#her showing them mario kart like you would not believe the advancements of technology to these kids living in techno limbo

[jetblacknewyear]

Everyone keeps capping them like they’re so scary rn but i think they look so intrigued like abby just showed them a nintendo ds for the first time 😭

[neocity-sarai]

Fight for You

❂ concept: cyberpunk/futuristic au!

❂ pairing: mark lee x reader

❂ alerts: angst, fluff, mentions of blood, violence, death

3 years and 2 months that you’ve lived alone. 3 years and 2 months that you’ve survived without the help of your parents or any friends. Sometime ago, the world felt like it was truly ending. Disease and famine plagued the earth, it seemed as all hope was lost. Megacities were ruined from an onslaught of tsunamis, wildfires, and hurricanes. Your parents shielded you with the comfort of your small apartment, the warmth of their embraces to ease the anxiety. Yet, it wasn’t enough. You remember how your 15 year-old-self watched your mother slowly wither away, the disease could have infected her from anywhere: the grocery store, work, or from your own family. It felt unfair, the way people had to die when they had no choice to make money for the roof over their heads or to put food on the table. Your father held you close, his sobs shaking his entire body at the sight of your mother’s dying heart. Your whole world fell as silent as your mother’s heartline when your father whispered in your ear. He told you he was sorry, how he wished that he could tell you everything was going to be alright. He told you, “I don’t have much time left either.”

You could barely blink. You froze in place, your hands shaking at an uncontrollable rate. You eyed him incredulously, “What are you talking about?”

That night, you came home alone. You knew that the disease made adults more vulnerable yet you couldn’t believe that you had lost both of your parents in one day. All you could do was sit in your living room and cry until you couldn’t breathe. You screamed until your lungs heart, the weight of grief crushing your chest- it suffocated you. All that swirled in your head was memories of your mother cooking dinner while your father chased you around the dining table or the way you’d go to the city to explore, laughing in your family’s van as you drove. It was all too much. What were you going to do? Who would you call for help? Your family didn’t have many relatives in the area after your father decided to take a PR job in New York City. You felt all alone, the gloomy, steely skies looked especially lonely outside of your window. You couldn’t even see the sun. 

You fell asleep on your living room couch, your muscles sore from the unmoving position of your legs and arms. Deciding to switch on the TV, you were sure that the government would send a social worker to come fetch you- that’s what they always said on the news. Surprisingly, headlines read, “New vaccine formulated by pharmaceutical team at New York Institute of Medicine.” Despite the fact being good news, you felt numb. It didn’t matter because you had lost your family. It was too late. Over the next two years, the government issued a world-wide administration of the vaccine, the diseases had almost disappeared entirely. People were able to go back to work, walk their dogs, and dine out with their friends. The UN had stated each nation would work together to rebuild the damage of what was lost, whole cities were torn down to restart again. Technology advanced just as quickly: the old, ruined world becoming a man-made virtual paradise. Engineers and infrastructure developers reached new heights by building jets that flew at 1,840 miles per hour to skyscrapers that seemed to pierce through heaven. Somehow, by mercy, you managed to see the world change. You survived.

Current time

Of course, there wasn’t a real opportunity to go back to school after the plague, it led you to look for other ways to contribute to the work force instead. In the old world, work consisted of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, even a neighborhood bee-keeper ; as a young kid, you never had a clear idea of who or what you wanted to be. When you started to stabilize yourself by taking small part-time jobs that didn’t require a degree or some form of formal education, you slowly started to accumulate savings. After a while, you had been eyeing a virtual game constructed by the Kynigos company that swept the world by storm. It was everywhere on social media, all of the sign boards that lined 2nd avenue to 7th. Almost every family on your block purchased these visionary headsets that allowed you to see life in a kaleidoscopic lense. When you tried yours on for the first time, it was utterly breathtaking. New York city mimicked that of rainbow road in your old mario kart game, the streets glowed hues of bubblegum pinks and electric blues. The skyscrapers were dripping with panels of evergreens and xanthous yellows as the sky sparkled as a net covered it, the tiny strands glittering with violet crystals. You continued to walk down the block, circles glowing over your eyes and floating signboards that advertised expensive desserts bobbed up and down. As you scanned your surroundings, every person on the street or drivers cruising down the road had their headset on. Cars projected virtual screens that were lined with data codes and numbers. Even the foliage on the trees changed a new color every morning and night, the clouds moved by glitching slightly. It was like you could sweep your fingertips across every color you could think of, the streetlamps dripping gold above your head. 

