The old man plodded slowly up the hill towards the tree, taking care where he placed his feet on the evening dew-covered grass. It was a long tumble down to the bottom, and his night vision wasn't what it used to be. Neither were his bones as solid. But eventually he reached the top, and paused briefly to lean wearily against the rough bark of the big oak tree to recover his breath. Age, it seemed, had finally caught up with him.

After a moment, he turned to look down across the landscape. Bathed by the cold light of the moon and stars, it was as impressive a sight as if it had been lit by a bright summer sun. He took a deep breath of cool night air, smelt damp soil and bark and the faint aroma of fertiliser, spread in one of the fields below. Good natural smells. Light years removed from the antiseptic and faintly ozone tang of the Capitol hospital, blended with the bitter coppery scent of blood. A lot of blood. He stood eyes closed, taking deep breaths to rid that smell in particular completely from his lungs. The smell would vanish, but the memory of what caused the smell to linger would take a lot more to dispel.

If he could ever even dispel it. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the moon. A familiar face seemed to have superimposed itself across the cratered surface.

The face was screaming.

He forced his eyes shut again and a deep, shuddering sigh rippled through him, and he muttered almost unconsciously:

"I'm so sorry. So, so sorry..."

A soft thump sounded somewhere below him. He snapped from his reverie and frowned, and craned his neck forward to peer through his heavy framed glasses. A pale figure gradually emerged through the gloom, heading straight towards him. It didn't notice him until it had almost reached the top, by which time the old man had recognised who it was.

"Good gracious," he muttered with some surprise.

The figure heard his exclamation and looked up sharply. "Oh!" it said. "Oh!"

A smile spread hesitantly across the old man's face. "It's... Iris, isn't it? Iris Wildthyme?"

The figure took a wary step closer, and the old man could see her more clearly now. She was a tall young-looking woman with attractive, inquisitive features set by a long tangled mass of honey-coloured hair that curled around her face and shoulders. She was covered by a heavy dark-coloured cloak to ward off the cool night air.

"Yeeesss..." she replied slowly, studying him cautiously. Then recognition bloomed in her eyes and her mouth dropped open. "Doctor?"

"Yes," he smiled. "It's me. Hello, Iris. It's been a long time since I've seen you looking like this."

She looked him up and down. "And I don't think I've ever seen you like this! Which incarnation are you now?"

He shrugged indifferently. "I'm a long way down the road now, Iris. I stopped taking notice of how old I actually am a while ago." He shifted his feet slightly. "Better, that way."

"I suppose so," she sighed, looking away as if suddenly disinterested in the topic, and the Doctor was struck by how tired she looked. Even under the cold moonlight, he could see the lines on her face, and dark smudges of weariness under her eyes. Or were they? It might actually have been make-up, smudged and run by tears.

"What brings you here then?" he asked softly.

"I came down for a little think... and a drink or two." She produced something wrapped in a brown paper bag from beneath her cloak and held it up. Liquid gurgled from within it.

"Ah," he said.

"What about you?"

"Oh, the same... except for the drinking part."

"You quit?"

"Oh no, I enjoy a good malt from time to time..." He smiled gently. "But this is not the time, or the place."

Iris chose to ignore his implication, and unscrewed the cap of the bottle to take a swig. "You don't mind if I do?"

"No," he replied. "If you must."

She chuckled cynically. "Oh, I must, I must..." She took a long pull and grimaced slightly at the flavour of what she was drinking. She noticed him watching her and winked solemnly. "Purely medicinal..."

"Of course... it always was with you."

"Let's not fight," she sighed, and came the rest of the way up the hill to stand before him. "I'm too bloody tired and I'm too bloody miserable."

Concern flickered across his face. "I can tell..."

She laughed, a dry, hoarse sound in the quiet air. The laugh of someone who hadn't made that noise for quite some time. "You always said you could read me like a book, Doctor."

"Hmmm," he said, tapping his chin reflectively. "A very worthy read too, as I recall."

She smirked. "Dipped into many times..."

His lips twitched. "When the need arose... whenever I felt I needed a little special inspiration, or I felt a little down."

"A little blue?"

His smile grew as if in acknowledgement of the implication of her remark. "That was never quite my cup of tea," he reproached gently.

"You could have fooled me sometimes," she giggled, almost sounding like her old self, but her humour sounded forced, and tinged with sadness and regret. She leaned against the tree before sliding her back down it to sit cross-legged on the ground beneath it. After a minute hesitation, the old man stiffly settled down beside her. They didn't speak for a moment, then she said:

"Remember that night under the stars on that hillside outside the Capitol?"

He chuckled. "Which one?"

She laughed again. "That's right, of course..."

