A/N: Nice Reviews, precious reviews, my
precious… (um, wrong fandom there, hehe) Thanks to OtherMeWriter
and My Reflection for the last two.
Yes the plot will thicken, which is good because
no one likes a runny plot, right? That would be like -- lumpy gravy, yuck.
Glad you liked that last chapter, I shall continue
to give you a blend of what is happening inside the Kubla Kahn and
what is going on outside of it.
Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving TimeLord, stumbled into a situation he could not ignore when the TARDIS landed him inside a ship that was clearly in trouble. After the rescue, he's left with eight survivors that he must somehow get to safety. But the situation is not as cut and dry as he might like. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…
It's 2517. Something in history has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space.
Few ships brave the route. But luck had it that one ship did. Risking a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have, the Hunter-Gratzner crashed midway through the journey. Original Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Original Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two. Survivors: Eight plus One
So what happens to Dr. Simon Tam, his brilliant but damaged sister, a convicted murder by the name of Richard B. Riddick, and the other survivors from the crash of the Hunter-Gratzner at planet M-344/G-2 now that they are on their way home? They end up slightly out of their own Time, on a ship filled with living sculptures… And just how is this related to the TimeWar?
A Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick crossover.
Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the survivors from Pitch Black: Carolyn Fry, William J. Johns, Imam Abu al'Walid, 'Jack B. Badd', Ali Abdullah, and Richard B. Riddick…
Doctor Who and the Ties that Bind.
Part Seven
Reveal
It was the twentieth day of ninth month of the last year before the turn of the century, universal standard time. Not that all the worlds in the populated 'Verse shared the even seasons that the standard calendar implied. Those out on the Rim were in varying climatic patterns based on distance and natural year length, and for those living on those worlds and moons the 'out of sync' nature of it was just a given. But tradition was tradition after all.
On a nondescript terraformed 'earth' called Shadow, sat a normal, common, sprawling ranch house. It anchored a normal, sprawling ranch. In terms of ranches, it was successful, and those who lived and worked there were happy and content, for the most part, with their lot in life.
The main house was an earth-toned building designed to provide beds, meals, shelter, and a measure of privacy for fifty. Not overly new, nor overly old, it was well constructed, lived in, and loved for the sense of home that filled every nook and cranny of the extended structure. Just over three stories, with a broad patio, roofs angled to deal with the few but heavy downpours, the thick walls provided a natural insulation against the environmental extremes that most terraformed moons or worlds were subject to.
The current population of this house was forty-five, of which one was a woman. The others were hired hands or family of this almost auburn haired female, who was finishing up the final touches of a huge cake that was the dessert of the evening meal. She glanced out toward the front veranda at the tall young man that stood there, lean and dressed in new clothes that had an almost military look to them, from the tailored cut of his shirt to the piping that ran down the seam of his pants. Considering where her son was heading off too, she supposed that the clothes had better look that way.
She was careful to hide her approval in a swath of motherly over-protectiveness. Ms. Reynolds loved her son and was very proud of his choices. She tried to make him into a wise man, one that others could rely on and somehow he'd twisted that into becoming a leader by his very nature. If he could meet destiny and not put his life on the line she'd be very happy. But perhaps fate had better things in store for her son. Sometimes to gain the ultimate prize, one had to walk through fire.
He had his father's deep blue eyes but her rich warm brown hair, a perfect mix of two individuals whose love was bittersweet and tragic. That the boy had grown up without his father hadn't seemed to be a problem. She'd done a right job with him, giving him the structure he'd needed to be whatever he wanted to be. That his desires centered at the moment on fighting the Alliance was only proof as to how completely he'd learned her lessons. Perhaps he'd do the impossible, if he found enough like-minded souls to back him up.
Malcolm Reynolds was home for one last time before setting off to train with bunch of men and women willing to fight and die for freedom. He was thirty-two today, or would be at exactly a quarter past six in the evening. Universal standard time that would be in about two hours, although local it hit about nine-ish this year. Weird, that. Then again, if the Core had its way everyone would be united under the exact same clock, no matter what the local time was. That peeved him like nothing else. They'd have kids in school on some worlds in the middle of the night because it as daytime on Londinium. According to his mother, he was still far too young to be going off and fighting in a gorram war, but this was their future they were talking about, and he wasn't going to let some paper-pusher from the Core tell him or his mother how to run this ranch.
