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Rose hurls herself through the Vortex (again, too many agains). She is suddenly somewhere cavernous, lit in warm orange, that feels like exactly where she belongs and somewhere altogether foreign all at once. The three figures standing around the console--it has to be the TARDIS console room even if it looks all wrong--have stopped chattering to gawk at her. The young professorial one with the carefully blank expression can only be the Doctor. He’s regenerated; she feels sick.
He scrunches up his face allowing it to settle into a smile (melancholy).
“Rose Tyler, Amy and Rory Pond.” He gestures between them, effortlessly exuding childish glee and utter seriousness at the same time. “But she’s not staying--there’s a universe to save.”
“You said you didn’t do domestic.” Her voice is a whine, but she feels she’s earned it.
“Pond’s are not domestic.” He is standing so close now, peering into her eyes. After several uncomfortable moments, he must find whatever he was looking for. Suddenly she is wrapped in a hug. “The rest of your life, Rose Tyler, but it was never going to be the rest of mine.”
He stands back as Rose disappears with a crack.