Aha, got it.

Yeah - I'd never heard of it before. Rheanna handily linked me to trinityofone's rather lovely SGA/HDM fusion Daemonology, and I went: "Aha!"

(I could probably use this story for the Historical AU square on my bingo card, either, but I do plan to include magical elements, and some things & characters specifically taken from the PotC 'verse. Plus, PotC isn't actually set at any specific date - it's all wibblywobbly timeywimey contradictionpants anachronisms, so I'm going with that. Although if I decide to write Captain Jack Sparrow and co in the Firefly 'verse [which is also very tempting] then I WILL stick this on the Historical AU square, and the hell with it)

Captain Jack Sparrow and co in the Firefly 'verse

I read this as Captain Jack Harkness in the Firefly 'verse and my brain went 'splodey. Then I looked again and realized that noway, nohow was Humpty ever being put back together again.

See, you could put Captain Jack Harkness in the Firefly 'verse easily. No reason for it not to be the same 'verse that Doctor Who & Jack inhabit. Jack Sparrow, otoh - that has to be a Fusion.

Eh, maybe I'll just slot this into Historical AU, so I can put Jack Sparrow in the Firefly 'verse. I'd love to see him interacting with River...

Anyway, on with this current project:

* * *

Their potential passenger is standing on the dock, looking nervously at Badger's flunkies, and casting languishing glances at the mountain of baggage that is, Mal assumes, his own.

“That's a fair bit of cargo you got there, friend,” says Mal, eyeing the trunks thoughtfully. “Master Frye tells me you're eager to buy passage with us on 'Serenity'. Is that right?”

“That's correct, Captain,” says the man, standing up very straight. He extends his hand. “Dr Tam, sir. Dr Simon Tam. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mal's hand is still a little sticky from all the orange pulp, but he extends it anyway. “How do you do, Doctor?” he says. “So, where is it that you're hoping we might take you?”

An expression flickers over the doctor's face that looks a little too much like guilt for Mal Reynolds' liking. “Oh, well, is that so very important?” he asks, trying to smile. Mal blinks.

“Yes,” he says, his eyebrows lifting up towards his hairline. “It kind of sort of is. You do have a destination in mind, I take it?”

Tam swallows. “It's – complicated,” he says.

“Complicated,” echoes Mal, looking up at the clouds as if imploring them for patience. “Well, that's nice. It was – interesting, meeting with you, Doctor. But I'm a busy man. Good luck with buying passage on one of the other ships docked hereabouts. Some of them ain't as fussy as I am.” He turns on his heel and is about to step onto the gangplank when Tam names a figure so outrageously beyond anything it might have occurred to Mal to demand, that he freezes in place.

There is a pause, and then Mal turns around and stares at the Doctor in utter bafflement.

“You could buy a ship for that kind of money,” he says. “You aren't serious.”

“I'm perfectly serious,” says Tam, and he seems a little more self-possessed now that he's got Mal's attention. “Half of it now, half of it – afterwards.”

Even half of such a sum is still a treasure trove, and entirely ridiculous. “After what?”

Dr Tam licks his lips. “It's a personal matter,” he says, awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder in a way that tells Mal rather a lot. “Can we – please, can we discuss this in private?”

Mal shrugs. “Fine by me.” He steps back onto the gangplank. Tam doesn't follow him, though, and when Mal turns a quizzical gaze on him the doctor looks helplessly at the trunks.

“I need my things,” he says. “I really – I can't get on board without them. I need my things with me. Please.”

Mal stares at him, trying to weigh him up, and then sighs. “Fine. JAYNE!”

* * *

“My Quartermaster, Mistress Zoe,” says Mal, a little later, when Tam's goods are stowed and they are safely ensconced in the Captain's cabin. The doctor looks quite startled, but after a beat he makes Zoe's lips twitch in amusement when he bows low to kiss her hand just as graciously as if she were a fine lady in a ballroom. “Ain't no call for that, Doctor,” says Mal, his brows coming together. “We don't stand on much ceremony aboard 'Serenity'.”

“No, really, Cap'n, I think we should introduce a little more ceremony,” says Zoe, gravely.

