by Mara

Summary: Shortly after Inara joins the crew of Serenity, she has a run-in with Jayne, which makes her think about her career and her place in the crew.

NOTES: This was slightly inspired by a discussion on firefly_over_30 about the
role of Companions. Thanks for the beta go to Captain Average, the superhero
with faith in Joss Whedon. In case you don’t recognize it, the title is
paraphrased from Gilbert and Sullivan’s operetta, _The Pirates of Penzance_.

* * * * *

Inara stood in the doorway to her shuttle, examining every detail of the decor,
from top to bottom and side to side. Her training had been rigorous in all
aspects, but physical environment was one that she considered particularly
important. Especially when the planets she would be visiting out on the fringe
were not the most…civilized.

While Serenity was in transit, Inara used the opportunity to redecorate and
revamp her working and living quarters. Her clients were sure to appreciate the
touch of luxury, she thought as she stepped over to a wall to critically examine
a wall hanging in subtle tones of burgundy and gold. That fray along the upper
left would need to be repaired immediately, or the whole piece replaced, she
decided as she tilted her head slightly to one side to see it better.

She turned to consider the view from the side of the small room and was pleased.
The lighting was soft enough to flatter most complexions, but not so dark as to
look depressing. Draped and hanging fabrics covered the most dilapidated
elements of the shuttle, softening the hard edges and subtly relaxing the mind.
Sniffing, she decided that the scent in the air was just a bit strong, and in
the future she’d tone it down a bit, perhaps replace it with something less
aggressively floral.

A rustling at the shuttle’s entrance was barely audible over the string quartet
she had been listening to, but it interrupted her contemplation. She turned
quickly, but showed no other reaction when Jayne stepped into the shuttle. This
was due, once again, to her thorough training–if a one-eyed hunchback had
staggered in, in theory, she would have done no more than perhaps raise a
shapely eyebrow.

In fact, as she considered the figure in front of her, she thought briefly that
a one-eyed staggering hunchback might be a thoroughgoing improvement on Jayne–
especially if said hunchback could hold a coherent conversation.

He’d obviously made an effort to clean up, which she supposed showed rudimentary
intelligence, but the look in his eyes showed little more than that. Careful
handling would be required with this one if she didn’t want to irreparably
damage relations with a dangerous and contentious crewmate.

‘A Companion’s lot is not an ‘appy one,’ her mind informed her, misquoting the
old song for at least the thousandth time since she’d joined the guild.

“Hello,” she said, when he paused in the entrance, apparently speechless.

He was emboldened by her speaking to him, and stepped quickly toward her.
Forcibly restraining the urge to step backward, she looked up at him,
expressionless, knowing that anything else might encourage him.

“Well?” he asked, looking a little bit confused.

“Well, what?” Probably best to play stupid until she came up with a better plan.

His eyes narrowed, and apparently he sensed he was being made fun of in some
way. “What do you do?”

“I help the Captain gain access to planets that won’t negotiate with the working
class.” Obtuseness and obfuscation were powerful weapons, she thought.

“Not that. I mean, what do you do in here,” he waved a general hand around the
shuttle’s interior, “for your…customers?”

“That depends on many factors,” she said, moving away to sink gracefully into a
chair, one specifically placed so that there were no nearby seats.

He looked around and then chose an intricately carved wooden chair, practically
perching on the edge of its cushioned seat. “What kinda factors?” His knee was
practically bouncing in excitement.

She smiled at Jayne, now that she’d moved away and he’d made no hostile moves.
“That depends on what they need me to do, how long we are contracted for, their
planet of origin…”

If it would help, she thought, she was perfectly capable of sex with Jayne. By
law, Companions always chose their clients, but there had been times when, for
various reasons, she had been with men with more repulsive personalities and
appearances. Unfortunately, all her instincts told her that was exactly the
wrong thing to do in this situation. Once she worked for a member of the crew,
things could only go downhill.

“What can you do for me?”

She stomped firmly on a sudden flare of temper. “Jayne, you’re a crewmate, not a
client. It would be inappropriate.”

In a flash he was standing, and between temper and a touch of fear, she had
difficulty staying still. But through force of will, she left her arms resting
in her lap, and simply tilted her head up to look at him, willing her body
language to calm him down.

“Inappropriate? Hell, what about you and the Captain? D’you just like him
better?” He loomed over her, but she felt a twinge of sympathy for the less-
than-complex man.

“I have done nothing with Captain Reynolds,” she said, her voice low and calm.

“Y’expect me to believe that?”

Jayne looked honestly befuddled, and she sighed. “Only because it is the truth.”

“Then why’re you here?”

“We’ve covered that. My status as a Companion will allow all of you to trade on
a great many additional planets.” She allowed her face to soften just a little.
“I’m sorry if you misunderstood. I’m sure you haven’t ever had a chance to talk
to a Companion before.”

He still loomed, but looked uncertain how to react. She’d best move quickly, she
judged, to keep uncertainty from shifting to anger.

“I’ll bet you didn’t have too many Companions on your world,” she said, pitching
her voice at its most soothing.

“Well, no, not exactly.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot and she watched
carefully for the moment he was most uncertain.

“Companions are not quite what you think. The Captain teases me by calling me
Ambassador, but he’s right in a way. Please, sit down.” She waved at the chair
he’d been sitting on, and rose herself. “Would you like something to drink? I
believe I still have some of that new brandy they’re growing on Ceres II.”

She’d timed it perfectly and Jayne found himself seated with a glass of brandy,
a piece of chocolate, and a beautiful woman making an elegant amount of fuss
over him.

Watching him drink, Inara winced a bit. She’d intended that brandy for a client,
but if it helped her keep the peace, it was all in a good cause.

After a few minutes of her feeding him, Jayne began to feel uncomfortable, just
as she’d planned. All the things she used to make her clients feel at ease could
work the opposite way. As soon as possible, she changed the music to a piece
guaranteed to give almost anyone the jitters within a few minutes. Inara was
accustomed to it, as well as to schooling her features, but Jayne began to
fidget.

He was outmaneuvered and outclassed, and if he couldn’t be certain how it had
happened, he could be certain it was true. She was finally able to chivvy him
out the door, unsure what had happened, but convinced it would be easier to find
sex someplace else.

When he was gone, casting one last wistful glance over his shoulder at her–
well, at her chest, actually–she occupied her hands in tidying up.

Her mind wandered, though, to what life was going to be like on Serenity.
Obviously, she was moving out of her accustomed circles, away from people who
knew her and her place in the world.

If she were completely honest with herself–as a Companion needed to be–she
wasn’t certain what the Captain thought of her and her job. He hid his thoughts
and beliefs amazingly well under insults and foolish talk, although she doubted
most people ever noticed that it was only a cover for much deeper things. It
wasn’t often she encountered someone who left her so befuddled, who was such a
challenge to understand.

Wash and Zoe, on the other hand, didn’t particularly care what she did, as long
as she wasn’t working for the Alliance. And Wash certainly wasn’t going to cause
her any trouble–that was obvious from the first moment she saw him look at Zoe.
At least, it was obvious to anyone with years of training in body language, she
amended.

Kaylee, of course, wasn’t generally interested in anything that didn’t involve
engines, but she showed signs of being intrigued by Inara. A sweet child, she
thought with a smile.

Just as she’d put everything back in order, Inara heard the sounds of someone
entering the shuttle.

She whirled around, this time unable to completely school her features, and
Malcolm grinned at her. Hands up in mock surrender, he stepped past the door
hangings. “Whoa. I’m unarmed.”

A laugh and a scowl fought for dominance on her face. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet a man, your Captain I might add, who’s come here for a
friendly visit?” He strolled in and began a circuit around the shuttle as she
watched, exasperated.

Hands on her hips, she glared at him. *This* man didn’t need to be coddled or
worked, she could play it straight. “Not you, too.”

Malcolm’s strolling came to an abrupt halt and he rotated on his heel,
expression confused. “Me too, what?”

“Expecting services rendered because I’m aboard your ship. I just sent Jayne
packing and my rule is the same as when we made our arrangement: I don’t work
for the crew.” She crossed her arms.

“Jayne? Jayne was here?” He seemed stuck on that, then looked at her. “That’s
why you thought *I* was here? I just came to see how your renovations were
going.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Jayne only left a few minutes ago.”

“You compared me to him? I think I’m insulted.” Now, he was smirking, arms
crossed in an imitation of her stance.

