Ulysses (5/?) [Ten/Jack/Rose - Firefly crossover - PG-13]
Title: Ulysses (5/?)
Author: aibhinn
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Rose, Jack, Ten (will end up OT3); the Firefly crew.
Spoilers: DW through Journey's End, TW through Children of Earth, and all aired Firefly canon, including episodes and the movie Serenity.
Betas: larielromeniel and canaana, though I did some editing after I got it back from them, so if I messed it up, it's not their fault!
Summary: After the death of the blue-suited Doctor, an immortal Rose uses the dimension cannon to teleport herself back into her home universe. Or should that be 'Verse? Crossover with Joss Whedon's Firefly.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. I promise to put everything back where I found it.
Author's Note: The title refers to the poem of the same name by Tennyson, an online version of which can be found here. Also, because of Real Life stuff, I'm having to go to a Wednesday posting schedule.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Chapter 5
The mat beneath Rose's feet squeaked slightly as she shifted, watching the woman across from her. Zoë circled right slowly; perforce, so did Rose, keeping herself directly across from her opponent. Watch her eyes, Jake's voice whispered in her memory. The eyes will tell you everything.
Zoë lunged, stepping forward with a quick punch-kick-punch sequence. Rose responded almost instinctively with a flurry of blocks, knocking the taller woman off-balance just enough to get her own kick in. Zoë went down to one knee, and Rose danced back out of her way as a chorus of disbelieving noises came from their audience.
"Not bad," Zoë said with a smile, getting to her feet. "Didn't see that one comin'."
"You're pretty fast yourself," Rose said with a smile of her own. It had been a while since she'd been able to spar with anyone, and she was pleased to find she wasn't as rusty as she'd feared. "Not ready to finish yet, are you?"
"Not on your life," Zoë said.
They resumed circling, still sizing each other up. Rose knew she'd have to be more careful; she'd misjudged how fast the other woman could be. Though the way Zoë moved so deliberately, even for ordinary tasks, should have been a warning; she was clearly aware of what she could do. No wonder she's second in command, Rose thought.
Hoping to catch her off guard, Rose struck first, with a roundhouse kick. Zoë ducked backwards, somewhat to Rose's surprise-she'd expected the other woman to try to grab her foot in the air-but managed to land a blow on Rose's ribs. Pain flared, despite her sparring gear, and Rose ducked and rolled, coming in beneath Zoë's next attack and swinging her foot around to knock long legs out from under her opponent. Zoë landed on her backside with a whump! and there was another groan from the others. "Aw, come on, Zoë!" Mal said. "I got coin ridin' on ya here."
"No offense, sir, but if you're accusing me of throwing this fight, you're next," Zoë said, unperturbed.
Jayne snorted. "That little bit of a thing don't look like she could take Zoë down," he said.
River glanced up at him. "I don't look like I could take you, but I did," she said mildly.
Several people snickered, and Jayne looked disgruntled. "You caught me off-guard," he said.
"Twice?"
Rose snorted, and Jayne turned a dirty look on her, swaggering over to stand next to her, regardless of his boots on the mats. "Don't know why you bother with this gos se. Get in a real fight, all you need's this." He pulled an enormous pistol out of the holster at his belt and held it up, not quite pointing it at her, but making no bones about the threat.
"Jayne!" Mal snapped, but before he could say anything else, Rose grabbed Jayne's right wrist (and damn, but that man was strong), pulled herself against him so her back pressed against his front, and ducked, pulling him over her shoulder. He fell hard, twisting his arm so he was forced to let go of the gun. She had it up and pointed in his face by the time he realised he was on the ground.
Everyone stared, stunned. Jayne was nearly cross-eyed, looking down the barrel of his own weapon. Only Zoë, still just a couple of feet away, looked less than shocked at the speed of Rose's attack.
"Never," Rose said quietly, "assume that a gun beats hand-to-hand combat. Guns are useful, but they can also make you sloppy-and sloppiness gets you killed." She popped the clip, emptied the chamber of its round, and dropped the gun on Jayne's chest with an air of contempt before rocking backwards off her knees and to her feet. She backed away until she stood on the grating with her toes almost but not quite touching the mat, facing Zoë. Zoë caught her eye and shifted until she was standing in the same position, and each of them bowed to each other over Jayne's supine form.
There was utter silence for a long minute. "Well," Mal said at last. "Seems we still got some work to do. Jayne, roll up that exercise mat and put it away before you do anything else."
"Aw, Mal," Jayne complained, but it didn't sound like his heart was in it.
Rose slipped her feet into her shoes and grinned at Zoë as the taller woman came around to meet her. "Nice work," Zoë said sincerely. "Been a long time since anyone could give me a run for my money. I underestimated you. I don't do that often."
"You wouldn't be the first," Rose said as they made their way back towards the passenger quarters. "Not many do it twice, though."