“You offering to start curtseying at me, woman? I'd love to see you curtsey. We could get you some skirts and all, for the full effect.” Mal nods to himself, a faraway look in his eyes. “And petticoats. Lots of petticoats.”

“Ah. Perhaps not.”

“That's what I thought.” Tam looks from one to the other with a slightly lost expression, and Mal returns to the matter at hand. Master Frye wasn't wrong, Mal reflects: the young doctor is very decorative, as well as having ridiculously good manners. And being so wet behind the ears that he (continued...)

( continues...) might as well have been keel-hauled and just lifted up dripping out of the sea. “Go on, then. Explain why your destination is so secret, Dr Tam.”

“It's not secret, precisely,” says the doctor, awkwardly. “It's just – um. Oh dear. This is going to be rather difficult to explain.”

“Try,” says Mal.

“I don't suppose – you wouldn't happen to believe in, ah, in magic, would you?” He doesn't sound terribly optimistic.

Mal and Zoe exchange glances. “Keep talking, son,” Mal says, and the doctor's eyes widen in sudden hope.

“I've had – I've had some very, ah, interesting experiences lately. I never paid any attention to old wives' tales before, always thought it was nonsense fit for children, but – well. Suffice it to say that I know better now. And, ah, where I'm going – well, I don't know precisely where it is, I'm afraid. But I've got this compass, and it points to where I need to be. So – I don't know the name of my destination, but I know how to get there.” He's trying to sound dignified, and he almost succeeds. Mostly, though, he sounds very young, to Mal's ears.

“You really a doctor, son?” Mal asks.

Tam blinks. “Yes,” he says, looking slightly startled. “Yes, I really am.” He stands a little straighter. “I have been a practicing physician for five years.” He watches Mal's eyes widen, and a look of incredulity spread over his face as he does the maths. “I was a very precocious youngster,” he says, stiffly, and Mal believes him.

“I've got news for you, friend: you're still a very precocious youngster.” He exchanges another glance with Zoe. “So – you going to show us this compass of yours?”

Tam looks astonished. “You believe me? But – my story is completely ridiculous,” he says. “I wouldn't believe me!”

“We've had some – ah – uncanny experiences of our own, Doctor,” says Zoe kindly.

“Some time I might actually explain to you how come I'm no longer a Commodore in His Majesty's navy,” says Mal, with a tight smile. “Possibly. After a very large amount of rum. Let's just say that this is not the strangest thing we've heard or seen, Doctor, and leave it at that.”

“Oh.” Tam blinks. “Well – well, I suppose that's why it picked out this vessel, out of all of them,” he says.

“Come again?”

“The compass,” says Tam, fumbling in his pocket and withdrawing a little box. He opens it up and shows them a compass chiefly remarkable for the lack of any directions. “It points you to your heart's desire. Whatever you want most in all the world.” The needle is presently pointing out to sea, but it isn't pointing North.

“May I?” Mal asks, and after hesitating for an instant, Tam hands it over. The needle trambles, and then swings around to point firmly back towards town. Mal swallows, and shoves the compass back at the doctor. “Must be busted,” he says, glancing at Zoe and then away again.

“She likes you, you know,” says Zoe.

“I don't have any idea what you're talking about.”

“She likes you a lot.”

“Shut up.”

“I'm just saying. Seems to me that the feeling's mutual.”

“I don't go with whores,” snaps Mal, and there's a surprising amount of violence in his voice. The temperature in the room drops quite suddenly, and Tam becomes fascinated with the maps on the wall.

Zoe's eyes narrow. “And there I was thinking that you'd come to understand a little bit about how the world works, since your own fall from grace” she says softly. Mal scowls at her. “Not everybody has the choices in life that you've had, Captain. Commodore. We've all got to get by as best we can.”

“Zoe, I do not wish to discuss this. Is that clear?”

“As crystal, Captain,” says Zoe. “If you don't have any further need of my services, I'll be off to check that the Boatswain managed to get all the supplies we need.” She's polite as can be, but there's still a wealth of disapproval expressed in her eyes and in the set of her shoulders.

“Then go,” snaps Mal, and she does.

