Crossover Fic: Broken Pieces (1/3) Firefly/Doctor Who
I figured I had better start posting this before it disappeared into the far off reaches of my hardrive.
Title: Broken Pieces (1/3)
Fandoms: Firefly/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Mal/Inara, Kaylee, Doctor/Rose (Nine/Rose & Ten/Rose), Jack
Summary: Mal helps Inara out with some crime. The Doctor risks a paradox. How two timelines meet and don’t cross.
Spoilers: DW through to "Voyage of the Damned." Firefly post-BDM.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2, 485
A/N: The god of fanfic writers doth said: “Thou shalt not write multi-era fic and crossover fic at the same time.” And then I did it anyway. *collapses*
Hugest thanks to intrikate88 and hjea for the beta. Best minions ever! *smooch*
“Conning’s practically a sport on Persephone,” Mal explains. His arm almost brushes up against hers as they walk down the busy market. “Gotta be alert.”
“I know that,” Inara says, a little too quickly. Despite the heat, she tugs on her bag and pulls it closer to her chest.
Mal gives her a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I didn’t want your rent.”
Inara looks away. “I know that. I just… I want to contribute. I can’t sit in my shuttle all day and sketch pictures, Mal.”
He almost smiles. “Just don’t seem right, you selling your things on account of me.”
She snorts. “Hardly.” She shrugs. “They’re just things, Mal. They don’t mean anything to me. Do you think I’d sell things I was attached to? Really?”
They’ve had this conversation before.
“Suppose not,” Mal says after a pause. Then he grabs her by the arm and yanks her out of the way as a cart swerves to avoid hitting a big blue box. Inara’s eyes linger only for a second before he speaks again.
“Like I said, gotta be on guard,” Mal says.
“I have been to Persephone before, you know,” Inara says, amused. Mal waits a moment too long before releasing her.
“Not this part of Persephone,” he mutters. “Ain’t used to it.”
She raises her eyebrows, not sure whether or not to be offended. “And?”
“You ain’t a criminal, Inara,” Mal says. “Don’t know how to think like one.”
There’s something patronizing in his tone. “And how, exactly, does a criminal mastermind think? You are the expert.”
He ignores the dig. “First rule-you blend in, walk down the street like you belong.”
Inara avoids stepping in someone’s rancid vomit. “I’m sure you have ample experience blending into places like this.”
Mal steers her around the vomit and to a jewelry stand. The woman behind the table glances up from her magazine and gives them a twisted smile. Her two front teeth are missing.
“G’day, Ma’am,” she says. “Can I be helping you?”
Mal makes a show of studying the jewelry. “Could be so,” he says without looking up.
“Actually, yes,” Inara says. “I have some things you might be interested in?”
Inara carefully opens the top of the bag. Inside it are expensive scarves and silks; gifts from old clients. The woman’s eyes widen and the tip of her tongue pokes out between her two front teeth. Inara knows right away she’s going to try and con her.
Mal mutters something under his breath.
Inara doesn’t look at him. “What?”
“Could you just… let me handle this?” Mal says. “Sort of needs the touch of a professional, darling.”
Inara rolls her eyes. “Mal. Please.”
“I’m serious,” he hisses, still pretending to be engrossed in the jewels on the table (he stares particularly hard a pair of earrings with sparkling sequins on them). “She’s going to try’n con you.”
“Oh, really?” Inara says.
“Just… listen carefully,” Mal says. “Can get out of here one up. Just follow my lead.” He glances around him and then hunkers down near the table. “Gorramit.”
Inara considers arguing just to annoy him, but only says, “What?”
“Tourists,” he says, crouching down even lower to the table. The woman hastily scrambles behind the magazine again, a bland look descending over her eyes.
“I’m sorry?”
Mal leans in to whisper in her ear. “Three folk on your right side. They ain’t blending in.”
Inara glances over and can tell right away that Mal’s right.
A blonde girl about Kaylee’s age chews thoughtfully on her thumb as she studies the jewelry on the table. “Oh, those are beautiful.”
