Chapter Two: Manifest Destiny
The 19th-Century belief that the expansion of the United States was both justified and inevitable.
"So what, this guy just asked you to run away with him? And you actually said yes?"
Clara gnawed on her bottom lip, suddenly feeling anxious. "Stars Nina, it's not like we're eloping together."
"But you've only just met him!" Nina hissed, though Clara could sense a hint of excitement in her best friend's voice. She knew she shouldn't be making a call to London right now, as it was ridiculously expensive and the reception here was spotty, but Clara genuinely needed a second opinion. Had she truly gone insane? She had just agreed to let a complete stranger drive her across the country in the span of two days. Two days.
"I know, I know," Clara bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, for she was shaking at the mere thrill of this new plan, this wholly unexpected, completely non-sensible plan. "I've gone absolutely mad."
"He could be an axe murderer for all you know!"
"I seriously doubt that," she countered, pulling her coat more tightly over her shoulders. It was uncharacteristically chilly for a day in August, her breath escaping from her in tendrils every time she spoke. "And even if he was—which I'm absolutely positive he isn't—he got through TSA, so he's unarmed." If she were truthful, Clara couldn't even picture John wielding a butter knife, that's how positive she was.
Nina let out a long sigh, her breath catching the line like wind might the sail of a boat. "I just can't believe you actually agreed to it. You won't even make eye contact with the Salvation Army bell ringer during Christmas."
"Oi, you can't judge me, what about you?" Clara said in defense. When it came to strangers, her best friend and flatmate was prone to keeping and tending to them like they were house plants, or stray cats. She couldn't even begin to count the amount of times she had run into a half-dressed bloke shuffling through their fridge at eight in the morning, looking for eggs or milk or some kind of vegan substitute. Out of everything that Nina Porter had done in her life, Clara's current situation would lie on the surface of a never ending abyss.
"Yeah, but it's weird this time," Nina replied, her tone sounding genuinely confused. "You're the responsible one, not me!"
"Who says I'm being irresponsible?" the young traveler countered hastily, trying to justify her decision by means of stating the alternative. "I'd be late if I'd chosen any other option, and this is an important step towards a potentially blossoming career opportunity. If anything, I'm being responsibly adventurous!"
Nina scoffed through the phone, the sound physically disabling to Clara's increasing confidence in traveling with a stranger. Yes, she was adventurous, but on the safest and most primitive level. Flying by herself? No problem whatsoever. Ordering food in another language? A challenge, but certainly one she could overcome. Placing her trust in the hands of a man who's never before driven on American roads?
That was a new one. A risk, to put it lightly.
"So where's the ultimate Uber gone off to now, huh?"
Clara rolled her eyes. "He's fetching the rental car."
Craning her neck to catch a better glimpse of the arrival lot, she studied the vehicles waiting alongside the curb and wondered if any of them were John's. Everyone there seemed eager to leave, whether it be a band of flight attendants tiredly on the lookout for their hotel shuttle, or a small family of four anxiously awaiting their taxicab in the dark.
Similarly, Clara began to feel her patience wear thin as the clock struck twelve-thirty, Monday morning. Only a handful of hours before she was expected to walk through the doors of Wayfarer Industries, prepped and ready to go for her interview. Had John found difficulty in renting a car last-minute? Would they even get the chance to leave California at all, or had their window of opportunity closed before they'd even attempted to use it? Worrisome questions began to infiltrate her already worrisome mind, and it wasn't long before she began to doubt the entire success of the trip altogether.
"Are you scared he might have left you?" Nina asked. Clara glared into the darkness beyond the scope of the airport's eerie glow, as if her friend were lurking there, reading her every facial expression. She had a way of stating the exact fears that Clara herself could never admit to aloud.
"No," she snapped, scratching the back of her head. Of course he wouldn't have. They were in this together. "All his stuff is with me Nina, why on Earth would he have—"
Suddenly, as if her distress call had been answered by some spiritual force, a pair of white headlights turned the corner into the airport drive-way, all eyes slowly gravitating towards the thunderous sound of an engine that told Clara she was being given more than she had bargained for.
Her stare inching towards the vehicle that glided across the asphalt with an occult sort of ease, Clara found herself shaking her head in absolute disbelief. "Now that's just showing off."