“Um,” says Tam, fiddling with his compass and looking distinctly embarrassed. “So – you'll take me where I'm going, (continued...)

( continues...) then?”

“Yes, fine, you've hired yourself a ship, Doctor. Congratulations.”

* * *

When Mal hears the scream come from Tam's cabin the next day, his first thought is of Master Frye. The Ship's Carpenter has been finding plenty of excuses to hang around the Doctor's cabin since they set sail, and Mal knows that besotted little grin all too well from the last time that Master Frye was all besmitten. He's crossing he deck with a pistol in his hand and an expression of pure, murderous fury on his face faster than you can say Anne Bonny, and when he slams the door open he fully expects to see – well. Not this. Not his fancypants Harley Street surgeon with his sleeves rolled up and his shirt unbuttoned, pinning some random, skinny, wriggling floozie to his bunk, one hand over her mouth and an expression of pure hand-in-the-cookie-jar guilt on his face as he meets Mal's eyes. The girl seems to be all knees and elbows, and she's wearing bloomers and a bodice and that seems to be pretty much it. Her dark hair spills down over the pillow and across her face like sea-wrack. She looks thoroughly woebegone.

“Doctor?” says Mal, in an admirably even voice. “Seems to me that we've something to talk about.”

“It's not what it looks like,” says Tam, and the girl takes that opportunity to knee him in the bollocks and wriggle out from under him. The Doctor curls up in an agonised ball for a few moments, and even though Mal is fixing to throw the fella overboard to feed the fishes, he can't help wincing in sympathy.

“Cap'n'? is everything – oh!” Master Frye's cheerful voice cuts off very abruptly, and Mal feels a little moment of pity for another shattered illusion. Turns out the fine Doctor didn't have such nice manners after all.

“He brung a woman on board?” That's the Master Gunner, right on cue. “He did! He brung a woman on board and he weren't planning on sharing? Ow! What?”

“This is 'Serenity'. You're perhaps thinking back to other ships you've sailed on, Master Cobb.” Book's tone is mild, but there's no mistaking the threat in it. The Boatswain is the very soul of courtesy, and almost impossible to rile, but they've all seen him in the heat of battle, and nobody aboard is fool enough to cross him. “There will be no 'sharing' of any unwilling man or woman on board this vessel.”

“You all right there, missy?” Mal says, tentatively. She doesn't look particularly distraut, as it turns out. “Not that I much approve of stowaways, mind, but I'm hazarding a guess you didn't have all that much say in the matter.”

She looks straight at him, and he's a little taken aback by how poised she is. “They weren't too pretty to die, after all,” she says, in a cold, clear voice, her head cocked slightly to one side, as if she can see right through him. “It still ate them all up.” She wriggles her fingers and snaps her teeth. “You don't have much of a taste for calamari now, do you, Captain?” Mal takes a step back, his eyes widening. He can feel people crowding in behind him, knows Zoe's got his back. He takes a deep breath. The girl frowns. “And yet here you still are, sailing on the surface when you know what lies beneath. Why is that?”

“She's – what is this?” Mal demands, as Tam, still white in the face, steps closer to the girl.

“She's my sister,” he says, coldly. “I was trying to help her sleep. I hoped that she could sleep through the whole voyage. She isn't – she isn't very good with strangers.” He draws a breath. “Or, well. With people.”

Mal gives this statement due consideration, and while he does the damsel in distress performs a handstand. Which is rather an impressive feat, given the swaying motion of the vessel, but she doesn't seem to find it unduly difficult. “Your sister?” he says, looking at Tam incredulously.

“Yes,” says the Doctor, stepping in front of her and glaring. “My little sister. River.”

Mal sighs. “Looks like we're going to need to have another conversation, Doctor Tam.”

* * *

“I am – very smart. Exceptionally so. Gifted, you might say. I (continued...)

