Part One: An Empire's Criminal

"People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes." - Neil Gaiman

Chapter Four: Broken Bonds

"...that first person...she was your mother, right?" Oswin asked John as she led him down the long and seemingly endless corridor, back to the cold and slightly uncomfortable atmosphere of his room. John, his hands back in their metal cuffs, slightly glanced at the guard to his left, for it was as if Oswin hadn't even acknowledged his presence, as if they were nothing but an imaginary friend she had chosen to ignore. John had realized that in his few hours of residency at UNIT, he hadn't heard so much as a word out of them, and with John himself being unusually cooperative, that made their job seemingly effortless. "Um, yeah." he mumbled in reply. And though her back was facing him, John could sense the indication that she was smiling. "She looks a lot like you...her brown hair and green eyes." she noted quietly, as if it were an observation that she should have kept to herself, John taking it as a mere compliment.

"And which one was your girlfriend?" she teased, looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

"The last one." he clarified. "With the...hair."

"Ah, Miss River Song, still can't find that woman, honestly, she's impressive." she smirked, for she had heard quite the mouthful about her, along with her reprobate history with UNIT.

"Yeah, well we split a long time ago, so don't come running to me for answers." John retorted as they neared the entrance to his room, Oswin punching in the entrance pass code, raising an eyebrow at John suspiciously. "I wasn't going to."

John couldn't understand why Oswin had used the word 'person' to describe what he had seen, for he had seen his mother, he had seen Amelia, and he had seen River just as well. But they weren't actually there, they weren't people, they were dreams, maybe even holographs; figments of his imagination that UNIT had projected onto the screen of his mind for his viewing pleasure. You couldn't open them up and find blood and organs, just the intangible reality of insignificant particles, insignificant nothing.

She opened the door to the room that John had gotten fairly acquainted to over the tedious ten minutes that he had before he met her previously that same day. It amazed John that only a mere few hours ago, he was a free man, able to do anything that his heart had desired. But now, his actions were limited, his hands locked up seventy-five percent of the time. Is that all it takes to change a person? John asked himself, his mind unwilling to give him conclusion.

Having nothing else to do, John sat down in his usual chair, the isolation and coldness of the surface seeping through the fabric of his clothes and making contact with his skin as he watched the silent and nameless guard close the door politely, leaving only him and Oswin in the room together. His eyes were found suddenly on her as she approached what seemed as thought a metal cabinet that was used for a science classroom, her tiny hands opening its doors to reveal a series of men's formal attire: slacks, button-up shirts, jackets; all in the shade of a navy blue. "Basically, these are your clothes for the rest of your time here." she explained.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I was expecting something with a little less...finesse." John admitted with sarcasm, staring at his choice of attire. "Maybe orange prison uniforms, or the classic black and white stripes."

Oswin scoffed. "Yeah, well, you may be in a prison but that doesn't mean you can't have at least decent fashion sense." she replied with honesty, closing the cabinet and staring at him straight in the eye. "Also, I want to make myself clear on something, there are two security cameras in this room, plus one in the lavatory; all of which are supervised by me and myself only. I review the footage at the end of each day, just to make sure that you don't tear this room apart." she said, John taking this into realization, each device placed on the two front upper corners of the room. He stared at one, then at the other, adopting a look of disgust as he said, "So you can see me when I'm changing?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, just turn around. I can deal with it." she replied as if it were a mere and trivial condition, still receiving an uneasy look from John. She looked at him with a blank expression for a long time, seeing how long such a silence could last before she finally sighed in exasperation. "I'll promise to close my eyes if it makes you happy." she offered, for she didn't really see it as a big concern. Her hand stuffed itself inside of her lab coat's pocket, retrieving a miniscule skeleton key, to which she used to free him from the handcuffs that felt like a circulation obstruction. As she worked on the lock behind his back, John could feel her fingertips, the skin of her wrist brushing against his. She felt warm, almost comforting against his cold and rough exterior, but gave the idea no excess thought.

She turned her heel towards the exit and quickly punched in a series of numbers, the door opening on request, the entire gesture indicating the closure of the conversation. But before leaving, Oswin turned around to face the criminal one last time, her hand resting on the door frame as she announced, "Oh, also, dinner's at seven. I'll pick you up?" she asked casually.