Zoë's grin turned evil. "So I see." She gestured. "Want something to drink? I'm not on watch for another couple of hours."
Rose's eyebrows lifted as her instincts jangled alarm bells in her brain. This wasn't the sort of woman who just wanted to chat. "Of course," she said. "Sounds like fun."
Zoë led her into the galley, where she looked through the canisters of tea until she found the one she wanted. "White tea with lemon," she said as she measured it into a pot and filled the kettle. "Refreshing after a workout. That okay?"
Rose nodded her agreement, and watched as she went through the motions of tea-making. It was different here than she was used to; rather than warming the pot, Zoë rinsed the tea leaves in the hot water before filling the pot to let the tea steep. She set the pot on the table between them, along with a pair of mugs and a bowl of sugar, and sat down beside Rose. "That was one of the best workouts I've had in a long time," she said with a smile that was undoubtedly intended to be disarming. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
"My . . . brother taught me," Rose said. It wasn't really a lie; Jake had been as close as a brother to her, especially after Mickey had decided to stay in their home universe after the Crucible.
"That's some brother." Zoë poured the tea into their mugs. Rose raised hers to her face and inhaled. It had a clean, delicate scent, with just the slightest overtones of citrus, and was nearly colourless, the way proper white tea should be.
"Yeah, he was," Rose said, and took a sip. Perfect.
"Was?" Zoë repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Oh, hell. She hadn't meant to give even that much away. Rose's opinion of this woman went up several notches. She was good. "He died a few years ago," she said. "In an accident." True enough; his car had been part of a major RTA on the M4. The fact that he'd been 83 years old, and that he'd died thirty years ago in Rose's linear time, didn't need mentioning. "I try to keep in practice for his sake."
Zoë took a sip of her own tea, then set it down. "We're about three days from planetfall on Athens," she said. "I hear tell you mean to be lookin' for goods for the cargo company you work for."
"That's right," Rose said steadily.
"What sorts of goods you lookin' for?"
That was a loaded question if Rose had ever heard of one. Luckily, she'd done a bit of research. "Foodstuffs, mainly," she said. "We've got a chance to supply the kitchens of a couple of the big hospitals on Osiris. Quite a coup for a company our size." She smiled as openly as she could manage.
Zoë's eyes bored into hers. "Not mining, then? Gems, ore, fossil fuels?"
"No," Rose said firmly. "We'd have no use for it. We're a small company targeting a specific market share. Our goal is to be able to supply a quarter of the hospitals in the Core within ten years, and I think we've got a good chance at it." She'd never been so grateful for her mis-spent youth as she'd been during this search. Lies rolled off her tongue easily; she almost thought she might be able to convince herself.
"Mm." The dark woman took another sip of her tea, contemplating Rose for a few moments more. "A word of advice," she said. "Stay away from the mines, if you can. There's something odd going on there, but nobody's been able to figure what."
Rose frowned. "Odd how?" A small sound from just the other side of the bulkhead separating the galley from the corridor made her glance up, but there was no one there.
Zoe shrugged. "Some people claim they've had loved ones go missing on Athens, or in Athens orbit. Nobody ever finds anything. Not especially surprising on the Rim; it's not a place for the weak or the naïve, that's for sure. But there's more to it here: more people missing than there should be, if that makes sense. And not the right sort of people. Usually it's folk with not much family, or family who don't much care, who end up missing, but even locals disappear regular-like on Athens. And though the mines carry out five or six people a month feet-first, they never seem to have a shortage of labour." Her eyes bored into Rose's. "If you take my meaning."
Rose nodded, slowly. "Okay," she said. "I'll stay away. Thanks for the advice."
Zoë nodded. "I should go check in with the captain. Thanks again for the workout." With a polite nod, she pushed back her chair and left, heading towards the bridge.
Rose sighed and leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of her tea. The sound from the other side of the bulkhead came again, faint but noticeable, and this time she saw a lock of long, brown hair just around the corner. She chuckled. "Come on out, River," she said.
River's head appeared around the bulkhead, eyes wide. "How'd you know I was here?" she asked.
"I guessed," Rose said dryly, and indicated the chair Zoë had left. River flowed in through the door, sat down, and pulled her feet up into a lotus position. She had another handkerchief-hem dress on-she seemed to like them-but this time, she was barefoot. "What do you think's going on in those mines?" Rose asked. "Is Zoë right? Are they kidnapping people to work there?"
River cocked her head to one side. "Why ask me?" she asked.
Rose took a deep breath, let it go. "Because I've been talking to Inara about you," she said bluntly. "She told me you're psychic."
"I know," River said. She didn't seem the least upset by the fact.
"You do?" Rose was startled, though she felt a little silly about it; the whole reason she was talking to River now was because River apparently knew things no one else did. "Good," she added, a bit lamely. "Erm, well, I think-I hope-you might be able to make sense of what's going on. I've been looking for the Doctor so long, and I've got nowhere. Maybe you can help, if you're willing." Please be willing, she thought. She didn't like the idea of using the girl like this, but if River was half the woman Rose thought she was, she'd have no qualms about saying no if she wanted to.
