A/N

Leaving this message ahead of time, this is based on the context of The Weeping Angels of Mons comic story. If you haven't read it, you'll probably miss out on the context of this.

Old Soldiers

"I took Douglas Adams to this place once. He somehow got the idea it was at the end of the universe."

Gabby wasn't listening.

"In actual fact, the Spiral Spinner is located in the fourth arm of the Rectangulum galaxy. Bit dull. Nothing really interesting happens in Rectangulum, except the Dodectron Migration."

Gabby wasn't listening.

"The food, though, that's exquisite. I was wearing a different face at the time (not to mention different tastes in clothing), when Doug and I." The Doctor took a bite of the scallop-esque things that most certainly weren't scallops, but rather creatures that only grew 1000 metres below the surface of the oceans of Meris XXI. "Mmm. Still good. Teeth are different, but tastebuds are the same. Last face I had, one worn by Baldy, he'd have never been caught in a restaurant like this, thought it was below him, but…Gabby?"

Gabby wasn't listening. And when the Doctor asked her as such, she responded completely, truthfully, honestly, and all other matter of adverbs that were banned on Vocabulus V.

"I'm listening," she whispered.

In truth, she did none of things. Lying would have caused her execution on planets ranging from Veritas II to Solumswartreth, but those planets were located on adjacent edges of the universe, where the food was terrible, and were thus avoided by liars as much as everyone else. In the Spiral Spinner, she could lie to her heart's content.

In addition to lying, Gabriella "Gabby" Gonzalez was doodling. Something that people might have considered rude, considering that the man opposite her had put in a booking at the Spiral Spinner 100 Terran years ago, even if the time between said booking and their arrival was a mere ten seconds. The Spiral Spinner was a trinary-class restaurant, where the rich, (in)famous, and powerful spent entire lifetimes and fortunes to attend. Even sontarans and rutans had dined here together once before they'd massacred each other due to a disagreement about soup.

Also, unlike every other restaurant in the fourth arm of Rectangulum, it provided doggy bags.

But instead of eating, she was doodling. And had someone been at the table, inside the sonic shield that prevented any sound bar that of a staff member from passing through, they would have heard the Doctor say the following…

"I'm starting to think you're not alright."

"I'm fine."

"I'm also starting to think you're a liar."

"Everybody lies." She looked up at him. "I bet you're a liar."

Perhaps the person standing inside the sonic shield would have guessed that Gabby Gonzalez didn't mean what she said, and that person would have been correct. They might have also taken stock of the Doctor's silence, and guessed, incorrectly, that no lies escaped his lips. That as he took a bite of bread that was spread with polymemetic butter, as it danced upon tastebuds that had never quite got adjusted to the new teeth, that it was proof that only good things came in, and nothing bad came out.

They would not know that the human girl had the right of it. A man who changed faces as often as the Doctor could not help but tell a few lies over his nine centuries of life. That there was a face he had sworn to forget, worn by a man who had made his promises lies. The man who'd fought in a war across time and space, a war to end all wars, and had failed to do any such thing.

But that didn't matter. The main courses had finally arrived. One might say that, after surviving the battlefields of World War I, after surviving humanity and angels alike in a time where Man's better angels had yet to prevail, that one was entitled to a good dinner. Everything from rononash from Orbaplon VI (medium rare, of course), to karatosh from the hanging gardens of Hydroponics Station 147-A, to chips from Earth. Because no matter how the peoples of the universe felt about the Fourteenth Great (sort of) and Bountiful (hardly) Human Empire, there were some gifts that humanity had to offer the wider universe, and among them was chips.

Fish too, though the human girl did not appear to be enjoying her main course of grilled salmon. Granted, it wasn't really salmon, but a genetic recreation of salmon down to the 99th percentile after salmon went extinct in 235,125 of the Terran calendar, but still, salmon. Not even the chips were helping. And while he was a liar, the Doctor was not unobservant, for centuries of travelling the stars had taught him that there was always something else to see, and something else to notice.

So noticing that his latest companion was less interested in the salmon, and more interested in doodling in her notebook, he asked her the question that only one with his centuries of experiences could. A question designed to cut straight to the heart of the matter and find the truth within.

"How's the fish?"

"It's fine."

