A/N: Hello my friends! First off, the obvious: no, this is not a Harry Potter story. I'm a little shocked myself. But stay tuned, Potter friends, more is always on the way.
This story started out as a joke, to be honest. My friend Jaime and I were talking about two of our favorite fandoms—Who and Firefly—and started making a list of what the pairings would be if they collided. Then we decided it absolutely must be written.
And then I forgot.
Maybe a week later I was complaining that I wanted to write, all I wanted to do was write but I didn't have any ideas. Jaime reminded me of our list, and AHA! An idea!
This is a story told in eight chapters, one for each pairing (though I think I'll keep those to myself, seeing as spoilers). All the chapters are happening at once, roughly speaking, but fret not, I am keeping good track of the timeline. It shouldn't be at all confusing for you—I'll make it clear where each chapter starts and ends, and all will be well. You might see certain events from different points of view, but that's all.
I'm nervous about this guy, I'm not going to lie. But fantastic, allons-y, Geronimo, and, if there is a sudden but inevitable betrayal in which my entire fanbase leaves, I will understand.
Chapter One
Bloody Gorram Time; "Let me hold your burdens."
1
It wasn't the TARDIS. That was obvious, nothing was the TARDIS, but the Doctor was quite sure it wasn't the TARDIS. Not only was it not the TARDIS, but he wasn't even the Doctor. Strictly speaking that wasn't true, of course he was, but since the—event—he went by Nine.
He shuddered. He hated the event and he hated being called Nine. He was more than his regeneration. He was The Doctor. But after a long drawn-out argument with—himself?—they had decided none of them were allowed to claim the title as their name.
The event made everyone live. Nine liked that. But he really didn't see the need for three regenerations of himself to all live at once.
He looked around the cargo bay, arms crossed and brow furrowed. The TARDIS sat in one corner, still smoking from the bloody event. Boxes littered the room, seemingly at random. A quick glance to the right showed a "secret" compartment off to the right. He thought he'd keep that to himself; as long as he was mingling with the locals, he probably oughtn't broadcast things he shouldn't know. Besides, all it contained right now was a box of strawberries. He didn't know why they were hidden away, but his Sonic assured him they were as normal as any other strawberries.
Too bad they weren't bananas. He liked bananas.
Did he still like bananas when he looked like—that? While wearing a bow tie and fez? Or the other, with his hair sticking up to high heaven? He almost hoped not.
Aside from the TARDIS, the boxes, and the strawberries, the cargo bay was packed full of people. A Time Lord too, of course—or three?—but other than that, his Sonic assured him the other life forms were human. It wasn't worth cataloguing everyone now. He would, of course, there was nothing he valued higher than life and individuality, but there were too many right now.
And his eyes kept being drawn to Rose. She was looking at—at himself, at Ten—with something that simultaneously confused and irritated him, resulting in a jealousy he didn't understand. If he was going to exist at the same time as his later regenerations, he ought to at least have their memories. It seemed only fair.
Despite what they had shared, despite how he sucked the Vortex out of her, she kept looking at Ten. He didn't fancy it.
"If everyone could just shut their gorram mouth-holes for a mite second, I think all us here would be a great deal happier."
Nine, who hadn't been talking in the first place, remained silent. The command came from a tall, broad man standing a few steps up on a staircase, and he certainly looked like someone who would issue commands. He didn't fancy people who issued commands.
Slowly the bay fell silent. He noted with something like horror Eleven was the last to stop talking.
"All right, now that I've got your attention, I think it's best we get to sorting this out," the man said. "I'm the captain of this ship—her name's Serenity, I'd have you remember that—and I'd also appreciate if you remembered my own calling, that being Captain Malcolm Reynolds. You can call me Mal, at least until I decide you can't."
Nine frowned. The dialect fell uncomfortably on his ears, but since it was technically understandable, the TARDIS didn't translate. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Or a broken Dalek; that was a sound he wouldn't forget anytime soon.
"I've come to understand that there blue box—" Nine ground his teeth, and a quick glance revealed Ten and Eleven were no more pleased. "—is a time machine of some sort, and that it had a not too pleasant collision with a Vortex of some sort."
"A crack," Eleven cut in. "A crack leading to a Time Vortex."
Mal crossed his arms. "Right. And this Vortex—"
"Time Vortex," Ten cut in.
Nine hated himself. In the future. It was an odd feeling.