River looked down at her lap, touching her fingers to the tips of her toes. "They're evil," she said at last.
"The mines?" Rose asked.
"The minds behind the mines. Not just bad, evil." She frowned, then looked up at Rose. "You want to be a companion again," she said, brow furrowed. "But not like Inara. You only want one client."
A corner of Rose's mouth crooked upward. "Something like that," she said. "That's who I'm looking for."
"John Smith," River said slowly, as though tasting the words. "Surrounded by rock, when he should be surrounded by coral. The darkness echoes, it doesn't sing. But if he wasn't in the darkness, he'd be in the red lights. Jones can help you find him, once you've found Jones."
"Who's Jones?" Rose leant forward. "You've mentioned him before." If the Doctor was in the mines-which was what River seemed to be implying-having someone who could help her break him free would be invaluable.
River shrugged. "I don't know his real name," she said. "I don't think he does, either. He's had so many. But he'll find you, or you'll find him, and together you'll find who you're looking for." She smiled brightly. "All murderers together. Maybe you could form a band, like Robin Hood and his merry men."
Rose blinked.
"I have to go," River said. "The tyrannosaurus rex gets terribly upset if he's not played with every day, and the stegosaurus pouts. I wonder what it's like to play with a pteranodon? Maybe you could ask Jones, when you find him." She grinned and disappeared towards the bridge, following in Zoë's footsteps.
Rose let herself fall back against the back of her chair and blew out a sigh. At least she knew one thing: the Doctor was in the mines. But how to get to him? And how to get him out? And who was this Jones who was meant to help her? River's visions, obscure though they were, were more than she'd had since she'd stepped into the dimension cannon to find the Doctor in the first place; she'd take what she could get.
"I'm coming, Doctor," she murmured under her breath. "Quick as I can. I just hope you're where she says you are."
***
The Harvest Festival was in full swing, and Jones had to admit, it was a hell of a party. Several of the farmers had brought musical instruments, and an impromptu band was now playing over in one corner of the tables, while dancers filled up the center part where the food had been placed earlier. It was amazing how quickly tables and chairs could be cleared when the word 'dance' was mentioned, Jones thought with a smirk.
Andrea whirled through a particularly lively dance, partnered by a young man from a farm about fifteen miles farther out. Patrick Something-Jones hadn't caught his last name. He was a couple of years younger than she was, at a glance, but he seemed quite taken with her; he'd asked her to dance with him twice already, and was one of the few who was able to keep up with the intricate steps. Couples were giving up all around, gasping for air and laughing, but three or four stayed in the dance to the end-including them. It was a masterful feat, Jones thought; the steps were not only complex, but the music sped up with each repetition, until it seemed likely the dancers would trip over their own feet. But Andrea never did, nor Patrick; they danced right up to the end.
Jones joined in the general applause for the dancers who'd survived the whole thing, smiling for Andrea's sake. She was grinning, pushing loose strands of hair out of her reddened, sweaty face. Patrick leaned down to say something to her, but she shook her head and patted his arm like an elder sister. He stiffened in annoyance. She didn't even notice as she left the dance square and headed towards Jones, throwing herself into one of the chairs and fanning herself. "Whew," she said. "Been a while since I danced the Rim Whirl. Takes some doin', that one."
"Looks like it." Jones pushed the pitcher of iced tea towards her in offering.
She leant forward to pour herself a drink, downing it in one long pull. "Oh, that's better," she sighed, and slumped back in her chair, setting the glass down. "Good turn out this year," she said. "Got almost twice the people we had last year. 'Course, this time last year, most people's crops were only half-grown. We had a lot of rain last summer, and a poor harvest. Good thing we had an easy winter, too, or a lot of folks mighta starved."
Movement caught Jones's eye, and he glanced over to see Lizzie and several of the other farm wives going in and out of the house, bringing out desserts and placing them on some of the tables that had been moved for the dancing. He nodded towards them. "Lizzie expecting you to be helping with that?"
Andrea snorted. "Not after dancing the Whirl. If I tried, she'd tell me to sit myself down before I fell down. And she'd be right. Not sure my legs could hold me if I did try to walk right now."
Jones grinned at her. "That a hint I should go get you a piece of cake for dessert, since you can't walk over there by yourself?"
Andrea pulled a face and smacked him lightly with the back of her hand. "You tryin' to make me fat?" she asked, jokingly.
"If you can dance the Whirl, there's no way you're getting fat," Jones told her.
She chuckled, leaning her cheek on her hand and looking at him. "You're different when you're not working," she said.
"Clean and not smelly?" he offered.
She laughed out loud. "That, too," she said. "I guess I ain't never seen you at a party. You're more . . . relaxed."