Inara sighed, wondering why this man could so easily disrupt years of training.
She let her hands drop back to her sides, and tried to regain her usual calm.
“My apologies for the misunderstanding. The renovations are going well and
perhaps I should get back to them.”

“Don’t let me stand in your way.” He meandered back toward the door.

“Captain?”

“Yes?” He paused and half-turned.

“Next time you come to visit, do you think could knock before you walk in?”

“I’ll sure…think about it.”

“Get out.”

He made it all the way out the door before sticking his head back in. “This has
been a test of the emergency bitch system. Had this been an actual bitch-”

“Out!”

He chuckled and was gone. Inara sank down on her couch and took a few deep
breaths. Obviously, life aboard Serenity was doomed to be anything but peaceful.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Mal and Inara are stuck in adjoining jail cells.

NOTES: This story contains spoilerish stuff up to “Safe”. Thanks to Captain
Average for the beta and the Chinese, and to Medie, who asked me to finish it.

Chinese glossary (courtesy the Firefly’s Glow list and Captain Average):
Ni zen.me.le? = What’s the matter with you?
Tamade = (exclamation) motherf***er
Sishengzi = bastard

* * * * *

Malcolm Reynolds glared impartially around the small space, condemning
everything (and everyone) in it to hell: the two cells with their metal bunks,
the primitive toilets, the sturdy metal bars, and the Companion in the adjoining
cell.

The Companion in question still managed to look annoyingly elegant–even under
these conditions. The faint gleam of a lone light picked out the gold threads in
her burgundy dress, making it shimmer. Mal decided he’d rather die than admit
how nice she looked.

“So, tell me,” Inara asked, “was this part of your clever plan?” She sat on her
bunk and arranged her dress so it fell properly around her.

He glared harder, but it had no visible effect. “You know damn well it wasn’t. I
usually leave the jail part out.”

“Then why exactly are we here?”

“‘Cause we were double-crossed, that’s why!” Mal paced in the small space, three
steps forward, and three steps back, from the bars between their cells to the
wall.

“And why am I here? I wasn’t even involved in your little caper, I was
with the District Senator.”

“Somehow they linked you with us.” Mal stopped at the floor-to-ceiling bars of
the door and gave them a good shake–they stayed put.

“That didn’t work the last 10 times you tried it, either.”

He turned. “Well, lady, maybe that’s the difference between you and me.”

“You futilely attempt the same losing tactic over and over?”

He went white–for a moment, all he could see was smoke and bodies, a
battlefield. “Don’t talk to me about tactics.” The dead, so many damn dead.

Her face fell. “Mal, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Forget it.” Shaking his head once, he went on. “How ’bout instead of you being
a downer, you come up with a useful suggestion.”

“I’m quite good at getting you out of prison,” she said. “I’ve had to be. But
usually that involves me being on the other side of those bars.” She waved an
elegant hand, and for a moment he imagined that hand… “Mal?”

“What?” He forced his eyes away and went back to the door of his cell.

“Never mind.”

They were silent for a while, the room’s only noises the shussing of cloth as
Mal paced, and an occasional irritated tap of Inara’s foot.

The light flickered in a very annoying way, he decided after a while. Probably
some sort of primitive torture device, along with the unwashed smell of the
place. If it’d been cleaned since the war, he’d be shocked.

“Do you have any idea when we might expect to get out, or at least see an
advocate?” The tone was casual, but Mal looked at her sharply.

“Why, y’afraid your client might not pay if he don’t get enough time for his
money?”

She didn’t answer him, simply eyeing him with that disappointed expression she
always got when he said something nasty.

A bit of shame bubbled in his stomach and he slapped a hand against his thigh.
“Well, maybe people like you get ‘advocates’ but I figure I’m due to be left to
rot. If I’m lucky.”

“I’m sure Zoe and Jayne will come up with something.”

He paced some more, scuffing his boots against the floor. “They’d only get
themselves in even more trouble doin’ it.”

“They’ve managed before, I’m sure they’ll manage it this time.”

“Yeah, but I told ‘em to get out if I got caught.” Silence filled the small
space, and he turned to look at her. She looked tired, and he realized how
rarely her face was anything but calm. “Sorry ’bout that. I didn’t know you’d
be–”

“Mal, do you believe they’d leave you?” A frown creased her forehead.

“I ordered them to go, stay outta danger.”

That stopped her cold for a few long moments and she just looked at him, her
expression unreadable. He felt his face grow warm and he turned away from her.

“What makes you think they would follow that order?” she asked.

Before he could answer, another voice interrupted from the doorway. “You ready
to give up the goods?” Mal whirled to peer into the gloom past the bars. The
speaker stepped closer. Dressed in the uniform of the local sheriff, he was a
scrawny little guy who looked like he’d borrowed his big brother’s uniform.

“I ain’t got no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Mal said, spreading his hands
in the universal sign of innocence.

Scowling, the sheriff stepped up to the bars, his weasely nose practically
sticking through. “Don’t try that on me. My sources are plenty reliable. You
know exactly where those records are, and I want ‘em back. Did you figger I was
gonna let you waltz off this planet with proof I’ve been paid off?”

Mal kept his face steady, but inside ran through every curse in every language
he knew. This is what happened when he tried to do a good deed. “Look,
that’s between you and me, so why don’t you let the lady go, and we can talk
this over. How ’bout it?”

He heard Inara stand up. “Mal–” she began, but stopped when he held up a hand.

“She’s got nothing to do with this. Let her go.”

The sheriff turned to look at Inara and Mal’s heart sank past his stomach at the
smile that seeped across the man’s face. “Let her go? Why would I do that? I’ve
never got my hands on a Companion before.”

“Because she ain’t got any evidence on you and you don’t want trouble with the
Guild. Let her go and we can talk. Otherwise, no deal.”

Still leering at Inara, the sheriff slowly turned his head to look at Mal.
“You’re really stupid enough to think I’d let her go?”

Mal leaned forward and put every ounce of menace at his disposal into five
words. “If. She’s. Hurt. No. Deal.”

Involuntarily, the sheriff stepped backward, and Mal just watched him, anger
coiling in his stomach like a dragon. If anything happened to Inara because of
this sishengzi…

The sheriff visibly pulled his scattered wits together and rebuilt his sneer.
“I’ll just leave you two to talk about this and go sharpen my knives. Let me
know when you’re ready to give me what I want.” And he turned sharply on his
heel and disappeared back into the gloom.

Mal slumped. Not exactly what he’d planned. “Tamade,” he muttered.

“You know, since we’re apparently stuck here for the moment, this might be a
good time to discuss your tendency toward self-sacrifice.”

“What?” When he turned, Inara was seated again, hands folded in her lap. “We’re
not at some damn party, making chit-chat!”

“You think self-sacrifice is a topic for casual conversation?” Unexpectedly,
Inara smiled. “Well, maybe you do, but that’s beside the point.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Her smile turned into a frown. “I’m talking about this propensity you have for
trying to push everyone else out of the way and jump in front of the nearest
laser beam.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He went back to pacing. “Can we stop whatever it
is you’re doing and get back to trying to get out of here?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Suddenly, she was no longer seated, but just on the
other side of the bars, so close her floral perfume nearly overwhelmed him. He
almost tripped over his feet backing away.

“Ni zen.me.le?” Short of breath, Mal watched her for signs she’d lost her mind.

“Mal, you just tried to give yourself up so he’d let me go, and you ordered the
crew to abandon you. This doesn’t strike you as being martyr-like?”

“Just common sense. No point in the crew getting killed for no good reason. And
I figgered if he let you out you might be able to use some of your influence.”

“You don’t really believe that.” It wasn’t even close to a question, and Mal
shied away from the idea that she might understand him well enough to be that
certain.

“Of course I believe it,” he said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“If it suited your purpose, of course you would.” She shook her head. “The
problem is, you lie to yourself.”

“I don’t think you’re getting us any nearer to getting outta here.”

“And you’re changing the subject.”

“What subject? You’ve called me a liar. If you weren’t a woman, I’d slug you for
that.” His voice rose, despite his best efforts.

“Don’t you see? None of us wants you to sacrifice yourself for our sakes.” Her
calm cracked, and for a moment he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “I know the
war affected you, the losses you suffered haunt you, but don’t kill yourself for
that.”

