God. He has been called God before, has been called many things, has been thought of as many things, but he has no powers, nothing that has not been inherited by those before him. Perhaps the telepathic abilities of the Gallifreyans could seem like magic to some, but it's not. He is neither god nor God. He is only Doctor. He will help if he can.
He's said that he doesn't care, but that's not exactly true. He doesn't care about the little things, about the feelings, about the bickering and the hand holding, but that doesn't mean that he won't help. He will always help. There is a girl that may or may or may not be dead in a mall that lives and breathes that wants to keep her trapped, that may or may not have had a part in her death. What choice does he have to be here with her? To help?
If this isn't a job for the Doctor, he doesn't know what is.
The music is louder now, and that worries him. The mall--or perhaps he should think about it like she does, the Mall--is growing restless. It's probably not a good idea to state his plans so openly, but what difference does it really make? They're trapped within it, within her. (He will accept the turn of mall to Mall, but he will not allow her to become Her.) It would take only a moment for her to figure out what he has in mind, and once she knows, they'll be at her mercy either way.
His eyes turn upwards again as the music screeches, and he takes a step close to Becky. It's protective, and perhaps, in a way, possessive. The Doctor is staking claim, not as possession, of course, but as cause. And it has never done anyone any good to get in the way of the Doctor's cause. But what can he do against tentacles of smoke? He has no weapons. He has nothing but a very angry Mall and a frightened girl. A frightened ghost, he might say, if he believed in that sort of thing. But ghosts aren't so much a problem as the very real tentacles that grip them.
(Or, the tentacles that seem real. He won't say that it's impossible that it's some sort of illusion, some kind of trick. Or it's real, and the thing that lives beneath the pitted plaster walling is far more hideous than the flashing lights and colorful signs suggest. He thinks he would prefer the former, but knows the chances, knowing the way his chances like to go, tilt towards the latter.)
Either way, the Doctor has his answer. It makes him sad to know that there was going to be a fight. That there always had to be a fight. The sound shocks through the room, the room darkens, and the Doctor has reached out, wanting to push Becky behind him, but, well, the tentacles make it hard for that to be anything more than a gesture. The other hand reaches back within his jacket for the sunglasses, putting them on to see exactly what he expects. The exact biology of the Mall may be unknown to him, but she is angry.
"It's okay," he says to Becky, to the Mall, to both of them. The Doctor is here, and he's going to save the day. The Doctor is here, and he's going to fix it. He looks to Becky as she moves, and his own hand dangling in the air where she was before he drops it, exchanging it for the other as he presses it to the wall. It feels alive. If it was a mall before, it is now something living that wears the face of one--which was always true, but now he can feel it. Becky's at the door, and the Doctor waits, the second hand coming to join the first.
"Listen to me." His words are soft, Gallifreyan telepathy not pressing, but inching, spreading like the Mall's fog. There is so much anger. "I am the Doctor, and I command that you listen." He doesn't know if this will work. He feels very sure that it won't. He feels like a fool. "It's going to be okay. You're frightened, and you're hurt, but she isn't yours. You can't keep her if she doesn't want to stay."