Word Count: 5030
Author's Summary: Crossover with Heroes. In the days before How Do You Stop An Exploding Man?, Nathan's visited by a rather strange individual. After the explosion, he wakes up in said strange individual's time machine and finds out exactly how strange his new benefactor is.
Characters/Pairings: Ninth Doctor, Nathan Petrelli
Recced because: This may be the perfect crossover fic. The conversations Nathan and the Doctor have are perfectly in character, the writing is darkly lyrical and the author has a brilliant plot and follow through.
It's quiet this late at night. The boys have long since been put to bed, and Heidi is in bed as well; she has a busy day tomorrow. The servants are sleeping; the house is nothing less than a black, silent mausoleum. Several hours to go 'til dawn, several hours gone since dusk.
The floor is dark and hidden in places, shadows spilling across it like upset pots of ink. The armchairs are little more than blocks of darkness. Closer to the fireplace there is illumination, the flames small and somehow not penetrating all the darkness, lighting a small circle of warmth in the blackness, where armchairs and coffee tables are set in a seemingly haphazard nonpattern. A book has been left on the mantelpiece.
Nathan pads across the floor silently, feet bare, placed carefully; it wouldn't do to wake anyone, but he's not confident enough in the safety of his home to risk exposing himself by floating. Still dressed in yesterday's suit and a half-undone tie, he moves like a wraith across the room, over to the drinks cabinet.
He gives the velvet-smooth wood a light, almost absent stroke, and he leans down, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a dark glass bottle, no label and more than half-full. Heidi doesn't like this one. Heidi doesn't like him smoking, but it helps when he's stressed, and he can't remember being under more stress than he is right now. He puts the cigarettes in his pocket for now and finds a clean glass. Another pet of the cabinet, and he starts over to one of the armchairs.
"Late for drinking, isn’t it?"
The voice drifts across the room, just loud enough to be heard, strongly accented with the twang of Northern England. Nathan doesn't look up, nor does he tense, but his movements turn even more deliberately careful, as he sits and pours a glass of rum, idly eyeing the painting behind which is a safe containing a gun.
"Not in Australia."
There's a soft, sardonic laugh, and the man unfolds himself from the corner and is there in front of Nathan. Tall and rangy, somehow looking half-finished or as though he's survived something terrible, and Nathan should be annoyed that his planned nightmorning of drinking has been interrupted but he's not.