Fic: The Lost Age (12/??) (Buffy/DrWho/Firefly)

[moragmacpherson]

Title: The Lost Age (12/??)
Author: moragmacpherson 
Rating: PG-15
Timeline: This story takes place during that sixty year block that I glossed over between chapters three and four of "Another Side of the Sky". Buffy's thirty here. In the Firefly universe, it's at the beginning of the movie.
Disclaimer: If it's a character or a place, I don't own it.  Some dialogue is recycled from the film.
Archive: Here, TtH. If you'd like it, let me know.
Betas: Depending on the chapter: MissJulie and/or Mishka,
Summary: Buffy, Jack, and the Doctor accidentally land in a system where aliens fear to tread.

Inara paused as she entered the shrine. For a special-ops group, the Federal soldiers that lately infested her home failed at subtlety. The two large, hooded “novices” at prayer weren’t going to fool anyone. She resisted the urge to demand their removal on grounds of sheer stupidity, straightened her shoulders, and knelt between them.

She closed her eyes in meditation, willing away this entire wretched situation, hoping against all odds that Mal would be bright enough for once to steer away. Over the past few days, she’d accepted the fact that, as she’d often predicted, Mal would actually be the death of her, but she prayed that her connection with him would at least not cost the girls their lives. As she inhaled an earthy musk hit her nostrils, granting her a fleeting sense of serenity...

... because she knew that scent.

“Dear Buddha, please bring me a pony, and a plastic rocket, and-“

“Mal! What are you doing here?” Inara chanced a glance at him, and caught a naughty grin.

“You invited me.”

“I never thought you’d be stupid enough to come!”

The other novice shook with laughter. “Now there’s a lie if I ever heard one. I’ve only known the dear captain for three days, and there was never any question about him coming.” He snorted. “Well, at least coming here anyway.”

Inara couldn’t help but twist her head towards the man. She’d assumed it was Jayne, but this man’s eyes shone with intelligence and mirth. “Who are you?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Back up. Brains, beauty, and brawn, all in one tidy package, but you can call me Jack.” If she hadn’t known better, by the smile she’d swear that he was a Companion.

“Not much brains. Even if it passed Mal by, someone should have figured out this was a trap!”

Mal mouthed, “Hey!” but Inara continued.

“And I don’t care how much backup you’ve brought, you cannot handle this man.”

The man in question entered the sanctuary. “I have to say, Captain Reynolds, I’m impressed that you came for her yourself. And made it so far in that outfit. And look at this other prize you’ve brought me.”

Mal stood, puffing out his chest. “He’s the prize? He ain’t hardly so graceful as me.”

Jack smirked. “Please. I’ll give you dashing, yeah, but graceful? Me, I’m a song and dance man myself. Grace oozing out of my charmingly small pores. It’s a terrific moisturizer.”

Inara rolled her eyes. “Nice of you to bring an actor to my rescue, Mal.”

The Operative remained still at the entrance. “Not an actor, but a phantom, Miss Serra. This man, quite simply, does not exist. Nevertheless, he stands here before us.” He eyed Jack up and down. Jack thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in this man’s eyes as he met Jack’s gaze. “Yet I wonder at your impossible appearance in support of hopeless causes.”

“Oh, come on. I mean, you don’t look like a romantic, but look at these crazy kids. They don’t look so hopeless to me.”

During this banter, Mal’s attention fell back to Inara. “What are you doing?”

“I’m praying for you Mal. For both of you.” Inara lit a wick, and inserted the burning stick into an incense holder.

“Much obliged,” said Jack.

“But unnecessary,” added the Operative. “I mean it when I say, you are not in danger.”

Mal quirked his eyebrows. “Speak your piece.”

“I think that you’re beginning to understand how dangerous River Tam is.”

“She’s a mite unpredictable.” Mal shrugged. “Mood swings, of a sort.”

“I think that your new friend-“ the Operative paused.

“Jack.”

“Jack-“

“Captain Jack,” he amended.