His mother knew what she was doing. They were successful, happy, healthy… they didn't need a bunch of purplebellys dictating to them how to mend fences, or regulate their lives. He wasn't alone in this belief. Worlds were casting dice on the issue over the declaration of the Alliance. They might all circle the same blue sun, but they didn't all follow the same way of livin'. How could someone raised in the Core, pampered and mollycoddled, understand hardship and life on the Rim?
"Son, come in out of the rain and sit down to supper," Ms. Reynolds called before she summoned the ranch hands with the traditional triangle. The musical chime flitted into the air mingling with the sound of the rain drops pattering against the surfaces of the soil and house.
It was a topic they didn't talk about, this war. But Mal wasn't the only one going. Out of forty-three men five had decided that they too wanted to fight. Mal suspected that his mother had encouraged them, just to keep his behind covered. "Be right there, Ma. A long time before I see this place again, and I want to remember it."
"It'll still be here," the woman that had shaped him into the man he was came out onto the porch, wiping her hands, and hugged her son, "What do you think the Alliance is going to do? Destroy the entire planet?" although she was laughing, the chill that went through him made Mal hug her tight. Could they do that? He sent up a prayer that it was impossible while his mother tugged him into the rapidly filling dining room, "Smile Mal! It's your birthday. You only get to be thirty-two once, you know."
He pushed away the gloomy ache that was trying to descend upon him and threw himself into the unexpected party that his mother was giving him.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
They were touching, pale to rich golden skin, baby smooth to toughened and worn smooth. He was trembling inside, trying to keep the sensation from manifesting in his body. The Doctor wasn't sure if the feeling was his tempest trying to break out or if it was something else. Slowly, he closed his eyes and let the warmth from Riddick's hand in his hair soak into his skin, really feeling the touch, studying the thickened areas built up on the strong, skilled, bronze, fingers, the ridges of human fingerprints, the hot beat of a single-hearted pulse. Something in his root chakra, his elemental earth connection, stirred at this, centering his awareness on the physical nature of his body in ways that he hadn't given thought to since… Well, his last incarnation had been rather fully in touch with that body between his bouts of remembering who he was. It had been a good body, too. One of the best he'd found himself in. Not too tall, nor too dumpy, perfectly graceful and pleasant to look at, all the while still allowing him to slip into the background with ease if he wanted to. He'd been quite fond of that body. But before that, he'd only been plagued with passing thoughts and speculation, as he watched his companions come and go. There'd been nothing like this, even when Romana had traveled with him. He glanced sideways at the flashing vulgar messages still being communicated by the Shrill. He needed to get this physical reaction tamped down before he did something that he'd regret later.
"Whatever they are saying, you don't need to see it," the ex-ranger insisted.
Rich's reply was a noncommittal sound. A slight change in the pressure applied with his fingers was enough to draw the intense stare back to his own. Unlike the Doctor, Richard wasn't trying to hide or fight the sensations he was feeling, the racing tingle that could translate into a raging erection if he acted on his impulse, as yet unformulated fully, to push this tension further. This really wasn't the time or place for him to be thinking such things, and that fact was the only reason he hadn't.
They were still forehead to forehead, and he could smell the rich sweet scent that was totally the Doctor's. The fact that he'd caught the man's intense eyes but was having problems keeping them prompted him to think, Snail, don't let them do to you what Johns does to me, Alright? There's a ripple of wry amusement, tinged with something dark and smoky like fading vehemence. The sweet taste on his tongue has not faded much but it has taken on a different set of spices, becoming more of a personal essence, with a deeper musk and just a hint peppery. The Doctor's slightly warmed lips tug into a faint grin that mirrors his internal amusement.
Decided you like that nickname, have you?
I can think of times when calling out 'Doctor' would mood breaking, can't you? The idea comes to him that he could move just a little and… He wonders if the man's lips are as soft as the hair under his fingers.
No, the Doctor's mental voice was deadpan serious, perhaps just a tad too much.
Liar. He forces his mind away from that rut, because he has no idea how the Doctor would feel about that.
Something must spill over from what he's trying to hide however, If that's your intention you might want to use 'Thete' instead.
Why?
Because I can think of times when hearing 'Snail' would be a mood breaker, actually. The thought is filled with suggestive promise and the sensation of silky smooth lips in a brushing pass over the hand still resting near the dragon on the Doctor's right arm that he knows has to be only mental. There's an energy with it that is like a rushing shiver, only much more pleasant as it tingles outward like ripples across his physical and mental awareness.