John's expression twisted into a concoction of puzzlement and diastase. "What is this, a date?" he quarreled at her.

Oswin's emotion of a blank stare slowly morphed into a grin. "Call it what you want, Chin Boy." she teased before closing the door behind her, leaving John to ponder of into his puddle of a morbid reality. ...Chin Boy? He suddenly realized, an expression of utter disapproval and chagrin painted onto himself, his thin eyebrows furrowed and his eyes sharp with anger. His fingertips grazed the scratchy stubble on his chin, trying to define it's indefinite shape, as if he wasn't convinced already that it was definitely prominent. Being tired of sitting down, his legs arched himself upward as the floor became farther away from his view, his eyes scanning the room idly before he found his hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the door, his knuckles white as he questioned himself of his doings.

What would be the point? He asked himself in awareness, moaning in misery as he violently tugged on the door handle, and, as expected, it wouldn't grant him an opening. Locked. He told himself. He flung himself against the door in exasperation, crumpling to the floor and taking his thoughts with him. Why couldn't his thoughts just stay up there, suspended in mid-air, entering his head again when he decided to stand back up? The smoke from his ex's cigarette, the voice of his dead mother, the fiery strands of ginger hair from his almost-friend; all these things raced in his head so violently that it gave him physical pain. He could see it all again, he could feel it, and the memory came back like knives, painful, and sadly, rather sharp.

No. He told himself, hiding his face inside of his hands in cynicism. He wouldn't allow himself to believe it, wouldn't let himself believe that those images he had seen were actually real. Those were just dreams, just false images implanted in his head. Dreams aren't real; they're made of nothing but the things that can't be true. He reassured himself. He tried to forget, not only now but many times in the past; fogging his memory and trying to build walls against the amount of guilt that had built up inside of his chest, but it was never enough. They were always there to remind him of what he had done, of what he had used to be.

Maybe that's why he wanted to get caught so easily.

It was because he wanted to forget.

Six Years Ago, June

The whiskey ran down his throat forcefully, and though he dreaded the taste of it, it made him lose his thought, which all felt indistinct and calming a few minutes later. When images and shapes around him started to shift and blur, when the macabre reveries altered into an oblivious bliss, it almost felt rewarding. Albeit the feeling, the whiskey was purely disgusting, making his throat sting, as it were trying to pierce through and flood into his blood and bones. He was taking the easy way out of things, drowning his sorrows with alcohol, the images of River drowning along with them. The Doctor spent the past few weeks locked in his own haze, his head fogging up the memories that he was willing to let go of. He would usually feel easygoing and lightheaded when drinking, but these occurrences weren't like the rest; they were depressing as hell and resultant. He needed to forget about her, and this seemed like the only way to get her out of his mind.

The sound of his glass slamming against the counter top rang in his ears, but he didn't seem to be affected by it. The impact was so powerful that he was expecting the glass to shatter in his hand, but it managed to contain its abuse from its user. Her frizzy head of curls, the mischievous smile that curled on her lips, he had never seemed to rue something so terribly. The sound of her name made his heart roar and pound with exhilaration and anticipation, only to be met with the truth that she had broken the connection between him and her, a connection that he had tried to repair desperately, but even he himself knew that it was useless. The bad things about them seemed to swell up, and the good had only slipped through his fingers, like a ghost. It came to the point in which he had realized how much of the negativity had overpowered her as well as himself, to the point in which he found what was positive to be unavailing.

Tears stung his eyes red until he was forced to close them, his hands shaking, his head spinning. He wanted to scream, out of the jealousy that his heart had contained. Out of all the lives that could have been ruined, out of all the hearts that had to be abandoned countless times, why did it have to be his?

The bartender only nodded at him idly. "Another?"

He knew that he should stop, for having barely any money, the aftermath would be guilt-ridden and heavily consequential. But, only craving that feeling of forgetfulness, all he did was nod his head.