“Don’t talk about the war like you know anything about it!” He found himself
yelling at her, his face up against the bars. “You supported the Alliance and
you were safe while we were being killed, so don’t talk to me about it.”

“Maybe I was wrong.” She stood her ground, face upturned. “I’ve seen a great
deal since I left the safety of the central worlds, and I don’t want you to
commit suicide because you can’t live with the memories.”

His ears roared with the pounding of his blood. “I said don’t talk about the
war. I don’t want any of your headshrinking, thinking if I get all touchy feely,
then everything will be better.” The urge to reach through the bars and smack
her was nearly overwhelming and he turned, slamming his open palm against the
cell’s back wall, focusing on the sensation of scratchy concrete.

“I know I can’t make it all better, but won’t you even let me try to help?”

He leaned both hands against the wall, his eyes following a crack trailing
diagonally from left to right. “Don’t need your help,” he forced out through
gritted teeth.

“You didn’t need my help on Persephone?” The warmth and compassion in her voice
made his throat close. “Or when you stayed behind on Serenity when we ran out of
air? Or when you and Zoe were in jail?”

His throat closed, and he shook his head back and forth in denial. Denial of
what, he wasn’t sure. “Can’t be depending on nobody,” he finally said.

Whatever Inara was about to say, it was lost in the distant sound of weapon
fire. Mal’s head shot up and his whole body tensed as he listened for any clues
to what was happening.

“Saved by the bell,” Inara said quietly.

He didn’t respond, just put his finger to his lips. Barely breathing, he
listened: a shot to their left, then two quick shots on the right. Eyes closed,
he plotted the shots on his mental map of the building.

Some shouting, a few more shots, and Mal’s eyes opened in surprise. “Jayne’s
here.”

“How do you know?”

“Vera’s got a pretty distinctive sound. What th’ hell’s Jayne doing here?”

He’d obviously managed to surprise Inara, as her jaw dropped for an instant.
“You’re actually surprised they came to get you!”

Grinning, his pulse racing, he continued to listen. “Nope, they’re as stubborn a
bunch of fools as I’ve ever known,” he said, “I’m just surprised Jayne came
along. Wonder if the doc had to dope him again?”

She turned away in a swirl of fabric and he returned to listening to the sounds
of struggle.

“Vacation’s over,” Zoe said as she entered the room at top speed. She tossed a
gun between the bars, and Mal caught it as she unlocked the doors.

Mal grabbed Inara’s hand, and dragged her behind him as the three of them exited
the room.

* * * * *

Mal lay on his bunk, eyes half-closed. The sound of the ship’s engine soothed
him with its familiar hum, the sound that meant freedom, and he felt muscles
unclenching.

A new sound made him sit upright, automatically reaching for a weapon, before he
realized it was Inara climbing down the ladder. He stared for a moment as her
legs came into view, encased in emerald pants, silky and shiny. His eyes moved
up to the matching top–pausing for a moment on her chest–before they snapped
up to her face. She was smiling at him, but it looked like a smirk.

He flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring at her body, and jumped off the
bunk. “Don’t you believe in knock…” he began, before trailing off, realizing
the absurdity of chastising her for something he did all the time.

“I don’t come to visit you nearly as often as you visit me,” she said as she
strolled around the edge of the small room, running her hand lightly over
various pieces of furniture.

“A shame, that is. And why would you be here now?” He stayed where he was,
backed up against edge of his bunk, turning to keep her in sight.

She stopped, head down, looking at her hand where it lay on the back of a chair.
“We never finished our conversation.”

“Oh, I think we did. It’s a closed topic.” If there’d been anywhere to back up
to, he’d have moved further away. “Done. Forgotten.” He winced at the plaintive
tone of his voice, he’d intended to sound forceful.

“Mal,” she paused and turned to look at him. “You’re a complicated man.”

“I try.”

“And a proud man.”

“Maybe.”

“And a stubborn man.”

“True. But a man’s gotta be stubborn if he wants to keep it together out here.”

“I know.” Inara sighed and sank down into the chair she’d been leaning on.

Mal shook his head. “Well, I’m glad we had this little chat, but I think it’s
time for you to mosey along now.”

She tilted her head up. “Why do you take everything on yourself?”

“I’m the captain, it’s in the job description.”

“Stop it! Just stop it! Don’t be yúchûn!” Inara jumped to her feet, all
composure apparently fled.

“What?”

“Stop pushing me away. Stop pushing all of us away.” Her eyes closed briefly and
he stared at her. “Don’t be a martyr, Mal, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I–”

“Be quiet, it’s my turn now.” She stalked up to him, her quiet grace now turned
to the crawl of a panther. “You drive me insane, Malcolm Reynolds.”

“Always glad to oblige a lady.”

She didn’t seem to have heard him. “You’re so afraid of losing people, the way
you did in the war, that you just push. Then, if we leave you, then it’s by your
choice, rather than cruel fate.”

“Get out,” he said. Pulse racing, he tried to ignore her words.

“I’m right, Mal.” Her eyes were very large and dark as she looked up at him, and
he couldn’t look away. “I’m trained to read people, to understand what they’re
thinking, what they’re doing, and why they’re doing it. Whether they know those
things or not.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Her voice contained compassion, and friendship, and maybe even something
else he didn’t want to think about. “I’m not asking you to…I’m not asking for
more than you can give. Just don’t push us away.”

He couldn’t speak.

She stepped back, out of his personal space, and for a moment he felt cold at
the loss of her nearness, but the mask of a Companion, the calm, was back in
place. “Trust us, as we trust you, Mal.”

And she turned and climbed out of his quarters.

Barely breathing, he stared at the bottom of the ladder.

“I’ll try,” he whispered finally.

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Unconnected drabbles. Setting, mood, and pairing may vary.

It was all her fault. No question, Mal decided, Inara got him into this
situation. Her with the silk and the velvet and the perfume and who wore that
kind of go-se in this day and age anyway?

Especially on a ship like his. Positively indecent it was. Made a man’s head
spin.

Made him do stupid things, like sneak into her ship to smell her perfume.

And not notice when she returned.

And have to hide in her closet.

Don’t open the door, he thought. Don’t open the door. Don’t–

“Mal? What are you doing?”

Damn. Definitely her fault.

SnowballJane asked for a drabble about Inara’s clothing/jewelry/etc.

by Mara

Summary: In which we learn where the Doctor went after the Time War, and who he met there. (DW/Firefly crossover)

NOW:

The Doctor dove toward the TARDIS door, and she was singing in his mind,
welcoming him back. His companion instinctively covered his back as he slammed
the key into the lock and he was in the door, turning to look as she was spun
around, hit in the right shoulder by a projectile.

For an instant almost too short to measure, he hesitated, but it was already too
late. Reinforcements flooded the room and dragged her out.

“Come out of there with your hands up and we won’t shoot you,” a soldier
shouted.

Swearing in Old High Venusian, the Doctor ran to the console, hand reaching for
the dematerialization button. His hearts raced and he could feel sweat breaking
out from the running and…

He could leave now that he had the TARDIS.

His hand moved to begin the calculations reversing the TARDIS’ last-ditch run to
this place…

* * * * *

24 HOURS EARLIER:

The Doctor stalked through the street, avoiding puddles of unidentifiable
rubbish, annoyed to once again be separated from the TARDIS. She was irked with
him as well, filling the back of his mind with the staticky buzz of her feelings
on the matter. She’d been clingier than normal since…since everything.

Wherever she was, they were bouncing her. Probably a cart of some sort. For some
reason, no matter how advanced the culture, they always felt the need to stick
the poor old girl on some primitive conveyance. It was vaguely amusing to find
that was a universal truth even if you’d moved to an alternate universe.

A muffled thump up ahead caught his attention. Who else was out on the streets
so late? He almost turned in the other direction, but habit set him jogging
towards the sound, past the crumbling stone wall and overflowing garbage bags.

In the shadows it was hard to tell who was who, but he almost certainly saw one
unarmed figured backed against a wall, facing three opponents with knives. The
rearmost person said, in an unctuous voice that got on the Doctor’s nerves, “I
gave you a chance, but you chose not to–”

“Well, well,” The Doctor said in his most penetrating voice, “what have we
here?” The knife-wielders all whirled to stare at him.

The Doctor leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed, as the lone figure
took the opportunity to slam two heads together, then ducked under the third
opponent’s knife and kicked him in the groin. As he doubled over with a yelp of
agony, his knife was neatly removed from his hand and tucked into a boot.
Glancing at the last man, the figure kicked him in the head with a muttered
imprecation in Mandarin.

