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The Doctor's melting diamond eyes flared with the raped sun's fury. He didn't want to want to kill; retribution and restoration fought for dominance in his anguished soul. Most urgently, frantically, he wanted, burned, needed to shield Martha from his star-sized wrath and his roiling rage. Fear? Never to be confessed, played close to the doublehearted chest, but that taboo was shattered by his twofold terror: could the Doctor bear to slay his friend, and would the torment never release him, even to the extinguishing cold relief of death? He wished himself well away, cool among the happy, happy primes.