Each time Kynigos uploaded a new software update, people would go ballistic over the installation of game mode. In place of a regular day job, you’d be able to make money by taking investors’ requests and errands. It ran on in-game currency that could be exchanged for real money in which you desperately needed to eat, to live. That’s where you were: you took requests for the smaller investors like fetching their meals or buying their groceries. Moving up, you honed your skills on clearing the game levels, earning access to a database of more promising, richer moguls. They were getting hungry, some of them crossing the law to conduct illegal activities in-game: Kynigos never really enforced the restrictions. No matter how much the government tried to take over the game, it would only gain more and more powerful. They always found their way around it. You had just cleared level 50, your reward was to establish a link with an anonymous client who offered 5 grand in exchange for a person’s identity. Not that you knew who the client or request was, you had become a bounty-hunter chasing for your next bankroll. You didn’t have time to pick and choose. At the corner of your headset screen, a pop-chat window appeared: “Hello. Please refer to me as Mr. C.”

You replied, “Hi. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone who can track down a person that I’ve been trying to find. The request is to confirm their identity and bring them to me. I will raise the reward if need be.”

You continue, “I need that in writing. May I have this person’s file?”

“I will send it over shortly.”

The chat window expands into a link, a typed document of the request along with a signature. You had been cheated out once, you were sure to not let it happen again. When you enlarge the file, it’s a picture of a boy who was much younger than you. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt, his black hair curled on one side of his forehead. His eyes seemed incredibly innocent, his doe irises complimenting the smile that graced his lips ; the sharpness of his cheekbones accentuating his prepubescent face. His name read, “Mark/ Minhyung Lee.” and was last spotted not far from where you lived. You asked, “Mr. C, why are you looking for a kid?”

“I have no obligation to answer that question. Regardless, are you able to do it? If you can’t succeed, I will have to take measures into my own hands.”

With the amount of money that was being offered, you would be set for a while. Taking the request seemed extremely worth it. 

“It’s a deal, Mr. C.”

You pulled up your virtual map with a click of a button, the map expanding into the space of your living room. It showed every alleyway, every nook and cranny in the city. You enlarged the floating map with your fingers, zooming in on a couple blocks away from your apartment. From your room, you grabbed your back-pack and changed into a black body-tight outfit (a skin you won as a reward on level 15), and your hair tied in a loose knot. Dashing out the door, you headed for where this Mark was last seen. You walked around the city, scanning the crowds of people as you walked. The street lamps illuminated the moving sidewalk as people talked into their headset by the cafe windows. Colorful lights blossomed on the tiny windows of the tall buildings. How were you supposed to find such a young kid wandering around by himself? Was Mr. C. his father? Maybe a disgruntled relative? You were unsure. You stopped inside a convenience store, the view of a black-haired boy turned around in one of the aisles. You couldn’t see his face, could that be Mark? The cashier sleepily greeted you, his headset sat crookedly on the rim of his forehead. Making your way to the small boy, you walked in front of him to get a better look- it was not him. He looked up at you confusedly, “hey lady, should I get a chocolate bar or a lollipop?”

Pointing at the chocolate bar you winked, “Chocolate for sure.”

The child walked away from you as he perused through the candy aisle more. You felt a hand grab your wrist from behind to be met with a scruffy man who wore tattered clothes and scratched at his dirtied beard. His eyes bulged with hysteria, “Pretty girl, give me that!”

He pointed at your polished headset, his grimy fingers reaching for it. You stumbled back as your heart beat furiously in your chest, “Sir, I don’t want trouble. Please step back from me.”

The man takes another step towards you instead, his rough hands flying to grip your waist, “Say, what’s your name? Want to come with me?”

You try wrenching out of his grip, you shouted for the cashier’s attention- he’s too busy paying attention to the game to even hear you. The man’s fingers make contact with the skin on your hip which causes you to jolt, you struggle to reach for the knife at the bottom of your backpack.

“Sir, kindly back off!”