The Doctor said nothing. He knew that anyone who said "it's fine" or "I'm fine" like that was in reality saying the opposite. Once, not too long ago, he'd stood in the rain and told a young but wise man that he was fine. The man he'd told that too, a man who looked older than the Doctor but was anything but, had easily seen through the deception.

"If you'll give me a sec."

The girl named Gabby got up and made her way to the toilets. All of them were equipped with reconfigurative technology that not allowed the feces of over 9,323 classified body types to be disposed of, recycled, and be sold as fertilizer, as the Spiral Spinner sold itself on being ecologically conscious (in turn, getting even more customers).

In Gabby's absence, the Doctor was given a precious few moments to consider whether it would be impolite to see what his companion was drawing, to decide if, knowing it was impolite, to take a peek and to flip through the pages of her sketchbook.

All of which he accomplished in mere moments. Most of her sketches were just that – sketches. Perfectly adequate, at least by human standards, though she could have done a better job on the cheekbones. But what he saw in those last pages, a representation of what he himself had seen a mere day ago…

"Trinary-class dining, red dwarf-class lavatories, let me tell you."

The Doctor closed the book with a thump. Somehow, the girl didn't to notice, as she took a seat opposite him.

"You alight?" she asked.

"Fine," answered the time lord.

Another lie.

At over 900 years of age, he was used to it.

The TARDIS wasn't happy.

In her defence, you wouldn't be happy either if an old codger and his granddaughter hadn't stolen you, poked around your insides, and got you stuck as a giant blue box. You wouldn't be happy if you were parked in the janitor's closet on a primitive space station. You wouldn't be happy if your passengers came back carrying doggy bags.

You might not see the problem there, but the TARDIS had never forgotten her Doctor for that incident with the curry, the recorder, and the spinning umbrella. Even after countless centuries and reconfigurations, the stains had never come out.

The TARDIS was fine with some of her pet's pets. There'd been a dog once, one who didn't eat, or rely on her to filter its dirt or biological waste, which in turn made him far more tolerable than 90% of her Doctor's guests. But luckily, the doggy bags went in one of her fridges, they said goodnight, and they retired to their rooms separated by dimensions that couldn't exist outside her without breaking the laws of reality.

The TARDIS neither liked nor disliked breaking laws, despite being stuck in the shape of a box used by police that were meant to preserve them. But as much as a Type 40 TARDIS could be, she was concerned. One of her Doctor's last companions had had something go wrong with her head, before she'd collapsed in her Doctor's arms, and this stray…well, something was going wrong with her head.

The girl came from the early 21st century on Sol III, Mutter's Spiral, from a city called New York. A time and place where even human technology at the time could have detected her dreaming. Even standing by her bedside, they would have seen her twist and turn. They would have deduced that she was having a nightmare.

Nothing strange with that, the TARDIS noted. Almost every sapient species in the universe dreamed. Even daleks dreamed, though to most (sane) species those dreams would count as nightmares. Most of her Doctor's companions had been humans, all humans dreamed, and given the trouble they got up to, nightmares came with the package. So that this pet was having a bad dream would not necessitate her scanning her mind and find out what was running through it.

Not necessary…yet she did it anyway. Bad enough that these creatures fiddled around her insides without any shame in the world, bad enough that some of them dreamt about their insides being fiddled around with (no shame, absolutely no shame), but still, call it instinct, call it whatever you wanted, the TARDIS had developed something for these carbon-based lifeforms. So, she took a peek…

Inside the Time Vortex, the TARDIS screamed.

Inside the TARDIS, Gabby woke up, screaming.

The Doctor knew things were bad when he found Gabby in the control room. He'd dared to hope that her presence meant nothing more than a midnight snack, but the lack of a doggy bag cleared away any such hope.

"I can't get it out of my head."

As she handed him the notebook, as he saw what he'd seen in the restaurant, nay, on the fields of Belgium itself…he knew.

War. Death. Destruction. It was the War to End All Wars. It was the bloodiest war in human history up to that point, and would be outdone a mere two decades later. It, in turn, would be outdone by conflicts that Gabby Gonzalez could only dream of.

"Never again," came humanity's promise. "Never again." And again, and again, and again, the promise was broken.

More war. More death. More destruction. War was a constant in this appalling universe, and would continue to its very end. War would continue even after the death of the last star. What Gabby knew as the Great War, or the First World War, was nothing but a paintball fight in the context of the universe's history.

