Chapter One-Southampton

Clara Oswin Oswald, socialite and spitfire, stepped out of her carriage lightly, but reluctantly. The smells of the harbor accosted her suddenly, making her crunch her nose in obvious disdain, and her brows furrowed neatly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight her large brimmed hat failed to subdue. People, mostly of working class origins, were bustling about in preparation for the departure of the RMS Titanic. A few model T cars, including the one Clara descended from, shone brightly like gems in the sea of brown and grey rags of the surplus amount of plebeians. Her face, a perfect image of tan yet unblemished skin, turned into a blank canvas as her future husband, Caledon Hockley, came around the back, carrying a number of bags. Clara regarded him with cool appraisal and for the first time looked up at the gleaming white superstructure of the Titanic rising mountainously beyond the pier and into the clear sky.

Clara huffed. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look much bigger than the Muaretania." She would know. She sailed on that ship just a few years prior with her mother, Eleanor 'Ellie' Oswald and a select group from their bridge community. Cal snorted in response. "Clara, stop being so blasé about it. The Titanic has squash courts, a Parisian café…" He opened the door once more and Ellie Oswald stepped out, dressed in a conservative yet highly fashionable maroon gown.

"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable." She, just like her daughter, viewed the ship with a snobbish disinterest. Cal repressed the budding feeling of annoyance at the Oswald women. "It is unsinkable!" He cried almost indignantly, "God himself could not sink this ship."

The three gave their extensive number of bags to the porter who had been shadowing the wealthy company, and, with Cal in the lead, began the walk to the first class gangway. Clara screamed inwardly at the way in which Cal weaved between vehicles and handcarts and pushed aside those dressed in less expensive suits than the one on his back. Yes, most humans were flawed, Clara admitted with a rueful grin no one caught, but Cal was most definitely a gilded soul; sporting a kind and chivalrous façade while harboring a corrupt and tarnished spirit.

The man in question looked back at his darling fiancé. Her measured look sparked anger in him once again, but he quickly suppressed it as Ellie returned to his peripheral vision. "Here, Clara, I've booked us on the grandest ship in history, in the most luxurious of suites, and you act as if you're going to your execution." His voice was tense, yet still cordial.

Clara refused to acknowledge him. Ship of dreams, indeed.

…

The Doctor was a clever fellow. Really, in all of time and space, he had never met anyone as clever as he. Except maybe the Scholarly Worm Deity on Nebula Alpha 007, in which case he had met someone as clever him. The Doctor was, then, the cleverest and most handsome fellow he had ever met. (The Scholarly Worm Deity, in all his splendor, did not really get the long end of the stick in regards to looks) Sometimes he enjoyed playing with people just to showcase his intelligence. Yes, it was one of his worst faults, but sometimes it was just fun to play a few games now and then. Besides, sometimes he would teach the people he subliminally tormented, and wasn't one of his jobs to teach people? He was a professor in many intergalactic universities, so of course the answer would be yes.

Currently he was situated in a bohemian bar, the smell of smoke and sweat drifting through his nostrils and around his green eyes. He ran a hand through his mop of hair and adjusted his tweed jacket and bowtie as a sign of comfortable dominance. In front of him sat two rather unintelligent fellows, Olaf and Sven, or Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, as he mentally referred to them as. They had agreed to sell him their tickets to the Titanic if he and his companion, the everly-bellicose Strax, defeated them in poker.

"Doctor, I really do not see the purpose of playing these insolent boys in this Earthly game of mundane dueling. We could easily transport ourselves onto the ship using your TARDIS and avoid wasting our time with these low-intelligence vermin." Strax huffed in his disjointed manner of dialogue. Olaf and Sven laughed at the peculiar looking fellow, completely ignorant to what the alien had said. The Doctor laughed and rubbed Strax's bald head affectionately.

"Strax-y," the Doctor drawled happily, a lopsided grin splashed across his face, "But where's the fun in that, eh?" Besides, the Doctor added inwardly, he wasn't quite sure he would be able to just hop into the TARDIS and transport them right onto the ship. Sure, he could summon her once they got on board the Titanic, but he didn't have the best aim when it came to landing the Old Girl, and he feared he might end up on the Titanic spaceship instead of steamship. "Hit me again, Tweedle Dee." The Doctor said jauntily. He took the card from the Russian and looked at Strax, who avoided taking another card. In the background, the final warning whistle of the Titanic blared. The Doctor took that as his cue.