The homeless man swivels around, facing a boy about the same age as you. Looking at him, you had not ever witnessed a more attractive boy in a while. His hair was a chestnut color, the crest of it gelled over, his face was slim and defined. Even his lips were the prettiest shade of sakura blossoms, his obsidian eyes stern with fury. He pushed up a pair of version 3 cyber-glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Sir, I said to back off!”

Just like that, the homeless man raised his hands in mock surrender as he scampered out of the convenience store- leaving you staring at the handsome boy in front of you.

You nervously adjust yourself, “Um-I- thank you for that.”

The boy gives you a warm smile, one of his hairs falling onto his forehead, “No need to thank me. That guy was being a total creep. Plus, that cashier should be fired for being distracted.”

You laugh, you catch yourself staring at the abundance of watermelon pops in the boy’s hands. He eyes you and then back to his pops, “Oh, would you like one?”

Stammering over your words you shake your head a bit too wildly, “N-no t-thanks! I-I prefer mango?”

Why did you say mango? You hate mango-flavored things. He gives you a hearty chuckle, “Fair enough, mango’s good too.”

It goes without saying anything, you both pay for the treats as you walk on to the sidewalk, a cold breeze making you shiver. The boy cards his fingers through his hair, the streetlamps casting a golden flow on his highlights, “I guess this is where we part. I hope you don’t run into any more creeps.”

You nod at him, “I sure hope not. By the way, what’s your name?”

There, you feel like you’ve messed up. This stranger saves you from some homeless guy and you ask him for his name, his eyes are widened with surprise. You silently sigh in relief when he breaks into a toothy smile, “Yeah, um, My name’s Jonathan.”

His voice comes out a little hesitant, as if he’s not sure. You eye him, “You sure about that, bud?”

“Of course. I was just deciding whether or not to tell you Jon or Jonathan is all.”

You say, “Well, goodbye Jonathan. Thank you for helping me out today.”

You swerve to walk back down the street in which you came, your headset blinking with the weather forecast in the corner of it. You feel a hand catch your shoulder gently, “Wait-t, d-do y-you think we can exchange handles?”

Turning back to the boy, you certainly weren’t expecting him to say that, “Yeah, sure!”

Together, you calibrate your headsets as a glowing icon appears above his head, “Accept Jonathan as a friend?”

You say, “Accept!”

Jonathan’s name adds to your friends list, not that you had any previous names added anyway. He finishes adding to you as well, your name hot on his tongue as he repeats it daintily. Giving you a final wave, you both go your separate ways. You decide to look for Mark in the morning.

Later that night, you find yourself staring at a message notification from Jonathan. Tapping in the air, you press on it- you bite your lip in anticipation. A bubble appears over his message, “You still up?”

You type on your virtual floating keyboard, “I am, wanna chat?”

Another bubble appears: “proceed with projection communication?”

You look yourself up and down, your outfit only consists of a pair of striped pajamas unlike your black suit earlier. You can’t imagine that Jonathan’s dressed up at this hour. Accepting the bubble, a scan of Jonathan’s virtual body appears in front of you as if he’s sitting in your desk chair. He looks different from earlier, he wears a thin t-shirt that reads ‘Vancouver’, his hair glimmers with wet drops from his shower and he holds an acoustic guitar in his hands. At first he doesn’t realize that you’ve accepted the projection call until he drops his guitar to the ground, fumbling in his chair, “Oh! hi-i, I didn’t see you there for a second..”

You laugh at his silliness, “you were the one who initiated the call in the first place!”

“Still! One second, I need to get something.”

When he finally returns, he holds a bowl of cereal in his hands, spooning sugary flakes into his mouth before toasting the bowl, “Cereal baby!”

“Who eats cereal at this hour?”

“Me- I do!”

You smile at him, leaning back into your pillows, it’s almost too surreal that it feels like Jonathan is staring right back at you from your room. It’s like he’s right there with you. 

You continue, “So, what do you like to do in your free-time?”

He looks up from his bowl, “Hm, I uh- I guess I just listen to music or watching Netflix? Something like that?”

“I see you have a guitar by you, do you play well?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I wouldn’t say too good but I do enjoy playing? I write a bit too.”

“Can you play something for me?”

He gives you a playful smirk before breaking into a high-pitched laugh, “Put me on the spot now aren’t we?”