"Care for some tea?" Vastra asked Oswin, for seeing that she looked rather uneasy, she had decided to pop up the question. The girl looked up from her seat in the break room, her fingers rapping restlessly on the table as her brown eyes gave Vastra a startled look. "Oh, um..." she stuttered, straightening her posture and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear instinctively. "Yes, please." she replied softly, taking the fragile cup into her own hands, its warmth spreading throughout her hands as she raised it to her lips, the tea touching her tongue barely before she continued to sip it politely. "Thank you." she said shyly. Vastra smiled at her acceptance to the offer, placing her tea cup down on the table as she pulled out the chair before her, the sounds of its legs scraping against the tiles as she sat down with her.

Oswin primarily knew two things about Vastra. She knew that she was striving for a better position in UNIT, and she knew that she liked the color green. Her dark olive pupils stood out from her rather extravagant eye makeup, a hue of which reminded Oswin of shamrocks sprouting from a sidewalk crevice. Her dark hair was always in an up-do, and sometimes, Oswin ever wondered what it would look like down, though it was one of those images that her brain could not create. "So, how has your day with The Doctor been thus far?" she asked her amiably. "I'm sure it has been rather...intriguing."

Oswin only sighed, for more reasons than one. It seemed as if the news were simply appalling to every creature who knew of its existence, and it's not as if she didn't take it as a shock herself, because she did, but the fact that other coworkers were surprised was what essentially irritated her. At UNIT, Oswin wasn't exactly treated like the woman for her own age. Others looked down on her as only a mere amateur, as a little girl with absolutely no sense of knowledge. People would routinely ask her for assistance even when she clearly didn't require any, and when she'd politely reject the offer, they'd laugh. Laugh. It was as if they were staring at a toddler trying to balance on a bicycle for the first time; those were the kinds of looks she would get. She sometimes blamed it on her height. I have lived on this planet for a proper twenty-six years, I at least expect to be treated like one. Oswin would tell herself regularly.

Vastra was still rather tentative, for Oswin didn't know what the woman took her for. "Intriguing indeed..." she replied, taking another sip to quench the dryness of her mouth. "...in more aspects than one." she added in a mumbled voice, tearing her eyes apart from hers to stare off into the distance idly. Vastra, however, kept her gaze in its place, her eyebrows raising in response. "Oh? And how is that so?"

"Well," Oswin started, licking her chapped lips. "For starters, he hasn't tried to strangle me yet-which is a good thing-but still, I find it weird that he's been keeping himself calm for the past few hours. This man has been known to commit these...these dangerously clever crimes and now that he's been caught he's just going to give up like that? Not like that's a bad thing, I mean, makes things easier for me, but it's just so unexpected from him. He...he hasn't rebelled, he hasn't disobeyed me, he's been completely cooperative." she explained in astonishment. Vastra narrowed her eyes, as if to take a closer look at her expression, for she could sense uneasiness in her tone, almost as if she wasn't done with her statement yet.

"And...?" Vastra urged her to continue. "You didn't seem entirely satisfied with that explanation."

"...and..." she repeated, looking up at the ceiling in puzzlement. "Instead...he's been sassing me the entire time." she concluded blankly, a mien of utter bewilderment and slight admiration portrayed on her face. Vastra analyzed it carefully, her confused eyes and furrowed brow, yet the way the corners of her lips perked up slightly to form an amused smile. Vastra tried to hide her worried look behind a dry laugh and an empty smile, for she knew that look of Oswin's; she had seen it before time after time, client after client. That look of hers would start something cherishing, something sentimental, but it would end the same way every time. Terribly.

Amy had returned to work later that afternoon, only to find UNIT investigators scouring John's office free of all his belongings, his books, his ballpoint pens, and even packages of unused cigarettes which were found inside of his desk drawers. Amy's boss had insisted that she take the rest of the day off, but she insisted; she needed to get her mind off of things, and, well, the whole scene wasn't exactly helping. She stared at them blankly for a few minutes, watching them drop everything into plastic bags as if they were contaminated. Amy saw it as an invasion of privacy, as if John weren't taken away in handcuffs just hours ago. She still had refused to see him for who he really was, she refused to accept that he was truly a criminal. She still saw him as a person, for its as if society saw convicts as nothing but animals.