The older of her two male companions scowls and pokes at the jewelry with a blinking blue stick. “Beautiful or not, these readings are far too advanced. I don’t understand. This shouldn’t belong to humans. Not for another two-hundred years.”
“Those sure are some real threatening sparkly scarves, Doctor," says the other male companion. “What are we doing in the desert, anyway? I thought I heard something about beaches. They have these gorgeous ones on Santa Pesos, the year 3090. What do you think, Rose?”
“Sounds great.”
“They’re nude beaches,” mutters the Doctor.
Rose straightens. “Oh.”
“Great chips, though,” continues the other one. “Never had any others like it.”
Rose looks interested again, but the Doctor comes up behind her and says, “Different kind of chips.”
“Well,” she says, “we could always drop Jack off…”
“And wait for the trouble to start! Fantastic idea.”
They share a grin and then he turns back to poking at the scarves with the blinking blue stick.
The vendor clears her throat and the three of them pause, looking up guiltily.
“Captain Jack Harkness,” says the younger of the men. He sticks out his hand and flashes a winning smile. “And who are you?”
The vendor stares at Jack’s outstretched hand and doesn’t smile.
Very slowly, he pulls his hand back, anxious look on his face. “Well, that’s new.”
Rose pats him on the arm. “Can’t win them all.”
Jack still looks dumbfounded. “Was it the tone of voice, do you think? Should I have opened with a compliment?”
“Come on,” Rose says kindly. “We’ll get you some ice cream.” She slowly starts to lead him away. “Doctor?”
He looks up from the jewelry, blinking blue stick hanging in mid-air. “But-”
“It’s okay. You can finish up here,” Rose says. “Jack and I can go on our own.”
“Yeah,” says Jack. “Rose will look out for me.”
The Doctor glances at Rose’s hand on Jack’s arm, to Jack’s smug face, and then puts the blinking stick inside his jacket. “I don’t think so.” He forces a smile at the vendor. “Have a nice day.”
The vendor scowls and doesn’t answer.
Inara waits until the trio is out of earshot. “That was… odd.”
“Tourists,” Mal mutters. He shoots their retreating backs a disapproving look. “They keep talkin’ like that, they’ll get a bullet in their brainpan for the troubles.”
The vendor snorts. “Don’t got no pity for ‘em. They ain’t got a right to come in ‘ere and pick at my hard earned commodities.”
“Commodities acquired off the black market,” Inara whispers quietly. She smiles daintily when Mal shoots her a look.
“Best not to insult a potential business partner, ‘Nara.”
“Right, of course,” Inara says. “I should have opened by shooting her. I’m so grateful you’re here.”
Mal looks injured. He had been eager to bring her out here. Like he was proud he could give her something, even if it was just Persephone’s underground economy.
“I’m sorry,” Inara says quietly. She looks him in the eye. “And thank you. For helping me with this.”
His eyes widen and she sees a genuine smile tug at his mouth, but before he can say anything, a new voice interrupts them.
“Ooh, I remember this.” The man pushes his way between them. He leans over the table, wearing a pair of glasses. “Not from around these parts; that’s what I said!”
“Who duh ma,” Mal says. He folds his arms over his chest. “Who the hell are you?”
The man waves a hand at Mal to shush him. “But for what purpose…? Unless…? No.”
The expression on Mal’s face indicates he’s considering shooting the stranger. Inara ducks around the man and goes to stand at Mal’s side.
“What in the guay is going on?” Mal says. “There was… and now… and then he…”
“I… don’t know. Just… don’t shoot him,” she adds. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
Mal looks disappointed. The stranger continues to mutter to himself.
“It’s a coating! Yes, that’s it! It’s not the objects themselves-they’ve just been infused with extra technology… upgraded, as it were. Mind you, it’s not a very slick operation. No wonder I recognized it right away.”
Like Mal, the man is wearing a long brown-coat, stopping just below his knees. Inara wonders, absurdly, how he’s holding up in Persephone’s scorching temperature.
One look at Mal tells her he’s not handling it particularly well. There’s a bead of perspiration on his forehead and he scowls impatiently at the man.