And yet, war was war. And she'd lived through it. Survived it, while over 20 million human beings hadn't.

Having survived while billions hadn't, he knew the feeling.

"It's not just the sights," she whispered, as she rubbed her bloodshot eyes. "It's the smell. It feels like there's blood in my clothes. I can't get it out, I can't stop smelling it. There's dirt, under my skin. I walk through the corridors, and I can smell the gunpowder, and I…and I feel guilty, y'know? We were in Mons were days, those boys there…Jamie…"

Jamie Colquhoun, the Doctor reflected. Therein lay the rub. He'd known a man named Jamie once. Good lad, a good soldier. And like so many soldiers, dead before his time. Like so many of his friends, gone, while he was left in an emptier universe.

Gabby had only known one of those Jamies. Long enough to kiss him, because as it turned out, nearly dying together could be a very bonding experience.

"He, I mean, they'll be there for years. They'll fight, they'll die, when I was born, most of them were dead." She rubbed her eyes again, this time gaining some water for her trouble. "I never thought much about it. History wasn't really my subject, anything we did on World War One came after America entered it, and I…" She took a breath. "I must sound pathetic, don't I?"

The Doctor hoped his silence would give her the correct answer. Even if when he had screamed his questions in time's fire, and received naught but silence in response.

"I started drawing," she sniffed, as she handed him her sketchbook. "I thought it would help. Told myself it would honour them, but then I felt like I was doing something wrong. It would be like writing a poem based on the war – how could I even do that? How could I do any of it justice?"

The Doctor, still silent, noted that Gabby had a point, if not for the reasons she thought. He had thoughts about justice. The knowledge that the universe was anything but just. But that aside, Gabby had made no secrets of her artistic aspirations – it was why he'd taken her to Ouloumos after all. But flicking through the pages of her sketchbook, he could see the transition – from comic-like depictions of herself and her chaperone, to sketches of Jamie (including a doodle of them kissing), to a comic strip of their adventures to bleak, twisted depictions of the landscape of Mons.

Death. Desolation. But little else. Attempts at trying to capture the horrors of war, but without the means of doing so. A simple representation with nothing else, even if the spark of talent was there. It was like when he'd met Salieri – genius enough to recognize another man's genius, not so genius that he could match the genius of a certain Austrian.

Hence a certain attempted assassination with Mortimus, but that was another story. His prior incarnation had been content to leave Salieri locked in that asylum. But now a little older, a little wiser, and above all, kinder (or so he hoped), he handed the journal back to his companion.

"I don't think you should feel guilty," said the Doctor.

"Why?" she sniffed. "Jamie stayed behind to fight. Millions of people will die, and I've tried to do…something about it, but I can't, and I don't know if I even should. Why on Earth shouldn't I feel guilty."

Because…He chose his words carefully. "Because you're not on Earth?" Seeing Gabby's look, he continued. "Because guilt eats you up. It festers. You can spend lifetimes trying to move past guilt. You can let it drive you into rage, you can let it turn into regret, you can reach the point in knowing you can't move past it. But there's no point being guilty over something you didn't do."

He hoped that would be enough. She was new, he told himself. Still going through the adjustment process. He hoped that-

"What did you do, Doctor?"

…would be the end of it.

"Done lots of things," he said. "Over eight-hundred years, I've-"

"Were you in a war?"

He remained silent. The temperature in the control room dropped by a few degrees. The air became thinner, as if the ship itself was holding her breath.

Gabby, however, kept talking. "The way you led those soldiers, the way you took command…it was as if you'd had experience in-"

"Wars need doctors," the time lord murmured. "Even if they can't fix every wound."

"And when they can't?"

Cauterization, he felt like saying. But that would have been too easy. Too simple a word. His eyes had changed, but when he closed them, the image was the same. Hence why he kept running, eyes open.

But she didn't know that. Would never know that. But still, the question remained.

"Come on," he said, as he took the controls. "I think there's something you need to see."

Apart from her time travelling jaunt, Cindy had never been to Europe before. Heck, prior to her travels with the Doctor, she'd never even been outside the United States. There was that summer camp in Echo Lake, but when your family's business was the business of keeping said family well fed, holidays were a non-existent prospect. Heck, college, let alone art school, had been a non-existent prospect.