Richard blinked at the faintly teasing but warm expression for a moment, savoring the very – adult – feeling that came with that last thought, like a mental flirt. Warmth pools in his groin, not quite enough to make a visible problem but still draw his attention to the sensation. Okay, Thete. That there is still yet another thing he could become very addicted to.
I hear you use that out loud in general and I'll ignore you. Fusing your lips together will come when you least expect it.
The bronze skinned man had to suppress a snicker. But he did nod to show he understood.
Carolyn watched the interplay between Riddick and the Doctor. It made her feel uncomfortable, in some ways, to see the intense way the pair interacted with each other. She was reminded that they had some internal way to communicate that did not rely on physical or verbal cues. When those readable signs did surface they were so profound that it almost hurt to watch them. Riddick alone had managed to get his cuffs separated, although she wasn't sure when. Now he had on hand up on the other man's head, holding him with surprising gentle strength, and the other locked around a pale arm just above his manacled wrist. They were standing so close that they almost looked intimate. She shivered from the cold and forced her eyes away.
As far as William J Johns was concerned, the 'tension' was so thick you could cut it with a shiv. He'd never been one to want to see men get it on, not really. It wasn't that he thought it was wrong or anything, he just didn't swing that way himself. And before this, he hadn't honestly thought Richard B. Riddick did either, because he'd fought alongside the man, and fought with the man, and even though he'd taunted Riddick with such things he'd never seen any indication that he swung that way overmuch. Maybe it was just the Doctor? Who knew what cons got up to when behind bars. Violence, drugs, and sex were just all about what they had to do, even if Rich spent an excessive amount of time planning escapes. He was dying here, wanting to see the pair standing so without reserve yet not taking that next logical, predestined step. He thought for sure that they would already be makin' the bedsprings squeak, but maybe they hadn't passed that first vital step of actually kissing yet.
The redhead smirked at the docking pilot; "They so need to just snog already." Fry gave him a glance that was filled with disgust, "Well they do. Come on you two, either do something or wait until you can get a room," Johns teased. Richard pulled back slightly so he could glare at the marshal without turning his face away much from the other man. He got a smooching motion out of his blue-eyed-devil for his trouble. He looked away. A moment later Johns asked, "So how do we go about getting out of this? Can we pop the force field lock?"
The intense deep blue eyes shifted from the black goggles to Billy; "Biodata secured. You wouldn't happen to have one of those mercenary's hands hidden on you, by chance?"
Johns made a face, "Fuckin' nuts. That's just like Butcher Bay's security. How did you slip out there, Rich?"
"Went around. And I already considered that option. No vents here to make it feasible."
Ali fidgeted and then tugged Abu down to whisper in his ear. The holy man got a look of conjecture on his face and then said, "Speaking of 'vents' are there toilet facilities here?"
River stood, looked at the walls for a moment, and then walked over to one and pushed. A single biological-waste disposal unit with an attached sink flipped down. She blinked at them with an 'it's right here, see?' expression. Ali hopped up and politely said "Thank you."
"Wait Ali, I've got a folding screen here," Simon stood and removed it from his supply pouch. He quickly set it up to allow the boy privacy.
Johns stood up and moved to a different corner, "How about the cuffs?"
"It's too much of a risk that they will search us if the cuffs are removed," the Doctor said.
After Ali came out from the screen, Johns stepped back and looked at the unit, "Maximum security, no flushing unless it is flipped back into the wall, so no way out there either." The marshal fidgeted, showing off his natural hyper nature. "Well, I gotta do something. Maybe there are more legends you all know?"
Dr. Tam replied, "Sure, I can tell you about Karshtakavaar, if you are interested. Although it is quite similar to what the Imam told us except for the references being geared toward 'cleaning' instead of outright destroying." Johns nodded his head. He'd listen to anyone talk about anything at this moment. So Simon settled down to relate the story, nearly word for word, as he remembered reading it. While he was talking Richard steered the Time Lord away from the force field and out of the line of sight of the Shrill.
Carolyn sat down and let River curl up half under her coat as she listened to the story. Jack moved over to the pair and sat on Fry's other side. Watching them, the Doctor moved to Imam and retrieved his sonic screwdriver. He then undid one cuff, slipped his vest off, put the cuff back on and handed both the device and the navy blue top to Abu. The entire thing had two purposes. One, it let him get the garment off so that someone else who needed it more might use it. Two, it let him set the sonic tool to the correct setting so that anyone could depress the button and use it. After that the Time Lord tried to gravitate back to the portal, but Riddick cut him off and sat him down with his back to it.
