Thank you for the lovely first reviews :) I'm glad I've got your attention once more. Now, let's see what happens next. . . or more accurately, what happened before John stepped into her diner.

Chapter 2

"They deserve to be happy!"

He scoffed and shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't want them to be happy, it really wasn't, but he had already lost too much, too many people. He just couldn't pretend to be fine with it, couldn't pretend to laugh or smile with them. Instead he had grabbed a bottle of whiskey and retreated to the coast to drown his sorrows. Until Jack had found him.

"Doctor!"

"What about my happiness, huh?!" the Doctor spat back at him and he realized his words came out terribly slurred. He glanced at the bottle in his hands and then down the cliff he was sitting on. Nothing but sand and water beneath his feet. He threw the bottle as far as he could.

"Please, Doctor, come back to the party. Everyone's asking about you," Jack almost pleaded with him. He sounded worried. Well, it was too fucking late for worry now. They should have started a long time ago before everything had gone wrong. His friends were the only thing that still kept him going. He couldn't bear to lose them.

The Doctor scrambled back into a standing position, swaying on his feet before Jack grabbed him by the arms. His friend laughed at him.

"On second thought, you should probably go to bed," he said with a smile, "You can congratulate them tomorrow."

"Don't tell me what to do," the Doctor barked in return, struggling free of Jack's grip, "And don't touch me!"

"No, because someone needs to tell you to stop acting like a prick!" Jack replied angrily, "For years you've tried to stand between them, intentionally or not. It has got to stop!"

"Why?" he glared at Jack, taking a step back. His head was so fuzzy that he could barely focus. "Why is it so hard to understand that I need them?!"

"You don't need them! You're just a selfish bastard and you need to let them go before they hate you for it!"

Before the Doctor could think better of it he darted forward and threw himself at Jack with all his weight. He lunged and landed his fist right into Jack's face. However he wasn't strong enough and his friend soon shoved him away and the Doctor fell backwards while Jack towered over him.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

The Doctor made another attempt to attack, but this time Jack was quicker and a blow hit him right in the eye. He groaned with pain, but he wasn't willing to give up just yet. The Doctor scrambled back to his feet and was ready to throw himself at Jack once more.

"Doctor! No!" he heard him scream and then everything happened to fast for him to understand. The next thing he felt was that he was falling as his body tumbled down the cliff.

When he woke up there was nothing but pain. In fact, he was fairly certain that there wasn't a bone in his body that wasn't aching and yet he still considered himself lucky after the fall. It could have easily ended in broken bones. But that wasn't it, was it? There was a stale taste on his tongue and the pounding, throbbing ache behind his temples. The hangover. Of course. He was used to heavy drinking, but last night he had gone a little overboard. Last night. . . last night.

He opened his eyes and for a moment he had no idea where he was. Where? How? He couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried. The only thing he could vaguely recall was a round, pretty face smiling down at him. It might have been a dream.

He lifted himself up into a sitting position and looked around the room. His guitar was there and so was his bag, the only two things he needed now. And the woman hadn't been a dream. She had served him dreadful coffee and chips and he had told her his name was John Smith. Well, it was what it said on the ID in his bag. As good a name as any. From now on he would be John Smith.

A knock on the door tore him out of his thoughts and he raised his head to watch the pretty waitress from last night enter the room. She granted him a soft smile.

"How is the hangover?"

John snorted. "Great. I never want it to leave. Love the feeling of my skull exploding around my brain."

The woman crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Sarcasm. That's good," she replied, "Although I would have expected a thank you rather than a snarky comment."

"Sorry," John mumbled and lowered his gaze.

"There's a bathroom through there," she told him and nodded towards the small door next to the sofa, "I'll make coffee in the meantime."

The door closed behind her and John decided to follow her advice. Slowly and limping a little, he made his way into the bathroom. It was small, but it held a sink and shower and John decided that he could do with a really hot shower and change of clothes. He stripped out of his dirty suit and noticed that his body was covered in cuts and bruises from the fall, but he also found a surprise when he glanced into the mirror. The wounds on his face had already been taken care of and there was a plaster right above his eyebrow. The waitress must have put it there. She had been nice to him, kind and John wasn't sure he actually deserved it. He was a prick and a bastard, just like Jack had said, even more so because of what he was going to do than what he had done in the past. But he couldn't see another way out of this. He had tried fighting, now there was only flight.

Clara wasn't entirely sure that the man she had taken in last night and the one that walked out of the back office were actually the same person. The shower seemed to have done wonders for John Smith. He had also changed his clothes from the dirty suit he had worn last night to something very simple and elegant: a crisp white shirt, black pleated trousers and a dark coat that stood in stark contrast to his silver hair, paired with clean Doc Martens boots and a pair of classic Wayfarers. He looked almost handsome like that and the only thing that made Clara certain he was still the same man was the slight limp that had probably been caused by the fight.