The figure stepped into the weak glow of a flickering streetlight, revealing
itself to be a dark-skinned woman in a leather vest, boots, and a long coat. She
had a purpling bruise on her left cheek and a wary expression. “Thanks,” she
said.

“Not at all. I’ve never liked uneven odds.” The Doctor studied her. “Lost, are
you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

Once the Doctor would have been offended and protested at great length, but a
little incivility was just one more straw. Turning, he started out of the alley
without a word.

“Wait.” Her voice was low, but urgent.

Walk away, he thought, don’t get involved. But his steps slowed.

“Why did you help me?” she asked. “Most people wouldn’t bother.”

The Doctor shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and turned. “It’s what I do.
Or did, at least.”

The woman looked dubious, but after studying him in the weak light, she deemed
him harmless. Searching the three men, she stripped them of weapons and wallets.
“We’d better get going. The cops will be here any minute to arrest us for
breaking curfew.”

“Really?” The Doctor brightened. “That will simplify things then.”

She paused in her search, staring at him. “You *want* to be arrested?”

The Doctor shrugged as he helped her drag the three men further into the
shadows. “They’ve taken my ship. I’ve found the easiest way to track it is to be
captured by the authorities.”

The woman shook her head. “Maybe you’d better come with me. If that’s your idea
of a plan, the captain’d skin me alive if I left you.” She strode away, not even
glancing over her shoulder to see if he followed.

He caught up to her with several long strides. “I’m the Doctor. And you are?”

“Zoë Warren. My ship’s Serenity.” She was silent for a moment as they reached
the end of the alley and peered around the corner. “The authorities have her and
the crew. So I guess we’re going to the same place.”

“Hmm. What did your crew do to annoy them?”

Her face was shadowed. “What did yours do?”

Both hearts skipped a beat. “I have no crew.”

He’d tried to keep his tone light, but she didn’t buy it. “Ah,” she said.

“I annoyed the government by not having any papers,” he said to forestall any
further comment.

“That’d make ‘em a mite unhappy with you. ‘Specially on the brink of a civil
war.” She gestured and they sidled down the road. “We were here on business, but
our client thought to save money by getting us arrested. Figured with the war
about to break out, we’d be stuck.” She glanced back at the alley. “Then he
figured with my husband in jail, he could take advantage of the situation.”

Her tone made it clear what kind of advantage he’d thought he had. Watching the
purposeful way she moved, the Doctor began to feel almost sorry for anyone who
crossed this woman. After a moment, he followed. It wasn’t as if he had anything
better to be doing.

* * * * *

An hour later, they were most of the way across the city, zigzagging around
police patrols toward Zoë’s safe house. The Doctor considered giving himself up
just to get things over with, but found himself curious about Zoë’s plans.

It seemed like a long time since he’d been curious about anything. Since he’d
had the *time* to be curious about anything.

The Doctor grimaced at the irony as Zoë leaned against a wall, face drawn and
tired. “Almost there,” she said, tilting her head to see around the corner, then
ducking back.

“Oh yes, I see you,” a familiar voice said from around the corner. “And this
time you won’t escape me so easily. We could have had a pleasant time, you
know.”

Zoë said something in Mandarin that the Doctor had previously only heard from
foot soldiers in the army of Kublai Khan. He raised his eyebrows and stepped
past her, even as she tried to grab his arm.

“Hullo!” he said with a bright smile, striding toward the man Zoë had kicked in
the groin back in the alley. “Very nice to meet you. I’m afraid I didn’t have a
chance to get your name before.”

“Captain Collins,” the man said automatically, even as he raised his gun.

The Doctor sidestepped, pulling the gun and the captain’s hand with him.

“Wha–”

A sharp squeeze to pressure points on the wrist and the gun clattered on the
pavement. “No guns,” the Doctor said, his voice low and fierce.

“What the hell are you–”

The Doctor ducked, a punch grazing his cheek, and Zoë was there, grabbing
Collins and throwing him against the wall. “I’m tired of you,” she said. “I’m
beginning to think I should have killed you back in that alley.”

Her knife was at Collins’ throat before the Doctor could react, but he put his
hand on her shoulder. “There’s been too much killing.”

“They’ve taken my husband,” Zoë said, glaring over her shoulder at him, but he
held on and her hand dropped to her side.

Collins’ face was soaked in sweat, pulse beating a tattoo in his throat. Eyes
darting back and forth between them, he asked, “What are you going to do?”

Zoë’s eyebrows shot up. “Good question. Doctor?”

“We’re going to…” The sound of boots hitting pavement made his head turn.
“Run!”

Zoë slammed her prisoner’s head against the wall and dropped him as they both
took off at a dead run, the approaching guards much too close.

* * * * *

There followed a familiar twenty minutes of narrowly eluding pursuit, harrowing
near-misses, and all the things that made the Doctor nostalgic for the old days.
But eventually it ended, and he and Zoë ducked under a last fence and went up a
set of camouflaged stairs into a dimly lit room, furnished with some blankets
and a low table.

“I’ve got food, if you want some,” she said, seating herself on the floor and
unwrapping a package that lay there. “Bread’s almost fresh.”

Shaking his head, he dropped down beside her at the table. “What’s your plan?”

She looked up from slicing cheese. “Get to the capital. Find the crew. Kick ass.
Take the ship. Leave.”

The Doctor blinked at her for a moment. “That’s better than my plan?”

“It’s worked for us before.” Zoë shrugged. “Besides, our plans usually go
*wrong* at the point where someone gets arrested.” She leaned to the side and
grabbed a blanket, tossing it toward him. “You’d best get some sleep.
Tomorrow’ll be a long day.”

* * * * *

The morning dawned bright and clear, the sky nearly cloudless, and not long
after sunrise, Zoë and the Doctor were on their way to the capitol in a
rather…unorthodox fashion.

Crossing his arms as he lay on the bouncing uneven surface, the Doctor stared up
at the load of purple-white turnips suspended above him, mere inches from his
face. Occasionally, a clod of sharp-smelling dirt would drop down, just missing
his nose or mouth. He turned to look at Zoë, who was trying hard to keep a
straight face.

“Travel like this often?” he asked.

“When I need to.”

He sniffed. “Getting arrested would have been faster.”

Zoë coughed to cover a smile. The turnip farmer was some business partner of a
former military subordinate of Zoë’s. Or something.

“So, you’re smugglers?” he asked.

She didn’t react to the jibe, didn’t even seem to register it. “We do what we
have to, to make ends meet,” she said. “We don’t always act…strictly within
the law.”

“Neither do I.” He grinned. “When I left home, I–” Memory flooded back and he
closed his mouth with a snap.

“You lost people in the war.” It wasn’t a question.

How could she–Oh. Another war. He’d momentarily forgotten there *were* other
wars. “You could say that,” he said, turning away again and memorizing the shape
of the turnip right over his nose.

“Who?”

“All of them. My planet was destroyed.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. Only the
TARDIS shared this knowledge with him.

“There must be some alive on other planets.”

He swallowed once, twice, forcing out the words he’d never spoken aloud. “All my
people are dead, everywhen, everywhere.”

The vehicle hit a bad patch of road, and they listened to the rattling of the
old truck and a squeak in the right rear wheel.

“The Captain and me, we’re pretty much all that’s left of our platoon,” Zoë
offered after a while.

“But you have a ship and a crew.”

She pursed her lips, seemingly looking for the right words. “We’re alive. We
moved on.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not. But it’s that or die. Lots of ways to die out here.”

The Doctor thought about his remaining regenerations. Every Time Lord knew ways
to jump to the end, although the authorities tried to hide that knowledge. Few
of his people took the option, but they knew it was there. He’d almost…in the
aftermath, if he hadn’t had the TARDIS, if she hadn’t had to jump them to this
strange universe…

Zoë was staring up at the turnips when he looked at her. Her enemies were still
here, still after her. “How do you forgive?” he asked.

“You don’t.” She turned her head, eyes dark and cold. “But you move on because
there’s nothing else.” She looked away again.

And with that, she closed her eyes, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * * * *

“Gorram!”

The Doctor’s eyes shot open, and beside him Zoë tensed.

The farmer muttered something else as the truck slowed down. “Checkpoint,” he
said. “Stay put.”