( continues...) could read and write Greek, Latin, Spanish and French as fluently as I could English before I was seven, and I went up to Oxford when I was fourteen. So when I tell you that my little sister makes me look like an idiot child, I want you to understand my full meaning.” Dr Tam pauses, and looks around at the members of the crew Mal has allowed to join them for this little conversation. “She is a genius. Now, I know that the common wisdom would decry such a statement – how can a woman be a genius – but it is the unvarnished truth. River has the kind of mind that comes along not once in a century. In languages, in mathematics, in astronomy, in physics, in duelling, even - in all the fields of learning she should never be allowed to enter. River is extraordinary. She has always been extraordinary.” Dr Tam swallows, and glances over at the young lady in question, who is sprawling in a hammock, winding a lock of dark hair idly around her finger tip. He looks away, and his face is tight and unhappy. “But, of course, a reputation such as that is little use on the marriage mart. My parents did not want a daughter with such perverse aspirations. They wanted to ensure that she was appropriately tutored in more feminine arts. So they hired a governess to help subdue her. To encourage her to concentrate upon music, and dancing, and embroidery. Painting dainty pictures. More seemly and ladylike pursuits.”

Master Frye snorts quite audibly, and rolls his eyes. Tam looks startled at this interruption. Mal waves him on. “I was overseas, you understand. I did not know how – grave – the situation had become. We continued to correspond, but over time I grew – concerned. Very concerned. It was her hand, unmistakeably, and yet - she did not seem to be herself at all. My parents reassured me, told me she was growing into a fine and elegant young lady but – I found myself afraid.” He draws a deep breath, and runs a hand through his hair. He is not the same, neatly composed young gentleman who strode up the gangplank yesterday. Mal thinks he might be a little more inclined to like this version. Assuming he doesn't find himself inclined to throw the boy over the side of the ship.

“So what happened?” asks Book, gently.

Simon gives a small laugh, and looks around at them all. “I don't know how – you will not believe me, I think. Indeed, I don't see how anyone could possibly – but, still, I owe you the truth. Well, then. I returned home unannounced to our plantation at Caterhaugh, and my father flew into a rage. I could not understand his fury, or the guilt in his eyes, but then I saw my sister and – she was not River.” He shudders at the memory. “Oh, she looked the part, to be sure, but still – it was not merely because the passage of years had given her added stature and womanliness – no. Truly, there was something uncanny about the person I saw. Something – not quite human.”

“Well, ain't that reassuring?”

“Shut up, Jayne,” says Zoe, quietly.

Tam swallows. “This next part – well. I'll just tell it, and you can believe me or not. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't lived it myself. You see, in my absence my father's business had flourished. Oh, we had never been poor, but I was astounded to see how great his consequence had grown, how grand the house was, how rich my mother's jewels. I didn't connect the two things – his wealth, and River's strangeness. Not at first. It was the governess – she whom I'd supposed the source of the problem – who gave me my first clue. Well. There's no point in beating around the bush, because it won't sound any more believable for being delayed – they had sold my sister. For a handsome profit. Sold her seven years earlier, a little while after I went to Oxford, in fact.”

“Sold her?” asks Book.

Tam shakes his head. “Yes, but – well.” He looks down. “To the fairies,” he says, and gives a helpless shrug. There is a moment of silence, and then Jayne laughs out loud.

“What is this horsedung, Cap'n? Why we even listening to him yammer on?”

“Hush your mouth, Jayne,” says Mal, watching the Doctor's face.

“I don't know why I'm even trying,” mutters Tam. “I sound like one of the patients at Bedlam. But, as God is my witness, it was true. My family – it turns out my family have a longstanding acquaintance with these creatures.” He shakes his head, as if he can't quite believe what he's saying. “They demand a tithe every seventh year, and my father knew of it. And he had a daughter he didn't have much use for, and thought she could be a bargaining chip. Seems the Lords and Ladies had a better grasp of what a treasure River is than her own father had, because they fell on the offer at once, and granted him seven years of good fortune in return for his only daughter. And they taught her all manner of things. Did – God only knows what they did, or where they took her. But she became stranger, and stranger, and more otherworldly by the day. The governess told me that at night River would go dancing in the moonlight, or chase after some darting bat, and my father always let her go. He knew she would be safe. And she was. If you can call this safe.” He shivers.

Oh, WOW. I love how you're bringing the supernatural into this. It fits extremely well--are you drawing from the Strange & Norrell universe for this?