Threads of Time, Part 3/?

A/N: And now… Nine arrives. Yes, he’s ditched the leather jacket. Come on… He’s like two weeks from being due, there’s no way he’d fit into that damn thing. Notice I have chosen to have him wear a full great Kilt. ‘Cuz I think he’d look fine in one… and … And I just keep seeing him in one here. so meh.

Um… PS. Following this post is a comment about my take on Time Lord ‘bits’ and what might make them that way. It also goes into what makes the Doctor different, and why. If you don’t want to read it fine, but it goes into the mental stuff about what I’m thinking when I write the more explicit stuff. It’s this post (please don’t click if you are offended by biology and taboo areas of the body, OK?)

Doctor Who and the Threads of Time
Part three: Serenity, Docking at St Albans Space Bazaar, Wild Space/Alliance Fringe, Late ‘October’, 2518.

This was the second time this cycle that Malcolm Reynolds had directed his pilot to bring them here. The first time had been a standard stop, picking up and dropping off mail. This time was a bit of a surprise, meaning they hadn’t planned on it and likely they wouldn’t make back to the Core anytime soon with as far out in the black as they were now. Reavers would be moving between Saint Albans and Blue Sun if the pattern held from years past. The Captain contended that it didn’t matter, they’d sit tight here or trust Jon and venture closer to Company space if they needed. But Serenity was slow, and Wash knew that if Rychengoll pirates too a shine to it they’d be wishing they’d risked the Reavers instead.

He wished they had Rich with them still. Then again, so did Jon. He felt for the man, really he did. This entire thing must be incredibly difficult for him, seeing as he was going to go into labor at any time and his husband was missing. The tall pale fellow had stopped trying to hide his condition after he’d nearly killed Jayne three months back after his contact, William Johns, had insisted that he could find out where “Riddick” was being held, even if the records were fifty-seven years old. Jayne had invited it, alluding that the man was getting soft (Cobb never was too bright after all, thinking that the weight gain was nothing more than fat) after his husband ‘ran off’. Hell, he was surprised that Mal hadn’t flushed the gun-for-hire out the airlock. Since then, Jayne had displayed a healthy dose of fear in Jon, as much as he’d done around Rich or Mal, and was holding good to watching his tongue.

Threads of Time, Part 1/?

A/N: What am I doing? Getting bit by another rabid plot bunny…  but it does fit with the story, honest. This is set a good 19 months after Nine sets foot on Serenity. He’s VERY pregnant.  And right after Two and Jamie leave Seville Spain.  As such this bit has spoilers for, well, everything else I’ve written. If you get lost then make sure you’ve read All About the Doctor and Jamie, Great Eclipse, Ties that Bind,  and Tangled Web at the very least. All can be found at http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1039926/GM_Andy. I’ll continue posting Adult versions here too. – I’m posting this here because it is just a bit out of the story line on FF.net and I’ll post it there when I get Nine caught up.

Doctor Who and the Threads of Time
Part one: St Albans Space Bazaar, Wild Space/Alliance Fringe, Late ‘October’, 2518.

The Saint Albans Space Bazaar was a long glorified name for a smallish, half-rogue, cobbled together, mismatch of salvaged technology. It was spaceworthy, however, and that was the important part. It was a common stop for Sleeper ships, coming in from the Company side, particularly as many preferred to take local transit into Alliance space proper. It was safer than attempting the Blue Sun Oort cloud while still in Cryo. On the negative, it sat on a longer, more expensive route. This ran between Coalsack Three and Blue Sun, as opposed to the Tangiers-Conga-Scorpio-Blue Sun route. It avoided the majority of the mysterious region known as “Nixman’s Waste” by the local parlance. Since things like Reavers came from Nixman’s Waste on regular intervals, and ships seemed to get lost in there (it was rumored that the Hunter-Gratzner was the latest victim of the region after decades of successfully making the ghost run, rather a shame as the captain had been very well known), cheap wasn’t necessarily better.

The majority of travelers that came through the station were, typically, either on Hajj or trying to make a case with the Alliance for a homestead claim. Or they were fleeing the Alliance for more civil and tolerant parts. But the Majority wasn’t the all. Some folks came through right regular, choosing to live in the black, instead of making roots in soil. Amnon Duul, the postmaster and sometimes general go-to-fix-it guy had seen all types. He currently held majority ownership in the station (about fifty-three percent) and thus often called the place ‘my station’. None of the other titled parties really cared to call him on it.

Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse: Part 16/34

Burn

She heard them scream. Faint at first. Echoes that broke through the oven hot wind converged with an icy cold. ‘Not Real,’ she told herself, even as the cries broke like waves through her mind again. Whispers of the past. She thought she could ignore it, that Lei-yu would hear it too. A tide of past emotions, fear, surprise, denial… Horror. Even as she walked through the ghost town, clinging to the cool of the void, feeling the buzz of the hunger flow from her feet, the past inhabitants faintly repeating moments played disjointedly over and over in her brain. Being near the Skiff made the cries louder, so when it was suggested that there were other things that could be done she went with her brother and the art dealer willingly, leaving the storm behind. He wasn’t actively filtering this new-old sensation. Lei-yu couldn’t touch the cries of the dead. It was beyond his power. To know that she sensed something he did not frightened her. She must fight it, for as long as she could. Eventually they would overwhelm her with their call that pounded in her head, even though the void filtered the emotions of the living for her.

The Doctor might have felt it, if he’d not tuned himself so fully against it, she realized once she was alone with her brother and the art dealer. Ogilvie’s aura bothered her on a level she couldn’t pin down. Oily. Slick and smothering. That’s what she decided it was. His aura was slithery and intensely ruddy, bright rust, stained, like all he had was greed and fear. A selfish man. But it drove back the voices for a while overwhelming them even as it left a sour taste in her mouth. She would rather be with the living than the dead, even so.