"Happy days," he said, smiling at the memory.

She was smiling as well. "And happier nights."

The Doctor cleared his throat suddenly and swept off his glasses, making a show of cleaning them with his scarf and hoping his blush didn't show in the moonlight.

"I was drinking a headier brew than tea back then," he mumbled.

She was still looking at him. "We both were."

"You still are," he replied, replacing his glasses and peering at her quizzically.

She looked at her bottle, then back at him. "Not just referring to this, are you?"

"No." He shifted his position so his back rested better against the tree. "You're still young, Iris. You can cope with it better than I can."

Iris looked away again. "The drink, maybe..."

He looked at her questioningly. "Having doubts?"

She didn't respond for a moment. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I had them too, from time to time." He looked away. "Still do, in fact."

"Doubt is brother demon to despair..." she muttered, almost to herself. She squinted at him. "Ever think of giving it up?" she asked abruptly.

"Sometimes..." he smiled sadly. "But not for long." He looked across at her curiously. "Why, are you?"

"It's crossed my mind," she replied quietly.

Alarm bells started to sound his mind. Why now, of all times... her timing always atrocious. But if she really did need his help... and besides, maybe he needed something to take his mind off his woes. What better than someone else's troubles?

He took a deep breath. "Iris, I think..."

She suddenly interrupted him. "Are you travelling with anyone at the moment?"

He winced, and shifted uncomfortably against the tree. "I was. Unfortunately, she got badly hurt, and I had to leave her on Gallifrey to recover."

"Another Time Lady?"

"Yes." He smiled wistfully. "You'd have liked her. She reminded me a lot of you, in the early days." His smile vanished to be replaced by a look of pain.

Iris appeared to misinterpret his expression and managed a toothy smile. "That bad, huh?"

"No, not at all. Delightful company." He cleared his throat again. "How about you?"

It was her turn to look agonised. "I... was, with someone."

"Was?"

"He's gone now." Iris suddenly took a compulsive swig from the bottle, and shuddered. "Three years, we were together. Now he's gone," she repeated huskily.

Realisation dawned in the Doctor. He should have recognised the signs, suffering from them as he was himself. He studied her for a moment.

"It's never easy, is it?"

She didn't reply, preferring to take another drink.

"Sometimes... it just happens," he began falteringly. "They find somewhere where they'll be happy, or they meet someone they'll be happy with. I've never stood in the way, unless..." He fell silent for a moment. No, he'd rarely stood in the way. Even when he had, they'd understood. Or he hoped they had. "No, they all leave eventually. Move on to better things." He shivered suddenly, thoughts grimly returning to the present again. "Most times..." he admitted, painfully.

"Most times..." Iris repeated, and her head suddenly dipped onto her chest. "Oh, Doctor," she murmured, and there was a catch in her voice. "If only... if only..."

She raised her head up to the sky and for the first time he saw the silvery trails of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned to face him and the agony in her eyes cut him to the marrow, and suddenly it hit him, and he knew. He gazed at her horror-struck.

"Oh, Iris... oh no, not that..."

She nodded slowly. "I wish... I wish he had just left me... then he'd be alive... still alive, tonight..."

Her hoarse voice shattered into long wracking sobs. A cold tide of pity overwhelming him; and not just for her either. Abruptly he reached across and pulled her to him. She buried her face in his chest and wept long and hard and bitterly. He didn't let go, rocking her back and forth soothingly.

Something tickled his cheek and he brushed at it absently. Looking at his hand, he noticed it was a tear of his own. He watched it dry until her crying subsided and she pulled herself clear, wiping at her face. Solemnly, the Doctor passed her his handkerchief. She took it and dabbed at her eyes.

"Sorry..." she said throatily. "Awful mess... left snot all down the front of your overcoat!"

He laughed softly. "It'll wash off..." He made a small gesture towards her face. "And those tears will dry."

"I don't know..." she sniffed. "I've been crying a long time now. Feels like I'll never stop."

"You will. I've cried a lot myself, especially after losing friends." He displayed his own hand where the tear had fallen and managed a smile. "See? Oils the mechanism, so the saying goes..."

She glared at him. "I'm no machine, Doctor. I wish I were... maybe then, it... it wouldn't hurt so much." Her face crumpled again. "It hurts... so much. So very, very much..."

He reached across and rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know... I know."

"I thought... being a Time Lady... all that training... you know... it wouldn't effect me. But..."

The Doctor grimaced slightly. "That only applies when you don't get involved, Iris. Now, the both of us... we've been involved in things for a long, long time. It's become impossible for us to remain... distanced."

