How had this happened?

The Doctor flexed his left hand as he watched the barrel of the gun. A thin layer of sweat rested on his top lip as the tension in the room mounted to an unreachable peak. His chest was physically pulsing from the racing rhythm of his heart, and in that moment, the Doctor had never been so afraid in his entire life.

Not at the gun aimed at his head. No.

At the small, delicate hand gripping his upper arm, and the person who it belonged to, standing on his immediate right. The person who he would protect with his life because she was the most precious thing to ever walk the earth.

And he had dragged her into this mess.

Chapter One: A New Beginning

Clara Oswald had to catch a bus to her new job that morning, and for the fifth time in her life, she wondered why she never invested any time in driving lessons. Her skirt was uncomfortably tight in her attempt to look like a posh business woman with a fancy job, but as she shimmied her way through the crowds on her bus to get off at her stop, she was starting to question how anyone could dress that way every single day.

Of course, when she received the news last week that she had been given a job as a political researcher, she was more than ecstatic. The first thing she did was call up her father who, in his time, had worked in politics as well. If truth be told, Clara was only interested in politics because it was the last connection she now had with her father, who had been quite withdrawn and conservative since her mother died eight years previously.

The researching role was for the popular political party, Gallifrey. In the current coalition, they were the larger half. Dave Oswald – Clara's father – had been a backbencher for Gallifrey up until a few years ago. Clara had never wanted to be a representative, personally. She was far more interested in writing and researching than speaking for the masses and debating moral issues.

Gallifrey was one of three major political parties, but its main opposition lay in the form of their coalition partner – Skaro. As Clara walked down the street in her chunky high heels, she passed one of Skaro's large posters stuck to a billboard. Bright and impressive, it showcased the face of the new party leader; a man with a thin, pointy jawline and cold shadowed eyes. 'Walter Simeon' the caption read, 'promising you change through great intelligence.'

His gaze followed Clara as she continue down the street, and she felt like it was piercing her as she let herself into Gallifrey's main office inside the executive buildings. It was spacious and wide, decorated with red and gold, and even more posh and luxurious than she imagined. She made her way over to the reception desk in the centre of the foyer, where a bubbly woman with bright ginger hair was sitting on a black recliner, talking animatedly into the polished red phone. As she noticed Clara approach, she gave a large smile and lifted her finger, with a hushed, "One moment please!"

Clara propped her arm onto the desk and waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call.

"Yes, this is Donna Noble, how may I help you?" As she listened to the response, Donna's bright smile suddenly faded. She rolled her eyes. "For the last time Mrs Parsnips or whatever your name is, this is not the right department. No, no… Yes, I know that but – oh grow up, you stupid cow!"

Donna slammed down the phone into the receiver, turned to Clara with a brand new smile on her face, and said rather pleasantly, "What can I do to help?"

Clara blinked at her change of tone. Quickly, with a little shake in her voice, she said, "Sorry to trouble you, but I'm new to the research department and I –"

"Oh!" Donna exclaimed, looking down at a scribbled sticky note on her desk. "Yes, you're Clara Oswald! I was told to keep a look out for you. I'm supposed to lead you to wherever you're meant to be."

She stood up from her chair and brushed herself down, abandoning the red phone which was once again ringing.

"Are you sure?" Clara asked, slightly amused as Donna blatantly ignored the device. "You seem pretty busy."

Donna frowned. She pointed to the phone and the computer before shrugging. "What – that? Oh, no. Not busy at all. Being hassled more like." She gestured with a genuinely helpful smile to the corridor to the right. Clara fell into step beside her.

"I'm a temp from Chiswick, you see. Only doing this job to help out a friend," Donna confessed. "But what about you? How did you land a job as a researcher?"

"I really have no idea," Clara said honestly. "This is my first job since I left university a year ago. All of last year I was looking after two children for a family friend."