"Too cool to take your sunglasses off indoors?" she remarked as she poured him a cup of coffee.

John sat down on one of the stools at the counter and instantly reached for the mug. "Mhhh, this is good," he said, "Good coffee."

Clara smiled to herself and she couldn't even explain why. Maybe it was because the man had seemed so beaten last night and now, thanks to her, he looked a lot better.

"Thank you for letting me sleep here," John said after a moment, "I, er, I don't normally get that drunk. Drunk, yes, but not that drunk. I must have been a pain in the arse."

Clara shrugged in response. "I've seen worse," she replied, "You seemed sad mostly, which is the only reason I did it. I don't take in stray dogs otherwise."

John raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. "I'm a stray dog now?"

"You looked like one with the puppy dog eyes you gave me."

He let his head sink and Clara heard him take a deep breath. She reached for the plates on the counter and shoved one of them in front of him.

"There, you should eat something. The ham & eggs here are good," Clara told him and grabbed a fork to get started on her own portion.

"Thanks," he mumbled and reluctantly started to eat, "You work crazy shifts here by the way. Night shift yesterday, morning shift today."

"I switched with a colleague. Didn't really want to explain to her why there's a stranger in the back office, sleeping off his drinking spree."

"Ah," John uttered and a light smile appeared on his face, but he didn't say anything else. Clara grew increasingly curious about the man who had stumbled into her diner out of nowhere. Who was he and what had happened to bring him here? That look she had seen on his face last night, it just wouldn't leave her alone. John had seemed so broken and so lonely and she knew that particular feeling well.

"What will you do now?" Clara asked him, "Will you go back to your friend and apologize?"

Slowly John shook his head. "No, I'll never go back. I'll leave. In fact, I'll leave today."

"Leave?" she enquired.

John raised his head and somehow Clara knew that he was looking right at her despite the sunglasses. "The country. Go somewhere else. Far away from here," he explained.

"And where?"

It was the sort of thing Clara had had in mind when she had left London. Leave the country. Vanish. She hadn't care much about where the journey would go as long as she could leave. Well, she had only managed to come as far as Dorset.

"I don't know," John shrugged, granting her a soft smile, "Norway sounds good to my ears. Lovely landscape, not many people. In fact, it sounds ideal. I should get a motorhome. Do you know how the ferries run from the UK to Scandinavia?"

Clara laughed in response. The man was utterly crazy or desperate or still drunk. She wasn't entirely sure.

"You can't just rent a motorhome and take the first ferry," she laughed. It was crazy.

However, John frowned at her. "Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because what?" he asked, still wrinkling his forehead.

Clara exhaled sharply, not knowing how else to explain it to him. Then again, why would she even try to tell him that it was impossible? "Look," she said instead, "I know that feeling. I know what it feels like to wanna run away. Trust me, I tried. I ran and look where I ended up? It never works out the way you want it to."

"Come with me then," John prompted her, "Have you ever been to Scandinavia?"

"No, but I can't," she laughed in response. Technically she could, but that didn't mean she was going to. She wasn't going to run away with a stranger just because he offered her a ride out of town.

"What is your name?" John asked her in all seriousness.

Clara sighed. "See, that's one of the reasons I can't come with you. I don't know you. You could be a rapist or a murderer."

To her surprise John only shrugged. "I could be. That's definitely a risk."

"See, that's not exactly reassuring-" she tried to say, but John interrupted her by gently placing his hand on top of her own.

"I'm going to leave with or without you. There's nothing that can change my mind and nothing that will stand in my way," he said earnestly, "But I'm rubbish on my own. I get grumpy and drink too much and I'll probably end up in trouble. I know it doesn't mean much coming from a complete stranger, but you have nothing to fear from me. You were kind to me, you helped me out last night. If you really want to run away, let me help you with that."

Clara hesitated for a moment and the touch of his hand was beginning to tingle on her skin while her heart was starting to beat just a little faster. She could do it. She could run away with him, mad as it seemed. Maybe this was it? Maybe this was the chance she had been waiting for ever since she had stranded here? Clara wanted to get away, so why not with him?

"Clara," she said eventually and pulled her hand away.

"I'm sorry?" John asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"My name is Clara," she explained, "And I have to wait until my colleague arrives at noon before I can leave."

A broad smile appeared on his face when her words had finally sunk in. "Is that a yes?"

"No, it means you can come back in the afternoon and ask me again," Clara told him, "Maybe I'll say yes."

Still grinning happily John jumped up from his stool. "I will," he said, "I will come back. Just give me a few hours to find a motorhome and the ferry routes to Scandinavia."

Without saying another word he grabbed his bag and slung his guitar back around his shoulder and hurried out of the door, making Clara doubt her decision once again. This was either her best chance of ever leaving this godforsaken town or a very big mistake.