so why did she feel so right in his arms?
Which I have now written most of in rough, but is utterly pointless of me. /o\ (Also there are NO FIERY KISSES. Honestly, people. Nappy changing, yes. Fiery kisses, no.) Because in 1947 Britain had one of its worst winters, and Helen Mortimer was canonically a single mother with a baby and a selfish bastard of a future husband who didn't marry her till four years later when it was convenient for him. (I don't know what Frank was doing, but as of now in my AU he is rashly attempting to sell encyclopedias in a snowstorm, in a car that last worked properly in 1935.)
In short, give me May 2nd please. Or shoot me before I burden your fest with utter obscurity and lack of romance. Whichever you prefer. /o\
I saw one that would be great for Dayna and Tarrant, but the fic-writing brain is an unruly thing and will not go where you point it sometimes.