He sighed, glancing down. "Yeah," he said. "I haven't let myself relax since . . . . " He trailed off.
But she seemed to understand. "Yeah," she echoed. "I know. Seemed like time, did it?"
He gave a half-smile. "It occurred to me that Ianto would have had fifty fits-in that quiet, reserved, Welsh way of his-if he thought I'd even consider missing a party like this on his behalf. And believe me, if the decision is between going to a party and being haunted by an annoyed Welshman, it's an easy decision to make."
"Your grandson?" Andrea hazarded.
"My lover," he corrected, watching her to see her reaction.
She seemed a little startled, but smiled after a moment. "Tell me about him."
"About Ianto?" Jones rubbed his face. "Where to start? He looked really good in a business suit."
She laughed. "I bet. And I bet he was really smart, too."
"Oh, yeah." Jones stared up into the sky, seeing only that familiar, beloved face. "He had the most beautiful eyes. Like the Bay at noon on a midsummer day, blue and calm. And he had this way about him, y'know? He could handle anything, from reminding me where I was supposed to be when, to defending the Ea-planet with an enormous gun and a lot of chutzpah. Very controlled on the surface, but when you penetrated that, got him to let down his guard? He was full of passion." He chuckled in remembrance. "And a hell of a sense of humour, too. This one time-"
Andrea listened with every evidence of interest as he talked, first about Ianto, then Tosh, then Owen. That morphed into others: Suzie, and her obsession with the job; Gwen and Rhys, and their baby; Martha, and her bravery; Mickey, and his enormous heart; Rose, and how much he'd loved her (which earned him another startled look, followed by a contemplative one). Not the Doctor, though he could have. Not John Hart, nor Gray; those were too complicated to explain to someone who didn't understand time travel.
Not Stephen. Not yet. It was too soon to talk to anyone about Stephen.
As the first moon rose, shining silvery light down over the gathering, it didn't escape Jones's notice that Patrick sat on the far side of the dance square, glaring at him with a look just this side of hate. Andrea didn't seem to see Patrick at all.
***
The last of the moons had risen, and the last of the guests had headed back towards their farms. Jones lay on his bed, fully clothed except for his boots, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
He didn't know what had possessed him this evening, to talk like that. He never talked about himself like that, not in over a hundred and fifty years. Not even Rose had learned that much about him, and he had been closer to her in their short time together than he'd been to any other human, ever. But Andrea hadn't pried; she'd asked about Ianto, left it up to him to decide how much to tell, and simply listened. It was he who'd run off at the mouth.
But he didn't feel upset about it. In fact, it felt right. It felt as though, maybe, just maybe, that enormous hole in his heart was beginning to scab over. How did she do that? he wondered, not for the first time that evening.
He'd meant to be on his way to Pallas by this time. Hell, he'd meant to be nearly there by this time, but he'd got caught up in the party, in talking to Andrea, and had lost all track of time. Tomorrow, he decided. I'll leave tomorrow. And maybe I'll do it properly this time: actually say goodbye. They deserve that much.
A soft knock at his door made him sit bolt upright, reaching for a pistol he no longer carried; he'd left it behind when he left Earth. "Who is it?" he asked.
"Andrea." Her voice was soft in the quiet night.
He slid off the bed and walked to the door, lifting the bar out of its slot and pulling it open. She stood there in the dim light of the hayloft, looking oddly small and pale, twisting her hands together. "Hi," she said.
"Hi." He held the door open wider. "Come on in."
She stepped in, let him close the door behind her. He had an idea what she was here for. "Andrea-" he began.
She stepped forward, put a hand on his upper arm. "I know you're leaving," she said. "And you know I won't go farther than Pallas for a few days. I belong here, and you don't. But I don't want you to just go, Jones. I don't want you to just walk out of my life without . . . ." She stopped, looked away.
"Without what, Andrea?" he asked softly. She looked so fragile in the moonlight.
She swallowed. "You're the only one I've ever told," she said in a small voice. "About Matthew. The only one I ever could tell, because you know what it's like, you know how I'm feeling. I know I'm young, and I know we ain't never going to be permanent, but we could have something, couldn't we? Not forever, just . . . maybe, one night?"
It had taken her a lot of courage to ask, Jones knew. Just as he knew that his understanding, being able to share the pain of having caused a loved one's death, meant more to her than she could articulate. Just because she hadn't ever told anyone what had happened to Matthew, didn't mean they didn't know, and he could only imagine the life she'd lived since his death: outward sympathy masking accusations and disgust that would come out behind her back. Andrea was in her early twenties, the heir to one of the largest, most successful farms in the area, and still single: that was telling in and of itself. Frontier cultures married young. Past the age of twenty, Andrea would be considered nearly 'on the shelf,' and an object of yet more pity.
This was her chance to be convinced that she really was a beautiful, vibrant, intelligent, extraordinary young woman-and his chance to convince her.
