moragmacpherson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moragmacpherson) wrote2009-01-20 02:19 am
moragmacpherson) wrote2009-01-20 02:19 am
Fic: The Lost Age (4/??) (Buffy/DrWho/Firefly)
Title: The Lost Age (4/??)
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.
It is, as Buffy predicted, the desert. The Doctor has come here once before, to the spiritual heart of all Slayers, when the Khouf had trapped Buffy inside herself, and only the Doctor had been able to come in and show her the way out. The place terrifies him still. If he just lets himself stretch his senses... yes, there’s the First one, slinking in the shadows. He catches her gaze. I seek to ease this one’s pain. The spectre nods, and stalks off to other hunting grounds. The Doctor breathes a sigh of relief, and then there is an impression of a warm, soft, tiny hand in his.
“I see you arranged some privacy for us.” Buffy’s consciousness is clad in a white sundress with a green shawl, and no shoes, a sign of her connection to this place. He’s wearing his usual suit and coat, but isn’t bothered by the heat, a sign, he hopes, that the place tolerates him.
He returns her smile. “Yes. I think she’s warming to me. She didn’t try to open up my skull or anything.” He points at the horizon. “Those mountains, I suspect. In her fear, she’ll seek the high places.”
Buffy nods. “You’re right.” Of course, she knows. He might be the stronger psychic, who could enable this link, but Buffy knew this land, and the land knew her. They walk towards the mountains, in dream-time, so that when they arrive they can’t remember the journey. Sure enough, River rests in a nook on the cliff face, shaded from the sun. “Will you come down? It’s safe here.”
Brown eyes stare down, uncomprehending. “How did you get here?”
Green eyes meet the stare. “I think you know.”
“Sister I never had. Never wanted. This place should not be here, but it’s wormed its way into my heart. This is your place.”
“Our place,” Buffy’s voice is kind and patient, more mother than sister to the Doctor’s ear. “You’re right. It doesn’t belong here. It came with me. But it’s here for you now. A safe place. The heart.”
“Bleak, barren, place of death, den of the huntress.”
“But have you tasted the desert rains?” Sure enough, soft drops begin pattering onto the Doctor’s nose, and he finds that he is prepared, the umbrella having belonged to a past incarnation, but effective enough in this space. He offers it to Buffy, but she declines, instead dancing in the downpour, twisting and laughing like a girl of ten, not a woman of thirty.
River watches them warily, but pokes her head out of the niche to catch raindrops in her mouth. “Sweet,” she says.
“Yes,” calls Buffy. As fast as it was summoned, the rain dissipates, and the sun shines down again. Soft green shoots appear almost instantaneously, and in quick order the desert is blanketed in colorful flowers and grasses. “We walk the edges, but the rewards are sweet.” Her hand nestles into the Doctor’s.
River’s hands hold the cliff face gingerly. “Alien, not of my world, not of yours. This is not his place, how is he here?”
“You’ll find there are few places a Time Lord can’t sneak into, whether he’s wanted or not. But he’s wanted here, invited, both sun and storm. The Doctor allows the desert to bloom. Come play in our flowers.” The Doctor’s hearts swell at Buffy’s words, because he knows that this is a place of truths, and he shakes the last of the rain off the umbrella, folding it away.
“I’m here to share the burden,” he calls up.
Worried eyes again scan the horizon. “There are monsters. I brought them here. I’m sorry. They aren’t mine, but I can’t get rid of them.”
“We never met a monster we couldn’t beat back.” Buffy motions with her head. “Come, you can show us the monsters, and smell the flowers, and know that you’re not alone.”
The Doctor steps forward, and holds out his arms. River bites her lip and pushes off the cliff. She lands weighing nothing in his arms, too thin and in a raggedy floral skirt. He sets her on her feet, and she settles uneasily on them. “Lead on, we’re with you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, she leads them to a city that wasn’t there before.