The dark skinned man was surprised that the Doctor put the cuff back on, and yet, it made sense to do so. The mercs might not notice the change from long to short sleeves, as the thinner shirt worn under the knit top was a slightly faded version of the same color, but they would notice the lack of shackles. He handed the garment to River, whose sundress was not much protection against the chill. She made a halfhearted protest before both Ali and Jack insisted she take it. Imam also slipped her the Doctor's silver cylinder, because he might be searched now if they were being watched and River knew enough to keep it hidden once she realized what he was doing.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
The white-haired woman was a picture of perfect passion. Perfect in her physical form due to the implants that maintained her enhanced beauty, perfect in her carefully 'wild' abandon, perfect in sound and movement. Just perfect.
It was, after all, performance art and she had a captive audience to share it with, even if they couldn't applause her exhibition. But knowing that they were there, forced to watch her, unblinking, was a thrill all its own as she moved on the mounted form of her chosen partner for this erotic dance. His was a large figure, taunt and muscular. Pulsing and warm under her fingers, unable to resist her siren's call.
This was total power over another. He was hers, completely, body if not soul. And the Guild paid her to keep him, although the pittance was not what she'd wanted him for. No, it was the memories of how he killed that made this particular individual part of her private collection, both pre- and post- capture. She let the ecstasy of the remembrance bubble through her as she let her movements build upon the physical pleasure the performance was giving her. If she could just hold out long enough to reach that supreme state of rapture… the artwork would be a masterpiece.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Junner watched as the bodies and pieces were moved out of the maintenance bay. A woman with silver blonde hair stood next to him, an Aquilan with enough experience to warrant a promotion, "This sector of the recycling unit has a methane leak. I need you to personally supervise the tech crew, report to me when the leak is repaired, and select a team of individuals that will follow your orders from this roster. The last person in your position," he points to the individual in question as the body is being levered into a body bag, "raised my expectations for this promotion substantially. I shall expect you to perform at the same level or above."
She nodded and took the roster padd from him, "Of course, Sir. Is there a time frame for the repairs?"
"Yesterday would have been nice."
Her gray eyes flashed his direction, "I'll get right on it Sir."
He watched her stride out with purpose. Yes, she would do nicely, if she performed up to her usual standard.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
The lights had dimmed and if anything it had become colder. Simon had produced the space blanket and they had all settled into a huddle of sorts, the boys and River in the middle, Simon and Abu on one side, Fry and Johns on the other. The Doctor seemed to have shut off his need for sleep. Richard tried to ignore his. He had settled into the corner near the holy man, if only to provide him with some body heat as he slept.
Doctor? The goggled man reached his mind out to the other man, even though they were not physically close at the moment. He wasn't sure if it would work.
Um?
Will you tell me about the tattoo?
Maybe. There's humor in the tone.
Riddick shows him the tanned male shoulder with an identical mark, as water drops slide over the skin. That image is deliberate, the flash of curly soft brown hair and laugher are not. And for some reason he's imagining the Doctor with seafoam green eyes, much lighter in color that his current blue. He blinks aside the image because those light eyes don't belong in this face at all. I've seen it before on someone else, but that's not a human mark, is it? Not a tattoo, really. So, do I have to beg you, Thete?
Something settles over the Time Lord, like a shroud, Biodata tag. Inactive now, for the most part. Tells of my importance, don't you think?
The emotions are far more revealing than the actual words. Suffering flows with the thought like an undercurrent, nearly masked by flippancy. Clearly something has happened to wound this pale man that Richard has found himself addicted too. Something horrible. The lesion is so deep that it oozes an ache that is profound. He's alarmed and concerned, but uncertain of how to deal with it. He wants to provide – comfort – only he's received so little of it himself that he's quite unsure how. But he can't leave the man in pain that he's brought to the surface by his questions. He needs to provide something by way of succor. Come here, Doctor. Wordlessly, the cool figure does, settling down next to the bronze form of the ex-ranger. Richard strips off the goggles and takes the marked arm, tugging the other man closer, This person, whoever he was, made me feel safe, and now, I wonder if he's not lost to me. Would you know that?
He's never been lost to you, Amadak. The Doctor gives his arm a squeeze. Rich manages a slight smile and closes his silver eyes, finally able to allow sleep to come because he's secure. After the sounds of the other man's breathing settle out into that of deep sleep, the Doctor sighs, the emotions washing over him of mixed grief, rage, protectiveness, and possession. Why does life hurt so?