He reached up, cupped her cheek with one big hand. "Yeah," he whispered. "We can."
Author: aibhinn
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Rose, Jack, Ten (will end up OT3); the Firefly crew.
Spoilers: DW through Journey's End, TW through Children of Earth, and all aired Firefly canon, including episodes and the movie Serenity.
Betas: larielromeniel and canaana, though I did some editing after I got it back from them, so if I messed it up, it's not their fault!
Summary: After the death of the blue-suited Doctor, an immortal Rose uses the dimension cannon to teleport herself back into her home universe. Or should that be 'Verse? Crossover with Joss Whedon's Firefly.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. I promise to put everything back where I found it.
Author's Note: The title refers to the poem of the same name by Tennyson, an online version of which can be found here. Also, because of Real Life stuff, I'm having to go to a Wednesday posting schedule.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10
Chapter 5
The mat beneath Rose's feet squeaked slightly as she shifted, watching the woman across from her. Zoë circled right slowly; perforce, so did Rose, keeping herself directly across from her opponent. Watch her eyes, Jake's voice whispered in her memory. The eyes will tell you everything.
Zoë lunged, stepping forward with a quick punch-kick-punch sequence. Rose responded almost instinctively with a flurry of blocks, knocking the taller woman off-balance just enough to get her own kick in. Zoë went down to one knee, and Rose danced back out of her way as a chorus of disbelieving noises came from their audience.
"Not bad," Zoë said with a smile, getting to her feet. "Didn't see that one comin'."
"You're pretty fast yourself," Rose said with a smile of her own. It had been a while since she'd been able to spar with anyone, and she was pleased to find she wasn't as rusty as she'd feared. "Not ready to finish yet, are you?"
"Not on your life," Zoë said.
They resumed circling, still sizing each other up. Rose knew she'd have to be more careful; she'd misjudged how fast the other woman could be. Though the way Zoë moved so deliberately, even for ordinary tasks, should have been a warning; she was clearly aware of what she could do. No wonder she's second in command, Rose thought.
Hoping to catch her off guard, Rose struck first, with a roundhouse kick. Zoë ducked backwards, somewhat to Rose's surprise-she'd expected the other woman to try to grab her foot in the air-but managed to land a blow on Rose's ribs. Pain flared, despite her sparring gear, and Rose ducked and rolled, coming in beneath Zoë's next attack and swinging her foot around to knock long legs out from under her opponent. Zoë landed on her backside with a whump! and there was another groan from the others. "Aw, come on, Zoë!" Mal said. "I got coin ridin' on ya here."
"No offense, sir, but if you're accusing me of throwing this fight, you're next," Zoë said, unperturbed.
Jayne snorted. "That little bit of a thing don't look like she could take Zoë down," he said.
River glanced up at him. "I don't look like I could take you, but I did," she said mildly.
Several people snickered, and Jayne looked disgruntled. "You caught me off-guard," he said.
"Twice?"
Rose snorted, and Jayne turned a dirty look on her, swaggering over to stand next to her, regardless of his boots on the mats. "Don't know why you bother with this gos se. Get in a real fight, all you need's this." He pulled an enormous pistol out of the holster at his belt and held it up, not quite pointing it at her, but making no bones about the threat.
"Jayne!" Mal snapped, but before he could say anything else, Rose grabbed Jayne's right wrist (and damn, but that man was strong), pulled herself against him so her back pressed against his front, and ducked, pulling him over her shoulder. He fell hard, twisting his arm so he was forced to let go of the gun. She had it up and pointed in his face by the time he realised he was on the ground.
Everyone stared, stunned. Jayne was nearly cross-eyed, looking down the barrel of his own weapon. Only Zoë, still just a couple of feet away, looked less than shocked at the speed of Rose's attack.
"Never," Rose said quietly, "assume that a gun beats hand-to-hand combat. Guns are useful, but they can also make you sloppy-and sloppiness gets you killed." She popped the clip, emptied the chamber of its round, and dropped the gun on Jayne's chest with an air of contempt before rocking backwards off her knees and to her feet. She backed away until she stood on the grating with her toes almost but not quite touching the mat, facing Zoë. Zoë caught her eye and shifted until she was standing in the same position, and each of them bowed to each other over Jayne's supine form.
There was utter silence for a long minute. "Well," Mal said at last. "Seems we still got some work to do. Jayne, roll up that exercise mat and put it away before you do anything else."
"Aw, Mal," Jayne complained, but it didn't sound like his heart was in it.
Rose slipped her feet into her shoes and grinned at Zoë as the taller woman came around to meet her. "Nice work," Zoë said sincerely. "Been a long time since anyone could give me a run for my money. I underestimated you. I don't do that often."
"You wouldn't be the first," Rose said as they made their way back towards the passenger quarters. "Not many do it twice, though."
Zoë's grin turned evil. "So I see." She gestured. "Want something to drink? I'm not on watch for another couple of hours."
