The Last Journey
The Doctor knew that his men were talking behind his back, he knew they thought he had gone mad but he made a vow and even if it meant sailing the seven seas and beyond, he would not rest until Clara was back by his side. PirateAU. Set a few years after Under Jolly Roger.
Chapter 1: Silly Little Bit Of Hope
The Doctor felt like he was falling, drifting into a sweet, numbing oblivion. That was the only place where he could find peace and consolation even though the ship was crossing rough water and the movements made his stomach twist to the point he thought he would vomit. He turned around in his bunk and looked into Clara's serene face.
"My Clara," he whispered softly and outstretched his hand to touch her hair. It always felt like silk, even now, but instead of a smile he only earned a scolding glance from her.
"Why?" she breathed and mimicked his gesture, stroking his face and his hair with a gentleness that was unique to her until her fingers tangled in the beard that had grown untended for too long, "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"
The Doctor snorted in reply and laughed bitterly. "It's the only way to be with you."
"Captain!"
Finally Clara smiled at him. "They need you," she whispered softly. "Your men. Your ship. They need you. You still haven't repainted the TARDIS and I've told you a hundred times."
The Doctor caught hold of her hand and drew it to his lips, placing a long kiss to the back of it. "And I need you."
"Captain!"
Clara exhaled sharply and closed her eyes. No. That was all wrong. He needed to look into her eyes. He needed to remain here a bit longer. He just wanted to be with her. Was that really too much to ask?
"You stubborn, drunk, old fool," she said after a while and the Doctor was vaguely aware of indistinct chatter breaking out around him. It didn't matter. Being with Clara, that was what mattered and nothing else. "They're talking behind your back. They say you've gone mad."
"I know that," the Doctor cut her off. He just wanted to talk to Clara, not to the rest of his sanity that he hadn't been able to drown.
"You're going to lose everything. And for what?" Clara granted him a sad smile and suddenly pulled her hand out of his grip, "A silly little bit of hope."
"Hope is never silly," he countered determinedly.
"It is when it's lost."
The Doctor gasped when suddenly he was so rudely awoken and found himself lying in a puddle of saltwater that was slowly drenching his mattress. He blinked and found one-eyed Johnny standing over his bunk, holding the empty bucket.
"I'm sorry, Captain," he smiled weakly, "I didn't know how else to wake you. We've reached Tolagnaro."
The Doctor sank back into the pillow with a groan and closed his eyes. "I'll be outside in a minute."
"Captain-" Johnny tried to object, sounding as if he didn't believe him at all – which was just too understandable. But still, the Doctor needed a moment.
"Go," he told the man standing over his bed and was finally left alone again without further discussion. Yet no matter how hard the Doctor tried he couldn't invoke Clara from his mind again.
Slowly the Doctor staggered in the direction of the deck, his stomach revolting against the rum and the waves. When he realized he couldn't hold it in any longer he lurched forward and threw up over the railing. Years ago he would have considered it an embarrassment. He was a seasoned sailor, he could hold his drink but that was before Clara and before it had all gone wrong.
"Better?" Johnny asked him with a sympathetic look.
The Doctor straightened his back and swallowed. "No," he replied simply.
"Well," the young man took a deep breath, "We're in Tolagnaro. Finally. Wanna enlighten the crew what we're doing here?"
"No."
"Doctor," Johnny began and he just knew that it was going to turn into a lecture he had no intention of hearing, "They're getting restless. I know, sailing around the seas is what we do but you seem to have a plan and you don't want to share it. Just give them something. Anything. They just need to know you're not doing anything stupid, that you're still their captain."
"Well, this is my ship, so that makes me your captain. When did you start questioning my orders?"
"I don't like the new steersman you picked up," Johnny said after a moment, changing the topic.
"He brought us through several storms. He does his job," the Doctor argued drily.
"He does your job, Doctor," he reminded him, "What would Clara say if she could see you like this?"
Her name felt like a sword piercing his heart. Clara would have never brought the steersman on board, Clara would have taken the wheel herself and headed straight into adventure, Clara would slap him until common sense finally returned to him. Everything was different with Clara, everything was better.
"Doctor-"
"I'm meeting someone here," the Doctor said, taking a deep breath, "Ready the jolly boat, will you?"
A half hour later the Doctor was being rowed ashore by Pit even though he had wanted to make this journey alone. His crew didn't need to know where he was going, what he was planning. He barely even believed it himself and a part of him was afraid they would abandon him if they knew. Yet Johnny had insisted that Pit joined him and when he had to grasp the edge of his seat a little tighter because the waves where turning over his stomach once again the Doctor had to admit that Johnny had been right. He wasn't in the state to go anywhere on his own right now and even when he had stepped on land he still could've sworn that the ground beneath his feet was swaying.
"Are you okay?" Pit asked him, the same wary look on his face that he had become familiar with of late whenever he did look at his crew.
"For the last time," the Doctor growled, "I am not okay. I will not be okay. And I don't want to hear that question ever again."
The Doctor suddenly resumed walking, or rather, staggering off in the direction he thought was right. "You can wait here," the Doctor told Pit.
A few minutes later he found the house and it looked exactly like they had all described it in the stories. Right now the Doctor only prayed that they had been right about everything else because he was already grasping at straws and the witch was his last hope of ever seeing Clara again. Her and the drunken stupor only rum could deliver.
The Doctor knocked and shortly after was asked to enter the house. The first thing he noticed was the darkness that seemed much more gentle on his headache than the bright sunlight. The second thing was an old woman dressed in rags who was sneering at him through rotting teeth. There it was, his last silly little bit of hope.
"I've come to ask your help," the Doctor began, "I've heard stories about you, that you might have what I need."
The woman giggled, a girlish laugh for such an old lady. "I've heard of you, too, Doctor," she said and stepped closer, eyeing him from head to toe, "The notorious pirate that doesn't actually do a lot of pirating, sailing the seas on his TARDIS because he refuses to take orders from anyone. Tell me, why should I help you?"
The Doctor gave her a sincere smile right before he produced his pistol from out of his holster, pointing it directly at her.
"Because I'm telling you to," he said simply.