You reply, “You kind of set yourself up by bringing out a guitar. Of course I was going to ask.”

With a heavy sigh, he mumbles, “This is a song that I wrote when I started living on my own.”

You feel your heart swell at the sight of this stranger whispering soft words of song, the strums of his guitar filling the emptiness of your room. When he’s finished, you give him a standing ovation, “What do you mean not too good? You’ve got talent.”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, “Gotta stay humble, you know?”

Your memory plays back to Jonathan’s words: “I started living on my own.”

You tread into unknown waters, “Listen, let me know if this is too personal but when did you start living alone?”

Visibly, his frame becomes stiffened, his lips press into a thin line, “About three years ago? I think?”

He’s the same as you. You continue, “Do you still keep in touch with your parents?”

A flash of pain coats Jonathan’s face, his teeth sink into his lower lip anxiously, “You know-w, I-I think we should call it a night-t?”

You’ve pushed too far. “Oh, yes- sure. Right, good night.”

Like that, Jonathan’s projection disappears from your desk chair, the call ending with a beep. You throw your headset to your nightstand with a clang, throwing your head into your pillow. You doubt that Jonathan wants to talk to you after pressing into his private matters.

When morning comes, your heart jumps at the notification at the top of your messages bar. You click on it, Jonathan’s audio file plays, “Hey-y, I-I’m reallly sorry for uh- I-I kind of left you hanging last night? Can we meet up and talk? Possibly? Let me know when you get this.”

You respond back to him, “Hey, don’t apologize. It was my fault for pushing you where you weren’t comfortable. I’ll forward my address.”

Within the next hour or so, you find Jonathan standing in your doorway as he raises a bag of mango and watermelon pops from the convenience store in his hand. You usher him in, “You got here quite fast..”

He smiles at you, setting the bag on your table, “I’m pretty speedy. Also, you’ve got a nice pad.”

“Oh- yeah, technically it used to be my parents but they well- they passed away.”

His face turns somber, his features darkening with hurt, “I’m sorry for your loss y/n.”

Trying your best, you muster a small smile at him, “It’s okay. Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I-uh- no, I’m good.”

With a heavy sigh, Jonathan plops himself on your couch, his eyes shifting to the vibrant city view outside, “Anyway, I-I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night.”

Shaking your head, you answer regretfully, “No, it was completely my fault, I should be sorry.” The features on his face turn sharper. He stiffens again, his fists curl beside him on the couch, “I also haven’t been too honest about myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name isn’t Jonathan. That’s just an alias- my real name is Mark. Mark Lee.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. The boy that your client is after is sitting on your living room couch. How could you not recognize him? Your headset tab has his file bookmarked- he was a child then. Of course, he’s matured. 

“Why would you lie about your name?”

Jonathan- now, Mark sighs, “Because, I have to. You asked me about my parents? They were murdered by some gang leaders because they owed them money so we could survive the plague. They did what they had to so we could live. They’re still after me.”

You hand flies to your mouth in shock, “Mark, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-”

Mark places a warm hand on yours, “It’s okay- don’t be sorry y/n. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a word, I swear on it.”

Mark picks himself up to move closer to you, your knees almost touching, “When did you start living alone?”

The memories of you watching the doctors send your parents’ bodies to the morgue surface in your mind. You can’t stop the flood that breaks the dam. Digging your nails into your palm, you sniffle, “My parents passed away from the plague on the same day. Like yours, they had to work and go outside for us to survive. I was on the streets a bit before I could make money myself.”

It’s impossible. You can’t stop the tears that stream on your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, “I miss them so much.”You feel a thumb swipe your tears away. You open your eyes to see a blurry vision of Mark’s concerned face, his fringe swept on one side of his forehead, “I’m here, it’s okay. I miss mine too.”

In a split second, you fall into the crook of Mark’s chest, snuggling into his arms. You hear the slow thrum of his heartbeat, the music that beats with his soul. It’s beautiful, the way his doe eyes gaze down at you and the way it feels when you reach up to sweep the hair out of his eyes, “Thank you, Mark.”

