The first thing he sees when he opens his new eyes is fire.

His body leaps upright before he has time to fully process what is happening. He doesn't ask the usual questions about himself or pause to wonder what he looks like now. He does what he does best, and runs.

"Easy, old girl, easy," He's stroking the TARDIS and desperately trying to get her to land, anywhere, everywhere, he doesn't know anymore. He has no idea where they are or where the closest planet is.

Sparks shoot in his face. She is not happy.

"I know, it hurts, I know, I know," This voice is more high pitched than the last one, he thinks absently. "I'm sorry-"

The console shudders under his hands.

With a violent jerk, she hurtles them both sideways. He slides across the length of the console room and slams into her doors. The entire TARDIS shudders violently.

I'm sorry. He doesn't whisper the words out loud because suddenly he's remembering. He's remembering screaming daleks, burning Galifrey, genocide, genocide, genocide.

Murder.

Killer.

Coward.

The TARDIS practically screams when they crash, her brakes whooshing and snapping, sparks flying out from the floor under his hands, singing his clothes.

He thinks she's screaming at him though, when a furious hum makes him grab his head in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Horrible, hitching sounds ache in his throat until he can't breathe. His apologies fade away, incoherent.

The TARDIS has stopped spraying sparks, and he can sense her starting to repair herself, slowly. She's reluctant, for some reason.

"Do you see why I had to?" He whispers to her. Somehow he's ended up curled on the ground again, fingers digging into his scalp(this body doesn't have long hair). "I did it because...because.."

He stops, realizes why he can't form words, why there is a persistent ache pounding at his skull.

Silence.

He can't hear them anymore.

He can't hear the screams of the Timelords, he can't feel their beautifully complex yet corrupt mind. He can't hear the throb of Galifrey's energy, the hum of the Time vortex.

They're gone.

Because of him. He wiped them out, he burned them, he stood at watched as they screamed and when they begged him he ran away to his TARDIS.

He remembers, all those years ago when he'd stolen her, and he'd chosen his name. Doctor. The man who heals and helps. The man who is kind and caring.

Who is he now?

He hadn't been the Doctor, before. The Doctor would have never wiped out his entire race. He is not worth of the name he chose.

Not anymore.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." He repeats the words, a whispered chant that soon loses its meaning as his mind screams for answers, screams for his people, screams for his planet, cracks and crumbles and breaks.

The TARDIS rumbles under him, and he lifts his head. Her console has stopped burning and only smokes now, black and stained and terribly old to his fresh eyes. "You alright, girl?" He asks, pulling himself to a standing position and walking to her console.

She hums an affirmative in his mind.

"So am I," he lies, even though he knows she can see right through it, "So am I..."

He doesn't know how long they stay on the barren planet. He doesn't even know where it is.

Some days he sits at the doors and just reaches out with his mind, searching for a flicker of Time energy, a particle of memory from Galifrey, anything. Other days he is angry. He rages and screams and slams his fists against the TARDIS's console, begging her to take him home, to understand why he did what he did...she never answers, and they never go home.

And still, other days, he cannot stop crying. He sits cradling his new head in his hands and sobs until his throat is raw. Sometimes the TARDIS will show him happier memories to try and make him laugh, but there is a terrifying grief to her soul now, too, and just the slightest touch of it makes him cry out with such force he loses his voice for a day.

He can't live like this.

He can't be here, trapped in the last TARDIS, the last Timelord, the broken Doctor who didn't live up to his promise.

Sometimes he talks about leaving. Talks about flying the TARDIS to the end of time and space and everything, and melting away with the rest of his race. He'd tried punching in the coordinates, once, but she'd refused to take him.

Another time he'd found a knife in one of the many kitchens. She'd caused such an earthquake he hadn't had time to do anything.

He is alive. For better or for worse, he lives.

One night when he is sitting in Adric's old bedroom, he says, "We were pretty thick, weren't we, running off like that?"

The TARDIS purrs, softly.

"Mad, the two of us..." He says, running a hand over his close cropped hair. "Remember when we used to save people?"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't need to.

They both remember.

He thinks about changing his name, occasionally. He doesn't know if he can go back to being "Doctor" again, after what he's done. But what else would he call himself? "The Killer"? That is not a promise he ever wants to make again.

The TARDIS does not approve of his restless musings. She creates small fires to attract his attention and sends him running through her corridors all day in endless mazes until he finally apologizes.

"Do you remember the day we first started running?" he asks her, when he's lying on his back under her console, playing absently with a wire above his head, "what did you think you were getting into with me?"

The TARDIS spits sparks in his face and he jolts upright. "OW! I can see why you'd be upset by that question." He sighs. "What are we going to do now, old girl?"

She clicks and whirls, levers spinning in circles, brushing the top of his head.

"I know, you want to run again..."

He does too. There is an itching ache in his hands and mind that is telling him that they need to go.

But he doesn't know where to go now. Where can they possibly go?

"What do you think?" He asks his TARDIS, since he knows she's been listening.

She hums, but he doesn't really consider that an answer.

He needs to leave.

They both know it. The TARDIS has been restlessly shifting gears and levers for days, and he's been pacing her console debating with himself about where they should go. He wants to run again, but at the same time he's not sure if he can. Everything feels different now-time feels permanently changed without the hum of his people in the back of his mind.

Closing his eyes, he rests a hand on the wibbly lever and breathes in. "Who am I?" He asks, barely noticing that he is whispering the question out loud. "Who do i want to be?"

In the end, he isn't sure if the TARDIS shows him the answer or if he finds it himself. But it comes in a rush of energy and mental pictures.

He sees his companions, laughing and beautiful and so human.

Doctor.

The man who makes people better.

He thinks of earth, in all it's shining blue and green and the young race that was just beginning to realize it's full potential.

He will go there, he decides.

And he will be the Doctor again.