Because John had rented a blue sports car, the kind you parked next to in grocery stores so thieves wouldn't think twice of keying your vehicle. The kind that Clara had only seen in films. But if anyone were to fulfill the starring role, it certainly wasn't her. In fact, as she met the gleaming hazel eyes of the man in the driver's seat, she realized that John had an intrepid plan of his own, and she was just along for the ride.
"It's a TARDIS!" he exclaimed from behind the wheel as he pulled up next to her, elbow propped up against the open window in a futile attempt to look nonchalant, but Clara could tell that he was a complete fanatic over his find. "A state of the art, real-life, actual TARDIS! Last one in the lot, too."
"I'm gonna have to phone you back, Nina," Clara breathed into her cell, ending the call and looking towards the vehicle that would transport her across America within the next two days. It was a two-passenger automobile, sleek and angular in places that made it look as if it could carve through time itself, and it was entirely theirs for the time being. If anything, she had expected something more conventional—a Toyota corolla, maybe—but not this. Definitely not this.
"So, what do you think?" John asked, popping out of the driver's seat and gesturing towards their ride in complete elation.
"I like it!" Clara said, trying to press the pedal on her enthusiasm over a topic she clearly wasn't passionate about. "It's...an appliance; it does a job."
John's face fell, and her expression twisted into one of slight discomfort as he said, "Yes, pretty cool 'appliance!' We're not talking cheese-grater here!" He smacked the hood of the car for emphasis, making Clara jump slightly. Something told her that whatever car he possessed back in London, it was more than just a vehicle. Perhaps it was even more intimate than a girlfriend.
"Well at least I know how to use a cheese-grater," she frowned, stepping off of the curb to closely inspect the rich shade of blue that was so spotless it held a mirrored image of her troubled expression. "Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?"
"Yeah! Just did, didn't you see me?"
"Yes John, everyone did. You went under the speed limit just so everybody could."
"Well it's not everyday you get to drive a luxury car," the man said, stroking the hood of the car rather endearingly. "And besides," he added, gaze affixed onto his shoes. "It's your first time in America. It's only proper you get the best seat to see it."
Clara pulled away from her reflection to meet his eye. Had he really put that much thought into their impromptu road trip? Backing away from the vehicle, she studied the TARDIS under a new light, seeing it as a promise of an adventure rather than an intimidating character of wealth. It was a nice car. And John had provided it of his own accord.
"The only thing you owe me, Clara Oswald, is your company."
Strange how she found such hospitality in someone she'd only just met, for reasons she didn't quite want to consider.
"Well then," she took a deep breath, pocketing her cell phone and giving him her best smile. "Let's make it a good one now, shall we?"
The way he beamed at her almost made her forget about the Wayfarer Interview. Almost. "That's the spirit!"
Together, the two travelers shoved their belongings into the back of the car, John slamming the trunk door shut before their suitcases could topple over. He brushed his hands on his trousers and beamed at his companion for a job well-done.
Clara grimaced. "That's gonna be hell to open up again."
"So what's a Londoner doing here in Frisco?" he asked, climbing into the driver's seat as Clara got in beside him, opening her carry-on bag and trying to locate the instructions she had printed. She contemplated how much she would tell him, for it was typical of someone to jump to conclusions when she told them that traveling was her proper job. Most didn't even see it as one, which was an opinion she didn't want to face, not tonight.
"I could ask you the same thing," she suggested, pulling out the instructions and stacking them neatly onto her lap. Three-thousand miles' worth of directions, all compacted into five pages of printer paper. "I'm here for work. You?"
"Same. Well, not really," he furrowed his brow, pulling out of the airport lot and onto the main road. "I'm working, just without the money bit. I'm here for a residency interview."
"Residency? As in med school?"
"Yep," John heaved a sigh, clearly not wanting to dwell on it. "Just graduated earlier this summer, been looking for places to work while trying to retrieve my sanity, though I don't think I'm succeeding at either one."
"I'm sure some place will accept you," Clara reassured him, though she knew nothing of his work ethic. But something told her that he would be an excellent doctor, just by the way he sought to comfort her in the most taxing of situations. "Why so far from home, though? Have you been interviewed in London already?"
"I have," he replied, watching as cars passed him on either side. "I've been hesitant on making a decision, though. Think about it! It's like ordering ice cream; there are countless flavors to choose from and you can only pick one. How do you decide?"
"Easy. I'd stay home," Clara replied, imagining herself in her flat back in London, with Nina, the Whole Foods just around the block, the familiar scent of her cherry blossom bed sheets. Because while she fell in love with all of the places she had visited, London would always be the anchor the reeled her back home. She couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
"Really? Even if you had the opportunity to go anywhere, see anything?"
