He comes out of his regeneration with a cry of pain.
He falls to his knees on the floor of the TARDIS and brings his hands to his eyes, feeling already the first tears of this new body.
All those people. My people. He thinks.
He cannot form any coherent thought except for I killed them all which plays in his head on repeat.
He crawls to the console and sits up against it. He feels the TARDIS in the back of his mind, offering him pity, but he shuts her out. He shuts it all out. He forces the TARDIS out of his mind because he doesn't deserve pity. He deserves blame. He deserves death.
He thinks about it. He gets up and paces the floor, taking off the scarf and the long leather jacket. He wants no more of that man who had killed them all. He opens the TARDIS door and looks out into space, out into a universe with no more Galifrey. With no more home.
There is not one single Time Lord left except for him. He knows it, and he feels it. He feels so empty and it hurts. Millions extinguished by his own hand. How could he have done that, he thinks, how could the universe allow him to have done that?
He wants to go back, but he knows he can't.
He could take one step, he thinks. One step and he would be gone and it would end, this terrible burning guilt would end. He could fall with his people and die and be with them at last. No more Galifrey, and then no more Time Lords.
He thinks about it but can't, because he is the only one left. And he doesn't deserve death. Death would be kind and he doesn't deserve kindness.
He turns around and the TARDIS shuts the doors for him as he walks around the console. He shouts and screams and no one is left to hear him. No one but The TARDIS who has been shut out.
His hands reach up to pull his hair, only to find that his hair is too short. Instead, he uses his hands to bang on the walls and throw things to the floor. Soon his console is a mess and somewhere in that empty mind of his he remembers that the TARDIS doesn't deserve his wrath so he finds his room and continues his tirade there.
He rages until he can't anymore and he's left sitting on the floor, feeling empty.
He's stuck, and he has no one. And it is all his fault.
When the TARDIS finally gives up on trying to reach him through their telepathic link, the Doctor is sitting in his room. He stares out into empty space. Around him is smashed glass from the lamp. His clothes are strewn about the room in a haphazard manner and much can be said the same for the rest of his belongings. Bits of this and that he had collected during his travels were now laying across the room in no particular pattern. But he couldn't bring himself to care.
He brings an old vintage bottle of human brandy he had found, to his lips and grimaces at the taste. He doesn't know why he bothers because he can't get drunk on the stuff anyway but he doesn't know what else to do. He can't think of a single thing that he should be doing, or if he should ever do anything ever again.
He remembers bitterly that he had always been able to save the humans. He had always managed a victory over the universe's greatest foes, the Daleks and even the Cybermen. Sure this wasn't his first defeat but he had never failed so miserably before. Now an entire race has disappeared from the universe. And not just any old species, but his species. The people who had a monopoly on time itself. The race that had once been revered as Gods to many other life forms throughout the universe.
Now the only one left to represent that once great nation was him. This daft excuse of a Time Lord whose punishment for destroying an entire species was life.
So he sits on the ground at the foot of his bed. He doesn't know how long he does that for. His mind is lost, caught up in counting the amount of people who must have died, the amount of children. He's torturing himself and he knows it. But who else is going to remember them now?
The TARDIS dims the lights as her Time Lord grieves. She knows that the events of that day would haunt him for the rest of his life, but she also knows that the pain won't last forever. There wasn't much the TARDIS could do however.
So the TARDIS began its repairs in the console room by herself and decides it is time to remodel. The Doctor doesn't need any more death, so she gives the room life in the coral columns that now rise from the floor and curl towards the ceiling. She lessens the bright white light that had previously been illuminating the room to a softer yellow, more gentle.
All the while, the Doctor stays in his room. And for the first time in his life, he isn't feeling that age-old urge to leave and explore, and live.