Donna grimaced. They stopped outside two double doors, and through the encrusted glass, Clara could see a busy office, alive with activity. Donna crossed her arms, quite happy to stand there talking all day. "That's generous! Can't stand kids, me. Wouldn't do that if you paid me, but I suppose –"

The door beside them gave a loud creak. Donna stopped talking and turned around as if the noise had physically offended her. A tall woman was standing in the threshold, with perfect posture, smiling politely, her green eyes landing on the chatty receptionist.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Donna," the woman greeted, with a small nod. Her tone was crisp but light.

"Sorry, Vastra," Donna said, giving a short chuckle. "I was just delivering the newbie. Making a little conversation." When Vastra didn't respond, Donna sighed. "Right, okay, I'll get back to work. Nice meeting you – Clara, wasn't it? If you need anything, come and see me."

Clara muttered a few words of thanks. Donna shot Vastra another carefree grin before striding down the corridor, calling out to some guy who had just disappeared around the corner. "Oi! Gustus!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "You owe me a fiver, you bloody miser!"

Vastra gracefully took Clara's hand and shook it, firm and steady. She opened the door and allowed Clara to step through. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Clara Oswald. I look forward to working with you."

Blushing, Clara's lips turned into a shy smile. She was about to respond when her eyes fell onto the scene in front of her. The office was in an absolute chaos, and bigger than she ever expected. It almost looked bigger on the inside. There were around five desks in total, all but one littered with stray pieces of paper, covered in remains of empty lunch boxes and take away wrappers. Bright windows emphasised the messiness of the room, with one window on the far left covered with layers upon layers of sticky notes. At the back of the room was a mahogany door, decorated with a small golden plaque, telling the name of someone Clara couldn't quite make out.

"This is the primary research department for International Development," Vastra announced with a wave of her hand. When Clara looked impressed, Vastra added, "Well, that was our intention. Lots of people come and go from different departments now. Organisation isn't our main skill. But this is where you will be working, Clara. The clean desk, the one beside John's door, is yours."

Clara raised her eyebrows as she glanced over to it. "John?" she asked.

Vastra frowned. "Yes. John Docherty. That's who you've been assigned to. Did you not receive the letter I sent you?"

"No," Clara said, alarmed. "Sorry, I only got a phone call telling me I'd got the job and where to go."

"Not to worry. I'm sure there's just been a mix up," Vastra reassured, although a hint of concern flashed in her green eyes. As soon as Clara noticed it, however, the tall woman placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and led her towards the mahogany door – John's door. "I'll introduce you to John, and then I'll leave you to it."

A wave of anxiety washed over Clara. She'd never heard of John Docherty before, but she was sure he was a highly ranked MP for Gallifrey. How would he react to her; a young woman, only out of university, without any sort of experience, taking a job that was extremely important to his future role as a politician? She didn't know the position was for a personal researcher when she had applied over a month ago. She thought she would be working as a team, for the party as a whole. What if he thought she wasn't good enough?

Vastra rapped the door three times and called, "John! Your new researcher is here."

"Ah, yes, hold on a minute, Vastra! I'm in a bit of a muddle!"

There was a loud bang from the other side and a small 'ow!' Vastra emitted a heavy, long sigh and shook her head in exasperation. Clara was suddenly intrigued – he sounded younger than she initially imagined. And less… serious.

The door clicked as John unlocked it from the other side. Vastra pushed her way through, gesturing for Clara to follow.

If Clara thought the office was messy, then she definitely wasn't prepared for the state of John's room. Hundreds of arch-lever files were stacked on one side, almost toppling over from the sheer weight. Books stacked on polished wooden shelves were left half open or piled in weird and wonderful organisations, overflowing from where they sat. A sofa stood just underneath the window, but it was too covered in pages and notes to be able to sit on it. The only tidy object in the entire space was John's desk, which held nothing but a computer and a few empty tea mugs.

Then there was John Docherty himself.