"Oh, I've had that opportunity alright, it's why I'm here," she promised him, fiddling with her ring. Her mother had given it to her years ago; it was a constant reminder of what she was leaving behind every time she stepped onto a plane. "But...I have people who matter to me back in London. My family, my friends, those I care for and help out from time to time. I could never abandon them."
John tore his gaze from the road for a split-second to see the fervor that set itself deep within his companion's eyes, a fierce sense of loyalty that made his lips perk into a small smile. It was a saddened smile, the kind that made you question what you had said to trigger such an expression. But Clara felt as if she wasn't in the position to ask, and instead chose to admire the city beyond her window, the city they'd be leaving behind in a matter of miles.
San Francisco was a place that had seeped from a dream into reality. It was an appropriate balance of old and new, the steep, cobblestone streets and charming trolley rides blended into an intricate system of modern skyscrapers and lively piers by the bay. The tourist attractions, from the red arms of the Golden Gate bridge extended across infinitely blue waters, to the eerie, fascinating labyrinth of Alcatraz island, commanded her full attention, and left her properly depleted by the end of it. She hadn't even finished the handful of articles she planned to work on that week, for many of them only existed as ideas in her head, though most of them were jotted down in the notebook she carried. Perhaps these next two days would give her the sufficient time she needed to hash her thoughts out.
Then, as if her surroundings had managed to retrieve her from daydreaming, she suddenly realized that John had grown rather uncomfortable in his own seat. His expression was a mix of deep concentration and unrest, sending Clara to consider the worst. Had they run out of gas? Had she revealed too much of herself than he'd been willing to hear? Or had he decided that driving on the other side of the road for two days straight was a task too daunting, too impossible?
"John?" Clara asked, eyeing him worriedly. "Are you okay, is something wrong?"
He gave her a strange look, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel before saying, "I think I drank too much coffee before leaving the airport."
The young woman blinked, not understanding.
"Oh. Oh," she said after a moment, feeling a surge of relief. "Okay, well, there should be a gas station around here somewhere..." she presumed, flipping through her five pages of instructions. It had now dawned on her that she hadn't factored basic needs into this trip at all. Eating, sleeping, and using the facilities became secondary when Clara was under a great deal of stress, and the Wayfarer interview being three-thousand miles away was no exception.
"Uh...I don't have cell service out here, so I can't look up any directions," she admitted, looking out the window for a roadside directory. John jutted his chin out towards his phone sitting in the cup-holder.
"It uses facial recognition," he told her when she asked for the password, Clara awkwardly holding the screen to his face as the phone unlocked several pages of apps, most of which were completely unnecessary.
"What do you need a harmonica app for?"
"For serenading," he replied incredulously, practically squirming. "I'll have you know I play a mean solo in Billy Joel's Piano Man."
"Right," Clara said, not sure what to do with that information.
She located Maps and found the nearest gas station to be but a quarter of a mile away, both passengers on the lookout for their exit as Clara felt the weight of his phone in her hand. It was a complicated little thing, with its facial recognition and seemingly infinite amount of storage, and she suddenly wondered what other intricate pieces of technology John liked to surround himself with. Something told her that he took pride in the complexity of his belongings.
The blinking neon sign of a 7-Eleven beckoned the travelers off of the highway and into a surprisingly busy lot, John managing to park the TARDIS in between two massive pickup trucks before scrambling inside, his navigator right at his heels.
"Men's room is out of order, man," a grungy looking teenager said from his magazine at the counter. "Use the women's."
Clara saw him dart across the convenience store with about as much grace as an infantile giraffe, his shoulder grazing the crisps aisle as bags of barbecue and lemon-lime fell limply from their places on the shelves. Frowning, she went to go pick up after him, the slamming of a door somewhere around the corner reassuring her that he had made it on time. John was quickly turning into one of the most peculiar people she'd ever met, with his child-like flailing and attraction towards anything shiny or new. He'd certainly made an impression on her.
Grabbing a pair of iced coffees from the fridge, the young woman found herself slowly gravitating towards the thick collection of paperbacks by the toiletries section. She'd admittedly never purchased a book that wasn't from a bookstore or an online shop, for those found anywhere else tended to be saturated in romance and politics, topics she'd never been brave enough to sift through. But as she scanned the list of titles on the shelf, she found herself plucking one from the bunch out of sheer curiosity.
