The men shuffled into the room. Names were called out and they peeled off to stand behind sheets hanging from the low beamed ceiling. The medical station had suffered some weather damage and was being fixed, so the new recruits were being examined in the mess hall instead.

"Miller!"

Thomas marched over to the waiting nurse and sat patiently on the edge of the bed while she took his blood pressure and examined his throat. "In light of your recent…history.." said the nurse, wincing sympathetically, "Your medical status has been downgraded from A1 to A3, with a caveat regarding any strenuous or difficult tasks. You're still in excellent physical health though!" she added brightly. As if that makes a difference.

He was tired. It wasn't just from lack of sleep; he hardly slept at all any more, and when he did manage to get some, he kept waking up at an ungodly time in the morning. He was tired all the way down to his bones, a deep-seated sadness that was forever threatening to swallow him whole.

He'd point-blank refused his mother's insistent invitation to stay in Farringham, preferring to throw himself headlong back into the loving arms of the armed forces. Fighting Bosch might help take his mind off things, but, more than anything else, he desperately wanted to help bring down as many of the German bombers as possible so that nobody else had to suffer.

The RAF had taken one look at his service record and put him down for medical personnel. After the breakdown, someone had been clever enough to get their hands on a copy of his doctorate and Thomas's promising army career was shut down. Now that they knew they had a certified doctor they weren't going to waste him by allowing him to shoot.

Or fly a plane for that matter. Thomas supposed that was a good thing; there were days when he felt like throwing himself off something very, very tall, and crashing a plane would certainly achieve the same effect. He didn't seem different; a little more reserved, a little quieter, but still capable of holding a conversation. It had been a while since he'd really let himself laugh.

The newly-minted RAF medics took turns showering, then dressed in their new colours and lined up on the parade grounds to be introduced to their commanding officers. Thomas took a pace forward when his name was called, and a tall, dark-haired man in a captain's uniform walked over and said "At ease."

He'd fought for the right to fight. He'd clawed tooth and nail, first in Canada, then France, for the honour of being allowed to fight alongside the rest of the sensible people. Along the way Jack Harkness had earned the rank of captain.

He made it to Britain, to the RAF, and got to work. He'd put together a good team: bright young things, the stars and stripes still glowing in their eyes. Jack prayed they would remain that way. He knew that they wouldn't.

He stood upright and watched as the thin line of medical officers marched across the field, uniforms crisp and well-ironed. He eyed a few likely lads as everybody stood to attention; each man stepped forward as their name was called and they were whisked away to their new quarters.

The crier had reached the 'M''s and Jack tried to remember the personnel file he'd been shown a few days before. A young man, twenty-five, with an impeccable service record until a psychological breakdown lasting -six months? Jesus Christ!

He'd been reluctant to take on such a seemingly volatile case but he had decided to give the poor guy a break. "Miller!" hollered the sergeant, and Jack's misgivings disappeared as a blonde, handsome young man stepped forward smartly.

Jack walked over to the corporal. "At ease" he said, glancing the young man over. The recruit wore the uniform well; he didn't seem unbalanced, just a little melancholic behind the purposely blank stare. He studied the young man's face and noted the deep purple bags under both eyes, the only other indication that anything was amiss.

"Captain Jack Harkness, 133 Squadron" he put out his hand and the other man shook it. "I read your personnel file; I'm sorry for your loss." The young man nodded curtly, unsmiling. Jack stopped as they reached the awaiting car, eyed his new colleague up, and sighed.

"You looking for revenge?"

Thomas's shoulders slumped. He seemed to crumple slightly, glancing wearily back at his new commanding officer. Jack had never seen someone look so exhausted before. "I'm not looking for revenge sir" Thomas admitted. He looked down, shook his head, and looked up again. "I just want this all to stop".