“Here. The men made the monsters here, on the edge of space.” The Doctor looks up, and sure enough it is nighttime, and the black stretches out into infinity. “Poor Miranda, brave new world, alone she weeps for her children.” And the Doctor watches the scene unroll in horror.
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.
It is, as Buffy predicted, the desert. The Doctor has come here once before, to the spiritual heart of all Slayers, when the Khouf had trapped Buffy inside herself, and only the Doctor had been able to come in and show her the way out. The place terrifies him still. If he just lets himself stretch his senses... yes, there’s the First one, slinking in the shadows. He catches her gaze. I seek to ease this one’s pain. The spectre nods, and stalks off to other hunting grounds. The Doctor breathes a sigh of relief, and then there is an impression of a warm, soft, tiny hand in his.
“I see you arranged some privacy for us.” Buffy’s consciousness is clad in a white sundress with a green shawl, and no shoes, a sign of her connection to this place. He’s wearing his usual suit and coat, but isn’t bothered by the heat, a sign, he hopes, that the place tolerates him.
He returns her smile. “Yes. I think she’s warming to me. She didn’t try to open up my skull or anything.” He points at the horizon. “Those mountains, I suspect. In her fear, she’ll seek the high places.”
Buffy nods. “You’re right.” Of course, she knows. He might be the stronger psychic, who could enable this link, but Buffy knew this land, and the land knew her. They walk towards the mountains, in dream-time, so that when they arrive they can’t remember the journey. Sure enough, River rests in a nook on the cliff face, shaded from the sun. “Will you come down? It’s safe here.”
Brown eyes stare down, uncomprehending. “How did you get here?”
Green eyes meet the stare. “I think you know.”
“Sister I never had. Never wanted. This place should not be here, but it’s wormed its way into my heart. This is your place.”
“Our place,” Buffy’s voice is kind and patient, more mother than sister to the Doctor’s ear. “You’re right. It doesn’t belong here. It came with me. But it’s here for you now. A safe place. The heart.”
“Bleak, barren, place of death, den of the huntress.”
“But have you tasted the desert rains?” Sure enough, soft drops begin pattering onto the Doctor’s nose, and he finds that he is prepared, the umbrella having belonged to a past incarnation, but effective enough in this space. He offers it to Buffy, but she declines, instead dancing in the downpour, twisting and laughing like a girl of ten, not a woman of thirty.
River watches them warily, but pokes her head out of the niche to catch raindrops in her mouth. “Sweet,” she says.
“Yes,” calls Buffy. As fast as it was summoned, the rain dissipates, and the sun shines down again. Soft green shoots appear almost instantaneously, and in quick order the desert is blanketed in colorful flowers and grasses. “We walk the edges, but the rewards are sweet.” Her hand nestles into the Doctor’s.
River’s hands hold the cliff face gingerly. “Alien, not of my world, not of yours. This is not his place, how is he here?”
“You’ll find there are few places a Time Lord can’t sneak into, whether he’s wanted or not. But he’s wanted here, invited, both sun and storm. The Doctor allows the desert to bloom. Come play in our flowers.” The Doctor’s hearts swell at Buffy’s words, because he knows that this is a place of truths, and he shakes the last of the rain off the umbrella, folding it away.
“I’m here to share the burden,” he calls up.
Worried eyes again scan the horizon. “There are monsters. I brought them here. I’m sorry. They aren’t mine, but I can’t get rid of them.”
“We never met a monster we couldn’t beat back.” Buffy motions with her head. “Come, you can show us the monsters, and smell the flowers, and know that you’re not alone.”
The Doctor steps forward, and holds out his arms. River bites her lip and pushes off the cliff. She lands weighing nothing in his arms, too thin and in a raggedy floral skirt. He sets her on her feet, and she settles uneasily on them. “Lead on, we’re with you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, she leads them to a city that wasn’t there before.
“Here. The men made the monsters here, on the edge of space.” The Doctor looks up, and sure enough it is nighttime, and the black stretches out into infinity. “Poor Miranda, brave new world, alone she weeps for her children.” And the Doctor watches the scene unroll in horror.
Next