A/N Since the Casanova miniseries is Russell T. Davies and David Tennant I like to imagine it counts as being in the Whoverse (especially since the Doctor lost a bet to Casanova and now owes him a chicken). Plus, it made me laugh to think about Clara realizing Casanova looks like Ten and making the Doctor explain why. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1 - A Normal, Human Holiday
The Doctor whirled around the console room; a true personification of delight. In the last couple of days he had flown with the Wright brothers, attended one of Newton's lectures on mechanics, and save the Garney people of Squelveseckie from a sentient and particularly carnivorous shade of purple. In short, he had had a full, and meaningful two days on his own, and meeting Clara now was not weakness or an inescapable desire for her company, it was just the logical next thing to do. The Doctor plotted his course carefully. Clara had been very clear about when he was allowed to arrive. He had to wait until the term was done. He was not to interrupt her in that stressful last month. He had already mistakenly broken that embargo and had taken her to a beach planet the weekend before. She had agreed because he promised it would be relaxing, forgetting of course that they were arriving during the traditional hunting season of the Portan (a race of crab like humanoids). As a result their holidays turned out to be less sun bathing and more running for their lives. As such, the Doctor really had to get the timing right this time.
His plan was to arrive first thing and land right in Clara's flat so that they didn't have to waste any time and could get right to the traveling part. He smiled to himself at the familiar sound of the TARDIS, knowing Clara would be doing the same. He could picture it already, that excited and expectant look she got at the start of an adventure. Her big eyes glowing, somehow made brighter than usual (although he could never quite believe that was possible). He stepped out of the TARDIS, arms already opening, expecting her to jump into them. Instead he received a well aimed pillow right to the face. "Oi, what was that for?" He rubbed his nose and looked over at her. He seemed to have landed in her bedroom. Clara was sitting up in bed with messy hair and very tired eyes.
"It's half six!"
The Doctor was rather pleased with himself, he'd arrived exactly when he intended. Clara, on the other hand, looked decidedly less than pleased. This confused the Doctor, "I thought you always got up at half six?"
Clara rubbed her forehead in frustration, "Yes, every school day. Sometimes it's even earlier. And on the days I'm not working I'm with you, and you're not exactly the sleep-in type. Doctor do you know how many days I've slept past seven since this term began?"
"26," he said assertively, having never really understood the concept of a rhetorical question.
"Oh," he was looking sheepish now.
"And you, you get to just come and go, where as I've had the most exhausting week of my life." The Doctor was about to interject, but Clara beat him to it, "Except for the time we got lost in the Forest of Dreams and the Sleep Field prevented us from getting any rest, yes I know. But this was the last week of the term, it was a week of marking exams, writing reports, and conferencing with parents. In short, mentally and physically exhausting, and I just needed a break."
The Doctor was ringing his hands nervously, "I could come back in a few hours. Or tomorrow, or something."
Clara shook her head, "I'm already up. Besides, knowing you you'll find away to arrive even earlier, you'd probably get here at 4 in the morning if I let you go." Clara stood up and stretched. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt he suspected she'd stolen from the wardrobe and shorts that barely covered her...
"Doctor, I think your eyes are stuck," Clara said with a smirk.
The Doctor's cheeks turned a deep red at being caught staring. "No... I mean... I was just... shut up." Clara was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. He looked back, puzzled at her expression. Finally it hit him, "You need to wash up and get dressed... So I should... go."
"Just wait for me in the TARDIS. And don't go any where, who knows what that might lead to."
After a nearly unbearable, excruciatingly long 15 minutes Clara entered the TARDIS. She was dressed in her usual leather jacket, cotton dress, and tights, and carried a small, red suitcase. "All set? Ready for an adventure?"
She smiled at him and seemed about to say yes when suddenly she stopped and changed her mind, "No."
"Oh..." the Doctor wasn't really sure how to respond to that.
Clara's voice was reassuring, "What I mean is, I'm ready for a holiday."
"That's what I said."
"Noooo it's not. Doctor, I'm stressed, I'm overworked, I'm tired, and I would like one trip that doesn't involve running from, being captured by, or investigating aliens. I want to go site seeing, visit art galleries, drink nice wine, eat good food, and sleep in. I want a normal, boring, human holiday."
The Doctor considered this. His expression akin to what Clara imagined her friends would look like if she offered them a trip to Jupiter: not immediately dismissive, but still trying to wrap his head around the idea. "Venice has all of those things."
Clara let out a sigh of relief, "Venice, perfect! I've always wanted to go."
Her enthusiasm returned the Doctor to his usual excited self, "Then you have to see it in the 47th century. It's all underwater by then and has some of the best sea food restaurants of all time. And you're even served by fish! Which I guess might seem a little gruesome, but—"
"No. Stop. That is not a normal, human holiday."