Mal bends down and braces his weight on the table. He forces the fakest looking smile Inara’s ever seen. “And who might you be?”
“The Doctor,” says the man without looking up.
Inara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Funny,” she says. “Someone else going by the same title just passed by here.”
“And t’weren’t you,” Mal adds. “So how about telling me what the hell is going on?”
The man looks up at them like he’s only just realizing they’re there. “It’s not a title, it’s my name. The Doctor.” He looks at Mal. “And how can you be sure that wasn’t me?”
Mal looks like he might go with the ‘shooting him’ plan instead of the diplomatic one. Inara pointedly clears her throat.
Mal plants on the fake smile again. “Well, to start with, two of you don’t look nothing alike. And also, point of interest, he’s standing right over there, buying that lady friend of his an ice cream.”
The Doctor follows Mal’s gaze. Something in his expression softens when he sees the trio from earlier, and it’s a moment before he answers, “Ah, yes. Very astute, that. Brilliant observation.” He continues to stare at the trio, mouth forming into a thin line. “I think they’re having strawberry. How nice.”
“Do you know them?” Inara asks.
The Doctor manages to tear his gaze away. He blinks at her in surprise. “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, listen, Doc,” Mal says, running a hand over his face. “Might be Persephone, but stalking’s still a crime. You wanna clear out ‘fore I call the feds?”
“Mal,” Inara says warningly, quite sure they would get in far more trouble if they called the Alliance.
Mal holds up a hand to shush her, but the vendor cuts in, “Not nobody’s callin’ the feds,” says the vendor. “Ya’ hear?”
“No,” says the Doctor. “No, you wouldn’t want that. I was right-he was right. There’s something wrong with this jewelry. Something very, very wrong.” He glances at the items and then back at the vendor. “Alien pollen. It’s all over them. I picked the scans up on the sonic screwdriver, but I didn’t make the connection. Not back then. You’re using it to control people, aren’t you? How much are they paying you?”
The vendor’s eyes harden. “I don’t got no idea what you mean. Why don’t you just move along?”
“Hold on,” Mal says. “Control people? You mean like slavery?”
Inara’s hand goes to her mouth and she shoots the vendor a horrified look.
“Oh, slavery’s just the tip of it,” the Doctor says. His gaze hardens. “This substance? It’s banned on practically every civilized planet. And for good reason. It gets inside you, implants suggestions.”
“Mind control?” Inara says.
The Doctor shoots her an approving look. “Exactly.”
“Whoa, now,” Mal says. “You are aware we’re looking at a sparklin’ array of jewelry, ain’t you, Doctor?”
“Mal,” Inara says quietly. She drops her voice. “You and I know first hand what mind control can do to a person.”
She watches the realization dawn in his eyes. River. Miranda. Even if this man is a lunatic, they can’t take the chance. Never again.
The Doctor is no longer paying attention to them. “Pack it up,” he says. “All of it. Tonight.”
The vendor doesn’t flinch. “If I don’t?”
“Oh, believe me, the last thing you want is for me to shut it down for you.”
Mal and Inara exchange a look.
“Surely there’s some authority we can appeal to,” Inara begins. Mal vehemently shakes his head. “We can’t just… just let her go.”
The Doctor takes off his glasses and studies Inara. “What’s your name?”
“Inara,” she answers without thinking about it. “Inara Serra.”
Next to her, she hears Mal smack himself on the forehead and mutter something that sounds like, “Code names! Ain’t helpful unless you use ‘em!”
“Fine, then. Call in your police-or what is it? Your Alliance. Yes. That’s it.”
Inara doesn’t look away. “We… we can’t do that.”
“Ah,” says the Doctor. His eyes tick to the bag she’s carrying. “I see.”
She can sense Mal growing tenser. “You can call them in, can’t you? Leave an anonymous tip?”
“Suppose so,” he says slowly. “But I suspect this will be all gone by the time they get here. Isn’t that so?”
He turns his gaze to the vendor who scowls at him with deformed teeth. “I don’t know who you are, but I sure as hell don’t intimidate easy.”