He doesn’t say anything, he continues to rub circles on your back comfortingly as he thumbs your hand in his lap. Afterwards, you and Mark decide to eat dinner with Mark in the city. With Mark beside you, everything seems ten times more vibrant. Musicians play on the streets, their instruments laced with colorful threads (bonus items that tune your instrument automatically). Robotic helpers roll around in the restaurants as they pick up tabs, refill waters, and do little things that could be cumbersome for humans. You and Mark sit on the second floor of your favorite ramen restaurant, one that your parents frequented often. Laughing at the way Mark slurped his noodles made you happier. For some odd reason, Mark reminded you of the comfort that your parents had- a warm glow that always brightened the room. He placed his chicken into your bowl, forcing you to eat his no matter how much you protested. When you were done, Mark led you to the third story of the restaurant, a rooftop garden that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking: the skyline reflected an ocean of colors onto the water as the Brooklyn bridge allowed flying vehicles to soar across the sky. You both sat on the edge of the building, Mark pulling your body closer to his. He rested his head on your shoulder as he hummed some unrecognizable song, the honking of cars is the only thing that disrupts him. Steadily, you brought a hand to the scar on his cheekbone- causing him to raise his head at you. Mark leaned further into your touch, his hair fluttering in the wind slightly, “Can I um, kiss you?”

Smiling, you crash your lips onto yours, his lips feeling plush and soft at first. You move one hand to entwine Mark’s hairs in between your fingers, causing him to let out a moan. Your kiss grows more passionate as you part your mouth for him to move his tongue, your body temperatures rise- an alert pops on to your headsets. Ignoring it, Mark leans further into your lips while you arch your back on the roof. He pushes you flat against the concrete, his lips detach from yours with a sound. When you look at him, Mark’s half lidded eyes and swollen lips pop from the colorful netted sky that hangs above him, you say, “Wow, you’re good Mark Lee.”

He laughs into your shoulder, his giggle full of mirth. You don’t resist when he presses a kiss to your lips for the second time, you take harder control than he does. You roll onto your side so you can climb on top of him instead. Mark reaches up to place a hair behind your ear before you lean in to press a kiss to his nose. His eyes glimmer with adoration, “y/n, the things you’re doing to me right now-”

Mark starts to press a burning kiss to the hollow of your neck, you pause when a notification flashes on your messages bar. You open it, it’s from Mr. C. It reads, “Y/n. I’m afraid you’re out of time.” You scramble off of Mark, causing him to yelp, “Oh god, y/n, I-I’m so sorry, I- did- I go too far? I shouldn’t have done that- oh my-”

You press your hand to Mark’s lips, “It’s not you. I have to tell you something, it’s-”

“What? What’s wrong?”

You both sit up, “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier I just forgot about it because we were talking and I-I just don’t-”

Mark’s expression turns firm, “What is it?”

“I just passed level 50 in-game. I got a request from a client and he told me he was after you and I took it because I thought I needed the money and now that I know you’re the person he wants, I don’t know what to do-he says we’re out of time!”

Mark looks down, his face morphing into slow pain, “Did you have that request since we met?”

You shout at him, “Yes! But, I was never going to sell you out, I swear! I started to like you and I wouldn’t have done that!”

Marks still casts his eyes down, “Y/n, I have to go right now- I can’t be outside-”

“You’re too late!”

You and Mark swivel your heads to see a skinny man dressed in a plaid suit hop off his emerald hoverboard, a pistol sits in the grip of his hand, “I’ve got you now Mark Lee! And y/n has led me straight to you!”

Mark practically leaps across you, forcing you to move behind him, “Just stay behind me.”

You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, gripping him tightly. The man- Mr. C. looks hysterical when he flashes Mark a sinister grin, “Your parents still haven’t paid their debt. You’ll serve as compensation.” 

He aims his gold-lined pistol at Mark, cackling before he sends a smoking bullet flying to Mark’s chest without a warning. You scream, Mark falling on his side as he clutches his wound. Mr. C. spits in your direction before zipping off on his hoverboard, leaving you to press your hands to Mark’s body. Already, your hands are covered in crimson blood, you smell the iron scent of it and it makes you sick. You don’t even realize that you’re screaming now, “Hold on! I’m going to get you to a hospital okay? Hold on!”

Mark lets out a weak cough, his eyes failing to stay open. You cradle his head, “Mark? Mark, stay awake! Stay with me, please!”

