They've been here for God knows how long, but it's getting dark now, and she's cold. Rose doesn't want to leave him, though. He's still crying, muttering in some language she can't understand, and staring out to sea in the direction the last of the dust took as it escaped on the wind. What can she say? She's lost count of the number of times she's opened her mouth to say something, and failed.

"You're cold, Rose. You should go in."

The sudden break in the silence startles her, and she looks round sharply to see the Doctor's tear-stained face looking at her. "Not leaving you here."

Strangely, he doesn't argue, but changes the subject. "Someone told me once that when they're about to die, something happens to them that shows their soul. Reveals their true form, so to speak. I never believed it. I just thought that they shut down, like an ordinary machine, and didn't start again. We'd been together for nearly a thousand years. How can she just go now?"

Rose hugs him tightly, almost crying herself. "She loved you. She wanted to see you happy, and I guess…well, I suppose she thought that sending you back to me was going to do that." He's silent, looking out to sea again. "She loved you more than you know. Sometimes, at night, I'd be trying to get to sleep, and she'd speak to me. Not out loud, but in my head."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing much. Just talking like friends do, I suppose. But one night, she was sad. Like she was crying, and I asked what was wrong. She wanted to be human, she said, because the way she was, she could never tell you."

They're silent for a while, the Doctor sobbing again at the things Rose has told him. Things he never knew, but should have known. He can't imagine how long the TARDIS had felt like this, how long it hurt her.
"Rose, there's something I've got to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."

"Yeah?" She's got a pretty good idea, and wants to tell him it doesn't matter, but she knows he has to say it. A little bit of her wants to hear it too, if she's honest.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

"It hurts so much, but I'm so glad she did it. I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again."

She goes to say something in reply, but the sight of something out on the water stops her. As the last of the sun sets, there's a faint glow, faint, but definitely there, playing over the surface. The Doctor's noticed it too, and he's rubbing the tears from his eyes as if he knows what's there, but can't quite believe it.

Look after him; Rose hears a voice say, before she feels it. That old pain, that old burning at the back of her head that she recognises so well. Her grip on the Doctor fails, and she can feel herself falling back and hitting the ground, his terrified voice carrying over to her, but she can't understand the words.

He looks round, and the light on the water's gone. And there's Rose, lying blacked-out on the sand, her eyes half-open, looking to the darkened sky. He doesn't know what to do; whether to try and help her here or carry her to her house, but there's no time to decide.

As Rose opens her eyes again — but they're not brown, they're gold, and this definitely isn't Rose. She looks at him and smiles.

"Don't be sad. I hate it when you're sad. I wanted to say goodbye properly. I'm okay now, so don't you worry. You'll be so happy with her. I know you hate staying in one place, but you won't be here forever. I'm okay. I don't regret it one bit, because I love you."

"Goodbye, old girl." Somehow, he can't cry. Somehow, now, it's all right, and he can't be sad anymore.

"Goodbye."

And she blinks, and there's Rose again, asking what the hell just happened.