"Well, the moment of truth boys." At this point, he could barely contain himself. "You know," he said, leaning forward on the rickety table separating the two parties. "I have this rule. It's my Rule Number One. The Doctor always lies." Oh, really, it was getting too good at this point. "But I think I might change that. So, Sven, Olaf, Dee, Dum, Strax, I have adopted a new number one!" He placed the cards down on the table. "The Doctor always wins!" Olaf and Sven slammed their fists down on the table, and Strax collected the acquired money and tickets. The Doctor danced around the table, kissed both foreigners on the crowns of their head, and ran out of the bar towards the leviathan ship.

"Doctor!" Strax shouted as the two were running. "Really, tell me the point of playing that insidious game while we could have just eliminated the human boys and taken their tickets from their cold dead bodies." His request made the Doctor stop and turn around. A dark and sad look was cast over his face like a cloud, and Strax regretted asking almost instantly.

"Strax, I don't know what you know about the Titanic and what happens to it, but let me tell you, it was better I won those tickets off of them. You can't change certain points in history, but sometimes you can cheat. Sometimes, you can save just a few souls."

Another blast from the Titanic's horn made the two run forward past the inspection queue and onto the ship, where they waved goodbye to the people back on the mainland.

"Right, Strax, I have a homing signal on my sonic, so I'll be off to look for a safe place where I can teleport the TARDIS so we can be off whenever we like, after a little exploring of course." The Doctor said, a childish look of excitement on his face as he wrung his hands together. Strax sighed and nodded, saluting to the Doctor walking giddily away.

…

Clara situated herself in the Millionaire Suite comfortably as hand maids and valet boys shuffled about her, making the ornate almost apartment sized room hospitable. The room was decorated in the Empire style, with lush carpets and velvet furniture surrounded by a pale red wall ornately decorated with gold and silver. Clara, perched on a beautiful yet uncomfortable armchair, was scanning through a novel by Amelia Williams called Summer Falls.

Cal, who had been out on the covered deck to oversee the placement of every piece of shrubbery and outdoor furniture, turned around to make sure his fiancé hadn't run off already and groaned at the sight of her reading. "Those books are nothing but a waste of time, darling."

Clara cleared her throat and made a show of turning the page. Her voice, however, was cool and calculated, the complete opposite of the storm brewing inside of her. "You are utterly wrong, Cal. They're fascinating. The books are told like they're dreams… everything is so anachronistic, but it seems so true, and yet it defies reality and logic."

Cal sighed and rolled his eyes. "Williams will never amount to anything, trust me. At least they're short and you can get over with them quickly if you care to."

A knock at the door signaled in another porter and a set of cronies carrying a heavy silver safe. Cal looked at their parcel delightedly. "Put that case in the wardrobe." The small band of men nodded and hustled into the room, with Clara's handmaid, Jenny, behind them. Jenny was a girl plain of appearance but large of heart. She had a pale complexion and Anglo features, including a thick mop of brown hair and a thin frame. Her brown eyes shone bright with excitement as she went over to Clara and assisted her mistress in standing.

"Ma'am, doesn't it smell brand new? Like they built it all just for us. I mean… just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first…" Her thick accent quivered in her excitement.

Suddenly, Cal appeared in the doorway of the room. "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first." His innuendo made Jenny blush, and she quickly made her exit. Clara fought to keep the bile from building up in her stomach as he came over and wrapped her arms around her possessively. As if she was his property, his slave. "The first and only, forever." He nearly whispered, kissing her temple.

My, Clara thought, was the future bleak.

…

Professor River Song, known during the age of the Titanic as the Unsinkable Melody, stepped onto the dock and looked back at the men carrying her bags. He was a spindly fellow, yet horribly out of shape. Short successions of inhales and exhales came from him noisily as he regained a steady heart rate from the sprint he had to endure to keep up with River. "Well, Sweetie, I wasn't going to wait all day for you. Take the bags the rest of the way, if you can manage."