Once more, he reaches up a bloodied palm to your cheek, your tears falling onto his shirt, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

You whimper, “It’s not okay! Don’t leave me! I’ll be alone again!”

The hot tears blur your vision, it’s getting harder to not collapse. You see Mark smile at you, “you know, you’re the only person that’s made me feel less lonely since my parents died.”

Clutching his hand, you feel the calloused skin along his palm, wanting to savor every bit of him, “Mark, I’ve fallen for you.”

Nodding, “And I, you.”

With the last bit of strength he has, Mark kisses you with scarlet fire before letting out a bone-chilling groan. His lips fall away from yours, his body landing on the roof with a thump. You hold your breath, your head pounds with harsh pain. You can’t believe the sight of Mark’s once musical spirit so bereft of life. Finally, your breath hitches at a notification that appears in your message inbox at the top of your virtual screen, “hello, y/n.”

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The summertime of our lives, 6/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 6/6.

Pairings: Ninetoo x Rose.

A/N: Written for @doctorroseprompts summer bingo. Five summer-themed words: Animal, Boat, Breeze, Magic, Wave (BINGO!). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” - William Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 6:

The fair was crammed with people. The summer was beautiful and hot and people preferred staying outdoors than going back home where they wouldn’t sleep because of the persistent heat. The Doctor wasn’t complaining. He liked the heat, the summer. After surviving a cold and harsh winter, he definitely preferred summer. But that summer, the first one he was sharing with Rose, was as special as fantastic. He wanted more of them. He wasn’t ready for winter to come back again with its colds and winds and rains. So he was enjoying this warm night out with Rose. They had shared an ice-cream, bought the banana shorts – he had even accepted to wear them tonight – and had had dinner in a nice little restaurant. Since then, they had been wandering around in town. He had been quite uncomfortable surprisingly. With Rose’s hand in his, nothing could go wrong. Just like the old times. Their steps eventually led them to the fair and Rose and acted like a five-year old child around the attractions. As a former Time Lord, this was all trivial pursuits. He had had no time for that when the universe kept calling out for help. Today, he was living a human life and his time was limited. He had to enjoy every minute of every day. He went on the merry-go-round with Rose, rode the ghost train – none of them were scared and they had a good laugh – jumped on trampolines, drove small karts – Rose mentioned something called Mario Kart but he didn’t get the reference. They spent lots of money in many attractions – the bumper cars were fun, especially when he was playing against an expert like Rose, and stopped for giant candy flosses. It was a break in their night of fun. The candies tasted different. He had never eaten something like this before and didn’t know if he liked it or not. It was sour and fizzy. Weird. And the faces he was making were amusing Rose. They were casually zigzagging between people when Rose’s eyes fell upon something that really caught her attention. Since her mouth was full of sugar, she just bounced up and down, a hand holding her candy floss, the other pointing at what she had seen. Her eyes were sparkling with joy and excitement. He followed the direction of her finger and sighed. Of course. Typical. Cliché. This was the attraction all the girls and women loved and every boy and man had to prove themselves on it. Rose was pointing at a giant unicorn plushie which was the biggest prize of their shooting attraction. Grab a gun, shoot the heart of the target and you were the winner. But the game was rigged and it was impossible to win. Here, the targets were replaced by old stuffed toys that weren’t up for sales because of flaws or wears. Small ones so they were harder to shoot. He could see where this was leading him. “It doesn’t fit in the car.” “I don’t mind.” “Do you known unicorns are fake animals created by humans?” “In our original universe, they are fake.” “And not in this one?” “I’ve seen one in my many attempts to get back to you.” “You kidding?” “Nope. The only proof is in Torchwood.�� “You brought…” “I would never condemn anyone to that.” She finished her candy floss and tossed the stick in a bin. The Doctor imitated her and joined her in a couple steps toward the shooting attraction. She had such an aversion of Torchwood that she surely knew more about their activities than she was telling him. It wasn’t only because they had tested her. There was something else and she wouldn’t say a word about it. He wasn’t cleared to hear that information. When he would be the Doctor with his TARDIS again, he would dismantle the whole organisation brick by brick. “Win the unicorn for me?” Her aversion was gone. She was back at smiling and pleading him for that huge animal plushie. He could boast about him not doing domestics, about him being a strong male, she would always do all she wanted of him. So if she was watching him like this with begging eyes and batting eyelashes, he would give in without a second thought but with an annoyed sigh. And just with that, she knew she had won. She grabbed his hand and ran toward the attraction. They had to wait until the group of males before them was done with pretending they were any good to finally access the game. Rose dropped money on the counter. “One round for mister Big Ears.” “Oi!” protested the Doctor and Rose at the same time. “Pick your gun, shoot the toys. If you have them all, you win the giant unicorn.” The Doctor looked all the guns on the counter. There were different sizes and models. He picked a Sig Sauer. A Smith & Wesson would have been better, lighter, but it would do. He was given five little fluorescent green marbles. He slipped them in the charger and unlocked the security. He aimed. “Don’t shake like this, mate. This isn’t a real gun.” The man had no idea of what this gun reminded him of. Rose did. She realised she had done a mistake. Putting a gun in the hands of a war survivor, in the hands of someone deeply traumatised by the horrors caused by weapons. She put her hand over his. “Doctor,” she began softly. