Chapter 1
"Let me guess. It was too beautiful to live?"
Clara frowned as she rescued yet another souffle from the evil clutches that was the kitchen oven. Hours of preparation and bake time, adding up to what? Another heaping mess.
"Yes." She retorted, shooting Angie a glare.
"Just face it, Clara. You can't cook."
But she was ignoring her, already opening cupboards in search for another mixing bowl, gathering her ingredients for the third time today. "I will be Soufflè Girl. That's a promise."
Angie just rolled her eyes and went back to her homework. "Can I watch telly now?"
"Not til you finish your homework, missy."
"But Artie gets to!"
"Because he finished his homework right when he got home from school like I told him to!" Clara gave her a look.
"Fiiiiiiiine. Could you at least make me somethin' to eat? Not a soufflè."
Clara sighed. "Fine. Spaghetti?"
"Whatever."
She grabbed a pan from one of the lower kitchen cupboards and filled it with water, before placing it on the stove and igniting the flame.
Then she walked away, soon giving up on her third soufflè attempt, and completely forgetting about the flame that was slowly radiating the house.
"Artie, Angie!" Clara called from her bathroom upstairs. "When the Doctor knocks, let 'im in! It's Wednesday and he'll be here soon!" She was dressed, her makeup was done, and she thought she looked pretty damn well. Not that she was trying or anything. Of course she wasn't. She just wanted to look decent. She never knew where the TARDIS might land them. She spun around once in her short brown dress, ran a hand through her hair, then nodded approvingly at her reflection.
"Clara," Artie called back. "You making another soufflè?"
"No!" She shouted. "Why?"
"Smell something burning!" Angie replied for him. "Dammit, Clara! You burned the pan."
Clara gasped, hurrying down the stairs and into the kitchen. The aluminum saucepan was singed, smoke rising from the top. The stove was still turned on, yet no flame was produced. She let out a cough, wincing through the thick tang of the gas that had been steadily leaking throughout the house for hours. She anxiously flicked off the stove. "Angie, Artie, walk in here. Slowly."
Angie walked in, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Great job, Clara. Great job."
"How did we not notice the smell before?" Artie pulled his shirt up over his nose.
"Neither of you move. Oh, and Angie, watch the language." She eyed her.
"Shut up, mum."
"Listen, both of you. Gas has been streaming through the house, which means the entire area is tainted. The tiniest spark. The tiniest amount of friction, anything as small as a plug bein' jostled or socks rubbing up against the carpet could cause the house to blow. All right? Just stay here. I'm gonna open the doors and the windows, and then we're all gonna walk outside. Just hang on a mo."
An expression of unexpected terror swept across the children's faces.
All three spun around at the sound of a door clicking. The Doctor strolled in, clumsy and careless, slamming the door shut behind him. "Hello, Clara, Angie, Artie!"
