Phil Hughes leaned forward and rested his forehead on the glass display of the wall-mounted jukebox, smearing its greasy surface even further, and studied the albums on offer balefully. He listlessly raised one hand up to the controls and flicked glumly through the selection on offer. The usual crap; Abba Gold, greatest hits of the Beatles, the Spice Girls... all that happy-clappy rubbish.

Phil didn't want cheering up. What reason had he to be happy? His eye caught the big heart cut inexpertly from red cardboard stuck to the wall just above the jukebox panel, and the words carefully printed in its centre:

'Happy Valentines Day. 14th Feb Special, all spirits £1 a shot 5-7PM'

"Happy Valentines' Day!" he snarled to himself, resisting the urge to tear the offending heart from the wall and rip it to shreds. "Screw that..."

He went back to hammering at the jukebox, and finally happened across a song suitable for his mood. He slipped a pound into the slot, swore when the machine spat it out - today was one of those days when absolutely nothing worked - slammed it back in with enough force to make the barman look up with a frown, and stepped back. Guitar chords started to chop through the air as the tune started up. Phil turned around and swayed back to his seat, muttering the words to the song under his breath as he went.

"Can't get used to losing you, no matter what I try to do, gonna spend my whole life through... lovin' you..."

He half sat, half fell into his seat and clutched at his half-full pint glass of lager. No, not half-full, he decided; half-empty. Today was definitely a half-empty day. From here on in, he was definitely going to be a half-empty person. He snorted cynically and took a long gulp. Half-empty, right. With Hayley out of his life now, he might just as well be a totally empty person. Without her, what else was he?

He drained the rest of the glass with a single swallow, realised it was empty and staggered to his feet to get another. How many was it he'd had now? He flapped a hand. Didn't matter. He wanted to get drunk, and by God, that was what he was going to do. He lurched towards the bar, head buzzing, the song echoing through his mind.

The place was largely empty, which suited Phil down to the ground. What he needed was quiet drinking time to himself. To help drown the memory of her. What a mess. What an almighty, godawful mess...

There was one other guy at the bar. A youngish looking man with a thick mane of unruly brown hair was perched on one of the barstools. He wore baggy tan trousers and a long coat that gave him a curiously theatrical air.

He was gazing forlornly into a half-full - half empty, rather - pint glass, and to Phil's surprise, he was singing along with the tune Phil had selected from the jukebox. He had a surprisingly good voice, clear and strong with a hint of accent. Scouse, Phil reckoned.

"I'll find somebody wait and see..." A faint ironic smile slipped across the man's lips; "Who am I kidding, only me... 'cause no one else can take your place..."

Phil suddenly found himself joining in, and their voices drifted sadly across the empty bar. "Guess that I am just a hopeless case..."

Their eyes met, and the man frowned for an instant before breaking into a friendly but melancholy smile, which Phil couldn't help but respond to in kind.

"Good song," Phil blurted.

The man nodded in agreement. "A very good song. And this is an excellent version of it."

Phil sank onto the stool next to the man. "You a fan of the Beat, then?"

The man took a swallow from his glass and smacked his lips. "I love the Beat!" he declared, and began ticking titles off on his fingers. " 'Mirror in the Bathroom', 'Too Nice to Talk to', 'Jeanette'..."

" 'Tears of a Clown'..." added Phil.

The man nodded vigorously, face alive with delight. "Definitely 'Tears of a Clown'!"

"Wow," slurred Phil. "And I thought I was the only guy in town who'd even heard of the group."

The man laughed. "Feels that way sometimes, doesn't it?" He held out a hand. "I'm the Doctor, by the way. What are you drinking?"

Phil shook his hand. Being a fan of the Beat impressed him as it was, but offering to stand a round was something else as well. "I'm Phil. I'm drinking Stella, cheers."

The Doctor raised a finger and the barman appeared with a fresh pint for Phil. He didn't order another for himself, but raised his glass in salute nonetheless. "Cheers."

Phil took a long swig, then wiped the foam from his top lip. "What brings you here then, Doctor, er...?" he asked.

The Doctor shrugged, seeming to ignore the unspoken question about his name. "Same as you, I suppose. Drowning my sorrows." He swirled the brown liquid in his glass and smiled wryly. "Except I rather fear mine have learnt to swim."

Phil chuckled, swaying unsteadily on his stool. "Yeah, but it can be fun trying to drown 'em, eh?"