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sorry.” No. He didn’t want to give up. He wasn’t about to kill anyone. Not ever. He was the man who never carried a gun. His children of Time, as Davros called them, were his weapons. It wasn’t any better. In the end, there always were victims around him. He lowered the Sig. He had to clear his mind. “Sir, it’s just a game. If you don’t wanna do it, I give the money back.” To prove he was a man of his words, the stallholder pulled the money they had given him out of his cash case and pushed it back toward Rose. She was about to take it back when he clenched his teeth, aimed the gun and pulled the trigger five times. Only then did he put the weapon down. “You’d be a very bad killer,” commented a Scottish accent. Alec Hardy had joined them. He was on duty tonight, watching over the town in his grey suit with a messy tie. He was patrolling around when he had seen them. Seeing Maxence Spitz with a gun had caught his attention. He wasn’t an expert but he wasn’t a beginner either. He could hold a weapon but he wasn’t a good shooter. He had missed all the targets. “Would you be better?” the Doctor defied him in return. “I’m not armed, but I’m trained to fire so it wouldn’t be fair.” The detective was showing no hostility to him. He wasn’t entering the game. Had Rose talked to him? Or had he seen that he wouldn’t stand another chance? He simply asked how they were and dropped the news: a suspect had been arrested but he wouldn’t talk for now. This brought memories to the Doctor’s mind. Him, on the deck of a boat, a man above his body. He was sat against the railing, a cigarette in hand, and was meticulously burning the bruise skin of his torso; A laugh was echoing. It was disgusting, revolting. “Doctor?” He snapped back to reality. Rose and Hardy had taken him aside, away from the attraction, from people. Rose had her hands on his shoulders but her voice wasn’t getting to his ears. There seemed to have cotton in there but he could hear the music loud and clear. It was deafening; He cleared his throat. He had had an off moment but he was back. “Sorry, got lost in my thoughts. Happens often.” “No,” refuted Rose. “There was more to those thoughts. You had a memory.” Of course. He should know better than to lie to her. She would always decipher his mind. It was easier now that he was human. His brain was simpler, working like hers instead of working like one of those quantum computers they used in their advanced technology. It was rather frustrating sometimes. “’s nothing. I was on that boat, cigarette in hand and…” he swallowed, mimed the gesture of pressing a ciggy on his chest. “And someone was laughing. Nothing else. No face, no name.” Alec was writing down in his small notebook, Rose was stroking his hand with her thumb. Anger was boiling in her veins but she was unshaken. Except for him, no one could read her feelings. She was tough. Torchwood had changed her. Both in good and bad ways. “Anything else you’d remember?” The Doctor as about to snarl but the detective was just trying to help him. He was doing his job. The Doctor focused, gathered the little memories he had of that failed party. The deck and the laugh came back naturally. He was back on that boat. It wasn’t the yacht Rose and him were sharing. It was smaller. They were several like him, enslaved, compelled to do terrible things but he was alone when he was found. What had happened to the others? He concentrated on the laughing guy. He must have seen something. Anything that could help. The face as always blurred. He couldn’t see the features but there was… “On his arm. The right. He had a tattoo.” He was pointing at his own arm. Up the forearm, right before the elbow joint. A medium dark tattoo. It was representing some sort of logo. Something he had already seen. He drew it approximately on Hardy’s notebook and, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Rose’s face turning pale. She recognised the symbol. “That’s Torchwood. They have a special unit. All the members have this tattoo.” “What’s that unit up to?” “They’re like the SWAT or else, except they’re operating on paranormal stuff.” “There’s nothing paranormal.” “You’d be surprised,” replied the Doctor and Rose. Alec Hardy was too rational to believe in something extra-terrestrial or paranormal. That was better this way. The less he knew, the safer he was. That’s certainly why Rose had kept him in the dark on some aspects of her life. But like everyone in this world, he knew about Torchwood. At least about their activities on the face of it. Pharmaceutical researches and alien experiments. They were playing their cards close to their chest. “If he’s really from that special unit, you won’t get anything from him. He’ll be out before tomorrow morning. They’re untouchable.” That was highly displeasing for the detective. He put his notebook a pen back in the inside pocket of his jacket. He would do his own researches on that case. Rose had to leave them alone for a moment. Leaving the Doctor with Alec wasn’t the best of ideas because of their stupid rivalry but he was the only one she trusted to protect him just the time for her to call someone and settle a score. When she came back to them, the Doctor was hugging the giant uniform plushie with a gleeful grin on his face. Next to him was a moody Alec Hardy. They had spent the time she was gone to win the biggest prize. This was unusual for Alec. She grinned and hugged the soft toy and the two men, thanking Hardy for his work and help, thanking the Doctor for this unicorn for her. Their night of fun was over. The Doctor still needed rest and it was getting late. And Hardy still had work to do.