Mal glared at Ten. "You can call me Captain. Without further interruption, I'd like to continue with this talk, so as we don't end up somewhere farther out than we mean. After some preliminary examination, your box is in need of some fixin'. Luckily for you, we've got just about the best mechanic this side of the 'Verse. That'd be Kaylee; you'll recognize her by the ever-present smile."
A young woman raised her arm and waved, smiling as promised. "Hi there."
Mal scowled. "Stop interrupting. Just as soon as we're done here, she'll start working on that there box."
Nine couldn't take it anymore. "TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. She's not a box, she's a TARDIS."
Mal inclined his head slightly. "My apologies. Ships usually need to prove their worth before I take to their name, but I suppose your presence is worth enough. In the mean while, you'll be stayin' with us, I suppose, as an alternative doesn't seem to be presentin' itself. Lucky for you we've got a few extra bunks, and y'all should fit comfortably. Proper introductions are in order, but seein' as there's a wee bit o' chaos in the air, I think we'll save that for later. In the mean while, you'll be shown around, assigned bunks, told about meals, prepped on the rules we've got—which I'd thank you to mind—and perhaps meetin' each other will come natural. If not, we can have a talk at dinner. Are there any questions before we get to proceedin'?"
"Which of me told you about the event?" Nine asked, spitting out the word with all the pain it caused him. "You don't seem to know much about it for someone who's been informed."
Something strange flashed across Mal's face. "We've got our own way of findin' things out, just as I'm sure you do. Anything else?"
"Have you got any fish fingers and custard?" Eleven asked.
Nine gaped at him. What on Gallifrey had he turned into?
Mal, however, seemed to take it in stride, and Nine found a bit of respect for the man—who he would not call Captain, not when Jack hadn't been part of the event.
"Our food's mostly in packages, unless we've got particularly lucky," he said. "Haven't heard of those fish fingers, but I'll keep an eye out."
Nine decided not to ask about bananas.
"These rules of ours," a man started. He looked vastly unpleasant, exactly the sort Nine chose not to associate with. "If they go breakin' these rules, who exactly gets to—remind and reinforce?"
No. Not someone Nine liked at all.
Mal pointed severely at him. "Not you. Any rule breaking will be referred to me, and I'll handle the offendin' party." He glanced at his watch. "Now, if y'all could keep your foods and guns—" Nine knew it, "—to yourselves, I've got some business to attend to. Kaylee'll give you the tour."
He stomped up the stairs, boots jarring the metal stairs, and disappeared down a corridor. Nine turned to Kaylee, who was now standing on one of the boxes.
"All right friends, follow me and we'll have you settled in no time."
2
Nine wondered what exactly her definition of settled was. Nine spent the next few days getting used to Serenity. She was much smaller than his TARDIS, of course, which that led to a crowdedness—not helped by all the new passengers—that took getting used to. He traveled with one companion—though Eleven seemed to have two—in the all but infinite TARDIS. Being on Serenity was an exercise in personal space.
He was bunked in one of the busier corridors. Nearly every time he left he bumped into someone. Mostly it was fairly innocuous: a preacher called Book was unfailingly polite, Mal always seemed to be in a hurry and mostly ignored him, and the pilot Wash had a joke or two ready to go.
Others were not so pleasant. The man with the guns was Jayne, and Nine considered himself lucky if he was only acknowledged with a sneer. A young girl, one of two Rivers, was sometimes quite pleasant and sometimes made him very nervous. The other River avoided him at all costs, giving him sad and longing but brief glances whenever they crossed paths. Obviously, meeting himself was awkward and uncomfortable.
Nine was largely quiet. He found quiet places, he talked—or sometimes just sat with—quiet people, and he tried to ignore everyone from his timeline. He knew only Rose, but as she knew Ten she couldn't say much of anything to him, and at any rate she seemed to be gravitating towards the doctor on board, Simon.
Nine did not like it.
He hadn't found a new companion after Rose. He missed her, missed the running, but only in the way he missed all of his companions. Clearly something had changed with Ten, but he wasn't allowed to be told due to "Spoilers," something else he didn't understand. Whatever happened between her and Ten didn't bother him. It was how she ignored him—himself, Nine, the real Doctor—that got to him. Had their time together meant nothing? He was used to being alone. He didn't like it, but loneliness was built into his regeneration. Being ignored in favor of a ridiculous future version of himself and then yet another doctor was just insulting. He wasn't even a real doctor.