“Neither do I,” says the Doctor evenly. “But you will pack up, close up shop, and get rid of it. All of it. You won’t sell to one more person.”
He doesn’t give the vendor a chance to answer. Instead, he grins broadly and backs up. “Well, then! I’ll just be off. People to follow. Not my best idea, mind. Well, it was Jack’s idea first. Should’ve been enough to tip me off, eh? Inara Serra, it was very nice to meet you.”
Then he moves off, hands sunk into his pockets.
“Wait,” Inara says. “Who are you?”
Mal coughs out something that sounds like, “Off his nut!”
He turns around, once. “I’m the Doctor.”
And then he’s gone.
Inara feels Mal’s stare like a weight on the back of her neck. Slowly, she turns to meet his gaze.
“Making friends?” he drawls.
Inara’s cheeks warm. “Not at all.”
“Oh, really? Seems just your type, too. All…” he searches for the right word and finally lands on, “fancy-sounding.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Inara hisses. “And just in case it’s slipped your mind, Captain, I haven’t mentioned taking on a single client since coming back onboard Serenity. What do you think that says?”
Mal opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, but before he can say anything, the vendor interrupts. “You wanted to be sellin’ me some things, dearie?”
Inara takes a step back. “No. I don’t think so.”
Mal chuckles to himself. It’s not an amused chuckle. “We ain’t going to be selling you anything, lady. Slavery’s a harsh charge.”
“And you believe ‘im?” says the vendor. “Man was talking crazy. Couldn’t follow more’n two words at a time, myself.”
“Neither could I,” Mal admits. “But I’ve seen enough to know a man when he knows what he’s talkin’ about. If this here is contraband for the slave trade, you won’t be getting nothing from us. What do you reckon, Inara?”
“I think it would be wise for you to follow the Doctor’s instructions,” says Inara. “Pack up shop.”
“Ain’t no room left in this ‘verse for heroes,” says the vendor. “You need money and I got it.”
“Walkin’ away don’t make us heroes,” Mal says. He puts one hand on Inara’s arm and leads her off. “Not even close.”
Chapter 2
Title: Broken Pieces (1/3)
Fandoms: Firefly/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: Mal/Inara, Kaylee, Doctor/Rose (Nine/Rose & Ten/Rose), Jack
Summary: Mal helps Inara out with some crime. The Doctor risks a paradox. How two timelines meet and don’t cross.
Spoilers: DW through to "Voyage of the Damned." Firefly post-BDM.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2, 485
A/N: The god of fanfic writers doth said: “Thou shalt not write multi-era fic and crossover fic at the same time.” And then I did it anyway. *collapses*
Hugest thanks to intrikate88 and hjea for the beta. Best minions ever! *smooch*
“Conning’s practically a sport on Persephone,” Mal explains. His arm almost brushes up against hers as they walk down the busy market. “Gotta be alert.”
“I know that,” Inara says, a little too quickly. Despite the heat, she tugs on her bag and pulls it closer to her chest.
Mal gives her a sidelong glance. “I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I didn’t want your rent.”
Inara looks away. “I know that. I just… I want to contribute. I can’t sit in my shuttle all day and sketch pictures, Mal.”
He almost smiles. “Just don’t seem right, you selling your things on account of me.”
She snorts. “Hardly.” She shrugs. “They’re just things, Mal. They don’t mean anything to me. Do you think I’d sell things I was attached to? Really?”
They’ve had this conversation before.
“Suppose not,” Mal says after a pause. Then he grabs her by the arm and yanks her out of the way as a cart swerves to avoid hitting a big blue box. Inara’s eyes linger only for a second before he speaks again.
“Like I said, gotta be on guard,” Mal says.
“I have been to Persephone before, you know,” Inara says, amused. Mal waits a moment too long before releasing her.
“Not this part of Persephone,” he mutters. “Ain’t used to it.”
She raises her eyebrows, not sure whether or not to be offended. “And?”
“You ain’t a criminal, Inara,” Mal says. “Don’t know how to think like one.”