He was a tall man, taller than Vastra, but was gangly and almost awkward looking. He had brown floppy hair, flicked over to fashionable quiff, with the very ends curling inwards. His face was long and angular, with a square jaw which made his chin appear uncharacteristically big. His clothes were unusual too; he was wearing a blue shirt which wasn't tucked into his black trousers, and a curious purple bowtie.

Clara was taken back with pleasant surprise. Her first instinct, when she thought of a politician, was an old balding man with a stomach too large for his trousers. But John was the opposite – polar opposite of that. He was young, and handsome, and rather dashing if she allowed herself to admit.

He was also tangled in the wires of his computer, silver screwdriver in his hand as he stared at the technology, a comical confusion printed on his face. "I'm sure there's a loose connection somewhere, Vastra, I just can't seem to find it," he complained.

Vastra coughed pointedly. "Doctor, this is Miss Clara Oswald."

John nodded, only sparing her a sideways glance. It was as if something clicked in his mind, because this time, he spun all the way around to get a better look at her, pulling the wire of his computer too far. The monitor fell, screen first onto the desk, but he didn't even notice. With wires wrapped around his limbs, John took another step forward, his green hazel eyes wide as he stared at Clara, but apart from that, completely expressionless.

"This is Clara Oswald?" John asked for confirmation. "You didn't tell me she was – oh, sorry, I mean…. What do I mean?" He scratched his head, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. As if he was noticing the wires for the first time, John dropped his screwdriver and tried to unravel the wires from around his arms. When one of his arms was completely free, he held it out for Clara to shake, an enthusiastic grin spread across his face. Clara bridged the distance between them, accepting his one hand in both of her own.

"Lovely to meet you, Clara Oswald! I'm John Docherty – but everyone calls me 'the Doctor.' Well, only those close to me. You can call me it if you like." His grin weakened. "Not like I'm implying we're going to be close, for that matter. Not like I don't want to, just not in that – well, we've only just met and I –"

Clara found herself laughing, her own face growing increasingly warm. "Don't worry, I understand. I do."

Vastra's eyes were twinkling with a knowing glitter. "I'll leave you two to it, then," she said, hovering in the threshold.

They both listened when Vastra shut the door as she left. John glanced down at his scruffy appearance, and as Clara looked away, mentally swore at himself for not making a better effort to dress properly. Hoping she wouldn't notice, he started to tuck in his shirt. When Vastra had told him on Friday night as he was leaving the office, that she had picked the new researcher for the team, and she was to be assigned to him, he hadn't taken much notice. He hadn't even thought about it that much, really.

But as he stared at an uncomfortable Clara Oswald, who was clearly waiting for him to say something, he found that he couldn't stop staring. He didn't want to look away. She was around his age, maybe a few years younger, and impossibly pretty. Not noticeably pretty, no, she was the kind of pretty that made your head turn in the street to do a double take.

And now he was feeling flustered because he had stared at her too long.

"Can I – uh, get you a cup of tea?" he offered, shrugging his way out of the rest of the computer wires.

Clara gave him a dimpled smile. "Sure, I'd like that. Thank you."

"Yes. Of course." He licked his lips and walked back to his desk, peering into his stained mugs as if he was scared at what he could find. Was that mould in the blue one? He chose to abandon them and look for cleaner ones. He was sure they were somewhere in his office.

He was growing more and more aware of Clara standing in the middle of the room, on edge. He wanted to say something to her – anything – but he couldn't find the words.

Clara felt exactly the same.

"So," she started, watching as he searched for mugs in the bottom drawer of his desk. "You're the head of International Development?"

The Doctor pulled out two cracked and dusty mugs and tried to clean them with his sleeve. Now he had to locate the kettle. "Yes. Yes, I am. Cabinet minister, actually. Vastra, the woman you were talking to, is the boss of us all now. Newly elected leader of Gallifrey. " He chanced a glance at her, adding, "I don't know why she's so interested in my department all of a sudden to hire a personal researcher for me. Then again, I never understand why she's so interested in my personal life."

Clara considered this for a moment, a spark of curiosity lighting within her. "You're a bit young for such an important job."