Zoë’s hand rested on the butt of her gun and the Doctor frowned down at it.
Before he could say anything, they heard voices.

“Morning, sir,” the farmer said. “What’s the holdup?”

“We’ll ask the questions around here,” a surly voice replied.

There was a thunk as the truck door opened and then closed. The voices moved a
few feet away, but were still clear.

Papers rustled and the surly voice asked, “Have you seen this man?”

Zoë and the Doctor stared at each other.

The papers rustled again and the farmer said, “No, I don’t believe I have.
What’s he wanted for, anyway?”

“That’s none of your business. You two, search the truck.”

“Hey!” the farmer protested. “I said I hadn’t seen him. Don’t mess up my
produce. It’s all I’ve got to support my family!”

That argument swayed no one, and the truck bounced on its old springs as the two
guards climbed on and kicked the turnips around. The Doctor held his breath as a
booted foot slipped through the turnips and landed close to the mesh screen just
over his face. Zoë yanked his arm and he slid to her side, both of them holding
their breath.

“Damn turnips,” someone muttered above them. “I hate turnips. Why don’t we ever
stop the trucks with beautiful lonely women?”

“What would a beautiful woman want with you? C’mon, there’s nothing here but
vegetables. Let’s go.”

The Doctor let out a breath as the turnips shifted to cover them completely
again. Zoë poked his back and he realized he was still pushing her against the
edge of the truck. Moving carefully, he slid back to the center of the truck.

They stared at each other as the farmer climbed back into the cab of the truck,
starting it up with a noise reminiscent of a herd of elephants clearing their
throat.

As they pulled back onto the road, the sound settled down to its normal roar and
Zoë tilted her head in inquiry.

“I think,” the Doctor said meditatively, “they’ve finally gotten a look at my
ship.”

Zoë waited, but he didn’t choose to elaborate.

* * * * *

The farmer dropped them off at the edge of town with a warning to watch out for
the Patrol: “Them’s mean ones.”

Zoë clapped the man’s shoulder, passed over something that clinked, and stepped
out onto the road toward the low buildings surrounding several tall modern ones.

The Doctor frowned as he looked around him, at dusty dirt roads where no
children played and adults scurried from place to place, heads low, clothing
patched. He’d been in this alternate universe for…he wasn’t even sure how
long, but he’d been too busy mourning to see where he’d ended up. Striding to
catch up with Zoë, he said, “The guards who took my ship had modern weaponry and
were well-fed.”

“We’re out on the Fringe,” and her voice said ‘why am I explaining the
obvious?’. “The Alliance don’t spend more than it has to. These folks barely
make a living.”

“Let me guess,” the Doctor said, feeling a familiar anger rise in his chest.
“The leaders of this benighted planet collect whatever they want in taxes and
let everyone else starve.”

Zoë stopped in her tracks, holding out a hand to stop the Doctor as well, just
in time to avoid being hit by a man flung through a door. From the reek of
alcohol wafting out, this was the local pub. When the man rolled to a stop and
sprang to his feet, he found Zoë staring him down. “Go home,” she said.

The man opened his mouth, blinked at whatever he saw in her face, and staggered
away.

“That’s the way it is out here,” she said as if their conversation had never
been interrupted. “The strong thrive and the weak survive.”

Her words were accepting, but under them, the Doctor heard an anger to match his
own. “What are you doing about it?” he asked.

Zoë shrugged. “Whatever we can.” And she kept walking, people automatically
moving out of her path.

The Doctor stood still for a long moment, remembering other worlds, other
companions, and days when those would have been *his* words.

Zoë glanced over her shoulder. “C’mon, Doctor, we need to get off the streets.”

Shaking his head, he took one more look around, wondering if this planet had a
stash of revolutionaries anywhere.

* * * * *

As they got closer to their destination, Zoë grew more tense. “Things are too
quiet,” she muttered to the Doctor.

“You’d prefer they were chasing us through the streets at gunpoint?”

She shot him a filthy look. “I’ve found that this is usually when things go
wrong.”

The Doctor was about to respond, but caught his breath and yanked Zoë’s arm,
suddenly ducking into the small space between two buildings. “I believe I just
found your complication.”

“What?” Zoë’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. Your friend from the Patrol seems to be striding down the street just
ahead of us.”

She cursed in Mandarin again and the Doctor reminded himself to ask later where
she’d learned it. “I wanted to get some help, but I don’t think we have time.
We’ve got to move now.”

The Doctor nodded. “Lead on.”

* * * * *

From where they lurked behind a convenient hedge, the Doctor looked up at the
building that loomed over them like a particularly noxious raptor. “Why,” he
asked rhetorically, “must the building always look like it was built by a
graduate of the Manga Khan School of Architecture?”

Zoë shook her head, obviously having learned that sometimes it was better not to
ask what he was talking about. “We don’t have time to waste.” She frowned at the
attentive guard.

“Then we’ll go in *my* way,” the Doctor said. Before she could stop him, he
stepped out from behind the bush with a spring in his step and a giant smile on
his face. He strode up to the guard, waving his psychic paper in the man’s face.
“There you are. Where have they put the blue box?”

The man’s face was a study in confusion. Fortunately, he wasn’t the brightest
star in his spectral class. “Blue box?” he asked.

“Yes yes, the blue box. I was ordered to take a look at it. Where is it?” The
Doctor tucked the paper away, crossing his arms and tapping one foot in
impatience.

“Uh, the eleventh floor. The Controller ordered it sent to the lab for
disassembly.”

“Thank you very much,” the Doctor said as Zoë appeared behind the guard and
slammed his head into a fence post. “See?” he said to her. “Nothing to it.”

She gave him a look that promised retribution. “One day that trick won’t work,
Doctor. Now, what blue box?”

“My ship. I told you.”

She spoke slowly and clearly as they ducked through the gate and ran toward the
nearest door. “We’re here to find my crew. Your ship is at the spaceport. Where
ships are.”

“You heard the man. My ship is in the lab. Fortunately, unless they have a set
of transdimensional socket wrenches, they won’t be able to disassemble
anything.”

Zoë held up a hand and looked through the glass of the small side door,
gesturing him to follow her in when the coast was clear. “Your ship is a blue
box.”

“Well, it only *looks* like a blue box,” he said with some indignation.

“Of course.” She sighed. “Cap’n's gonna kill me.”

As they turned a corner, several peons scurried by, and the Doctor and Zoë tried
to look inconspicuous. “He has something against blue boxes?” the Doctor asked.

Zoë shook her head. “He has something against crazy people. And we’ve already
got one aboard.”

The Doctor pointed at a set of closed doors. “Lift? Or certain death? What do
you think?”

* * * * *

The lift wanted a keycard to take them near the lab, but a few moments work with
the sonic screwdriver and it whisked them upward. The Doctor strolled out with
his usual assurance, followed by Zoë, who didn’t look at all pleased by his
approach to infiltration.

“Haven’t you ever learned that if you look like you know where you’re going,
nobody will question you?” he asked, marching down the hall to a promising
doorway.

“In my experience, people try to *shoot* me when I break into their
headquarters.” Zoë’s hand twitched over the gun again.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have–”

The Doctor broke off as he opened the door and peered in. “There you are!” he
cried, striding toward the blue box.

“Doctor…” Zoë said. “You’re talking to a box.”

He whirled on his heel, pointing a finger at her. “It’s not just a–” His eyes
widened and his throat caught on a useless shout as guards swarmed through the
doorway.

The Doctor dove toward the TARDIS door, and she was singing in his mind,
welcoming him back. Zoë instinctively covered his back as he slammed the key
into the lock and he was in the door, turning to look as she was spun around,
hit in the right shoulder by a projectile.

For an instant almost too short to measure, he hesitated, but it was already too
late. Reinforcements flooded the room and dragged her out.

“Come out of there with your hands up and we won’t shoot you,” a soldier
shouted.

Swearing in Old High Venusian, the Doctor ran to the console, hand reaching for
the dematerialization button. His hearts raced and he could feel sweat breaking
out from the running and…

He could leave now that he had the TARDIS.

His hand moved to begin the calculations reversing the TARDIS’ last-ditch run to
this place. Swearing again, he tracked the movement of Zoë and her captors
through the building, ignoring the shouts and bangs from outside.

The Doctor couldn’t take his eyes off the scanner, for fear that he’d lose her
in the hordes of scientists and bureaucrats that roamed the halls. The TARDIS
was impatient about something and he fended her off as he watched them drag Zoë
halfway across the building.