There’s something patronizing in his tone. “And how, exactly, does a criminal mastermind think? You are the expert.”
He ignores the dig. “First rule-you blend in, walk down the street like you belong.”
Inara avoids stepping in someone’s rancid vomit. “I’m sure you have ample experience blending into places like this.”
Mal steers her around the vomit and to a jewelry stand. The woman behind the table glances up from her magazine and gives them a twisted smile. Her two front teeth are missing.
“G’day, Ma’am,” she says. “Can I be helping you?”
Mal makes a show of studying the jewelry. “Could be so,” he says without looking up.
“Actually, yes,” Inara says. “I have some things you might be interested in?”
Inara carefully opens the top of the bag. Inside it are expensive scarves and silks; gifts from old clients. The woman’s eyes widen and the tip of her tongue pokes out between her two front teeth. Inara knows right away she’s going to try and con her.
Mal mutters something under his breath.
Inara doesn’t look at him. “What?”
“Could you just… let me handle this?” Mal says. “Sort of needs the touch of a professional, darling.”
Inara rolls her eyes. “Mal. Please.”
“I’m serious,” he hisses, still pretending to be engrossed in the jewels on the table (he stares particularly hard a pair of earrings with sparkling sequins on them). “She’s going to try’n con you.”
“Oh, really?” Inara says.
“Just… listen carefully,” Mal says. “Can get out of here one up. Just follow my lead.” He glances around him and then hunkers down near the table. “Gorramit.”
Inara considers arguing just to annoy him, but only says, “What?”
“Tourists,” he says, crouching down even lower to the table. The woman hastily scrambles behind the magazine again, a bland look descending over her eyes.
“I’m sorry?”
Mal leans in to whisper in her ear. “Three folk on your right side. They ain’t blending in.”
Inara glances over and can tell right away that Mal’s right.
A blonde girl about Kaylee’s age chews thoughtfully on her thumb as she studies the jewelry on the table. “Oh, those are beautiful.”
The older of her two male companions scowls and pokes at the jewelry with a blinking blue stick. “Beautiful or not, these readings are far too advanced. I don’t understand. This shouldn’t belong to humans. Not for another two-hundred years.”
“Those sure are some real threatening sparkly scarves, Doctor," says the other male companion. “What are we doing in the desert, anyway? I thought I heard something about beaches. They have these gorgeous ones on Santa Pesos, the year 3090. What do you think, Rose?”
“Sounds great.”
“They’re nude beaches,” mutters the Doctor.
Rose straightens. “Oh.”
“Great chips, though,” continues the other one. “Never had any others like it.”
Rose looks interested again, but the Doctor comes up behind her and says, “Different kind of chips.”
“Well,” she says, “we could always drop Jack off…”
“And wait for the trouble to start! Fantastic idea.”
They share a grin and then he turns back to poking at the scarves with the blinking blue stick.
The vendor clears her throat and the three of them pause, looking up guiltily.
“Captain Jack Harkness,” says the younger of the men. He sticks out his hand and flashes a winning smile. “And who are you?”
The vendor stares at Jack’s outstretched hand and doesn’t smile.
Very slowly, he pulls his hand back, anxious look on his face. “Well, that’s new.”
Rose pats him on the arm. “Can’t win them all.”
Jack still looks dumbfounded. “Was it the tone of voice, do you think? Should I have opened with a compliment?”
“Come on,” Rose says kindly. “We’ll get you some ice cream.” She slowly starts to lead him away. “Doctor?”
He looks up from the jewelry, blinking blue stick hanging in mid-air. “But-”
“It’s okay. You can finish up here,” Rose says. “Jack and I can go on our own.”
“Yeah,” says Jack. “Rose will look out for me.”
The Doctor glances at Rose’s hand on Jack’s arm, to Jack’s smug face, and then puts the blinking stick inside his jacket. “I don’t think so.” He forces a smile at the vendor. “Have a nice day.”
The vendor scowls and doesn’t answer.
Inara waits until the trio is out of earshot. “That was… odd.”
