Hello! This is my first fanfiction that I've published, and my first Firefly/Doctor Who. Also the first time I've played 9th Doctor. Basically, for him it's just after the Time War, and for the crew of Firefly it's just after Serenity. So, read, enjoy and review and tell me if it's worth going on

They'd lost Wash. It still hadn't quite sunk in. Mal still expected to walk in and see him piloting the ship, and still occasionally had to remind himself that it was River at the controls, not him. Still, he pretended like he'd moved on. His crew needed him, and he couldn't let emotions get in his way. Despite all they had uncovered at Miranda, it was still different to before the war. They were still harboring known fugitives, and there would still be people out to get them. Only now people would know what to look out for. The battle was hardly won, the war hardly over.

Which is why the thrumming and whooshing of the TARDIS appearing was treated with suspicion, although with bits of curiosity mixed in. Still, when the Doctor pulled the door open, he saw a gun pointed at his face. Without a second's hesitation, he simply reached up and pulled the gun out of Mal's hands, throwing it aside.

"I've had enough of people with guns, thank you very much," he said, a cold hardness in his eyes that was slightly off-putting. Mal studied the man before him. He wore a black leather jacket, his hair shaved close to his head, black slacks and shoes finishing off the slightly menacing look.

"Well, I've had enough of people tryin' to kill me, but that doesn't seem to stop 'em," Mal replied. To his surprise, there was a hint of a smile playing across the man's lips. But before he could see if he was just hallucinating, the man suddenly spasmed, falling forwards out of the TARDIS, clutching his chest, gasping. He quickly recovered, straightening himself up. Mal watched him, not quite sure of what to think of him.

"I'm the Doctor, since you were kind enough to ask. And you are?"

The man had straightened up, and Mal was getting a feeling that he wasn't alliance. He couldn't help it; something in this man suggested that even if he wasn't a Browncoat, he would be more inclined to their side than the side of the Alliance. But he could be wrong.

"Captain Malcolm Renoylds. And what brings you to our ship? Quite an unusual entry, might I say."

The Doctor gave a tight-lipped, pained smile. "I'm running. Need a place to hide out. Me and my ship are both on our last legs. Don't know how much longer we'll hold out if we don' stop. Sorry to intrude, but the steerin's a bit off. Can't blame either of us, I suppose. Say, do you think I could stay here for a while? I have money. May take me a while to find, but there's some somewhere. Hang on," he told him, before he began to root in his pockets, pulling out some gold and some of the currency. "Will that be enough? I probably won't even stay the week."

Mal was staring at the strange man. With the amount he'd just given them, him and his crew wouldn't need a job for a year. Mal pocketed the money. "I'll have to tell my crew."

The Doctor nodded. "Do whatever."

The world was beginning to spin for him. His regeneration had been more violent that ever before. He probably shouldn't have survived. He doubted he would have if it weren't for the TARDIS. Even so, his body wasn't quite done, and it was likely that he'd have worse after effects than he had ever had. But that wasn't what was concerning him. What was really on him mind was the noise. Or lack of. Despite having severed links with his race, he had always had them comfortably brushing up against the edges of him mind. But now, there was nothing but silence. And it ached, a large hole, filled with guilt, pain and sorrow. As he watched Mal walk away, he couldn't help but see something in the other man. Something similar.