moragmacpherson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moragmacpherson) wrote2009-01-20 02:16 am
moragmacpherson) wrote2009-01-20 02:16 am
Fic: The Lost Age (8/??) (Buffy/DrWho/Firefly)
Title: The Lost Age (8/??)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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.
He traced the pixels of her face with his finger. Truly she was beautiful. To watch her fight was to watch her birth, for there was no indication she had ever existed before this battle.
He knew. He had searched. Her techniques had led him to the records of the old masters on Sihnon, the ancient masters of close combat, and those even more secluded on obscure moons throughout the system. None claimed her as an apprentice. He guessed her age at perhaps thirty, too old to have been one of River’s classmates at the Academy, but old enough to have learned combat in the war. Yet she appeared neither on the rosters of the Alliance nor any Independent militia. He even queried his own masters in the Parliament, though every Operative was an independent entity. All for naught - she was not his sister-in-arms.
His Pallas Athena had emerged a fully-grown warrior goddess, clad her vestments and ready to fight in that bar on Beaumonde. He savored the ballet of violence executed between her and the young Tam girl, appreciating the differences between them. River Tam had the unconscious grace of a dancer, but the snappishness of a caged animal or a toddler. She put more power than necessary into many of her blows, requiring numerous corrections and needless expenditure of energy. Athena, however, displayed patience and conservation, every move filled with intent, elegant and deadly. He could tell that she was pulling her punches, seeking to tire the girl, pacify her. That she turned protective when her opponent fell should have come as a surprise to no one who knew how to watch such combat.
He suppressed envy at the casual touches she gifted upon her two companions. Did they comprehend the predatory perfection of the one with whom they walked? Quite possibly. They too were unknowns, albeit in manners less fascinating to the Operative. Others disagreed: none of the Alliance’s most gifted programmers understood exactly how the thin one had infiltrated so far back through the Cortex that he was able to identify the source of the trigger. The camera angles were such that his actions during the battle remained shrouded in mystery, recorded only in the security protocols he penetrated like so much tissue paper. The other one could be seen conversing with Reynolds, but appreciating the battle below with an expression that made the Operative nearly uncomfortable. His body language spoke volumes, all of which the Operative dutifully noted, but most relevant was that these three were strangers to the elusive crew of the Serenity.
The Operative scanned hours of footage, trying to trace Athena’s immaculate origins. He found the trio in flashes, wandering the market of Beaumonde in the hours prior the fight. But that was all. He could follow nearly every step of their flight to the docks and onto Serenity, but the thin one vanished as entirely as they had all appeared. He interviewed the residents of that alley, and not a one could say that it had been any different that day than any other. He kicked the littered papers in a rare instance of uncontained frustration, content that no one witnessed it, as no one witnessed the disappearance of his quarry.
Patience. Tactics. He must take his example from Athena. Plans already in motion would be adapted to this new reality. Conserve energy, assess the situation, strike lethally. He would not pull his punches. Whatever her background, whatever her training, whatever her reasons, she had thrown her lot in with the Tams and Serenity. He watched her gather River in her arms, and knew that she would never allow him to harm the girl while she still breathed. The Operative would most certainly mourn her demise as much as he would consider it his greatest masterpiece. He only hoped that he was capable of the mighty, wicked deeds that lay before him.
Next
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.
He traced the pixels of her face with his finger. Truly she was beautiful. To watch her fight was to watch her birth, for there was no indication she had ever existed before this battle.
He knew. He had searched. Her techniques had led him to the records of the old masters on Sihnon, the ancient masters of close combat, and those even more secluded on obscure moons throughout the system. None claimed her as an apprentice. He guessed her age at perhaps thirty, too old to have been one of River’s classmates at the Academy, but old enough to have learned combat in the war. Yet she appeared neither on the rosters of the Alliance nor any Independent militia. He even queried his own masters in the Parliament, though every Operative was an independent entity. All for naught - she was not his sister-in-arms.
His Pallas Athena had emerged a fully-grown warrior goddess, clad her vestments and ready to fight in that bar on Beaumonde. He savored the ballet of violence executed between her and the young Tam girl, appreciating the differences between them. River Tam had the unconscious grace of a dancer, but the snappishness of a caged animal or a toddler. She put more power than necessary into many of her blows, requiring numerous corrections and needless expenditure of energy. Athena, however, displayed patience and conservation, every move filled with intent, elegant and deadly. He could tell that she was pulling her punches, seeking to tire the girl, pacify her. That she turned protective when her opponent fell should have come as a surprise to no one who knew how to watch such combat.
He suppressed envy at the casual touches she gifted upon her two companions. Did they comprehend the predatory perfection of the one with whom they walked? Quite possibly. They too were unknowns, albeit in manners less fascinating to the Operative. Others disagreed: none of the Alliance’s most gifted programmers understood exactly how the thin one had infiltrated so far back through the Cortex that he was able to identify the source of the trigger. The camera angles were such that his actions during the battle remained shrouded in mystery, recorded only in the security protocols he penetrated like so much tissue paper. The other one could be seen conversing with Reynolds, but appreciating the battle below with an expression that made the Operative nearly uncomfortable. His body language spoke volumes, all of which the Operative dutifully noted, but most relevant was that these three were strangers to the elusive crew of the Serenity.
The Operative scanned hours of footage, trying to trace Athena’s immaculate origins. He found the trio in flashes, wandering the market of Beaumonde in the hours prior the fight. But that was all. He could follow nearly every step of their flight to the docks and onto Serenity, but the thin one vanished as entirely as they had all appeared. He interviewed the residents of that alley, and not a one could say that it had been any different that day than any other. He kicked the littered papers in a rare instance of uncontained frustration, content that no one witnessed it, as no one witnessed the disappearance of his quarry.
Patience. Tactics. He must take his example from Athena. Plans already in motion would be adapted to this new reality. Conserve energy, assess the situation, strike lethally. He would not pull his punches. Whatever her background, whatever her training, whatever her reasons, she had thrown her lot in with the Tams and Serenity. He watched her gather River in her arms, and knew that she would never allow him to harm the girl while she still breathed. The Operative would most certainly mourn her demise as much as he would consider it his greatest masterpiece. He only hoped that he was capable of the mighty, wicked deeds that lay before him.
Next