Nine was musing this as he leaned against the glass wall of the infirmary, looking in on Simon the not-Doctor as he worked with his sister River. Nine had offered help, but he quietly and insistently turned him down. Nine had conducted a Sonic scan when he could have sworn no one was looking, but River immediately clapped her hands to her ears and started yelling about machines in her head, and Nine had quickly exited the kitchen before Simon appeared.
The scene in front of him, though. It encapsulated everything he hated about the situation. Simon the not-doctor "doctoring" his sister who had the same name as someone he was forbidden to talk to while Ten stood by, hovering over the pair in a way that Nine didn't like while Rose chatted away with both Doctor and not-doctor.
He wasn't welcome. That was it. It wasn't his ship, they weren't his companions, he wasn't in charge, he had steered himself away from helping Mal with his business once he realized what it was, and he was forbidden from talking to anyone he might know. Would know. He knew no one on Serenity, and the only person he spoke to on a regular basis was Kaylee to check in on the TARDIS. She was always bright and enthusiastic and, as promised, smiling, but she seemed to be getting nowhere. Of course, because she knew nothing about alien tech.
He had no idea how long he would be trapped on Serenity, but with every day that passed he was less and less serene. Right now, watching the infirmary, he thought a nice Dalek might do him good. A small challenge, nothing more, just a way to blow off steam.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he grabbed the wrist as he spun, eyes and reflexes sharpening. Think of a Dalek, see a Dalek.
The person who stood before him was very much not a Dalek. Aside from the fact that Daleks did not have hands, she was far more beautiful than any machine, hell-bent on destroying the universe or not. It was Inara, one of the few people Nine spent time around. She could be just as loud and silly as anyone else on board, but when they were alone, when she was quiet, she was like the hum of the TARDIS. Calming and knowing him in ways he didn't understand and, even more, didn't mind. His relationship with the TARDIS went back centuries, and while he had only just met her, it seemed natural.
Then, every time, he would remember it was her job to put people at ease, and the comfort slipped away. That was usually when he went to check in with Kaylee.
Large dark brown eyes stared into his, unfazed by his reaction. She seemed curious rather than upset or alarmed, and the Doctor could feel that her pulse hadn't quickened, either. He released her wrist, only then realizing how soft her skin was.
"You seem troubled," Inara said. "Not that the rest of your crew is at rest, but your soul is heavier than almost any I have seen."
Nine forced a grin, the one that got him out of everything. "Oh, y'know. Traveling the universe can be—" He suddenly ran out of words. What was traveling around the universe like? Gallifrey burning tore his hearts apart. Killing the Daleks weighed in his brain, always processing, always analyzing the situation to make sure he did the right thing. Meeting Rose and Jack, grinning wildly as they bounced from one place to another. Those rare days where everybody lived. The days where all the running in the world couldn't save them. The years spent alone after Rose, regenerating—if you could call it that, as he stayed in his own body and met his next two selves—due to a freak accident involving a frayed rope, a steel girder, and some very, very bad timing.
Then again, he had come out of his regeneration in the control room of the TARDIS with everyone he would meet in the next—well, estimating years was hard, but in the next two regenerations—with everything smoking, parked on a ship called Serenity. Perhaps not an accident after all, especially as this was his second girder-related regeneration.
"Would you like some tea?" Inara asked. "What I have in my shuttle is far better than the weak-ass sauce that's in the pantry."
Nine raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have pegged you as someone who swears."
Inara's eyes flew open, impossibly wider. "You speak Chinese?"
Ah. That explained it. "Sure do," he replied, still with that grin. "I'd love some tea. And a banana, if you've got one around."
She raised an eyebrow, but other than that her composure was once again perfect. "There's an unfortunate but distinct lack of fresh produce onboard."
"If there's tea in your shuttle, maybe there are other secrets," Nine replied brightly, following her through the ship. The cheeriness was an automatic response and had very little to do with his emotions, though there was something oddly soothing about the simple act of being noticed.
Soothing. Calming. Synonyms for TARDIS.
And Inara, apparently.
Nine took a quiet breath. Synonym for Inara's job.
"I know about the strawberries in the compartment by the stairs," he said, attempting to make up for his silence.
Again a raise of an eyebrow, but he could see the sudden brightness and want in her eyes. "Oh? The Shepherd must have brought them. I'll have a word with Kaylee about hiding shared food."
"I'd rather it stay between the two of us," Nine replied. "After all she's doing for me, I'd hate to give away her secret."
Inara smiled, shaking her head slightly. "Very well." The door to her quarters opened with a pneumatic hiss, and she held it open for him. "After you."