"They do have humans. Some humans."
"Doctor, I want present day Venice. Nothing timey wimey, just Venice, today."
"But it's December." Clara raised an eyebrow. "If you're going to see Venice you really must go in the spring."
"Fine, spring. But of this year, got it Chinboy?"
"You're the boss."
The wheezing, yet hopeful sound of the TARDIS rang out as it materialized at their destination. Clara looked utterly delighted. "Well go on then," the Doctor said, pointing towards the door.
Clara seemed to skip her way there. She pulled the door open and just stared. "Perfect," she said wistfully as she walked out, knowing the Doctor was close behind. She gazed dreamily at the buildings and the canal, practically dancing her way through the streets. Her hellish month soon forgotten in the tranquil scene that surrounded her. The Doctor's gaze was only on his Impossible Girl, at the fluttering of her steps and the way her eyes lit up with every new sight that greeted them. She loved outer space to be sure, but Clara was one of those people who saw the magic in everything. So the Doctor didn't fear this 'normal, human holiday', didn't worry about going domestic or being bored, because if she was here he knew he wouldn't be. Clara linked arms with him and her voice called him out of his inner musings, "I didn't realize how well preserved the city was."
"Oh yes, they've done..." the Doctor trailed off as he took in the buildings. They were... a bit better preserved than they should have been. Something was off.
Clara didn't seem to notice, she continued to wind her way through the streets. It was early morning and there were only a handful of people out, all of them dressed in period clothing. "Bit touristy, isn't it? Suppose they get more business if they look the part. I know I said sight seeing, but I'd love to see all the small haunts too. Meet the locals."
"Yeah," the Doctor wasn't really listening, he was still trying to place exactly where and when they were, although he had the sinking suspicion that he knew.
The pleasant alleyway they were wandering through ended at a small courtyard surrounded by a short brick wall that came up to the Doctor's hip. He took one look at the courtyard and pulled Clara down so that they were both hidden behind the wall. "Okay, so I may have gotten the timing wrong by just a smidgen." She raised an eyebrow. "It's the 1740s."
"That's a rather large 'smidgen'."
He smiled sheepishly, "Not to fear, we can just pop back to the TARDIS and we'll be on our way." He made a move to crawl the way they had come, but Clara pulled him back, "Hang on. Why are we hiding?"
"Hiding? No, we're not hiding-"
"Alright then," Clara began to stand up, this time it was the Doctor's turn to pull her down. "So why are we hiding?"
"I prefer to think of it as remaining unseen."
Clara rolled her eyes, "Who is it that shouldn't see us."
The Doctor could tell he wasn't going to get out of this one, "Casanova," he grumbled.
"Casanova?! Giacomo Casanova? The Chevalier de Seingalt?" The Doctor motioned for Clara to keep her voice down. "Why are you hiding from Casanova?"
The Doctor rang his hands, "I... I owe him a chicken."
"It's a long story. I lost a bet."
Clara burst out laughing, "A hundred million Daleks and you don't bat an eye, but the thought of giving up a chicken has you cowering in fear," she was shaking her head, her expression a mix of admiration and disbelief, "you're completely mad."
"That's why you like me," he said with a wink. He hadn't meant to do that. He glanced around, partly to insure Casanova wasn't in ear shot, and partly to give himself some place to look other than Clara's inviting face. "So, present day Venice. You're ordinary, human holiday. You ready?"
"Yes. But I want to see Casanova first," there was a wicked grin on her face. The Doctor looked anxious and continued to ring his hand. "I just want a peak. It won't give you away. He doesn't know what I look like." She stared at him imploringly.
"Very well," he relented, "but try not to be seen."
Clara smiled broadly, "Where is he?"
"Standing by the fountain."
Clara got up onto her knees and peaked over the top of the wall. She instantly sat back down, an anxious look on her face, "Doctor, we've got bigger problems than losing a chicken. You're standing in the courtyard. We've crossed your timeline."
This did worry the Doctor. He quickly glanced around the square before returning to his hiding spot, "Where do you see him... well, me?"
"By the fountain."
A strange look passed over the Doctor's face, as if he was beginning to put it all together and rather wished that he wasn't. "Which me is it?"
"The one before you; the tenth one. The 'hero'," she added, calling him back to the time the three of them had shared.
"And is he currently dressed in teal coloured silk robes?"
"Yeah, far cry from the usual brown suit and sand shoes."
The Doctor stared in front of him avoiding Clara's eyes. "That's not me," he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly, "I never came to Venice as Ten. That's Casanova."