“Tourists,” Mal mutters. He shoots their retreating backs a disapproving look. “They keep talkin’ like that, they’ll get a bullet in their brainpan for the troubles.”
The vendor snorts. “Don’t got no pity for ‘em. They ain’t got a right to come in ‘ere and pick at my hard earned commodities.”
“Commodities acquired off the black market,” Inara whispers quietly. She smiles daintily when Mal shoots her a look.
“Best not to insult a potential business partner, ‘Nara.”
“Right, of course,” Inara says. “I should have opened by shooting her. I’m so grateful you’re here.”
Mal looks injured. He had been eager to bring her out here. Like he was proud he could give her something, even if it was just Persephone’s underground economy.
“I’m sorry,” Inara says quietly. She looks him in the eye. “And thank you. For helping me with this.”
His eyes widen and she sees a genuine smile tug at his mouth, but before he can say anything, a new voice interrupts them.
“Ooh, I remember this.” The man pushes his way between them. He leans over the table, wearing a pair of glasses. “Not from around these parts; that’s what I said!”
“Who duh ma,” Mal says. He folds his arms over his chest. “Who the hell are you?”
The man waves a hand at Mal to shush him. “But for what purpose…? Unless…? No.”
The expression on Mal’s face indicates he’s considering shooting the stranger. Inara ducks around the man and goes to stand at Mal’s side.
“What in the guay is going on?” Mal says. “There was… and now… and then he…”
“I… don’t know. Just… don’t shoot him,” she adds. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
Mal looks disappointed. The stranger continues to mutter to himself.
“It’s a coating! Yes, that’s it! It’s not the objects themselves-they’ve just been infused with extra technology… upgraded, as it were. Mind you, it’s not a very slick operation. No wonder I recognized it right away.”
Like Mal, the man is wearing a long brown-coat, stopping just below his knees. Inara wonders, absurdly, how he’s holding up in Persephone’s scorching temperature.
One look at Mal tells her he’s not handling it particularly well. There’s a bead of perspiration on his forehead and he scowls impatiently at the man.
Mal bends down and braces his weight on the table. He forces the fakest looking smile Inara’s ever seen. “And who might you be?”
“The Doctor,” says the man without looking up.
Inara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Funny,” she says. “Someone else going by the same title just passed by here.”
“And t’weren’t you,” Mal adds. “So how about telling me what the hell is going on?”
The man looks up at them like he’s only just realizing they’re there. “It’s not a title, it’s my name. The Doctor.” He looks at Mal. “And how can you be sure that wasn’t me?”
Mal looks like he might go with the ‘shooting him’ plan instead of the diplomatic one. Inara pointedly clears her throat.
Mal plants on the fake smile again. “Well, to start with, two of you don’t look nothing alike. And also, point of interest, he’s standing right over there, buying that lady friend of his an ice cream.”
The Doctor follows Mal’s gaze. Something in his expression softens when he sees the trio from earlier, and it’s a moment before he answers, “Ah, yes. Very astute, that. Brilliant observation.” He continues to stare at the trio, mouth forming into a thin line. “I think they’re having strawberry. How nice.”
“Do you know them?” Inara asks.
The Doctor manages to tear his gaze away. He blinks at her in surprise. “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, listen, Doc,” Mal says, running a hand over his face. “Might be Persephone, but stalking’s still a crime. You wanna clear out ‘fore I call the feds?”
“Mal,” Inara says warningly, quite sure they would get in far more trouble if they called the Alliance.
Mal holds up a hand to shush her, but the vendor cuts in, “Not nobody’s callin’ the feds,” says the vendor. “Ya’ hear?”
“No,” says the Doctor. “No, you wouldn’t want that. I was right-he was right. There’s something wrong with this jewelry. Something very, very wrong.” He glances at the items and then back at the vendor. “Alien pollen. It’s all over them. I picked the scans up on the sonic screwdriver, but I didn’t make the connection. Not back then. You’re using it to control people, aren’t you? How much are they paying you?”
The vendor’s eyes harden. “I don’t got no idea what you mean. Why don’t you just move along?”
“Hold on,” Mal says. “Control people? You mean like slavery?”
