[A/N:] Ok so this is my first attempt at a multi chapter fic. It's a pretty slow start (sorry about that) but I've got a lot of plans so please stick with it. Constructive criticism and advice is most appreciated, so please review.

Just to get the AU circumstances straight, everyone's human and there's so sci-fi stuff going on. It's going to be pretty domestic and fluffy. You have been warned.

Stay excellent.

[Disclaimer: I regrettably do not own Doctor Who]

"Angie! Artie! Get down here!"

Clara Oswald was running late. Which is to say that the entire Maitland household was running late. She was still in her pyjamas, rushing around the kitchen in an attempt to make up time. As Artie bounced in with a disgruntled looking Angie in tow, Clara flung two bowls of cereal on to the table for them.

"Toaster's still broken then?" Angie groaned.

"And the oven, and the microwave?" Artie added.

"Unless they've all magically fixed themselves, yes. Your dad asked me to find someone to fix... well, everything. You can live on cereal for a little longer."

Angie made a noise of annoyance and stomped over to the fridge, pulling out the milk.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were-"

Too late. Milk erupted from Angie's mouth and nose. She gagged several time before spluttering, "The milk's off."

"Yup," Clara agreed supressing a laugh. "Fridge's broken. Now finish your breakfast, we're late!" And with that she raced upstairs.

Within minutes she was careering back down with a book in one hand and a phone in the other.

"Homework," she said, tossing the book to Angie who rolled her eyes and disappeared outside.

"Mobile," she continued, handing it to Artie with her eyebrows raised.

"Car keys?" he countered. Clara dug into her pocket and dangled them in front of his face as she pushed him out of the front door.

"Please read to the end of chapter four by next lesson. I would tell you that you could read ahead if you so wished, but let's be honest; none of you are going to do that. Off you go."

As her students raced out of the door Clara began to pack up her things. After a long morning on an empty stomach, lunchtime couldn't have come fast enough. She was just about to grab her jacket when she heard a knock on the classroom door.

"Miss Oswald?"

Clara briefly buried her head in her jacket and whimpered before turning around.

"Hello," she sighed with a not-all-that-convincing smile. She was more than a little surprised to see a dark haired man lingering in the doorway. He was in his mid-thirties, and looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Nicholas Latimer, Digby and Francesca's father. I was wondering if we could talk?"

"I'd be more than happy to but I haven't eaten all day. I'm just going around the corner so we could walk and talk if you like." She shrugged on her jacket and started walking toward the door. He gazed at her with his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to speak. He suddenly noticed her close proximity, which seemed to make him nervous. He quickly stepped back from the doorway to let her through.

"Lead the way." She began walking towards the exit and he hurried to get level with her.

"What was it you wanted to discuss?"

"Well I don't know if you're aware but my ex-wife passed away recently-"

"I am. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. I appreciate that, but we had been apart for a long time. We weren't on good terms. I'm more worried about the children. They both talk about you. I was wondering if you had any idea how they're coping…"

"Honestly Mr Latimer, I wouldn't be too worried. Digby always seems pretty upbeat. As much as can be expected anyhow. He'd got a great group of friends who are really supporting him, taking his mind off things. Francesca's been a little withdrawn but that's completely normal. I was prepared to give her some leeway on her work but she hasn't needed it. I think she's throwing herself into it. That's good. It's good to have something to focus on."

They had reached the shop. Clara turned to look at Mr Latimer. He still looked uneasy.

"They're strong kids. Very strong and very bright. What they need more than anything right now is for you to be there for them."

"Thank you Miss Oswald." He ran his hand through his hair, processing.

"Clara." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll keep an eye on them."

Clara walked back to school with a sandwich, her mind bouncing between her next lesson, the Latimer children and the long list of broken appliances at home. She saw the old police box that marked the halfway point, just as she did every day. Since they had fallen out of use, this particular one had been adopted by students for the occasional discreet rendezvous. Clara had less than eloquently dubbed it a 'snogging booth'. It was also used by locals as a bulletin board, and was coated with flyers and posters. As she approached it a strong gust of wind tore a flyer from the wood and blew it directly into Clara's face. She stumbled, wrestled it off and glanced at it.

"John Smith. The Doctor. Handyman."

Clara smirked and pulled out her phone.