The Doctor gave him a surprisingly stern look. "There's nothing good about drowning, Phil. I've tried it, and it isn't a nice experience."

Phil grunted and took another pull from his glass. "I'm a strong swimmer," he muttered.

"That's what I thought too," the Doctor murmured in reply. He carefully placed his glass back down. "Come to that, there's not much good about alcoholism either."

Phil giggled. "You really are a doctor, aren't you? Well..." and Phil suddenly stifled a gassy belch that threatened to break from his lips, "Don't you worry none about me, Doc. Why should you care if I don't?" he slurred with cheery indifference.

"Care? Care?" The Doctor blinked at him. "Of course I care..." Moodily he picked up his glass again and started twirling the fluid around the glass again. "Sometimes I wish I didn't..."

Phil leaned forward precariously on his stool. "What's your problem then? No, don't tell me, let me guess... girl trouble, right?"

"Sort of," he admittedly quietly.

"Same boat," declared Phil. He started to wave his arms around him, nearly overbalanced, and stopped before he fell off. "Why do you think I'm here? That's why we're both here." He snatched up his glass and chinked it against the Doctor's in a cynical toast. "To lost love!" he slurred.

The Doctor managed a watery smile. "Indeed..." He took a sip from his glass, then set it down with a faint grimace. He wasn't sure yet if this new body of his was quite up to good old fashioned English ale. He'd hate to have to give up his CAMRA membership. It had taken the Brigadier so long to get him to join as well...

The music had changed, the juke box playing Phil's next selection. Roy Orbison launched into song and the Doctor felt another pang. It wasn't only the TARDIS that was getting sentimental in its old age. Phil hummed along with the tune, rattling his fingers on the top of the bar in time with the beat.

"Only the lonely..." he intoned mournfully, then declared "Another good 'un."

"Yes," sighed the Doctor. "A lovely chap, too. Such a shame about his wife and family." The Doctor straightened his shoulders. "Puts things into perspective, thinking about it..." He took another small sip from his glass. At least she hadn't died... that would have been unbearable. Good old TARDIS, saving the day...

Phil gazed at the Doctor uncomprehendingly for a moment or two, then said: "How'd you lose yours then? Did she give you the elbow as well?"

"What?" The Doctor blinked at Phil in surprise. "No, no... we parted on good terms." Phil snorted sarcastically into his glass, making his lager froth. The Doctor shook his head. "I assure you, there was nothing wrong."

Phil narrowed his eyes craftily. "Yeah? Why you so cut up then? If you're still friends and all..."

The Doctor sighed and closed his eyes. How could he make him understand? More to the point, how did he understand himself? Leaving Grace in San Francisco had been a huge wrench at the time, but he'd told himself it was down to the regeneration. He'd always been over-emotional after regenerations. But after a short while, and his metabolism stabilised, he could no longer put it down to that. There was more to it... and it frustrated him that he didn't know what it was.

Though he had a sneaking suspicion. And that suspicion both terrified and thrilled him.

But he couldn't go back.

Could he?

The Doctor cleared his throat and shook those thoughts from his head, deciding that the best way to forget about his own troubles was to get involved with someone else's.

Just like he'd always done.

He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, and gave Phil a warm smile. "Forgive my manners, Phil. I've been too preoccupied with my own troubles to ask you about yours. What's brought you so down in the dumps?"

The corners of Phil's mouth twitched towards and he suddenly found the pitted surface of the bar more fascinating than anything else in the room. "Girlfriend dumped me."

The Doctor looked grave. "I'm very sorry. Known her long?"

"Three years..." Phil's face was twitching slightly, as if something beneath was struggling to get out. "Have you ever... you know... met anyone you thought... well, you know... thought... she was the one? You know, just... known..."

The Doctor's eyes flicked briefly across to the other side of the bar, a distant, sad look across his face. "I think I have... but it was a while ago." He returned his attention to Phil, the look passing. "Was that how you felt about, um, what did you say her name was?"

"Hayley," Phil said, and the Doctor knew from the way he spoke her name that he did think she was the one.

"What happened to break you and Hayley up?"

"I was late..."

"Is that all? I've been late for lots of things, dates included!"

"Two hours?" Phil managed painfully.

"Ah," replied the Doctor. "Yes." Even as a Time Lord he appreciated that even a brief time delay could cause unimaginable suffering. Especially in humans, most of whom ran their lives by the clock.

