Prologue

The heat stained unto certain spots of his cheek, forming a line to across his sleeping eye. The man laid on top of unpacked boxes, in a deep sleep. He had a line of drool mixed with digested liquor slide down the corner of his mouth, his blond locks were usually messy, though now it seemed like a hurricane had passed through it, he was still wearing a full suit without a jacket: his white shirt unbuttoned a little and untucked out of his pants, his black tie was loosened, his grey pants appeared intact though it was all the alcohol that drenched it must have dried in his sleep and he wore one shoe, the other was at the entrance of his apartment.

Meet Arthur Kirkland, a 29 year-old English high school teacher in New York city, born in Westminster, England.

The doorbell rang once, which did not wake him up. There was another ring, which made his thick eyebrow twitch a bit. His eyelids emerged open to reveal tired, hurting emerald eyes. A groan escaped his lips as he turned a bit, trying to figure out a bit where he is, but mostly what woke him up. Finally, there was a third ring, which triggered his brain to remember who was at the door at this very moment. He rose up unto his feet quickly, trying to fix himself quickly. He kicked off his lonely shoe, running towards the bathroom, yelling, though it sounded more like croaking: "Just a minute...!" He ran the water in the sink, noticing a little surprise inside that made him gag a little. He shook his head, closed his eyes and splashed his face clean. He took a towel, rubbing his face as he paced towards the entrance, opening the door. "Yes...?"

Arthur found himself falling unto the ground, having not expected a glomp attack from the little one. Bright blue eyes, filled with excitement stared straight into the Brit's, the blond child sat upon his chest, bouncing up and down. "Daddy, daddy!" He called out, his smile so big, it reached his ears.

Meet Alfred Jones-Kirkland, a 10 years-old scholar in New York city, born in New York, United States. Also, he is Arthur's son.

Arthur rose back up, with Alfred in his arms, lifting up his eyes to a gorgeous blond, the same blond as Alfred's hair having a red headband in it. She was shorter than Arthur, though her red heels made her the same height. As she removed her white sunglasses, she revealed greenish-blue eyes shadowed by her bangs. She smiled simply at the sight. "Good morning..." She stated softly, seeming to notice Arthur's possible hangover. "Slept well?" She questioned, obviously with a hint of sarcasm.

Meet Anne-Marie Jones, a 28 years-old International news reporter in New York city, born in Evere, Belgium. Also, she is Arthur's ex-wife and Alfred's mother.

Alfred was blabbing about something related to comic books that Arthur did not understand, so he paid attention to Anne-Marie. "Oh... yes, somewhat..." He clears his throat. "I imagine you two had fun this week?" He tried to change the conversation.
The young boy nodded. "Yes, yes! But remember Dad, that promise you made me...!" He tugged unto his tie, choking him a bit.
Arthur did not remember any promises, at least, he thinks he'd need a slight reminder for that one. He laughed nervously, setting the boy down. "Why, yes, of course... how could I forget...?" He lied so obviously, yet the boy was too blinded by anticipation to even notice.
"The convention, the Comic Art convention! You are coming dad, like you said!" The boy tugged on his pants, making sure to get a full consent to this promise.
"Oh, yes! Of course, how can I forget?" The Brit laughed nervously, crossing his arms and looking at Anne-Marie's direction. "So when is this?"
"Today." She pulled up her sleeve slightly to look down at her watch. "Precisely at noon, which is in two hours."
Arthur nearly died at that statement, he smiled simply to cover his face. He looked down at Alfred. "Then you best get ready, don't you, little hero?" He mentioned as he then glanced back up at Anne-Marie. "I'll get ready... mind picking me up in an hour or so?" He didn't know how to drive, he knew... a bit, but he didn't have his license. Besides, it was a bit unpractical to him, so he would say.
Anne-Marie smiled sweetly. "Sure thing, don't forget to put on your Fourth Doctor costume. Alfred is anxious to see it." She commented before she took Alfred's hand and left into a white MKII Golf GTI. "Come on, Al. We'll come back."
The child waved at Arthur. "I can't wait to see your costume, Daddy! See you soon!"
Arthur waved, mouthing goodbye, I love you to Alfred and closed the door behind him, sliding unto it. "Oh God, oh God..." He muttered, holding his head in pain. A crowd, that'd be terrible for a rising headache. Though, the last thing he wants is to deceive his son, thus he went to his room and tried to find some clothing suiting the Fourth Doctor.