"Too involved..." She murmured, and wiped at her nose, struggling to retain control. "I'm not sure... I want to feel this bad again." She looked up at him. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," he replied heavily. "And... I've felt that way myself."

"It's not just my suffering, it's..."

"Yes..." he nodded. "Yes."

"You get to thinking that... if our paths hadn't crossed..."

He took her hand in his. "But they did. You can't change that fact."

She looked at him. "Can't I?"

He recognised that look and squeezed her hand. "No," he replied warningly. "You know what is done cannot be undone. Never. Ever. No matter what."

She looked away. "It's so... unfair."

"Life is," he replied simply.

"But it was my fault," she muttered. "Why should he have paid the price for what I did?"

"It's a price I've had to pay as well, Iris." He paused. "It's the cost of what we do." He leaned closer towards her. "What we're privileged to do. You and I, we achieve remarkable things. Wonderful things."

"Wonderful?" she snorted incredulously. "I wouldn't call the loss of a boy's life a terribly wonderful."

"And how many more boys' lives would be lost if we didn't do what we do?"

She looked away. "That's not the point."

"Isn't it?" The Doctor sighed heavily. "All of my companions have known the risks involved. And I think most of them welcomed it. The chance to... participate, in something greater than their ordinary lives could provide them. The chance to see, and learn, more than they ever possibly could have done." He smiled bravely. "My friend knew that, even up until the end."

She looked back at him painfully. "I don't think I pointed out the risks to him, Doctor. I don't think I warned him of the danger enough." She swallowed. "I let him down."

"No, Iris..." he shook his head. "If he had any doubts about you, he would never have stayed with you for so long. He knew the risks, I'm sure. And welcomed them. Because he knew you were there by his side."

"But... not... not when it really mattered... I should have stopped him, Doctor. He didn't know how to pilot a shuttle craft, let alone land one." She hammered at her chest. "It should have been me at the controls. I should have crash-landed it." She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "I should have died in the explosion... not him."

She started to sob again.

The Doctor let her cry again for a minute, and then asked quietly:

"How many people did he save?"

Her sobbing trailed away, and she opened her eyes. "An entire colony. 516 people."

"Think of them, then. Think of those 516 lives he saved. And think of all the others lives he helped you save over the three years he travelled with you."

"I hope they were worth it," she muttered.

He slipped an arm round her shoulders and pulled her close again.

"It's always worth it, Iris. Never think it isn't."

She rested her head on his shoulder again, and he stroked her hair gently, like he had on a similar night like this, so many, many centuries ago.

"I hope you're right..." she murmured.

"I hope I am too..." he whispered, and closed his eyes at the thought.

She huddled closer to him, as if sensing his chill. She spoke again, softly, almost imploringly, like a small child might.

"Would you... would you stay with me? Here? Tonight? I... don't like being alone. I don't like the TARDIS without... without..."

He pulled her closer. "Yes... yes, I'll stay with you. For as long as you like." He paused. "I feel I... owe you. It's possible... I never truly warned you of the risks either." He opened his eyes and looked down at her meaningfully. "All the risks..." he murmured.

She looked up at him. "You warned me enough, Doctor. I just never listened properly." She raised her face slightly and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm listening now."

He looked down at her for a moment longer, then smiled.

"Then I'll tell you a story... all about a young Time Lord who once had doubts like yours. And how he learnt to come to terms with them."

She smiled back. "Does it have a happy ending?"

He gave her his most radiant sad-but-happy smile.

"Who can tell?"

He told his story, and this time, she listened to every word.

***

When he awoke the next morning, she was gone. She'd covered him with her cloak before she'd left, and it was covered in glistening early morning dew. He wiped it down and folded it over his arm as he stiffly got up from the ground.

She'd also left her bottle behind. There was a note sticking out from the bag. He plucked it free to read it.

" 'In case you're thirsty after all that talking'." He grinned and picked the bottle up. He swished the contents round, judging it to be about half full. He raised the lip of the bottle to his nose and sniffed cautiously. He frowned, and raised it delicately to his lips and took a very small sip.

He grinned.

"Water. All the time, just water... Iris Wildthyme, you're a big fooler."

He put the bottle in one of his coat pockets, and studied the note again. Something was written on the other side too. He squinted at it.

" 'I don't feel so bad any more. Neither do I feel so alone. Thanks - for everything. Good luck & happy landings, luv Iris xxx'."

He looked up into the deep blue sky and smiled.

"Thank you, too, Iris. I don't think I feel so bad now either." He touched a hand to his temple in salute. "Good luck and happy landings to you too - where ever you may be."

Hugging her cloak to his chest, the old man wandered back down the hill to where he'd parked the TARDIS, ready for fresh adventures.