She sat down at her desk silently as they continued to dig through his desk, Amy finding herself cringing when they carelessly tossed his possessions off to the side, as if she saw then as her own instead of John's. She shook her head, shifting her focus onto turning on her computer, but the noise was unforgivable and clearly distracting. The monitor blinked once as it awoke from its sleep, it seeming to run especially slow, and Amy's choice of mood seemed to make the whole situation even more tedious.

"Apologies for the ruckus, little lady," an officer said cheerily, flashing her a smile of blatant charm. Amy stared at him warily, for the term 'little lady' wasn't exactly a name she thought she'd be addressed by. Ever. "Uh...no problem Officer..." she trailed off to squint at his name tag. "...Harkness." she finished, her posture as stiff as a board as he continued to beam at her with his perfectly alined teeth.

"Call me Jack." he replied, and with that, their thirteen-word conversation came to an end. (Unless you count 'uh', then fourteen.) "Let's go put this all in the car," he addressed to the four other officers with him, gesturing towards the boxes of John's technical property. Amy watched as they took all of it away, leaving his office empty and isolated, nothing but dust left. She saw Jack leave the room, him making sure to give her a flirtatious wink before the automatic door separated the two from view. Amy, wide-eyed, tried to take it all in, for it was so unusual seeing the room half empty. Amy had always seen their office like two component parts, to the point in which she still called it their office. It wasn't hers. It was hers and John's. And she couldn't think of it otherwise.

Amy only shook her head. Focus. She told herself, opening up her browser and staring at it for countless minutes, as if she had already forgotten what to do, for she simply couldn't think straight. Her mind wouldn't allow her to. Raking her oily hair with her fingers, Amy sighed in frustration, spinning around in her chair when something had caught her eye. It was a glare. A reflection from the sun that lasted only a mere second before it shifted from her view. She slowly turned back around, the glare appearing once again in her peripheral vision. It hurt her eyes, yes, but somehow she couldn't take her sight off of it. It came from a tear in the blue wallpaper on John's side of the office, where a tall stack of books used to stand.

Making sure that the atmosphere was entirely silent before she could do some investigating of her own, Amy carefully stood up from her chair and inched her way towards the opposite wall, the glare still shining in her hazel eyes. She knelt down before it, grazing her fingertips against the torn wallpaper when suddenly, she felt something uneven underneath it. Furrowing her brow, she curiously opened the tear even more so, and wedged in between the wall and its paper, was a single silver key. Her eyes narrowed as she took out the object and examined it as it lay atop of her left palm, the metal cold against her skin as she stared at the its teeth, the rigid marks fitting as a component to one lock only."What do you unlock...?" she muttered, as if trying to make conversation. "...do you belong to John..?" she asked it, the name Smith engraved into the silver. She then looked up at the ceiling in a horrific realization. I'm talking to a key.

But before she could give her finding any more attention, she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, and in a state of panic, she quickly ran towards her desk, stuffing the key in her purse just as Jack walked back inside the room. "Everything alright?" he asked her with a goofy grin, Amy only smiling wryly. "Oh yeah. Peachy keen." she replied, giving him a rather despicable thumbs-up. Quietly sighing to herself, she turned around in her chair so she wouldn't have to come face-to-face with his thousand-watt smile.

...maybe I should take the rest of the day off. She told herself.

Vastra leaned against the door frame of the wide-span cafeteria, her arms crossed and her eyes fixed upon Oswin and John who were sitting at a far away table, his hands locked up in chains and hers folded neatly atop of her lap. The place was simply morbid, the aroma of beans and cold ham filling the air, a rather repulsive menu choice if you compared it to the luxury, but it was food nonetheless. Vastra watched as he ate, Oswin only observing him from a rather close distance, a maddening silence making the entire situation rather uncomfortable and horribly monotonous, just for Vastra to watch. It was like viewing a silent movie lacking the entertainment.

"What's on your mind, Vastra?" Jenny asked with a radiant grin on her face, coming up beside her and trying to catch her gaze. Vastra and Jenny made quite the constituent married couple, sharing both the similarities of their profession in UNIT as well as an eye for the unnoticed.