The Operative didn’t blink. “Captain Jack, here, he could tell you that it is much, much worse than that.”

It was Jack’s turn to shrug. “It’s true. You and your people, well, you obviously had no idea what you were messing with. After all, no one expects a Slayer.” Jack grinned as the Operative’s face froze, and began strolling around the room. “You still don’t know what she is, do you? Just like you have no clue what I am.” He stopped a few feet away from his opponent. “Bet that just bugs the hell out of you.”

Mal cleared his throat. “Feel free to punch him. That’s what I’ve been dying to do.”

The Operative glanced at Mal. “Your choice in allies is quite interesting, Captain Reynolds. Whatever she, and they, may be, the girl Tam will rain destruction on you and your ship. She’s an albatross.”

“Way I remember it, albatross was a ship’s good luck, until some idiot went and killed it.” Jack and Inara both tilted their heads at Mal. “Yes, I’ve read a poem. Try not to faint.”

The Operative moved further into the room, shadowed by both men, and decided to try a different tact. “I know why Captain Reynolds hates us. I’ve read his war records. But you three. Why are you here? What do you want with the Tams?”

Jack chuckled. “Well, I could tell you what I’d like from Simon, but I think it would make Mal blush.” Inara couldn’t stop her smile, while Mal just blinked. “But seriously? My friends and I - and I assume by ‘you three,’ you’re talking about my friends - why, we just wanted a vacation. But evil, bureaucratic toads, who think playing with young girls’ brains is a good idea, well, they just keep spoiling our quiet holiday plans.” He crossed his arms and tutted his tongue. “And you just happened to mess around with the brain of a Slayer, which makes you doubly damned. I don’t envy you when Buffy gets her hands on you. Hope you’re not to attached to any of your, you know, limbs.”

“Buffy.” The Operative repeated her name, and Jack did not like his tone of voice. “Even so, you’re just three people, swept along with a tiny crew of disgruntled pirates. You must know, you cannot beat us.”

Mal raised a hand. “Can I just say, as the pirate captain, non-disgruntled, I might add, that I got no need to beat you. I just wanna go my way.”

Jack wrinkled his nose, but the Operative beat him to the reply. “And you can do that, once you, and they, let me take the girl back home. Give me the opportunity to help you.”

Mal folded all but one finger on his hand. “One: I’ve had a lot of things taken from me in my time. This last one, I think, is one too many.” Another finger poked up, waving at the Operative. “And two: I’m reasonable certain that Buffy would have no more qualms dismembering me than you.” He formed a fist and punched it into his other hand. “’Course, that doesn’t sound too terribly manly of me. So, really, it’s the principle of the thing. Let’s stick with the principle of the argument.”

“This psychotic, potentially murderous girl, this Slayer,” the Operative spat the unfamiliar term out, “who can’t have the slightest awareness of your protection. This is where you draw the line?”

Mal stuck his thumbs in his suspenders. “Well, I’m a whimsical soul.”

Jack looked down. He pulled his thumbs out of his suspenders, but not before Inara noticed. He became aware that she was inching away from the statue, and moved closer to her.

“There’s a number of lives that hang in the balance here. Are they as whimsical as you?”

“Oh, we’re like a barrel of monkeys,” replied Jack.

“Hopefully with less flinging of poo,” finished Mal, not missing a beat. He too edged towards Inara. “Unlike them, though, I got no pretensions as to heroics. Any more than I think you’re really just a harmless bureaucrat come to help me out.” He tilted his chin at the Operative. “You move like an assassin.”

The Operative frowned at this. “I have a warship in deep orbit. We locked onto Serenity’s pulse beacon the moment you hit atmo. One word, and there will be a missile sent to that location within three minutes.” He caught the object Mal tossed, with all of its dangling wires, as it hit his chest.

“You do that, best make peace with your dear and fluffy Lord,” said Mal.

“Pulse beacon,” concluded the Operative.

Jack grinned. “He got it on the first try.”

Mal’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Advice from an old tracker: you wanna find someone, use your eyes.”

