"It's my fault."
This was the only phrase going through the Doctor's mind.
That beautiful, impossible girl would have been fine, would have lived a long, happy life, if he hadn't've burst in and muddled everything up.
He couldn't do anything right.
And now, all of the fish custard in the world couldn't cheer him up.
He was empty, empty as a rain gauge in a drought, but somehow, simultaneously, about to explode with the emotion of it all- the sadness, the anger, but, most of all, the guilt.
The Doctor couldn't stand even to look at himself. He didn't care about anyone, about anything anymore.
Why couldn't everything just...
"STOP!" he suddenly yelled to the empty TARDIS. "Stop, stop, stop!" He threw his sonic across the room, where it hit a mirror, which shattered on contact with the buzzing device. The screwdriver snapped down the middle into two identical pieces. Seven years' bad luck, he thought.
Perhaps, he thought, he was too old for this.
Perhaps there was only one way to stop it.