"Huh...?" Vastra responded in a distracted tone, turning to her wife and putting on a bleak smile. "Oh, it's nothing, just seeing how our new client is doing with Oswin, that's all." she waved it off, Jenny arching an eyebrow as she followed her gaze to their table. Seeing such an awkward scenario only made Jenny chuckle.

"Ah, John Smith; one hell of a man, ain't he?"

Vastra only signed sympathetically in response. "Oh...I only wish that Oswin would be careful this time around."

"Why would she need to be careful?" Jenny questioned, furrowing her brow.

"Because Jenny...Oswin...she's not like us." Vastra explained in a hushed voice. "She sees criminals different from the way we do; she sees them as forgivable, sensible, and we see them as convicts who are worthy of punishment." she spat out. And she spoke with no shame in her tone. "Just as every other being on this planet." she added. "We do the job to do the job. She does the job to make friends." she scoffed. "She form's these...these sentimental bonds with each of her clients."

"Isn't that necessarily a bad thing?" Jenny asked, a puzzled look on her face.

Vastra bit her lip, looking up to the ceiling, searching her brain for a way to make her understand. "...think of it like this." she said. "Oswin, such a sweet young girl, forming bonds with her criminal clients." she explained. "They're friends, yes, but what happens when time's up? When UNIT programs them to forget everything of the past, including her?" Vastra's voice softened, casting a concerned yet compassionate glance towards the girl herself. "...what happens when the criminal she had grown to love suddenly forgets her entire existence...?" she whispered, as if the remark was only intended to be heard by herself. She sighed, biting her nail anxiously as she stared at the two of them, amazed at how Oswin could learn to love nothing but a criminal.

Two Years Ago, July

"...Rose?" Oswin asked quietly, standing in the doorway, her appearance calm as she looked down at her. She looked up slowly, her eyes filled with fear and slight anger as her hands trembled in her lap. "...I won't be able to remember any of this, won't I?" she asked weakly. "I won't remember my past, my...my friends...even you?"

Oswin bit her lip, squatting down beside her as she sat stiff in her chair. She gently rubbed her back as she said, "I know you're scared, believe me, I'm going to miss you too." she smiled softly. "But just imagine, after all of this; you'll have your freedom, an even better life-" she said, Rose hugging Oswin unexpectedly as a salty tear quivered from her waterline. Rose felt like a child again, which was unlike anything she had ever felt before, her mind suddenly realizing what she had been like for too long. A theif. A killer. A criminal with a heart for sin. She would forget those things any day if she could, and how she had the chance. But forgetting the people she could smile to, all of her friends, and even Oswin, her surprisingly likable supervisor; some forms of people don't deserve to slip the mind.

In the beginning, Rose had pictured Oswin as a bossy pretentious brat, just like everyone else that couldn't understand her. But Oswin had taken a different approach, she had a calm appearance and a sympathetic smile on her face every time she'd see her. She was patient with her, which was a capability that Rose couldn't imagine a girl like her having, especially with her own quality traits. Rose could admit it, she was temperamental, obstinate, with the pleasantry of stealing as her own drug. However, Oswin had seemed to be able to place flaws behind her, yet was still entirely aware of their existence. She saw her as a person, not as an exotic animal, or a beast, but an actual person; a feeling that she had seldom felt. And for that Rose couldn't feel more grateful.

Her eyes opened to see the guards standing in the doorway, Rose pulling away from her embrace and wiping her tears hastily, for she felt ashamed and embarrassed for acting like a coward in front of the people she didn't know. "You okay?" Oswin asked her, Rose only nodding her head in reply as she stood up from her chair, lifting her head up and announcing, "Let's just get this all over with."

She turned around instinctively as the guards locked her in hand cuffs for precautions, the sound of their gritting echoing off of the walls as her head fell, the view of the floor and her feet shifting as she walked out of the room. Oswin told her the news days ago; that her surgery was scheduled for July eighth, the day when everything her brain held would be washed away like the blood from her scarred skin, and in its place? An actual life. Thoughts that she could never deserve to think, and yet, she was getting them. She saw the profile for her converted self. She would work for UNIT as a security officer. On weekends she'd be a store clerk. Single. Live in an apartment. Rose didn't know whether to feel relieved or afraid.