“Not enough space to materialize there,” he said to the TARDIS when Zoë had come
to a halt. “We’ll have to do this the hard way.” He quickly set a course for a
nicely deserted hallway not too far away from Zoë.

Moments later, he stepped out into the hallway, strolling his way toward what he
was certain was a cell. He burst through the door, waving his psychic paper.
“There’s my prisoner,” he said with enthusiasm, even as Zoë’s eyes widened in
alarm. “I’ll just take her back with me and…”

He trailed off as a gun appeared under his nose. Captain Collins stepped out
from behind the door. “I don’t think you’ll be living much longer. You’ve made
me the laughingstock of the Patrol, but they won’t laugh when they see I’ve got
in custody *both* of the most wanted criminals on this rock.”

Eyeing him for a moment, the Doctor said, “Go on, Zoë, get out of here. I’ll
deal with this.”

Collins’ gun hand moved to point at Zoë, but he was stymied when the Doctor
grabbed it in an implacable grip, keeping it pointed at his own head.

“Go ahead and kill me,” the Doctor said. “As long as Zoë gets away.”

“You’re not serious.” Collins looked sorry he hadn’t kept another guard in the
cell with him.

“I’m very serious.” The Doctor dropped his jovial exterior, letting his age, his
anger, his frustration show in his eyes. “Just try me.”

Collins flinched back from the Doctor’s expression, but his finger stayed on the
trigger.

Without turning his head, the Doctor barked out an order. “Zoë, *go*!”

Zoë stepped past him, but instead of walking through the half-open door, he
heard her pick something up, then a whisper of sound, metal on leather, and a
gun was pointing past his ear at Collins. “I don’t think so, Doctor. I don’t
intend to let you die now.”

Collins frowned in a petulant fashion. “Hey!”

“Shut up!” Zoë and the Doctor said.

Zoë spoke up before the Doctor could say anything else. “Dying won’t bring your
people back. You know that. That’s why you’ve been helping me.”

“What about me?” Collins asked.

Zoë growled softly. “Keep quiet or I’ll kill you first.”

The Doctor let the other man’s wrist go and stepped back, leaving Zoë’s gun
pointed at him. “Let’s go,” he said softly. They backed out of the room, leaving
the befuddled Collins in the cell. Zoë pulled the door shut, and the Doctor
listened with pleasure to the click of the lock. “My ship is just around the
corner,” he said.

Zoë nodded and that was when he realized blood was dripping down her arm. His
face must have reflected his surprise, because she glanced down. “It’s not as
bad as it looks.”

“Hmm.” Stoic could be taken a bit too far, he thought, concentrating on not
dragging her faster down the hallway. Slow and steady gets back to the TARDIS
safely.

Turning the corner, they came face to face with a short man in a stained lab
coat who almost walked by them, but stopped, eyes widening when he saw Zoë’s
blood. The man opened his mouth to yell for help, but by the time sound came
out, the Doctor already had his key in the TARDIS door.

“They’re coming,” Zoë muttered to the accompaniment of yet another bunch of
pounding boots.

The Doctor grabbed her good arm and they both dove inside the TARDIS. “We’ll be
safe here,” he almost yelled, the elation of reaching safety a familiar rush to
his system. Smacking the emergency door button, he moved Zoë nearer a light so
he could check her injury.

He dug under one of the grates and pulled out an emergency kit one of his
previous regenerations had stowed there, pulling her shirt to the side and
cleaning her wound. This gave her a moment to look around.

Her body stilled. “This is the blue box.”

“She’s called the TARDIS.”

“Ah.” She looked around. “Nice.”

He glanced up. “What? No ‘But it’s bigger inside than outside’? How
disappointing.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor.”

“Hmmph,” he said, wrapping a clean bandage around her arm and shoulder. He found
himself pleased by her reaction. Anything else wouldn’t have fit her
personality.

“So,” Zoë said, catching his eye, “you’re not from around here, are you?”

“No. I’m from an alternate universe.” The exhilaration died. “After the war,
*my* war, the TARDIS brought me here to escape being destroyed with my entire
race.”

She studied him for a moment. “You’re an alien.” There was an odd tone in her
voice.

“The two hearts give it away every time,” he said, tapping his chest on both
sides.

“There aren’t any aliens,” she said. “Everyone knows that. No bug-eyed monsters
or little gray men.”

“Really? I know at least twenty races of bug-eyed monsters and five different
varieties of little gray men.” His eyebrows shot up. “I’d love to know where
they went in *your* universe that you haven’t met them.”

The TARDIS relayed the sounds from outside, and Zoë’s eyes flicked up at the
banging of heavy objects being flung toward them. The Doctor glared at the
walls. “Why do they always do that, even after it’s obvious they couldn’t get
through with a wrecking ball?” he asked.

Zoë clenched her jaw as he tightened the wrapping, then stood without waiting
for his help. “How does this thing move?” she asked. “Can we get to my crew?”

“Of course!” He snorted. “Why d’you think we came here first?”

“I thought you might be planning to leave without me,” Zoë said, her tone so
neutral it lacked affect.

For a moment, he stared at the shadows cast on the walls. “I…” He closed his
eyes, wondering what had happened to him, and knowing the answer.

Resting a hand on his shoulder, Zoë spoke. “I know. The important thing is that
you didn’t. Now let’s find my crew.”

“Right.” He leaped up and dashed to the center console, giving it a pat.
Spinning a dial, he began typing on the old keyboard set into the side. “What
can you tell me about them? How many are there? Anything distinctive?”

“Ah, the Alliance did something to River’s brain, made her able to read minds.”

The Doctor looked up. “A telepath? Here? I can find *her*.” The TARDIS balked
and he glared at the console. “Steady…” he muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Zoë suppress a grin.

“What?” he asked her with a mock glare.

“Nothing,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“It’s just that you…remind me of my husband when you do that.” Her mouth
twitched with a smile.

Shaking his head, the Doctor went back to the delicate task of convincing the
TARDIS to find a telepath in the building.

* * * * *

The rescue of Serenity’s crew was anticlimactic after everything they’d been
through, the Doctor thought. Zoë probably didn’t agree, but she certainly looked
relieved as she bundled the last of them through the TARDIS doors under the
shocked gaze of guards who hadn’t expected a blue box to appear in front of
them, along with a gun-wielding woman.

The Doctor hit buttons with a flourish and the TARDIS dematerialized.

“I’ll just be over here, kissing my wife,” an unassuming man in a very loud
shirt said, grabbing Zoë’s uninjured arm.

“Wash, we don’t have time–”

“We do,” the Doctor said.

“Doctor, we need–”

“Trust me, Zoë.” He caught her eye, the others too busy staring around them at
the control room to notice the exchange. “You have plenty of time.”

She shook her head, but allowed Wash to drag her off into a corner, where
everyone politely ignored them.

The captain–Mal Reynolds she’d said his name was–stepped forward. “Ah, Doctor,
we’re mighty obliged to you.”

“Not at all. The least I could do after Zoë’s help.”

Reynolds nodded, obviously understanding the importance of a debt. “But I have
to say, I can’t help but notice that your ship–”

“Is bigger inside than outside?”

“Something like that.” Reynolds grinned, obviously not entirely fazed.

“Yes, she is.” The Doctor grinned back.

“Right then. Must be handy on long hauls.”

“Something like that.”

Reynolds nodded, tucking his thumbs into his waistline. He seemed about to add
something when a strange sound caught their attention. “Gorram,” he muttered
when they saw it was the girl, the telepath. She knelt by the center console,
hands covering her ears, rocking slightly.

“Oh dear,” the Doctor said, striding over there.

River shrank back as he approached, her eyes wide enough to be saucers. “Don’t
belong,” she said.

“No, I don’t,” the Doctor replied.

“Little sister,” the young man with an arm around her shoulder said, “what’s
wrong?”

Her entire body began to shake. “The light. Too bright. It burns!” She scrubbed
at her face with her hands.

Everyone looked in her direction, several rolling their eyes, but the Doctor
ignored them, kneeling down by her. He could feel her mind, fluttering like a
trapped butterfly. “See me, River,” he said. “Don’t look at the light.” Touching
her cheek, he opened a piece of his mind to her, directing her away from his
connection to the TARDIS.