So while she was familiar with the imagery of hundreds of crosses, row upon row, to actually stand there…

She shivered as she stepped out of the TARDIS, even though it was midsummer. The land was green. The roses red. The sun was shining, the clouds were dancing, the wind carried gentle song. It was 101 years since she had last stepped foot upon this land, and as silly as it was, it felt like the land had betrayed itself. As if the very world had conspired to cover up the scene of a crime.

But then, what of the crimes that had been committed since? One war after another. Wars fought before she was born, wars that had been initiated after. Who had betrayed whom – the world, or the people who inhabited it? Who had betrayed the boys and men who now lay in this sacred ground, who had failed to keep the promise of "never again?"

She brushed her eye, and hoped the Doctor didn't notice. She knew she wasn't as smart as him, but she was smart enough to understand how small she was compared to the time traveller. He'd shown her dreams and nightmares alike, and she had no doubt that a four year war on a small angry planet didn't mean much in the greater scheme of things.

And yet, as he too stepped out of the TARDIS, wearing a brown coat like a commander of old…

"Doctor?" she asked. "Are you alright?"

"Alright?" He seemed to have trouble processing the question. "Course I'm alright. Sun's shining, birds are singing…"

"I don't hear any birds."

"Well, you've just got to listen."

"Right…" Listen? What about what I can see?

"Anyway, St. Michel War Cemetery, 2007." He let out a whistle. "Pretty picture. Or ugly, depending on your point of view."

"What's your point of view, Doctor?"

He paused, and for a moment, his eyes grew a little darker. His gaze a little wiser. A moment that lasted an age of the universe, before he murmured, "sometimes, it's better to have graves than cremation."

Gabby would have asked what he meant if not for the sight of the family walking on the footpath below. A man, a woman, a boy, a girl, and an old man in a wheelchair. In of itself, nothing surprising. But…

She took a few steps forward. Squinted through the summer sun. It had to be her imagination, the chances were too great, but…

"Jamie?" she whispered.

It couldn't be. There was absolutely nothing to support the idea that this man here was the man, heck, boy, she'd fallen for back in Mons. Nothing but gut instinct, and while her gut had steered her right on plenty an occasion (she'd grown up on Mexican food after all), sometimes, her gut was wrong.

"Jamie Colquhoun," said the Doctor.

Sometimes, it was right.

"Born on the 29th of July, 1896. This will be the last time he visits this place. He'll die surrounded by his family just a month before his 102nd birthday."

She looked at him in sombre wonder. When they'd left him behind in Belgium, the Doctor had told her he had no idea if Jamie had survived the war.

"Dig around, you'll find records," he said, as if reading her mind. "Births. Deaths. You can spend an entire human lifetime with the people who travel with you, and in the end?" He squatted on the ground, and picked up a clod of soil. "Ashes and dust."

Gabby knew she wasn't the first companion of the Doctor. She had no delusions into thinking she'd be the last either. But in that moment, she almost asked him if he knew when she would die. If she would die surrounded by family, or alone. A starving artist on the streets of New York, or perhaps the next Gertrude Abercrombie.

Almost. Because as he stood, as she stood, she saw the man in the wheelchair look towards them.

"Jamie…" she whispered.

She almost went to him then and there. She couldn't be sure if he could actually see her thanks to the TARDIS's perception filter. If she moved towards him now, however, there could be no mistaking her once she left its perimeter. Indeed, she took a step forward in that very moment.

And yet…

And yet, he had a family. He'd lived his life. A good life, or so she hoped, even if he would have seen one war follow another, and decades of strife after that. At some point, he would have found love. Had children. Grandchildren, by the looks of it.

He'd lived a good life without her. And so, she stayed in place. Watched as Jamie turned away, and his family wheel him down the long road.

"Onward Christian soldiers," murmured the Doctor. "But the foe is no more, and the banner lowered."

Gabby shivered. "There'll be new banners, won't there?"

The Doctor spoke no word. But in his eyes, was the answer.

The eyes of an old soldier.

Eyes she did not see as she hugged him in silent thanks.

Eyes that turned to pen and paper, as she sat down and began to draw a landscape no longer torn by the brutality of man.

But rather, the green fields of the Somme. Brought to life by the touch of pen. Her sketchbook demonstrating the death of the land, and its rebirth.

She would remember him, she told herself.

Remember them all.