"Honey, I'm home." Three words he'd dreamed of saying everyday after a grueling day of work with a kiss on the cheek and embrace of a tight hug. And he did get to say them, a few times for a few years, yet that daily gift was violently stripped from him. But now he had a tiny baby girl to come home to, and now he had you.

"Hey, I'm home," Ford announced as he walked in the door, setting down his briefcase and taking off his suit jacket to sling over the back of the couch. The sounds of a random t.v. station and lullabies in a different room that he walked into so many nights had become nostalgic ones for him. Ones he associated with his daughter, and now with you. He stepped further into the house, running his hand through his blonde hair as he sat down at one of the kitchen barstools. He picked up a glass of scotch and slowly took a sip. He used to pour the glass for himself every Friday night, until you noticed the habit and decided to do it for him. He looked up at a couple of pictures that had been stuck to the fridge, one of which was you holding up Clara in the air, a huge smile on both faces.

You'd been Clara's babysitter for a year now, since his wife had died in childbirth. You had become such a key and integral part of her life. Of Ford's life too. You took such good care of both his daughter and himself, but you were so much younger and so much freer than him, and he refused to tie you down like that, no matter how he or Clara felt about you.

It wasn't long before you stepped into the kitchen, and instantly that subtle smile grew into an unashamed one. "Is Clara all set and asleep?" Ford asked in his almost unexpectedly soft but deep voice, setting his glass down.