Rose's eyebrows lifted as her instincts jangled alarm bells in her brain. This wasn't the sort of woman who just wanted to chat. "Of course," she said. "Sounds like fun."
Zoë led her into the galley, where she looked through the canisters of tea until she found the one she wanted. "White tea with lemon," she said as she measured it into a pot and filled the kettle. "Refreshing after a workout. That okay?"
Rose nodded her agreement, and watched as she went through the motions of tea-making. It was different here than she was used to; rather than warming the pot, Zoë rinsed the tea leaves in the hot water before filling the pot to let the tea steep. She set the pot on the table between them, along with a pair of mugs and a bowl of sugar, and sat down beside Rose. "That was one of the best workouts I've had in a long time," she said with a smile that was undoubtedly intended to be disarming. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
"My . . . brother taught me," Rose said. It wasn't really a lie; Jake had been as close as a brother to her, especially after Mickey had decided to stay in their home universe after the Crucible.
"That's some brother." Zoë poured the tea into their mugs. Rose raised hers to her face and inhaled. It had a clean, delicate scent, with just the slightest overtones of citrus, and was nearly colourless, the way proper white tea should be.
"Yeah, he was," Rose said, and took a sip. Perfect.
"Was?" Zoë repeated, raising an eyebrow.
Oh, hell. She hadn't meant to give even that much away. Rose's opinion of this woman went up several notches. She was good. "He died a few years ago," she said. "In an accident." True enough; his car had been part of a major RTA on the M4. The fact that he'd been 83 years old, and that he'd died thirty years ago in Rose's linear time, didn't need mentioning. "I try to keep in practice for his sake."
Zoë took a sip of her own tea, then set it down. "We're about three days from planetfall on Athens," she said. "I hear tell you mean to be lookin' for goods for the cargo company you work for."
"That's right," Rose said steadily.
"What sorts of goods you lookin' for?"
That was a loaded question if Rose had ever heard of one. Luckily, she'd done a bit of research. "Foodstuffs, mainly," she said. "We've got a chance to supply the kitchens of a couple of the big hospitals on Osiris. Quite a coup for a company our size." She smiled as openly as she could manage.
Zoë's eyes bored into hers. "Not mining, then? Gems, ore, fossil fuels?"
"No," Rose said firmly. "We'd have no use for it. We're a small company targeting a specific market share. Our goal is to be able to supply a quarter of the hospitals in the Core within ten years, and I think we've got a good chance at it." She'd never been so grateful for her mis-spent youth as she'd been during this search. Lies rolled off her tongue easily; she almost thought she might be able to convince herself.
"Mm." The dark woman took another sip of her tea, contemplating Rose for a few moments more. "A word of advice," she said. "Stay away from the mines, if you can. There's something odd going on there, but nobody's been able to figure what."
Rose frowned. "Odd how?" A small sound from just the other side of the bulkhead separating the galley from the corridor made her glance up, but there was no one there.
Zoe shrugged. "Some people claim they've had loved ones go missing on Athens, or in Athens orbit. Nobody ever finds anything. Not especially surprising on the Rim; it's not a place for the weak or the naïve, that's for sure. But there's more to it here: more people missing than there should be, if that makes sense. And not the right sort of people. Usually it's folk with not much family, or family who don't much care, who end up missing, but even locals disappear regular-like on Athens. And though the mines carry out five or six people a month feet-first, they never seem to have a shortage of labour." Her eyes bored into Rose's. "If you take my meaning."
Rose nodded, slowly. "Okay," she said. "I'll stay away. Thanks for the advice."
Zoë nodded. "I should go check in with the captain. Thanks again for the workout." With a polite nod, she pushed back her chair and left, heading towards the bridge.
Rose sighed and leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of her tea. The sound from the other side of the bulkhead came again, faint but noticeable, and this time she saw a lock of long, brown hair just around the corner. She chuckled. "Come on out, River," she said.
River's head appeared around the bulkhead, eyes wide. "How'd you know I was here?" she asked.
"I guessed," Rose said dryly, and indicated the chair Zoë had left. River flowed in through the door, sat down, and pulled her feet up into a lotus position. She had another handkerchief-hem dress on-she seemed to like them-but this time, she was barefoot. "What do you think's going on in those mines?" Rose asked. "Is Zoë right? Are they kidnapping people to work there?"
River cocked her head to one side. "Why ask me?" she asked.
Rose took a deep breath, let it go. "Because I've been talking to Inara about you," she said bluntly. "She told me you're psychic."
"I know," River said. She didn't seem the least upset by the fact.
"You do?" Rose was startled, though she felt a little silly about it; the whole reason she was talking to River now was because River apparently knew things no one else did. "Good," she added, a bit lamely. "Erm, well, I think-I hope-you might be able to make sense of what's going on. I've been looking for the Doctor so long, and I've got nowhere. Maybe you can help, if you're willing." Please be willing, she thought. She didn't like the idea of using the girl like this, but if River was half the woman Rose thought she was, she'd have no qualms about saying no if she wanted to.