"I could say the same to you."

Smiling, Clara felt her shoulders loosen as she began to feel more at ease. He seemed friendly enough, so far, and there was no commanding tone to his voice, which she expected from most political speakers. Even when she was younger, Clara had memories of her father talking to her in a debating manner when she had done something wrong, or didn't understand something.

Kettle in hand, the Doctor plugged it into the socket, while saying, "Everyone knows the brains behind the politician is the researcher."

As the kettle boiled, he walked over to his sofa and stared blankly at the mess. Shrugging, he decided to push the entire mass of papers onto the floor so that they had somewhere to sit. Through the pile of white and pink pages, the Doctor spotted a small blue box. He picked it up, beaming, showing it to Clara. "Ah! Found the teabags!"

It was at that exact moment Clara Oswald realised that John Docherty, MP, was the most eccentric man she'd ever met.

And she'd never liked anyone so quickly in her entire life.

When the tea was ready, he joined Clara sitting on the old sofa, an apology ready at his lips. He'd run out of milk and sugar so the tea was black. Clara insisted it was fine, despite her dislike for black tea, and for good measure took a hearty sip. She was transparent, however – John laughed at her as her nose scrunched up at the taste.

"You said people call you the Doctor," Clara prompted, breaking their comfortable silence. "Why is that?"

"Hm." He held the mug between his hands and rested it on his long knees. "Partly because my surname is Docherty. People started calling me 'Doc' for short. Then, when I became a Doctor of Politics, they lengthened it. That, and people like to think I can fix any situation."

Smirking, Clara took another sip of her tea. She studied his face for a while longer; his eyes were clear and kind, with just a hint of sadness there. He was very enthusiastic with his hand movements, as well. To emphasise a point he would fling his hands upwards, and even when he was saying simple sentences, his hands were still full of movement. Like he couldn't sit or stand still, because of he did, time might catch up with him.

"I probably won't be a very good boss," he said, grimacing a little. "I've never had a personal researcher before."

"If it makes you feel better, I've never been a personal researcher before, so I don't have any expectations. I guess I'm just here to help."

Something she said caused him to sadly smile while his hand brushed over his purple bowtie, like he was fixing it. He blinked slowly, staring right through her, as if her soul was visible on her sleeve. "Thank you, Clara Oswald," he said, with feeling. "I think that's exactly what I need."

The room was feeling quite hot under his intense stare. Clara got to her feet, handing him the half full mug of tea. She straightened her skirt, still feeling rather uncomfortable in her attire and clasped her hands together. "What should I do first? Where should I start?"

It took him a moment to catch up. "Oh, um." He stood up too, towering above her, almost a foot taller. "Let me think…"

He carried the mugs over to his desk and left them beside the old ones. Scratching his chin, he said, "You could research the meaning behind Walter Simeon's new slogan, if you'd like. I haven't had a chance to have a look at it yet since my computer is a bit broken."

"Right. Got it. Get to know the enemy." Clara took a mental note and slowly walked towards the door. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her with a wistful, misty glint in his eyes. She pointed to his computer screen to redirect his attention. "Shall I Google how to fix your computer, while I'm at it?"

John laughed and clapped his hands together. "Yes! That would be very helpful, thank you."

Without another word, Clara closed the door behind her. She leaned against the mahogany wood, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That hadn't been bad at all. In fact, that was better than she originally hoped. John seemed to be perfectly lovely, and even Vastra – the newly elected party leader – was more than considerate to make her feel at home on her first day. She could get used to working here.

As Clara started towards her new desk, right beside John's door, she felt a large, optimistic smile fill her face.

Note: Hello, hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This is going to be a highly fluffy, yet very dramatic AU. It won't be too politically heavy if politics isn't your thing, so don't worry about that. I don't own any rights to Doctor Who, just the story in which I base the characters. Reviews, follows and favourites would make my day – if people show interest, I will upload the next chapters more quickly. Thank you for reading!