She saw the porter walk off in the direction of her cabin and sighed. Time to find the Doctor.

…

The Palm Court Restaurant was a formal dining room in a relaxed sense of the word. The French styled doors opened up onto the outside deck, allowing the sea breeze to perfume the air and sunlight to stream in and cast the first class socialites in an appropriate golden hue. Although well decorated, the Palm Court Restaurant was by no means the most lavish; the walls were a pale crème color and the dining room furniture lacked any styling besides the intricate lace doilies and table cloths.

"Well," the builder of the ship, a surprisingly humble man by the name of Andrews, said, "I may have knocked her together, but the idea for the ship was Mr. Ismay's." He gestured over to an aging fellow who was laughing genially. "He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is…" He slapped his calloused palm onto the table with a definite bang. "Willed into solid reality." The group of socialites laughed and smiled at the outgoing man. River, who was situated at the table, spoke up.

"Why, Mr. Andrews, are ships always referred to as a she? It is because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?" Her smart remark earned a laugh, and River hastily covered for her outlandish behavior by taking a sip of tea. Really, she was getting bored acting ladylike among these high bred women. Especially the one in that horrid maroon outfit and the mousy brown hair.

The young woman next to the old stiff, probably her daughter, hastily took out a cigarette and attached it to a filter pipe. The middle aged hag glared at her daughter. "Clara, you know I don't like that."

Clara. Oh no. River's eyes widened. That's not… her mind struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation she had stumbled into. That's not possible.

A gentleman nodded and snatched the cigarette rather rudely from Clara. "She knows." River watched the transaction from the corner of her eye and noted the hot tears that threatened to spill from the Impossible Girl's face. Only harsh training and well grooming prevented the deluge, River figured.

Her mind was racing as Cal ordered for Rose ("You like lamb, don't you sweetpea?"). She had never met the Doctor's companion, but she had heard stories of her before. The Girl Twice Dead. The one killed by the Daleks, and the one tragically lost in Victorian England. Both the same Clara, both dead because of their efforts to save the Doctor.

If he was here….

"Excuse me." Clara said, her voice quiet and barely suppressing her frustration. She got up from the table and hustled away.

Oh, dear.

…

The Doctor was sitting on a bench in the evening sun, though the calming rays did little to quell his anxiety. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he observed the wake of the Titanic spread out behind him into the vast horizon. Being on the ship was a challenge for him, no doubt. He was so conflicted. The Titanic was a fixed point in time. He could not change the events of the fateful night slowly creeping closer. And yet, just as he had saved Sven and Olaf, he wished he could save a few more without creating a paradox of any kind. In his thousand years of living, the Doctor had lost so many and failed to save almost all his companions and friends he had collected over the years. They fixed him, and he in turn showed them the stars, which in some ways fixed them as well, but their relief was only temporary, as without fail he would lose someone again. Just like Rose. Just like Donna, and the Ponds. Even Clara. The one he swore he would protect. He would not let her die, and yet he lost her again.

Something, the Doctor doesn't know what, seeing as he doesn't believe in divine luck, because the Time Lords invented the antiquated theory of it (he had, in fact, been at the meeting to discuss luck's creation) and everything happened for a reason. He looked up at her, and instantly felt his hearts stop. Up on the first class promontory deck stood a woman. Her shoulders were pulled back elegantly and her chin high, yet the Doctor could tell she was shaking from suppressed emotion. A nose that turned in such a way that her face looked like that of a fairy. A head of brown hair so glossy it felt softer than silk. And those eyes that he could see with his superior sense of sight (Amy's reading glasses be damned). Those eyes that sparkled and inspired mischief. He remembered looking into those eyes nearly every day.

Their gazes met across the space of the well deck, across the gulf between worlds. A man came up behind her suddenly and took her arm, only to be roughly pushed away by the woman. Suddenly, after an exchange of words, she stormed away and he followed, the pair disappearing along the A-deck promenade. The Doctor stared after them.

Clara Oswald.

His Impossible Girl.

On the Titanic.

…

Well, there's chapter one! I know it's totally AU, but I really could not resist the prospect of writing this after watching Titanic and marathoning Doctor Who in the same day. Maybe five reviews for the next chapter? Tell me what you think!

-livrich