x

The window was slightly open and a fresh breeze was stroking their bodies. The night was hot and the Doctor couldn’t find sleep. Neither could Rose. So they were just lying there in bed, talking to each other. It was only light talks, funny words and projects for the near future. It was nice to think of the future. Of a future with Rose. He couldn’t imagine the rest of his life without her. “What about the tattoos?” He had noticed that she had the same and he had insisted on getting back the ribbon he had when he was found on that boat. He was keeping it with the sonic screwdriver. Precious objects. Her tattoos were as fresh and delicate as his. They couldn’t touch it yet. They had to heal first. They were getting itchy. “Oh. Yeah.” It seemed to sadden her that he didn’t remember this part but it wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault. None of what had happened was his fault. He was the victim here even if this word would never be used in front of him. Calling him a victim would lead to a fight. It would hurt his ego, hurt his feelings. That’s not what she wanted. She wanted him to believe in himself again, to find a real self-confidence he was lacking of. So the word was forbidden. “One of the guests told us he was a specialist in particular weddings ceremonies like hand fastening. Your face lit up like Tony’s on Christmas morning. You said that it was what you wanted for us instead of a formal boring ceremony in white and, to be honest, the way you described the ceremony… I really wanted it. I wanted us to be married forever. And we did it. It was magical.” He could see the tears brimming in her eyes. They were tears of happiness because it had been such a beautiful moment. She found his hand and held it as while she told him the whole ceremony the vows they pronounced, the ribbon fastened around their hands and wrists. The memories were coming back to him – or was it his imagination – accompanied by the soft sound of her voice. Magical indeed. Maybe they had taken this decision too fast but he wouldn’t go back. He was Rose’s husband now and forever. And to seal the magic of the moment, they made sure to never forget that they were bonded by this ribbon, they had found an exceptionally open late tattoo parlour and asked for a matching tattoo. They had been lucky with the result. “What do you think Torchwood was doing here?” “Looking for something. The drug was only working on people not entirely human.” “You were affected too.” “Bad Wolf.” “But they weren’t after us. Or they wouldn’t have left us behind.” “Pete knows my opinion on the subject. If he lays a finger on you, Torchwood goes boom.” “That won’t stop them.” “I know.” “What do we do?” “Make no waves. Lie low. Then, we leave forever.” The Doctor couldn’t help but smile like crazy. Make no waves. As if it was possible for him not to make waves. He wasn’t running into troubles. They were finding him everywhere he was. Even when he was enjoying holidays with his now wife. And despite the inconveniences, it had been the summertime of their lives. One he would cherish for the rest of his short life…

THE END

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