The Operative dropped the tracker to the ground. “How long do you really think you can run from us?”

Mal looked over at Jack. “We’ve got some alternate modes of transport these days. I think you might be surprised. And, ‘sides, if’n you’re the best the Alliance’s got to offer-“

The Operative’s expression flattened. “Captain Reynolds, please don’t waste our time. You cannot make me angry.”

Inara’s voice finally popped up. “Oh please. Spend an hour with him.”

Mal smiled, then processed, then glared at Inara.

Despite the Operative’s insistence, Jack could hear anger blossoming in the his soothing tones. “I will have her. River is... ours, and I will return her to her rightful position. The brother as well. Whatever else happens is incidental. In the greater scheme.”

Jack shook his head. “Looks like we’ve got a true believer here.”

Mal nodded. “Why is it their greater schemes always make everything not that great?”

The Operative’s voice didn’t rise. “I want to resolve this like civilized men. I’m not threatening you. I’m unarmed.”

“Great,” said Mal, drawing and shooting the Operative in the chest in one swift motion. Jack braced himself. Mal had grabbed Inara and was halfway to the door when the Operative intercepted them.

“I am, of course wearing body-“ Which was when Jack rammed into them. The jumbled knot fell to the ground, Mal cradling Inara away from the impact, his gun skittering across the floor. Jack slammed the Operative’s face into the ground, then went for the gun. But the Operative was surprisingly quick, and reached it first.

Jack heard the round chamber. “Shit.” Then he saw white light as the bullet struck his forehead.

Mal pulled a stunned Inara to her feet, looking up to the most unwelcome sight of his own pistol pointed at his face. Behind that lay Jack’s body, though bits of his brain littered most of the room. “Too late to give non-violence a try?”

The Operative stepped sideways, towards a case by the door, keeping the gun pointed at Mal. “I fear that opportunity has passed.”

Mal saw Jack’s foot twitch in the corner of his eye. Inara, on the other hand, appeared fixated on the body: that was bound to put a kink in his seconds-old plan. He pulled her against his chest, ignoring her resistance. “Don’t look, bao bei.” He needed a few more seconds; he needed to keep the Operative looking this way, and not shooting. “What, no back up? We’re making quite the ruckus up here.”

“They’ll come when needed.” The Operative kept his eyes on Mal. Which was good. The gun also remained steady, of which Mal thought less highly.

Behind the Operative, fingers flexed and formed a fist. Mal didn’t watch, but held Inara even more tightly against him, pressing her face into his shirt while her struggles became more obvious “You’ve clearly never witnessed an upset Companion. I’d start whistling.”

The Operative lowered the weapon a fraction of an inch as he considered Mal’s most recent comments and demeanor. “Captain, what do you think is going to happen here?”

Mal’s mouth open and shut several times before he managed, “Uh, it’s difficult to say.”

Jack pulled the Operative’s arm back, making him drop the gun, then punched him in the face. The Operative only barely stayed on his feet.

Mal pointed. “That’ll do.”

Inara pushed away once Mal released her and saw Jack. She stopped her exclamation with her hand, her skin white.

The Operative wiped the blood from his chin, his eyes wide. “What are you?”

Jack picked up the gun, clutching his head with his other hand, his voice shrill and almost unnatural. “I’m a fixed point in time and space-” A cough wracked through him and the gun wavered. Mal tensed, ready to stop the Operative from snatching the gun out of Jack’s weakened grasp.

Watching this bit of impossibility unfold, Inara suddenly understood Jack’s odd tone: weariness beyond mere human comprehension.

But then Jack spat out a gob of blood, and flashed his cocksure smile. “It’s the place where true beliefs go to die,” he finished.

The Operative straightened his back, raised his hands, and shook his head, meeting Jack’s pronouncement with his own eerie calm. “No. It doesn’t happen like this. There are no plucky heroes. The Alliance isn't some evil empire. This is not the grand arena.”

Inara sighed. “And that’s not incense.”

The Operative looked at the burner just as the flash bomb exploded.

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