Nine grinned again and nodded in appreciation. "Thank you very much. Tea and chivalry; my favorite."
3
Inara's quarters weren't quite to Nine's taste—he preferred wide, open spaces—but he couldn't deny their beauty. Shimmering cloth draped along the walls, dark jewel tones offset by deep red, a living room area with a small kitchen off to the side, and a curtain more opaque than the others blocking a doorway, probably to her bedroom. He had no qualms with her chosen profession, in fact was quite impressed with this timeline's respect of Companions. He briefly wondered if Jack would take on the career before deciding Jack could never settle into anything, even something that suited him so well.
"Sit anywhere you'd like," Inara said. "I'll prepare the tea."
"Thank you," he repeated, settling onto a soft, squishy, red velvet chaise. "Quite comfy, this couch."
Inara laughed softly, chiming like the bells on the cloth leading into the shuttle. "I usually use it to give massages; I would hope it comfortable."
"Ah." Nine shifted, crossing his arms again. He minded her profession only as it related to him; he didn't want to sit where her clients sat, and he didn't want her comfort because she had be trained to give it.
"You can relax," Inara said, handing him his tea. They must have some sort of instant heating device, but the tea smelled wonderful. "Nothing unsavory occurs out of the bedroom."
"I never suspected it would," he replied, sipping his tea. "I can't quite place the flavor."
"A rare herb found only in the Selina Gardens on Ariel," she said. "A gift from a client. I hope that doesn't bother you."
He was being tested. "Not at all," he said truthfully. "As long as you don't go spreading around my secrets."
Inara smiled above her teacup, looking up through thick eyelashes. Something that hadn't stirred in quite some time started to make itself known. "You have given me no secrets to share."
"Beyond the existence of my species," Nine replied. "It's quite impressive for a Time Lord to find a new taste, that's all."
Her lips quirked up. "Being impressive is my specialty."
Nine sipped his tea. He wasn't sure what to do. He thought—was almost certain—she was flirting with him, which was fine by him. It had been a while, even longer since someone other than Jack had shown interest, and rather pathetically longer since he had acted on any flirtations. He had no doubt Jack would bed him given the opportunity, but time was never in their favor.
So the stirring, while pleasant, didn't help calm him, no doubt the opposite of Inara's intentions.
"I have never met anyone who isn't impressive in one way or another," Nine said. He burst into goosebumps that vanished immediately, the sort of goosebumps that resulted from when time went strange. He shook it off. "But you are quite…"
Yes, here was the problem. He didn't remember how to flirt with someone who wasn't Jack, and Jack just did all the work, not giving him a chance to respond. He suddenly realized that the term for Inara's job was the same he used for his traveling friends. No coincidences, right? Or was everything a coincidence? Seeing all of time and space made it hard to tell. Regardless, he had been without any sort of company for a very long time. Even easy conversation wasn't so easy these days.
"Quite unique," he finished much too late.
"As are you," Inara replied. "It's not every day I meet a time traveler, let alone a Lord. Or three versions of the same one."
Nine frowned. "I don't know them, nor am I allowed to speak to them. They aren't a part of my life." He shivered. "Yet."
"Do you know what will happen when your TARDIS is repaired?" Inara asked. "Will there still be three of you?"
His expression darkened. "I don't know. Either we'll create a paradox and the universe will explode, or I'll vanish. I'm not looking forward to it."
Inara lowered her cup, setting it on the table between them. "I am sorry," she said. "I did not think—"
Nine pulled his grin back up. "Not a problem. You've coped quite well to my timeline without pondering the existential paradoxical effects the Vortex has on my existence."
Inara reached out and brushed a hand down his cheek. His expression remained as it was, while the stirring evolved into an undeniable interest. Her fingers were very soft, and it had been so long since someone had touched him so gently, with such empathy and intimacy.
"You have a great deal to bear," she said quietly. "The weight of the world rests on your shoulders, quite literally. I could help, if you like, and with more than tea."
Nine took her hand, twining their fingers together and lowering it. "If I didn't pay I'd be stealing money, and if I did I would be stealing something far more precious."
She stayed quiet, eyes once again searching his. He was not an easy man to read, but she was very good at reading. Her eyes—the interest sparked.
"You are quite something, Doctor," she said eventually.
Oh, to be called by his name.
"Nine," he corrected mournfully. "I decided with my other selves, none of us are to take the title."