"We had a little tiff. Can't even remember what about now. Something stupid." Phil leaned heavily against the bar, looking sick and pale as the memory came back. "Yes I do... we were going to the cinema. Catch that new film, the one with whats-his-name in. Hate that bastard now. My fault. I take the blame. I always cause the arguments." He took another gulp of lager. "Mainly 'cos I'm late..."

"It's easily done," the Doctor soothed. "What happened then?"

"We split. And then she told me she met someone else. On the train, of all things. Coming back from work the other day." He laughed, a high nervous sound. "He only lives ten minutes away from her. Perfect match! He shares more of her interests than me too... better looking... better job... better money..." His face writhed into a furious expression that was more self-loathing than hatred for anyone else, and he snatched up his glass and downed half its contents in a single swallow. "Bastard," he snarled, and the Doctor felt sure the boy meant himself and not his rival. "Two hours... two lousy hours... all I had to do was pick up the phone and call her... all I had to do..." He tugged a mobile phone from his belt and slammed it onto the bar. "Forgot to charge it up, didn't I? Stuck in traffic, rain pissing down... her stood outside waiting for me to pick her up... in her new coat... no brolly... what was she to think, eh? What?"

The last word came out as a sob, and he buried his face in his arms. Awkwardly, the Doctor patted his back.

And as he did so, he gained a very strong impression of things as they were; and things as they might be.

Phil Hughes was no genius; he was no super-human. He was just an ordinary, run-of-the mill guy, with ordinary, run-of-the-mill interests and fancies. Someone to whom you'd hang the epithet 'nothing special'. But there was no such thing as 'nothing special' in the Doctor's eyes. The lad's unhappiness wounded the Doctor as surely as if he'd stabbed him with a knife. The Doctor realised how deeply this matter affected the lad, and how deeply it would affect him in later life.

He saw bitterness and detachment. A joyless existence, with nothing to hope for, nothing to look forward to. He saw loneliness, and that was the most unbearable facet of all.

"Never that," the Doctor murmured. "Never loneliness. I'd not wish that on my worst enemy..."

He came to a decision. He could never go back, but Phil...

Resting a hand on Phil's shoulder, he leaned forward to murmur in his ear. "Phil, listen carefully... can you remember the exact time when you split up? Film showing time, that sort of thing..."

Phil slowly raised his head from the bar, and squinted at the Doctor through reddened eyes, then started fumbling through his jacket. "Yeah... got it in me diary... lot of good it'll do..." He paused and regarded the Doctor suspiciously. "What do you want to know for?"

The Doctor gave him a huge grin. "Ever believe in second chances, Phil?"

***

The weathermen had got it wrong again. "A pleasant evening with a calm breeze and only a slight chance of showers later on", the grinning idiot on after the six o'clock news had declared. The wind lashed another curtain of icy rain towards her and Hayley Forrest shivered, pulling her new black suede jacket around her closer and huddling back closer into the limited cover of the shop doorway she was sheltering under, and swore softly under her breath. The weathermen weren't the only ones who were unreliable.

"Bloody hell, Phil, where are you?" she groaned, flicking a damp strand of blonde hair from her face and snatching a peek at her watch. 7.03. Three minutes late. And what a night to pick to be late on. She'd run for the cinema herself, only he'd told her he'd pick her up and take her to the pub round the corner first. She'd need a drink after this. Brandy, most likely. She shivered again and scowled. She bet David wouldn't have been late on a night like this. No, instead she could have dashed round to his house, or got her dad to give her a lift down there. David wouldn't have left her shivering in a shop doorway. She still had his phone number in her pocket. It wasn't too late, and she had promised - sort of - to call him sometime.

Maybe that sometime was now. She was damned if Phil was going to let her down again.

"Hayley!"

A voice echoed down the street, and through the rain she saw a figure splashing through the puddle-washed pavement towards her.

"Phil?" she called, disbelievingly.

He squeezed into the doorway beside her, closing the big umbrella to make more room and accidentally splashing her as he did so. She squealed, and brushed at her already dampened coat.

"Sorry love," he said with cautious cheerfulness. "Weather for ducks, eh?"

Thunderclouds weren't only brewing in the sky. A big one was brewing in her brow. "Where've you been? And where's the car?"

