On The Road To Nowhere

When a strange man with a guitar stumbles into her diner one night, Clara Oswald has no idea that her life is about to take a wild turn. John Smith is running from something, but so is she and together they embark on a journey that they swear will lead them nowhere. No getting attached, no talking about the past, just two lost souls living for the moment. But the past has a way of catching up. . . Rockstar!AU, Diner!AU, Road Trip!AU.

Chapter 1

Clara checked her watch once more and realized that there were ten minutes left until she could finally close up for the day and she exhaled sharply at the prospect of being on her feet for even another minute. For a brief moment she even considered locking the door a little early. No one had come in in the past half hour and since it was a weekday and almost midnight she doubted that that would change. She was tired and her heels were sore. Clara wasn't yet used to working standing up even though it had been months. Back then she had been willing to take anything, any job, as long as it wasn't teaching.

However, when she heard a rattle at the door, Clara realized she had been wrong about her earlier assumption. Her face turned into a frown as she saw the man struggle with the door handle through the glass door of the diner and she had her doubts he would succeed in pushing it open when the sign clearly said "pull", but after a while he seemed to notice and finally stumbled inside.

The man who entered the diner seemed clearly disoriented or drunk and he staggered forward, a heavy looking guitar and a single bag slung across his back, until his feet suddenly stopped. Clara guessed that he was in his 50s, as the grey, curly amount of hair on his head showed, and she had half a mind to throw him out immediately. She wasn't in the right mood to deal with a drunk person, but then the man looked up and his face instantly changed her mind. He seemed to have been crying and he had several cuts and bruises all over his face. Only now did Clara notice that his clothes were dusty.

"Can I help you?" she asked, but the man didn't reply. Instead he stared at her for a very long time through his sad eyes, not moving except for a light swaying that she blamed on his inebriated state. After a while Clara started to assume she wouldn't get an answer out of him at all.

"A hotel," he slurred eventually.

"There's one right across the street," Clara told him. The man, however, didn't seem to pay any attention to her answer as he sank down on the nearest seat.

Clara sighed and reached for the lukewarm coffee to pour him the last cup. He certainly seemed like he needed it.

Before she made her way towards the man, Clara considered her options. She could tell him to leave and send him to the motel across the street or she could act like a decent human being, despite being exhausted, and ask about that sad look on his face.

"I think we still have some leftover chips," she remarked, granting him a smile, "Would you like some?"

The man raised his head, but Clara was only met with a blank stare, so she decided to just go ahead and fill a plate. They would throw them out anyway, so it really didn't matter whether he ate them or not. A minute later she shoved the coffee and chips in his direction and slid into the seat across from him. The man instantly reached for the coffee, but wrinkled his nose as soon as he had taken a sip.

"Vile," he murmured and set the mug back down to reach for a chip. Clara was relieved to see him eating. Maybe the food would help him sober up a little.

"Who gave you that?" she asked, pointing at his left eye that seemed to turn a darker shade of blue with every passing minute.

The man looked up and put the half eaten chip back down as if he couldn't focus on both eating and talking at once. He opened his mouth and yet it took him a moment before the words finally came out. "Uh, a friend," he drawled, "Got drunk. Got into a fight."

"A friend did that?" she asked in disbelief. The cuts on his face seemed too painful to have been inflicted by a friend.

Suddenly the man slumped down and buried his face in his hands, sighing heavily. "I fucked up," he mumbled.

Clara couldn't help it. She had always considered herself to be kind and compassionate and she somehow knew that the man in front of her could do with a little kindness. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. Slowly but surely he lowered his hands and looked at her, even though his eyes were having a hard time focusing on her.

"Hey, you look like you've had a rough night. Would you like me to help you find the hotel?" she asked quietly.

The man turned around and stared out of the window. The hotel sign could be seen from here. Then, to her surprise, he shook his head and lowered his gaze again.

"Too far," he mumbled, "Legs are jelly."

With a sigh Clara rose to her feet. There was only one thing left to do. She walked around the table and reached under the man's arm to pull him up, but she had greatly misjudged how heavy he actually was.

"What are you doing?" the man slurred and looked at her. The confusion was written all over his face.

"You can sleep in the back of the diner," she told him, tugging at his torso, "But I kinda need you to help me out here. I can't carry you."

Finally, for the first time since he had entered the diner, the man smiled at her and the expression somehow made him look boyish and a lot younger than he actually was. It was a sweet smile. Then he pushed himself up and both of them almost toppled over under his weight and that of the guitar. Clara caught her balance at the last moment.

"Sorry," he apologized, "Not at my best tonight."

"It's fine, now come on," Clara replied softly and together they started making their way towards the back of the diner where the owner kept a sofa in a small room in case he ever needed to spend the night here. It wasn't as comfortable as a real bed, but Clara didn't think the man would mind in the state he was currently in.

"What's your name?" she asked him when they had reached the door.

They paused so she could open it, but the man hesitated as well.

"Uhm," he stammered, "John Smith."

"Alright, John Smith," Clara reached under his arm again and he leaned on her with his entire weight, "Time to get you to bed."

Once they were inside the small office, John immediately sank down on the sofa and Clara helped him untangle himself from the guitar that she propped up a safe distance away from him. It looked expensive and she didn't want him to knock it over accidentally. She left his big right next to the sofa. When she turned back around to John, he was already lying down, his eyes closed. Once more she spotted the cuts on his face and with a sigh decided that she didn't want to leave them that way. The one just above his eyebrow looked like it was still bleeding a little.

"I'm gonna take a look at those cuts on your face," she told him, earning only a mumbling sound in reply, while she spun around and retrieved the first aid kid from the shelf.

Clara knelt down next to the sofa and drew the cap off the antiseptic spray.

"John?" she asked him, but he didn't respond until she nudged him softly.

His eyes instantly flew open. "Yeah?"

She granted him a smile. "I'll clean the cuts on your face," Clara told him gently, "It's gonna sting for a moment."

"Okay," John mumbled, but as soon as she sprayed the antiseptic on him, he winced and drew in a sharp breath. "Ow!"

Clara ignored him and wiped his brow with a clean piece of cloth before she taped a plaster over it. Then she sprayed more of the antiseptic on the cloth to dab his lip with it. It was already beginning to swell up.

"Ow," he growled.

"All done," she said and rose to her feet again, "Your friend landed some mean punches there."

Clara was about to turn around and leave when suddenly she felt John's hand around her wrist, holding her back. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but he still tried his best to look at her.

"Thank you," he murmured and closed his eyes again.

Clara switched off the lights and went back into the diner to close up for the day before she walked upstairs to where she was currently staying. It was a small flat, maybe even more of a broom closet than an actual apartment, but it would do for now. A look at the calendar told her that it had been exactly two months since she had arrived in this town on the south coast of England and maybe it was time for her to move on. Staying hadn't been her intention at all. Clara wanted to travel, which was the reason why she had quit her job as a teacher in the first place. To travel before it was too late.

With a heavy sigh she kicked off her shoes and clothes and sank down on her mattress. Maybe tomorrow she would pack her things and leave. Or the day after.