Adelaide stares; she can't know what she says next cuts so deeply, comes so close to his hearts, that he has no choice but to entrench: "And there's no one to stop you."
"No," he says, without blinking.
"This is wrong, Doctor. I don't care who you are, the Time Lord Victorious is wrong."
(From Martin Gardner's introduction to his annotated version of GK Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday: "The only possible way a theist can escape from the atheist's charge -- either God is malevolent or there is no God -- is to view Nature as the back of reality... [Sunday] is Nature, the Universe, with its unalterable God-given, God-upheld laws that seem so obviously indifferent about our welfare... Sunday, like Nature, has a front and back side... From the front he looks like an angel. Nature lavishes on us a thousand gifts that make us happy and grateful to be alive... It can drown us with floods, kills us with tornadoes and diseases. Ultimately it will execute us.... [Sunday] is monstrously huge and shapeless. When he stands he seems to fill the sky. His room and clothes are neat, but he is absent-minded and at times his great eyes suddenly go blind.")
The Doctor's eyes are dead. There is nothing human there, for this moment. For this fixed moment, precious and monstrous: "That's for me to decide."
He flips back into his human stance, but it's only a pretense. It makes her shudder. "Now, you'd better get home. Oh, it's all locked up, you've been away. Still, that's easy!" He sonics it, desperately trying to get back to her, forgetting how it's done. How humans behave. How it felt when he wasn't so desperately alone: "All yours!" His voice is threatening and treacly-sweet. He burns, in fire and ice.
"Is there nothing you can't do?" Like time. Like water. He stares her down. "Not anymore," he says in the darkness. Roman runs the robot, the robot runs Roman. It twists his body into new shapes at the Doctor's whim. He treats them like his toys, but without them -- without the Master's Archangels, without the faith that Martha martialed, without Jackson Lake raising his praises far below -- the Good Wolf would never have survived the year that never was.
The Doctor knew, once, that humanity wasn't his plaything; that Earth was not a playground but a new Eden, that held him to her bosom. How did he forget? Where did that knowledge go?
("The man who abhors violence, never carrying a gun. But this is the truth, Doctor. You take ordinary people and you fashion them into weapons. Behold your Children of Time, transformed into murderers. I made the Daleks, Doctor. You made this... How many have died in your name?" Jabe, Controller, Lynda, Sir Robert, Mrs. Moore, Mr. Skinner, Ursula, Bridget, Face of Boe, ChanTho, Astrid, Luke Rattigan, Jenny, River Song, the Hostess. "The Doctor. The man who keeps running, never looking back because he dares not, out of shame... I have shown you yourself.")