Rose allowed herself to be drowned in the conversation of the ones around her, her gaze focused on her feet as she heard the voices of the people she would never know to meet; their words coalescing into sentences, their sentences coalescing back into a disarray of words, all entering her ears and her mind as if they pleaded for her attention. She heard the quarrels of the ones brought here by force, the orders of the ones who controlled them, and the sounds of the inanimate chains that confined her. But above all, there was one voice that made her head snap up, a voice that was ancient in her head and yet so new to be heard. She suddenly stopped in her tracks when his strong recognizable accent filled her ears.

"...Bad...Wolf...?" the astonished voice said behind her, Rose turning around gradually to look him in the eye. Her breaths turned into pants as her chest fluctuated with exhilaration and fear as he stood before her; his narrow nose, piercing eyes, ached eyebrows, (Exceptional hair you might add,) and slim physique all drawing Rose to one conclusion. "...D-David...?" her voice seemed to break into its own parts as she slipped under the guards grasp and ran towards him, wanting to wrap her arms entirely around his skinny torso, him wanting to do the same, but both couldn't under the strength of their handcuffs. She forcefully brought her lips to his, only to be pulled away from him too quickly. With hands clamping down on both of her arms, she screamed in protest as they took over her control. "DAVID!" she cried, her voice harsh. She desperately tried to fight against the guards, but they only enforced their grip. "No, no...don't take me away from him..." she pleaded, the tears blurring him out as they flooded down her face. "I'll never get to see him again-!" she whimpered with all the strength her voice had, and that's when the doors slammed, away from Oswin, and away from him.

The scene had caused too much attention to be caused, as if all eyes were on David; like a magnetic pull. Oswin, however, had seemed to finally realize what had been changed, a tear streaming down her face as she looked at the doors Rose was dragged through. She would never see her again, she would never get the chance to apologize of behalf of the restrictions, and how horrid things had ended. She looked at David, a criminal on his second week of simulations, his eyes outraged and his lips pulled into a snarl as he sneered at everyone who had put him in the place. "I need to see her again." he growled, pulling away harshly from his guards. "No matter how much you damn people try to stop me-"

"Today's her operation." Oswin interrupted in a quiet voice, her eyes staring at the still doors before her. "You won't be able to see her again, and even if you did, she wouldn't remember you anyway." she finished, licking her dry lips. She hated the way the words felt on her lips, on her tongue; but he needed to know. Rose had told her about David, she called him a charmer with sandshoes on both feet; Oswin couldn't bear to tell her that he had been captured and taken to UNIT, to know that he was in the same building and that she couldn't see him. They were in love.

Oswin turned to the man beside her. "David, I'm so sorry-"

"No you're not." he spat at her. "None of you are!" he barked, his voice echoing through the silent hallway of which silent people watched the scene take place. "None of you people will ever understand what I have to go through every second of my life...!" his words slurred mid-sentence as Vastra injected him with a serum, his body falling limp to the ground in slumber, all of his thoughts to be sent to his dreams. Vastra was his current supervisor, and being a woman who got easily irritated, the easiest way to deal with an outrage was to put her client to sleep. Her sharp eyes gazed at the needle that impaled his fair skin, sighing in disappointment and agitation.

"Send him to the infirmary." she ordered, an officer hoisting his seemingly fragile body onto his back and carrying him through the crowd of bewildered people, and then it was as if the scene had never happened, gone, like breath on a mirror. The life of UNIT's Regeneration branch had slowly sprung back to life; Oswin's stationary body in the middle of it. People pushed past her hastily as her feet remained fixed onto the ground, her ears trying to block out the troubled murmurs that lingering in the air.

Vastra, however, came up beside her, and seeing her bloodshot eyes and salted skin from the tears, she asked, "What did they ever do to deserve your respect?"

"Respect isn't earned; it's just given freely." Oswin's voice seemed empty, hollow, emotionless.

"They're here to be simulated, Oswin, not to be befriended." she reprimanded.

Oswin only turned to face her in the eye, Vastra's irate gaze met with her weak one. There was a bleak respite before she asked,"Why can't it be both?"