Crossover Headcanon

So, in my head it was headcanon, then on paper it turned more into minific.

Before the monastery, before his name was Book, he worked for an… organisation, operating behind the backs of the central alliance, around the edges of the border governments. He’d done things he was proud of, and a hell of a lot more things he wasn’t, before they let him go to grow strawberries behind a little church on the rim.

His old commander showed up ten years later, looking like he hadn’t aged a day (never, ever aged a day), with “one last job”. He never intended to go back, but they’d kept him on the emergency instatement list, and he knew what they could do if he refused.

So he’d sat in a quiet room in the monastery and pored the tea, while Captain Jack Harkness explained that there would be a battered firefly class ship leaving Persephone in a week, destination as yet unknown, which he was to barter passed on. There would be a brother and sister on board, though maybe not right away. He was to watch them, the Captain said.

“What do I look for?”, He’d asked, “Are they a threat?”

Harkness had smiled, warm and flirtatious and as faked as ever.

“Just watch. Intervene to keep them safe, if they need it. You might not have to, I just don’t know how able they’ll be to protect themselves yet. But this is important: do not make formal contact. If they know you’re there to watch them, they’ll run.”

“What if they leave the ship?”

“They won’t.”

“What am I protecting them from?”

“Up to and including Council Operatives.”

“Terrorists?”

“Not yet.”

“How long?”

“A year. They’ll be alright after that, they just need a little time to find that out.”

“Then I leave?”

“You can do whatever you think is right. Persephone. Seven days.”

submitted by: john-lzhc