Inara smiled, though she didn't hide a fleeting sadness. "And I told you nothing leaves this room."
Nine realized the sadness was for him and not the rejection.
The interest flared up into a whirling need, swirling through him like a storm. Taking the Vortex out of Rose paled in comparison, and that he barely survived without regenerating. Objectively, having the entirety of Time bursting out of him was probably more intense, but it certainly didn't feel that way at the moment.
Someone was sad for him. This beautiful, nearly ephemeral woman took his pain and turned it into her own. He was the empathetic one, he took the burdens, put the world on his shoulders, took responsibility for everything. Having another do so for him was—unimaginable. Unfathomable. Impossible.
And then he remembered it was her job.
"Thanks, but for now you might as well call me Nine," he said. "No need to make things any more confusing than they already are. One name at a time."
Inara leaned over the table again, bracing herself on Nine's leg, where he was still holding her hand. She kissed him, so gently it barely happened, but the wind roared in his ears, a tornado throwing his insides around, at least one heart stopping and possibly two. She kissed his cheek, then sat back, leaving her hand in his.
"Would you like to talk?" she asked. "Nothing more, just an open ear and a shoulder to lean on."
"That seemed like more than a shoulder," Nine said, clearing his throat. "A lot more, if you ask me."
Inara smiled coyly. "Ninth Doctor, I don't know what to do with you. Do I tell you what I've already learned about you so you know there's no reason to hide from me, or do we pretend I never said that and I quietly and gently push you into opening up?"
Nine smiled back, sadly. "You can't know me," he said. "I'm unknowable."
"Nobody is unknowable if you care to try," Inara replied.
"You barely know me," Nine said, feeling his resistance crumbling. It would be easier if her hand wasn't on his leg, if her fingers weren't in his, but he was loathe to stop. "Do you know Gallifrey? Of the Time War against the Daleks? All the years, all the—" His throat constricted.
"All the people who have left?" Inara asked softly. "I don't know those names or that war, but I do know you have been fighting, and for far too long. That's a look I see a lot, and I know it well. I see it on you more than anyone." Her free hand traced the lines worn into his face. "I don't know what happens to you later so you become who you will be, but I know now that you need someone. More and more each day you need someone, and I'm someone."
His gaze hardened, the gale within dying down. "You are," he said. "By training. You are an excellent Companion Inara, but buying an ear and shoulder—I told you. I respectfully decline your offer of companionship." He glanced around for a clock and found none. "I think it best if I left now."
"My offer has nothing to do with my job," she replied stiffly, a stubborn bluntness creeping in he hadn't seen before. "I am a good person, Nine, a decent human being, and when I see someone in pain I want to help. I imagine you know that feeling well, Doctor. You may stop wars, save planets, influence the flow of the universe, but I focus on what's here in front of me, and that's you. So what if he have known each other for a short while? It is my understanding that your 'companions' aren't planned; you don't get to know them before whisking them away. You just know. And I know."
The storm again, raging within, whipping rationality away in exchange for the exuberance he had almost thought left him. A smile, a real smile, graced his face without his knowledge. A tug from beneath his ribs, a voice whispering in his ear to run, not away but forward, to take her hand and RUN.
"All right," he said, and he could hear the change in his voice. "I accept." As the words fell from his lips he realized he had been wrong; he wasn't the one telling him to run, it wasn't a voice in his head. It was Inara. And so, instead of offering to show her anything in all of time and space, he asked for himself. "Where to first?"
4
"Take off your shirt."
Nine raised an eyebrow, smiling good-naturedly but short of his full-fledged grin. "Already? I thought that was off the table."
The coy smile again. "For now. But no, I have no intent on anything beyond platonic conversation and relaxation."
Nine quirked an eyebrow. "Relaxation?"
"Platonic relaxation," Inara repeated. "Now stop talking you stupid egg and take off your shirt. You smell like a pile of sun-baked dog poo."
"Stupid egg?" Nine asked, shrugging off his coat. "And sun-baked dog poo? I have to admit, your world's Chinese is quite amusing."
She paused for a moment before continuing with what she was doing. "I keep forgetting you speak Chinese."
"One of many talents," he replied, still smiling and untucking his shirt. He paused. "That came out a bit more suggestive than I meant."
"You have made your intentions clear," Inara said, bringing over a large brass tub. She set an oversized pillow on the floor and added a few drops of chamomile extract to the water. "Come here."
Nine pulled off his shirt, only slightly uncomfortable. Nearly not at all. He sat on the pillow with his legs folded under himself. "I have a confession."
