The Doctor slammed his hand down on the button before him and suddenly all was dark outside. Where only an instant before his view screen had been filled with Dalek warships and fellow Timelord's TARDISes there was now a void, a mass of nothing that spread on seemingly forever and ever, spiraling away into oblivion. Even the stars appeared to have been swallowed up. He stared at the void blankly, as if he was blind, his senses shutting down as his mind assimilated what he had just done. The numb sense of surrealism swept over him, as did centuries worth of memories and the constant mantra within himself that it was what he had to do. It didn't seem real.
The sweet bliss of viewing it all as a bad dream had by someone else was broken when he realized there were moist streaks on his face that were rapidly cooling in the air around him. The congestion in his nose suggested he had been standing there for sometime in a stupor as the tears left him, as did the small puddle on the console where he was bracing himself. It was a horrible dream, it had to be. Even as he stood there, hunched slightly over the enormity of it refused to settle in his mind. The fighting, the battles, the deaths…all of them on his hands. Leela, sweet, savage Leela, died at his hand protecting a world that wasn't even her own. Romana, intelligent and strong leader that she was, bravely charging headlong into a doomed battle for their people's sake. The orange ozone of his planet had been bright in the distance only moments – or was it hours – ago was now gone. It all seemed unreal still, though he knew it was anything but. Slowly, sharp as a knife digging into his sternum, a thought formed. Subconsciously he battled it away, but it rose steadily, hauntingly to the forefront of his mind and the closer it came the harder he wept. Then, painfully, grudgingly, he knew it as he had tried so hard not to.
I killed Susan.
What was left of his mental dam broke as the tears and the pain flooded through him, flushing his face as he crumpled to the console room floor. Susan, his innocent little Susan. He'd killed her. She hadn't done anything, she wasn't even here to be aware of what was happening to her people, her planet, and he'd murdered her, his own grandchild. She was still so young when he'd left her, hardly stepping into her first life, never having regenerated; he had abandoned her in a foreign time and world and now he had killed her from a million years and even he didn't know how many light years away. He wondered if she knew, somehow, that it had been his hand that had ended her life.
His breath caught in his throat, bringing forth a ragged sob as he tried to breathe and forget. He had promised to go back for her. The dear child was probably waiting until the second she was murdered by him. Above him the TARDIS console keened softly, as if it, too, were mourning his lovely Susan's demise.
After a good deal of time had elapsed, the Doctor knew he needed to leave the floor. Hot tears still leaking from his eyes, he managed to wipe his nose, which had begun to dribble some time back, and shakily get to his feet. He thought about cleaning his face for a split second before forgetting the idea entirely, knowing he would never be able to keep up with the saline tracks still painting their ways down his cheeks. Slowly he rose on shaky limbs, supporting himself on first the TARDIS console, and then on the wall as he slumped against it to leave the room. He weaved aimlessly down the halls, bumping into the wall on one side and then the other, making his way towards no where in particular. The lights were dimmer in the corridors than usual, guiding him in their peaceful darkness without actually inhibiting him. As he walked he continued to contemplate his Sin. And then, almost as if it had appeared out of nothing in front of him, was a door. He didn't have to go inside to know where it led, realizing now that the TARDIS had led him here on its own, but he entered anyways.
Inside, everything was exactly as she had left it. It wasn't cold, as the rest of the TARDIS seemed, and he knew without knowing that the heart of the TARDIS was here mourning with him. He moved forward, the door closing softly behind him without his touch, and noticed the lack of dust or any sign of time. It was as if Susan had only walked out a second ago and would return at any time. At any other time he probably would have been embarrassed by the pitiful noise he made as he climbed onto her bed like a child with a nightmare crawling into bed with its mum, but at present he didn't even notice, let alone care. He lay, curled helplessly on her bed, and dragged her pillow down between his arms so he could hug it, though his head remained nestled into the corner closest to it. He hadn't expected any scent to be left on it, he wasn't that far gone, but he still almost imagined he could. He could faintly smell the washed yet slightly oily scent of her scalp and the crisp, breeze-like aroma that had always hung about her, as full of energy and life as she was. Everything about her had been like that. She was something altogether wonderful. And now she was gone forever.
Slowly, sleep took over his weary body and his tears ran out. As the darkness of unconsciousness took over him, though, he was sure he saw Susan standing just in front of him, smiling. She wore the same striped shirt and black spandex she always did. With all the energy she showed in everything she knelt beside him so she was face to face with him and though it was impossible for a mental projection to do so, he swore, on the last sliver of consciousness he clung to, that he felt her reach out and brush her fingers through his hair, though her gaze never diverted.
"You did well, Grandfather," she said, her voice filled with pride and adoration.
And then she was gone, as was everything else. He slept peacefully, a small, sad smile on his lips, but no memories haunted his dreams, no guilt or remorse weighed him down in his oblivion. Instead, he dreamt of Susan, smiling as she came, hugging him and reassuring him everything would be alright. And somehow, when he awoke, though the pain was still ebbing inside, somehow he knew it would be.