She stopped shaking, her face going slack as she looked inward. Suddenly, her
eyes came into focus. “Pain,” she said, her voice quiet and sad.

“Is he hurting you, River?” the young man asked, trying to pull her away.

She shook her head. “He lives in conjugations of pain. Been hurt. Hurting now.
Will hurt.”

The Doctor stared at her as she touched him on the cheek, feather-light. He
bowed his head at the feel of her mind on his, for a few moments reminding him
he wasn’t alone. “Thank you,” he said.

She stared into his eyes. “Must go home and know for sure.”

The Doctor pulled back. “You don’t–”

“Go home,” she said. “She misses home too. Told me so.”

Her brother gave her an odd look. “Who misses home, River?”

The Doctor’s breath caught in his throat. “My ship,” he said. “I didn’t
realize.”

River cocked her head to one side. “She forgives you.”

The Doctor shrugged in an attempt at insouciance. “We’ve been through a lot
together, the TARDIS and I.”

River patted the console, leaning over to whisper something while the young man
watched in confusion.

The TARDIS wheezed as they arrived inside the spaceship and the Doctor opened
the door, watching with amusement as Zoë and the captain chivvied their shell-
shocked crew out the door.

The Doctor followed them out, finding something about the cargo hold familiar.
Perhaps it was the same feel of a ship battered and bruised, but unbroken. And
obviously much-loved from the way various people found a way to touch a wall or
railing unobtrusively.

It looked like a nice ship, he thought, patting the TARDIS absently.

Zoë caught his eye from the other side of the space and walked across to him.
“You’re leaving,” she said.

He shrugged. “That’s what I do.”

Zoë glanced at her crew. “You could stay. Make a new life.”

From almost anyone else, the offer could have seemed selfish, more about the
TARDIS’ abilities than him. But the Doctor knew she was sincere.

And it was tempting to stay, somewhere with no lingering traces of Gallifrey or
the Daleks. Tempting to work with this woman and her quiet confidence and
calming effect.

“You could come with *me*,” he said. “Bring your husband. I promise the Alliance
won’t find you where I’m going.”

He knew the answer even before she shook her head with a small smile. “My place
is here. I gave my word a long time ago.”

“I need to go back.” The Doctor paused, and Zoë waited. “My people were from the
planet Gallifrey. They were called the Time Lords.”

“Time…” Her eyes widened.

He nodded as he opened the TARDIS door. “I’m the last of the Time Lords. And I’m
going home.”

–end–

by Mara

Summary: Two great minds that think alike. Watch out, world(s).

Author’s Chapter Notes:

I’m playing fast and loose with Firefly canon. Please roll with it for the sake of the crack. Oh, and one Guide entry is taken *almost* directly from the book, although the others are mine. (It will be fairly clear which one, I should think.) The Mandarin is from the Firefly Pinyinary and you can see the translations at the end of the story. Gigantic thanks to Saone for the beta and reassurance

River liked to talk to spaceships. They didn’t have any distracting subconscious thoughts to confuse her.

Besides, they taught her all kinds of interesting things about space-time and folds in space and faster-than-light travel. And evasive maneuvers and docking and thrusters. And also about fish. (But that was another story entirely.)

One time she’d gotten so involved in a conversation with an Alliance cruiser that she forgot to ask him if he could develop an imbalance in his port thruster so Serenity wouldn’t have to make quite so daring an escape. Wash had to do some tricky maneuvering and Mal taught her three new curse words and Kaylee apologized to her engines.

When everyone was asleep, River went down to the engines and sat with them for a while, apologizing in her own way. Sleepily they assured her that they understood, but they’d appreciate not having to do that again until Nice Lady (an approximation of how they thought of Kaylee) could get them a replacement for the inertial polarizer.

River said she’d try and patted the engines before going off to bed.

Sometimes River tried to figure out why the others couldn’t hear Serenity the way she could, but then she would get distracted by counting the passing neutrinos and forget about it.

One afternoon, while River sat perched on a railing watching Jayne, Mal, and the Shepherd moving boxes, she heard a new ship. She was…far away, which was new and interesting. But she was so noisy that River could hear her anyway.

Tilting her head, River tried to make sense of what the new ship was trying to say.

“Is something wrong?” Inara asked as she walked by.

“Can’t quite understand her,” River said absently. “Funny accent.”

“Understand who?”

“Goldie. She’s telling me a story.”

“Goldie?” Inara took a deep breath, looking rather sorry to be asking.

“Heart of Gold,” River said. “It’s a story about two men floating in space. And penguins. And the President of the Galaxy.”

Inara blinked. “Oh.”

“It’s infinitely improbable.”

“That’s what I’ve always said about Serenity,” Inara said as she walked away.

River went back to asking Goldie questions about Brownian motion producers and other tea-related things.

* * * * *

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about insanity:

It is important for the well-informed hitchhiker to know what insanity is, because it is remarkably unpleasant to have your travels derailed by a trip to the local asylum.

Unfortunately, insanity depends on your point of view. On Mixilplitic V, for example, insanity is defined by your children. (As opposed to the thousands of other planets where it is *caused* by your children.)

On the desert planet of Afalmingo, it is considered insane to fall in love. This has led to the banning of romantic comedies, low lights in restaurants, and honeymoon suites with heart-shaped beds–proving that everything has its good side.

An ape-descended mammal from a small blue and green planet said “Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked,” but nobody listened to him anyway.

* * * * *

River heard Simon coming two decks away, but she didn’t move from her position staring out at the stars upside down through a porthole. There wasn’t any point, since he’d just worry louder and louder until he talked at her.

“River? Mei mei?”

She dropped to the floor in front of him and tried to wait for him to ask his question. But Goldie was talking and she got distracted. Simon was giving her a worried look, so she said, “Talking to Goldie.”

“What?”

Oh. He hadn’t asked what she was doing yet. “Out of order again,” she said, frowning. “Need to wait.”

“What’s out of–” Simon shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Goldie’s telling me about a book. A wonderful book about everything.”

“Who’s Goldie?”

“A ship.” Sighing, River waited.

“River, we talked about this. I know you can have some telepathic abilities, but ships don’t have minds for you to read.”

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, River asked Goldie if her crew understood her. She wasn’t surprised to learn the answer was no.

“River? Are you listening?”

River stretched backward into an arch. “Listening doesn’t mean agreeing.”

“I…” Simon rubbed his forehead, sighing. “Never mind. Wuh tzai chien shr ee-ding ruh dao shuh-muh run luh bah…”

Frowning, River tried to remember how this conversation was supposed to make her brother feel better.

* * * * *

Families, the Hitchhiker’s Guide says, can provide food, shelter, and clean towels to weary travelers, especially if they can be convinced that you are a long-lost relative.

This can be difficult if said families decide you need to be married immediately, but the Guide provides a complete list of planets that allow shotgun weddings and a list of suggested excuses to avoid marriage that are guaranteed to work on an additional 7,577 planets.

* * * * *

The hardest part of building the finite improbability engine (precursor to an infinite improbability engine) was finding a few of the more complicated parts of the Bambleweeny 57 Sub-Meson Brain. Fortunately, Kaylee didn’t mind if River dug through the spare parts bin, as long as she didn’t break anything (or break anything more than it already was).

Goldie made some helpful suggestions, but it still took a month and two planetfalls before the engine was ready.

(That included the time it took to rebuild when Jayne discovered she’d swiped a piece of one of his guns and came looking for her. That ended up with the entire crew standing in a hallway yelling at each other while River did handstands and walked her feet along the wall. When the shouting reached its peak, she sidled up to Simon and whispered, “Offer him the candy.” She got the gun parts back.)

The finite improbability engine wasn’t a particularly prepossessing piece of machinery, but River was the last person to be fooled by appearances, so she and Goldie went over it piece by piece until they were sure it would work.

* * * * *

The Infinite Improbability Drive, says the Guide, is a wonderful new method of crossing interstellar distances in a few seconds; without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace. As the Improbability Drive reaches infinite improbability, it passes through every conceivable and non-conceivable point in every conceivable and non-conceivable universe simultaneously.

In other words, unless you set the coordinates of where you want to end up, you’re never sure where you will end up or even what species you will be when you get there. It’s therefore important to dress accordingly.

* * * * *

River decided the finite improbability engine needed a proper test. Goldie made some suggestions, but the one that resonated with River was…well, let’s just say it made for a good party trick if you were a bored physicist who never got invited to the really fun parties.

