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Watching as the Master is subsumed into the war he had once run so far to escape, a large part of the Doctor is awed by the spectacle of the Time Lord's rage unleashed. A larger part is crushed at being left once again, this time without even a body to cling to. He isn't proud of that part, but he is honest enough in his own head to acknowledge it.
The part he refuses to hear is small, its voice lost in the clamor. The tiny voice of a little boy, envious of his friend, able to go home.