Inara smiled. "People often do when divested of their clothes." She took a sponge out of the tub and ran it along his chest, one shoulder to the other. Nine sighed pleasantly.
"I don't speak Chinese," he said, eyes closed. "The TARDIS translates all languages."
"I see," she replied, rewetting the sponge. Collarbones to above his slacks. He sighed again. Had anyone ever paid him this sort of attention? He thought not. "It seems she is not beyond repair, if she can still translate."
"We're not talking about that," Nine said. Over his left shoulder and down his side. "Translation is useful. Spontaneously disappearing into the Vortex is not."
"I apologize." Over his right shoulder and down his side. "On a lighter note, is Jayne's nonsense anymore comprehensible?"
Nine laughed. "Afraid not." One waist to the other, dipping down to his stomach before sliding back up. Another sigh. He could feel the tension slipping away. "You're very good at this."
"So I've been told." Very gently down one side of his face, then the other. "Can I do anything for you?"
"You're terribly clever without me interfering," Nine said.
Inara leaned forward and kissed his cheek again. The winds blew again but more gently, calmed by the bath. "Turn around."
He did, this time sitting cross-legged to ease his knees, which had popped at the change in position. "I'm old," he said by way of explanation.
Down his spine, starting just below his neck and ending just above his slacks. "I've assisted older."
Nine laughed. "I doubt it." The sponge outlined his shoulder blades, working away the knots that had built up over the past few days. The past few hundred years, really. "What's in the water other than chamomile?"
"A secret concoction of water and chamomile," Inara replied with a smile. "Anything else you're feeling is my talents."
He wasn't sure how to respond. Jack would know, but Jack wasn't here, and also Jack would probably be having sex by now.
Never mind probably. Definitely. Immediately after landing on board.
But he was not Jack and his shirt was off and he wasn't sure how to respond.
"One of many exceptional talents, I'm sure," he said.
The sponge pressed against his neck, and he let out another sigh, maybe closer to a moan.
"I do have many talents," Inara said quietly. "But we're not talking about those, are we?"
Nine could feel his mind swirling. It was a physic sensation, thinking so hard. "Would I be taking advantage if we were?"
The sponge vanished, and Inara pressed against him, hands on his shoulders, mouth next to his ear. Her dress was silk and interest exploded into full-on attention.
"Not at all," she said, nearly purring. "I don't let myself be taken advantage of. Were we to speak of such things it would be entirely my own decision." She kissed his neck, and he shivered. "Let me help. I can feel your tension radiating out; it pierces through the air, and it saddens me. If you choose to stay in your loss then so be it, but make sure you know it is a choice, and one you have control over."
"A one night stand isn't the sort of control I need," Nine said before he could think. He winced, immediately backtracking. "I mean, I don't mean any disrespect, just that—"
"I'm a Companion, so I am incapable of forming long term relationships," Inara replied sharply, pulling away. "Much like Time Lords, it would seem."
Nine spun around, letting as much of himself show as he could. No doubt not very much at all, but he tried. "My words had nothing to do with your profession," he said. "I wasn't aware you were offering more."
"I'm offering comfort," she said, resting a hand over one of his hearts. "For as long as you need, however you need."
"Why?" Nine asked.
She kissed his cheek. That was the third time she had done so. He liked it, and that was dangerous. That was why he asked why.
"Because I want to," Inara answered simply. "You do what you feel is right and I do the same."
"And when I leave?" Nine asked.
"I believe you can travel anywhere and anytime," she replied. "I see no barrier."
Nine considered. Listening to his brain was almost as comforting as listening to the TARDIS. Or Inara.
He took her other hand and put it on his chest. "I have two hearts."
"As do many of us," Inara said. "A man with one heart is a man with one eye."
One of Nine's hearts laughed at the misunderstanding while the other skipped a beat at the language. "I hate to ruin such a beautiful saying, but I've literally got two hearts." He pressed her hands entirely against his chest.
"No wonder you see so much pain," she said softly. "You see too much." She pressed her lips against his, and the tornado was back and it was beautiful. "Close your eyes. Let me hold your burdens and lift you up."
Nine reached out and brushed her shoulder. Her skin was just as soft as her hand, and she smiled at the contact. He slipped her shawl off her shoulder, revealing an expanse of arm barely covered by the gathering of fabric that was her sleeve.
"Fantastic," he said quietly, running his hand down her arm. "Absolutely fantastic."