Inara’s hand goes to her mouth and she shoots the vendor a horrified look.
“Oh, slavery’s just the tip of it,” the Doctor says. His gaze hardens. “This substance? It’s banned on practically every civilized planet. And for good reason. It gets inside you, implants suggestions.”
“Mind control?” Inara says.
The Doctor shoots her an approving look. “Exactly.”
“Whoa, now,” Mal says. “You are aware we’re looking at a sparklin’ array of jewelry, ain’t you, Doctor?”
“Mal,” Inara says quietly. She drops her voice. “You and I know first hand what mind control can do to a person.”
She watches the realization dawn in his eyes. River. Miranda. Even if this man is a lunatic, they can’t take the chance. Never again.
The Doctor is no longer paying attention to them. “Pack it up,” he says. “All of it. Tonight.”
The vendor doesn’t flinch. “If I don’t?”
“Oh, believe me, the last thing you want is for me to shut it down for you.”
Mal and Inara exchange a look.
“Surely there’s some authority we can appeal to,” Inara begins. Mal vehemently shakes his head. “We can’t just… just let her go.”
The Doctor takes off his glasses and studies Inara. “What’s your name?”
“Inara,” she answers without thinking about it. “Inara Serra.”
Next to her, she hears Mal smack himself on the forehead and mutter something that sounds like, “Code names! Ain’t helpful unless you use ‘em!”
“Fine, then. Call in your police-or what is it? Your Alliance. Yes. That’s it.”
Inara doesn’t look away. “We… we can’t do that.”
“Ah,” says the Doctor. His eyes tick to the bag she’s carrying. “I see.”
She can sense Mal growing tenser. “You can call them in, can’t you? Leave an anonymous tip?”
“Suppose so,” he says slowly. “But I suspect this will be all gone by the time they get here. Isn’t that so?”
He turns his gaze to the vendor who scowls at him with deformed teeth. “I don’t know who you are, but I sure as hell don’t intimidate easy.”
“Neither do I,” says the Doctor evenly. “But you will pack up, close up shop, and get rid of it. All of it. You won’t sell to one more person.”
He doesn’t give the vendor a chance to answer. Instead, he grins broadly and backs up. “Well, then! I’ll just be off. People to follow. Not my best idea, mind. Well, it was Jack’s idea first. Should’ve been enough to tip me off, eh? Inara Serra, it was very nice to meet you.”
Then he moves off, hands sunk into his pockets.
“Wait,” Inara says. “Who are you?”
Mal coughs out something that sounds like, “Off his nut!”
He turns around, once. “I’m the Doctor.”
And then he’s gone.
Inara feels Mal’s stare like a weight on the back of her neck. Slowly, she turns to meet his gaze.
“Making friends?” he drawls.
Inara’s cheeks warm. “Not at all.”
“Oh, really? Seems just your type, too. All…” he searches for the right word and finally lands on, “fancy-sounding.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Inara hisses. “And just in case it’s slipped your mind, Captain, I haven’t mentioned taking on a single client since coming back onboard Serenity. What do you think that says?”
Mal opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, but before he can say anything, the vendor interrupts. “You wanted to be sellin’ me some things, dearie?”
Inara takes a step back. “No. I don’t think so.”
Mal chuckles to himself. It’s not an amused chuckle. “We ain’t going to be selling you anything, lady. Slavery’s a harsh charge.”
“And you believe ‘im?” says the vendor. “Man was talking crazy. Couldn’t follow more’n two words at a time, myself.”
“Neither could I,” Mal admits. “But I’ve seen enough to know a man when he knows what he’s talkin’ about. If this here is contraband for the slave trade, you won’t be getting nothing from us. What do you reckon, Inara?”
“I think it would be wise for you to follow the Doctor’s instructions,” says Inara. “Pack up shop.”
“Ain’t no room left in this ‘verse for heroes,” says the vendor. “You need money and I got it.”
“Walkin’ away don’t make us heroes,” Mal says. He puts one hand on Inara’s arm and leads her off. “Not even close.”
Chapter 2