"Er..." A blank look came over his face. "It's..." He suddenly felt very vague about things, for no reason that he could quite determine. He dimly recalled a drink - no, a few drinks - a big room with lots of... shelves? And a strange bloke in a funny jacket. What was that about?

A big drop of rain struck his face and he blinked, memory kick-starting again. The funny bloke and everything else faded from his mind. All he knew was that he was glad to see her. So incredibly glad, in fact, he wanted to punch the air. But he restrained himself.

"It's broken down! Had to get the bus. Sorry love," he repeated, taking her hands and looking her in the eye, suddenly very serious. "It's really good to see you anyway. I mean, really good."

There was an intensity in his look that made Hayley slightly uncomfortable but rather gooey at the same time, and she felt colour rising to her cheeks. For all his faults - punctuality being the worst of them - he was a good bloke, and always meant what he said. "Yeah, well... it's nice to see you too. How are we going to get home?"

Phil giggled suddenly, the intense look replaced by a mischievous look that she was also coming to know well... and love. "We'll hoof it... just like that film. You know!"

To her delighted dismay, he sprang back into the street and performed an inelegant dance that was more Malcolm McDowell than Gene Kelly amidst the puddles, singing in his cheerfully dismal voice, "Singin' in the rain... just singin' in the rain... what a glorious feeling, I'm ... happy! Again!"

He reached across and pulled her, laughing, into the street with him. He popped the umbrella up to cover her and they embraced clumsily, still laughing together.

"You're mad!" she giggled.

"That's why you love me!" he responded gleefully.

"I dunno," she replied dubiously, but there was a twinkle in her eye. All thoughts of David suddenly evaporated from her mind...

They kissed, briefly, but just long enough for significance's sake. Then he pulled apart from her and took her arm, dragging her down the street with him. "Come on! If we hurry, we've just time for a quick one!" He winked at her. "And if you're lucky, a drink too!"

"You what!" she laughed, running along beside him so she could slip her arm around his waist. He responded in kind, and pulled her close to him. Together, they dashed through along the pavement towards something better.

***

From the doorway he was sheltering under across the street, the Doctor watched the pair scamper into the night with a smile. He raised a hand, licked his forefinger and then flicked it downwards through the air. "Chalk up another victory," he muttered happily to himself. He looked up into the night sky and grinned. "I'm sure you won't mind just one more little kink in the great scheme of things, eh?" Sure, he was bending the laws of time a little... but he didn't think in this case it mattered much, and nobody was ever likely to find out. Especially not the Time Lords, who wouldn't have given a fig for the love life of a couple of vapid humans.

But he did.

Still, better safe than sorry. He stepped out of the doorway, opened his own umbrella and started off after them at a leisurely pace. Just to make sure everything was okay... after all the trouble he'd taken, he ought to make sure that nothing else went wrong. He mentally thought through what he'd done to make sure there were no pitfalls. He'd taken Phil back to the TARDIS okay, and got the right co-ordinates, and then landed in the right time and place... he'd dealt with Phil's memory of recent events through the addition of a certain chemical to his 'one for the road' drink in the TARDIS, so that wasn't an issue... and the guy on the train, well, with any luck, she'll never look twice at him again after this. Sorry feller, the Doctor thought guiltily. But Phil was there first.

But there was something else. Something he'd forgotten...

He paused on a footbridge overlooking the main road into town. It was static with cars, undoubtedly the traffic jam Phil had referred to earlier in the pub. Cars... the Doctor shook his head. All that pollution...

He gazed down among the ranks of rain-lashed vehicles, sharp eyes flicking from driver to driver - and froze, colour draining from his face.

"Now I remember!" he cried.

One of the drivers was Phil. He did not look happy.

He'd look unhappier still if he met himself walking out of the cinema with his girlfriend.

The Doctor clutched at his rain-dampened hair and hissed panic-stricken: "Ye gods, the paradox effect!" He turned and started to dash back to where the TARDIS was parked. The effect could be catastrophic...

"One of these days..." he muttered to himself as he sprinted along the rain-lashed streets, "I'm going to regret allowing my hearts to rule my head!"

Once he was back inside the ship, he dashed around the controls, a blur of activity. As he did he shook his head ruefully. "The things we do for love..."

The TARDIS seemed to thrum briefly in agreement.

The Doctor paused, looked around him wistfully, grinned and patted the side of the TARDIS console affectionately. He was never alone when he was in here. How could he ever forget that?

"Come on, old girl... we've got work to do!"