Chloe and Trish are walking down the stairs when the front door suddenly slams shut of its own accord and won't open again. Daddy -- the reality of the situation; the real world, I say -- shuts the doors and decides that they can't be open again. Rose is on one side of the door, pounding on it; Trish is on the other side. But they can't touch. Rose asks if the Doctor's in there, and he isn't. Dust starts to waft down from the ceiling: the sound of Daddy's heavy footsteps is overhead, red light everywhere. "Chloe, I'm coming to hurt you..." Chloe begs him to stop. The Wolf, the father, the gap. Just stop. But he won't. Rose shouts through the door that the dad one isn't real, not like the others. That we create our own endings. That, at times like this, fathers are the wishes we fill with our own fear and hatred. "It's just energy left over by the Isolus, but you can get rid of it! It's because you're so scared that he's real! But you can get shut of him, Chloe!" Rose promises her that she can do it; Chloe freaks out. A shadow appears on the wall. Chloe slides down the wall, giving up: "I can't." The shadow traces through the house, and Chloe calls for her mom. And her mom's there. Rose: "I'm with you, Chloe. You're not alone. You'll never be alone again." Rose, pounding outside, tells them to sing. And they begin. He calls her name, over and over and over again. They sing louder. It doesn't take too long.
Outside, Kel comforts Rose, who is broken at this point. "Maybe he's gone somewhere?" She's so sad. "Who's gonna hold his hand now?" Kel doesn't know what to say. Me neither.
Trish and Chloe watch the TV, where the crowds have returned. Rose and Kel join them like it's their house. "Eighty thousand people... So, where's the Doctor?" Rose starts to cry, and says a thing. A heartbreaking, heartrending thing that we've heard so many times before: Elton, Sarah Jane, Reinette. Poor old Victoria. Even Mickey: "I need him." On the screen, the torch bearer gives out. Everybody wigs in the stadium. "Does this mean that the Olympic Dream is dead?" No, of course not: the Doctor's arm, clad in brown, picks up the Torch. Rose breaks into a smile again, as he begins to run. "There's a mystery man...He's picked up the flame...We've no idea who he...Um, he's carrying the flame, yes! He's carrying the flame and no one wants to stop him." Kel, Trish, and Chloe smile. Rose laughs. It's stupid and getting stupider: "It's more than a flame now, Bob. It's more than heat and light: it's hope. And it's courage. And it's love." And I'm sorry, but on my soppiest day, on my wettest day, on my most like "we are the same" and "grace is like this or that" or "the ramp up and the Tennyson wank" or the whole thing with π, on my worst day I have never said anything remotely that ridiculous. Well, okay. I have. But I'm talking about context! In context it's not that bad. So we watch the Doctor running the Torch with the spotlight on him and his big stupid face in my face and the giant grins and the whooping and the whatnot, and he lights the flame, and tells the Isolus to go join its brothers and sisters, and he is adorable at the same time that I want to destroy everything having to look at it. And the Isolus takes off.