River looked down at her lap, touching her fingers to the tips of her toes. "They're evil," she said at last.
"The mines?" Rose asked.
"The minds behind the mines. Not just bad, evil." She frowned, then looked up at Rose. "You want to be a companion again," she said, brow furrowed. "But not like Inara. You only want one client."
A corner of Rose's mouth crooked upward. "Something like that," she said. "That's who I'm looking for."
"John Smith," River said slowly, as though tasting the words. "Surrounded by rock, when he should be surrounded by coral. The darkness echoes, it doesn't sing. But if he wasn't in the darkness, he'd be in the red lights. Jones can help you find him, once you've found Jones."
"Who's Jones?" Rose leant forward. "You've mentioned him before." If the Doctor was in the mines-which was what River seemed to be implying-having someone who could help her break him free would be invaluable.
River shrugged. "I don't know his real name," she said. "I don't think he does, either. He's had so many. But he'll find you, or you'll find him, and together you'll find who you're looking for." She smiled brightly. "All murderers together. Maybe you could form a band, like Robin Hood and his merry men."
Rose blinked.
"I have to go," River said. "The tyrannosaurus rex gets terribly upset if he's not played with every day, and the stegosaurus pouts. I wonder what it's like to play with a pteranodon? Maybe you could ask Jones, when you find him." She grinned and disappeared towards the bridge, following in Zoë's footsteps.
Rose let herself fall back against the back of her chair and blew out a sigh. At least she knew one thing: the Doctor was in the mines. But how to get to him? And how to get him out? And who was this Jones who was meant to help her? River's visions, obscure though they were, were more than she'd had since she'd stepped into the dimension cannon to find the Doctor in the first place; she'd take what she could get.
"I'm coming, Doctor," she murmured under her breath. "Quick as I can. I just hope you're where she says you are."
***
The Harvest Festival was in full swing, and Jones had to admit, it was a hell of a party. Several of the farmers had brought musical instruments, and an impromptu band was now playing over in one corner of the tables, while dancers filled up the center part where the food had been placed earlier. It was amazing how quickly tables and chairs could be cleared when the word 'dance' was mentioned, Jones thought with a smirk.
Andrea whirled through a particularly lively dance, partnered by a young man from a farm about fifteen miles farther out. Patrick Something-Jones hadn't caught his last name. He was a couple of years younger than she was, at a glance, but he seemed quite taken with her; he'd asked her to dance with him twice already, and was one of the few who was able to keep up with the intricate steps. Couples were giving up all around, gasping for air and laughing, but three or four stayed in the dance to the end-including them. It was a masterful feat, Jones thought; the steps were not only complex, but the music sped up with each repetition, until it seemed likely the dancers would trip over their own feet. But Andrea never did, nor Patrick; they danced right up to the end.
Jones joined in the general applause for the dancers who'd survived the whole thing, smiling for Andrea's sake. She was grinning, pushing loose strands of hair out of her reddened, sweaty face. Patrick leaned down to say something to her, but she shook her head and patted his arm like an elder sister. He stiffened in annoyance. She didn't even notice as she left the dance square and headed towards Jones, throwing herself into one of the chairs and fanning herself. "Whew," she said. "Been a while since I danced the Rim Whirl. Takes some doin', that one."
"Looks like it." Jones pushed the pitcher of iced tea towards her in offering.
She leant forward to pour herself a drink, downing it in one long pull. "Oh, that's better," she sighed, and slumped back in her chair, setting the glass down. "Good turn out this year," she said. "Got almost twice the people we had last year. 'Course, this time last year, most people's crops were only half-grown. We had a lot of rain last summer, and a poor harvest. Good thing we had an easy winter, too, or a lot of folks mighta starved."
Movement caught Jones's eye, and he glanced over to see Lizzie and several of the other farm wives going in and out of the house, bringing out desserts and placing them on some of the tables that had been moved for the dancing. He nodded towards them. "Lizzie expecting you to be helping with that?"
Andrea snorted. "Not after dancing the Whirl. If I tried, she'd tell me to sit myself down before I fell down. And she'd be right. Not sure my legs could hold me if I did try to walk right now."
Jones grinned at her. "That a hint I should go get you a piece of cake for dessert, since you can't walk over there by yourself?"
Andrea pulled a face and smacked him lightly with the back of her hand. "You tryin' to make me fat?" she asked, jokingly.
"If you can dance the Whirl, there's no way you're getting fat," Jones told her.
She chuckled, leaning her cheek on her hand and looking at him. "You're different when you're not working," she said.
"Clean and not smelly?" he offered.
She laughed out loud. "That, too," she said. "I guess I ain't never seen you at a party. You're more . . . relaxed."
He sighed, glancing down. "Yeah," he said. "I haven't let myself relax since . . . . " He trailed off.
