It was a typical day in the small London café. The rain pattered gently against the window and streamed along the glass creating a blurry view of the city before it. Beyond the window, people hustled and bustled about their business with umbrellas hovering above their heads. Even in the rain, the people busily flowed through the streets but the chaos failed to reach the doors of the café.

Inside a young waitress leaned against the counter, going through the motions. Wiping the already spotless mug while she sorted out the calendar on her phone. It was the 23rd of November. The next day was pay day.

It was peaceful in the café. A gentle hum from the small crowd. A small mixture of old friends catching up and seemingly important businessmen with the noisily fixing their papers. But the peaceful atmosphere was tainted with an air of sorrow. The source was clearly seen from the far corner of the room.

There sat the Doctor. The waitress lifted her eyes from the device to shoot the Time Lord a quick pitiful glance. Everyday he would come. The same time. Ordered the same drink and sat in the same seat. All he ever did was stare out of the window. Occasionally she would see him glance down to the floor across from him. She knew a grieving man when she saw one and knew it was for the best to leave him alone. She would leave a small free biscuit next to his drink. The first time she did he looked at it cautiously, sniffed it, nibbled on the corner before dunking the entire thing into his drink.

He came every day. She left him a biscuit every day. He never said thank you or showed any signs of gratitude. Just drank, sat and watched people pass by. Today was different. The waitress had returned her attention to her phone again for some time now, unaware of the grey haired man approaching the counter.

"A coffee to-go please."

She quickly looked up towards the Scottish man. Strange. He always orders tea - with an immense amount of sugar - and it was always one drink.

"Rough day, eh?" she asked placing a paper cup under the coffee machine.

"Hmm suppose." came a drifted reply. Although he was talking to her, his eyes were still fixated on that window. That window, there was nothing but pavement and scurrying feet out there. It meant nothing to everyone but this man.

"Who was she?" the waitress inquired causing him to break his gaze. "Or he." she added.

"Could I just have my coffee?" He sounded annoyed now but nevertheless a month of curiosity pushed the waitress forward.

"Must be someone special since you keep staring out of that window."

"I'm here for some coffee not a therapy session." His accent strengthening under his annoyance.

"Just trying to make some conversation." defended the woman.

A heavy silence hung between the pair, only to be broken by the sound of steam escaping from the machine. Swiftly the dark liquid filled the cup.

"Would you like some cream or sugar with that?" She already had the sugar ready to go.

"Just sugar."

"You're quite the sweet tooth."

"Hmm."

It was like drawing blood from a stone.

"Will that be all?" There were so many questions burning inside her about this mysterious man. Yet for the sake of his privacy she kept them buried down.

"Yeah." He shoved his fist into his pocket and drew out a few notes. Not even looking at their value he placed them on the table before turning the leave.

"Wait!" called out the woman. She reached under the counter and withdrew a small wrapped biscuit. "Almost forgot this."

She gave him a wide smile. Hoping it would tell him it will be okay, not to give up. The corner of the Doctor mouth raised slightly and he took the treat from her hand.

"Thank you." he said softly then a brief pause. "And yes. She was special, but she also made me feel special."

With those words he exited the café for the last time.

The Doctor walked down the street, clutching his coffee. He brought the cup to his lips, inhaling the scent. Remembering the first time this body had coffee.

"Do you want to go and get some coffee? Or chips, or something? Or chips and coffee?"

Suddenly he fired the drink into the bin. Too soon.

Fatigue from grief, he slowly opened the door to his ship and walked in. The TARDIS greeted him with her usual hum. He patted the console as the TARDIS took off. Where? Who knows. He didn't care where. Sitting back in his chair he heard her land somewhere. Not bothering to find out where, he just rested his head on his hand.

Moments later there was a series of knocking on the door. Slowly climbing out of his hole of self pity the Doctor looked straight at the TARDIS' doors. Another series of knocks followed by a male voice.

"Yoo wee!" More knocking. "Hello! Doctor you know it can't end like that. Hmm? We need to get this sorted and, eh, quickly! She's not alright, you know, and neither are you."