She meandered into the mess while everyone was eating and sat down in the corner with the engine, making a few last-minute tweaks and fiddling with the tea to make sure it didn’t spill.

Simon kept half an eye on her and Kaylee smiled and waved her chopsticks, but everyone else ignored her, as they always did. River tilted her head and decided the test was as optimal as it would ever be. She hit a series of buttons and waited.

“Gwai-gwai long duh dong!” Jayne hollered, nearly knocking over his chair as he pushed backward. River considered the results and nodded, pleased, as Jayne tried to cover his entire naked body with his hands.

Zoe, face neutral, handed him his clothing, which had somehow landed in her lap. Kaylee’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, Wash was giggling outright, and Mal continued to eat his noodles without reacting at all. Simon shot a quick glance at River, but went back to helping Jayne shove his clothing on without saying anything. Shepherd Book heaved a sigh and River could feel him thinking about her, but he didn’t look in her direction at all.

By the time Jayne had his pants half on, he’d turned to glare at River, who ignored him in favor of poking at the engine.

“It’s her,” he said, pointing at River with the hand that wasn’t holding his pants up. “She’s…boo-tai jung-tzahng-duh!”

“That’s true,” Mal said, glancing up for the first time, “but I don’t know why she’d want to traumatize us quite like this. Thought you said she wasn’t evil, Doc.”

Simon covered his mouth, trying to decide how to react.

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it, Mal.” Jayne stamped a foot on the floor,

Mal flicked a glance at River. “True enough, Jayne.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Finish my dinner,” Mal said, scooping up another pile of noodles with his chopsticks. “Sit down and finish yours.” He glanced at Wash. “Zoe, I’d take it kindly if you’d either get your husband to stop laughing or remove him before Jayne kills him. I’d hate to break in a new pilot right now.”

Wash’s laughter died and Zoe grinned for the first time. “Taken care of, sir.”

Jayne sent River a venomous glance but she ignored him, picking up the finite improbability engine and calling out to Goldie as she left the room. They had a lot more work to do.

* * * * *

River spent a week tweaking the engine, which involved brewing a great many cups of tea. And she had to borrow one of Wash’s dinosaurs, which she felt bad about, but it had exactly the right level of springiness to cushion part of the sub-meson nebulizer.

“Uh…” Wash said, looking between her and the dinosaur. “What do you need it for?”

“Generating infinite improbability,” River said, a bit impatient with the pilot’s slowness.

“Right. You said that.” Wash considered her for a moment. “Oh well, I guess I owe you for the good laugh.” Shrugging, he handed her the dinosaur. “Try not to damage it, will you? These things don’t grow on trees.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of a rubber tree plant?” River asked as she danced down the ladder.

“Was that a joke?” Wash called after her. “Do you even *make* jokes?”

* * * * *

The first five editions of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy had extensive sections on humor, jokes, riddles, and how to earn a little money doing standup comedy on street corners.

But those sections were excised after The Great Comedian Purge of Dragonia VI, which was started by a hitchhiker, a water-filled flower, and a joke about Vogon women.

* * * * *

Several weeks later, the infinite improbability engine (which, improbably, looked like a miniature and very grimy cappuccino machine) was done.

For this test, Goldie informed her, the engine *should* work anywhere in the ship, but River felt in her bones that it needed to be somewhere in the engine room, so she carefully carried it down and set it up in a corner.

Kaylee looked briefly surprised when she poked her head out from underneath a Tesla coil, but she shrugged and smiled. “Hey there,” she said.

Nodding, River considered how she was supposed to respond. Simon had tried to explain polite conversation to her, but somehow it all slipped her mind at times like this. “Serenity’s cold,” she offered eventually, knowing Kaylee was very interested in the ship. “Lonely without a star. But you’re good company.”

“Well that’s shiny,” Kaylee said, patting the floor. “And I’m surely doing my best to get her moving faster.”

River nodded and put the infinite improbability engine down in a corner. She could move the ship a great deal farther than Kaylee, but it didn’t seem polite to point it out.

Goldie made some suggestions on how to steer and River frowned, trying to translate them into her universe’s constants. Eventually, she decided that as long as she could keep from dropping them into a sun or black hole, that would probably do for the first test.

Kaylee was used to River, so she thought nothing of her behavior, smiling and ducking her head back under the coil.

River sat down next to the engines and listened to Serenity and the shifting universe.

Goldie complained that *she* didn’t need to go through all this preparation to get anywhere. River patted her and pointed out that Goldie had been *built* with the infinite improbability engine inside her.

Eventually, River felt everything align just right and she pushed the big red button. There was a moment in which her stomach strongly considered rebelling, then River opened her eyes.

She smiled as Serenity’s engines morphed into elephants, clapping her hands with glee at the little mice dressed as rajahs riding atop them.

Tilting her head, she decided the universe was overdoing it a bit with the fireworks. But the universe was *showy*.

Sitting back against a wall that was now made of strawberries, River watched the show.

Kaylee staggered from behind the elephants’ legs. “River! What’s this?”

“Infinite improbability,” she said after considering the question.

“Yes, but…” Kaylee jumped as the elephants turned into dragons. Pink dragons. In yellow tutus. Doing Swan Lake. “What’s it doing *here*?”

“We need to pass through everything,” River said, trying to understand the question.

Kaylee shook her head, dislodging the lei placed there by a hula dancer. “How do we make it stop?”

River looked mournfully at the infinite improbability engine, which had turned into a giant rock with a button in the middle that said, “Absolutely Do Not Push.” She could hear Kaylee’s panic and not far away, she could hear the rest of the crew, who sounded equally unhappy. With a sigh, she pushed the button.

There was a sound like the universe being given a wedgie and they were back in regular space.

The comms were back and everyone was yelling. River put her hands over her ears, but that only blocked the outside yelling.

There was a loud clang and all the voices stopped. “That’s *enough*,” Mal hollered. “Everything shut your mouths for a minute. Roll call.”

He called everyone’s names and they all answered with varying degrees of pissed off in their voices. When he got to River, Kaylee hastily said, “She’s here with me and just fine, Cap’n.”

After a suspicious silence, Mal went on, “Okay, we’re all in one piece, so let’s see about figuring out where we are and if the ship’s still together.”

“We’re just outside orbit of Newhall,” River said.

There was a moment in which everyone held their breath, then Wash said, “She’s right.”

“Well, then,” Mal said, “that’s not such a bad thing. We’ll just deliver our cargo a week early and get out of Dodge.”

“But–”

“Enough, Jayne. Don’t spit in its eye of the first good fortune we’ve had lately.”

“I’d like to–”

“Shut it.” Mal sounded oddly sympathetic. “Let’s make some money.”

Kaylee took a deep breath and clicked off the comm. “Seems the Cap’n's in a forgiving mood, but maybe we’d better take that thing apart ‘fore he sees it.”

River sighed. She felt *very* misunderstood.

* * * * *

River spent most of the rest of the day curled up in an out-of-the-way corner, talking to Goldie, but she could hear Simon worrying, so she came out when he was done eating dinner.

“Why did you build it, River?” Simon’s face was pinched and anxious as he knelt by her bed.

“Moving faster means less trouble. Cap’n knows.” River blinked at Simon, still not certain why he was so upset. “Besides, she asked me ever so nicely to visit her.”

Hesitating, Simon finally asked, “Who?”

“Goldie. She doesn’t have many friends.”

“River, Goldie’s a ship, she doesn’t–What am I saying?” Simon put his head in his hands and River patted his shoulder. “Mei mei,” he said plaintively, “can we just forget this ever happened?”

Shrugging, River stood on her head. “Goldie has an answer she wants me to question.”

Simon sighed. “Don’t you mean…never mind.”

“It’s 42,” River said.

“What is?”

“The answer.”

“What’s the question?”

River turned her handstand into a cartwheel. “Maybe it has to do with the dolphins.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

–end–

Mandarin:
Boo-tai jung-tzahng-duh – not entirely sane
Gwai-gwai long duh dong! – What the hell!
Mei mei – little sister
Wuh tzai chien shr ee-ding ruh dao shuh-muh run luh bah… – I surely annoyed someone or other in a past life, didn’t I…

by Mara

Summary: Kaylee and Zoe deal with a life change with their usual aplomb. The rest of Serenity’s crew…doesn’t.

tory Notes:

by Mara

Summary: You just never know what the Rift is going to drop in Cardiff.