Withering Rose, the cover read in silver embossed lettering, below it a blood-red flower on the verge of wilting away. The image was so vivid Clara could feel its soft petals beneath her fingertips. What intrigued her the most was not the author's name but a lack thereof; the book was published anonymously, not a trace of belonging on its finely-printed face. It almost reminded her of herself, of Oswin. Her own form of anonymous.
"What's it about?" John asked from directly above her shoulder, Clara yelping as she threatened to smack him with the small but surprisingly heavy volume. The young traveler sighed upon realizing that it was only him, and couldn't help but notice all of the snacks he had gathered into his arms since the last time she had seen him. Either they were collecting hitchhikers on their way to New York or he seriously believed he could eat four packages of graham crackers in two days.
"I...uh..." Clara stammered, trying to reorganize her thoughts. Lowering the book from its defensive position, she flipped it to its back cover, where the synopsis had been printed. "It's about two time travelers who gallivant through time and space, until they're suddenly separated by walls of opposing but parallel universes. They're faced with the unnerving challenge of finding their way back to one another."
John crinkled his nose. "Sounds silly to me."
"What's wrong with silly? Still talking to you aren't I," Clara retorted dryly, relieving him of two boxes of graham crackers and a Toblerone. "I think it's sweet. It'll give me something to romanticize about for the next two days."
"Yes, but I would think it nice for you to live in the moment," John debated playfully as they both made their way to the cashier. "We're gallivanting across America here, Clara Oswald! It's like Manifest Destiny, except backwards."
"You're not actually comparing America to a fictional realm of inter-space time travel, are you?"
"Yes. No," John shook his head as they dumped their food supply onto the counter, where the raggedy teenager had begun to scan each item at a snail's pace. "Though I'm still not entirely convinced; who are these time travelers? Are they good, bad? Human, ginger?"
"Well maybe I just might tell you," Clara smirked, slapping the book onto the counter and fishing a twenty dollar bill from the waistband of her yoga pants. "If you let me return the favor this time 'round."
They departed from the 7-Eleven with an armful of plastic bags in tow, Clara retrieving from their stash her precious new novel, which she had begun to read before they'd even made their way back to the car. "It's about a nine-hundred year-old alien from space in the form of a dashing young bloke in a pinstripe suit, and a blonde shopkeeper from the Powell Estate," she confirmed as John piled their purchases into the TARDIS, the man nearly banging his head on the roof as he turned to face her, wide-eyed.
"Nine-hundred?" he gawked. "Blimey, no wonder he has no fashion sense," he spat in distaste, taking from her the last of the groceries and tossing them into the mix.
"Says the man who wears a bow-tie and suspenders to an eleven o'clock flight."
"Oi, bow-ties are cool, okay?" he said defensively, haphazardly adjusting it to prove his point. "You don't have to be wearing a pinstripe suit to be a dashing young bloke."
A coy smile broke out on Clara's face before she began to laugh, a true, genuine sound that made John the tiniest bit proud of himself, if not a little confused as she asked, "Is this what you do?"
He was thrown as a set of dimples deepened on either side of her lips. "Eh?"
"Is this actually what you do?" she laughed triumphantly, circling the car as if she had just now discovered its true purpose. Perhaps it was the mere prospect of being invited on this road trip, or the book that had somehow managed to give her ideas, but she found this entire scenario to be rather ridiculous. "Do you just, crook your finger and people just jump in your snogging vehicle and fly away?"
John was appalled. "It is not a snogging vehicle!"
"I'll be the judge of that," she said with a smug smile, brown eyes twinkling as they met his across the hood of the TARDIS. John propped himself up against it as he tried to meet her eye-level.
"Starting when?"
Traces of bewilderment and awe passed over her face, Clara descending into momentary silence as she pondered over how, exactly, this man had managed to capture her from page one of what was sure to be the most unexpected few days of her entire life. And yet, despite all the organization and planning, she was willing go along with the unexpected for once. See where this road would take her.
"Starting now," she told him, opening the door to the passenger's seat and climbing in.
A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this chapter and the previous; traveling has always been an amazing experience for me not only through writing but in real life as well, so I'm very grateful to be sharing this story with you. These past few years have been full of changes and new, exciting experiences, some of which I hope to integrate into this plot. Next chapter, we will find out just how different our two travelers are from one another...
Again, thank you to all who are reading this, and I hope you have a lovely week!