But she seemed to understand. "Yeah," she echoed. "I know. Seemed like time, did it?"
He gave a half-smile. "It occurred to me that Ianto would have had fifty fits-in that quiet, reserved, Welsh way of his-if he thought I'd even consider missing a party like this on his behalf. And believe me, if the decision is between going to a party and being haunted by an annoyed Welshman, it's an easy decision to make."
"Your grandson?" Andrea hazarded.
"My lover," he corrected, watching her to see her reaction.
She seemed a little startled, but smiled after a moment. "Tell me about him."
"About Ianto?" Jones rubbed his face. "Where to start? He looked really good in a business suit."
She laughed. "I bet. And I bet he was really smart, too."
"Oh, yeah." Jones stared up into the sky, seeing only that familiar, beloved face. "He had the most beautiful eyes. Like the Bay at noon on a midsummer day, blue and calm. And he had this way about him, y'know? He could handle anything, from reminding me where I was supposed to be when, to defending the Ea-planet with an enormous gun and a lot of chutzpah. Very controlled on the surface, but when you penetrated that, got him to let down his guard? He was full of passion." He chuckled in remembrance. "And a hell of a sense of humour, too. This one time-"
Andrea listened with every evidence of interest as he talked, first about Ianto, then Tosh, then Owen. That morphed into others: Suzie, and her obsession with the job; Gwen and Rhys, and their baby; Martha, and her bravery; Mickey, and his enormous heart; Rose, and how much he'd loved her (which earned him another startled look, followed by a contemplative one). Not the Doctor, though he could have. Not John Hart, nor Gray; those were too complicated to explain to someone who didn't understand time travel.
Not Stephen. Not yet. It was too soon to talk to anyone about Stephen.
As the first moon rose, shining silvery light down over the gathering, it didn't escape Jones's notice that Patrick sat on the far side of the dance square, glaring at him with a look just this side of hate. Andrea didn't seem to see Patrick at all.
***
The last of the moons had risen, and the last of the guests had headed back towards their farms. Jones lay on his bed, fully clothed except for his boots, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
He didn't know what had possessed him this evening, to talk like that. He never talked about himself like that, not in over a hundred and fifty years. Not even Rose had learned that much about him, and he had been closer to her in their short time together than he'd been to any other human, ever. But Andrea hadn't pried; she'd asked about Ianto, left it up to him to decide how much to tell, and simply listened. It was he who'd run off at the mouth.
But he didn't feel upset about it. In fact, it felt right. It felt as though, maybe, just maybe, that enormous hole in his heart was beginning to scab over. How did she do that? he wondered, not for the first time that evening.
He'd meant to be on his way to Pallas by this time. Hell, he'd meant to be nearly there by this time, but he'd got caught up in the party, in talking to Andrea, and had lost all track of time. Tomorrow, he decided. I'll leave tomorrow. And maybe I'll do it properly this time: actually say goodbye. They deserve that much.
A soft knock at his door made him sit bolt upright, reaching for a pistol he no longer carried; he'd left it behind when he left Earth. "Who is it?" he asked.
"Andrea." Her voice was soft in the quiet night.
He slid off the bed and walked to the door, lifting the bar out of its slot and pulling it open. She stood there in the dim light of the hayloft, looking oddly small and pale, twisting her hands together. "Hi," she said.
"Hi." He held the door open wider. "Come on in."
She stepped in, let him close the door behind her. He had an idea what she was here for. "Andrea-" he began.
She stepped forward, put a hand on his upper arm. "I know you're leaving," she said. "And you know I won't go farther than Pallas for a few days. I belong here, and you don't. But I don't want you to just go, Jones. I don't want you to just walk out of my life without . . . ." She stopped, looked away.
"Without what, Andrea?" he asked softly. She looked so fragile in the moonlight.
She swallowed. "You're the only one I've ever told," she said in a small voice. "About Matthew. The only one I ever could tell, because you know what it's like, you know how I'm feeling. I know I'm young, and I know we ain't never going to be permanent, but we could have something, couldn't we? Not forever, just . . . maybe, one night?"
It had taken her a lot of courage to ask, Jones knew. Just as he knew that his understanding, being able to share the pain of having caused a loved one's death, meant more to her than she could articulate. Just because she hadn't ever told anyone what had happened to Matthew, didn't mean they didn't know, and he could only imagine the life she'd lived since his death: outward sympathy masking accusations and disgust that would come out behind her back. Andrea was in her early twenties, the heir to one of the largest, most successful farms in the area, and still single: that was telling in and of itself. Frontier cultures married young. Past the age of twenty, Andrea would be considered nearly 'on the shelf,' and an object of yet more pity.
This was her chance to be convinced that she really was a beautiful, vibrant, intelligent, extraordinary young woman-and his chance to convince her.
He reached up, cupped her cheek with one big hand. "Yeah," he whispered. "We can."