I wonder if, in his dreams, the Doctor can see Gallifrey, standing in all its beauty and splendor. I wonder if he sees his children, his lovely wife, and his best friend all standing by his side, the world as it should be. But into those dreams come the inevitable burning, the wreckage of war. Then the flight, the flight from peril with a stolen box of blue and the most deadly weapon in existence. I wonder if he sees his children, crying out for something, someone, to save them when they are being burned. I wonder if he can see his wife, sobbing on the cold, hard ground, without her Doctor. And all throughout the ringing cries in his head as he sits alone once more, the fate of the universe in his hands, the sound of the promise of his name forgotten in the carnage, the name he is no longer worthy to hold. Never cruel or cowardly. Never give up. Never give in. Because in the end, the children, the 2.47 billion children on Gallifrey, as they burned, did not say he was kind. Every part of them screamed his cruelty. And they did not call him brave. They named him coward. And in the end, he had given in to so much. SO much. He had given up so much. His very existence was gone. All hope, his whole planet, incinerated. All that was left was a time lord, without hope or a friend, in a wide, wide world, stripped of everything but his guilt and existence. And when he wakes up, when the dream ends, he is still there. He is still guilty. And he still, still needs a friend.
-Analee Marie