He had wept for Gallifrey, locked away by his own hand.

He had wept for the Bad Wolf, trapped in another world.

He had wept for his partner-in-crime, not remembering why a man like him would weep for her.

He had wept for himself, not ready to let go of the regeneration that had brought him so much joy and so much pain.

He wept for none harder than the Girl Who Waited and the Last Centurion.

They all left eventually. They all withered and died and left him alone. It always felt like an instant to the man so young, yet so old. Their deaths had been different. They had grown old and died in literally the blink of an eye.

None had called themselves his companion for so long. For her, it had been over twenty years. For him, it had spanned centuries. For the man who saw the fall of Rome, it had been two millennia.

He had thought the power of three would save them. No, not three. The power of two. Their power. Their love. Their love would protect him from the dangers that felled others. Despite lacking the burdening curse of the Time Agent, the man-who-died-and-died-again was always revived by the love for his wife. Not this time.

It had been their love that took them. Instead of resurrecting one, it claimed them both. They had died together. For as much as it made his hearts— seared with the ginger girl and fish custard— ache, he knew it was as it should be.

He wept. He wept for them in the arms of their lost daughter. The woman who killed him. The woman who married him. The woman whose death he had seen before he knew who she was. All too soon, she would be in that library again.

The Angel had screamed. Flesh of stone could not protect. It would never die. Could never die. It wished it would. The storm had come. The fire and ice that had once been legend— erased by the Dalek that was Human— surfaced once again.

The Angel had screamed. None of its fellows could hear it. None would ever come. Its feast on the lives of his friends would be its last meal.

And then the Lonely God, lonely once more, returned to the ancient blue box. For it was truly his only constant companion, aside from the spectre of death.