Rose knows. The Doctor draws close and stares down, at her. The voices fade behind him, they stop making sense. He edits everyone else out of the image. "They found her in the street apparently, over at Master Square. Abandoned." Heaven on a street corner. The Doctor takes a physical hit. "That's unusual," says Bishop. "That's the first one out in the open. Heaven help us if something happens in public tomorrow for the big day -- we'll have Torchwood on our back, make no mistake." (Gotcha.) The Doctor continues to stare, but he can hear them again. His voice is cold and broken. "They did what?" Bishop's confused; the Doctor's the eye of an oncoming storm. "They left her where?" Bishops shakes his head, furrows brow: "Just...in the street." The Doctor becomes someone else, folding into his history. "In the street. They left her in the street. They took her face, and just chucked her out and left her in the street. And as a result, that makes things: simple. Very very simple. Do you know why?" The Doctor tears his eyes from Rose, from the image, the placeholder for Rose, and he takes his glasses the fuck off. "Because now, Detective Inspector Bishop, there is no power on this Earth that can stop me."
All alone at midnight, dancing in the moonlight: the Doctor isn't angry at the bad guys. These faceless brigands, these monsters that took her away, he's not mad at them. "Grief is the price we pay for love," said Elizabeth II, in a letter read at the 9/11 memorial for British victims. And then anger, for forgetting he wasn't human and she was. For letting her run off, for letting her break the first and only rule, and not just because of his ADD but as a co-conspirator, as an accessory. He jumps across the room and out the door, and Bishop follows, muttering about the coronation in the sunlight (it was actually raining, by the way, that day). The Doctor doesn't speak. Just moves.
A little boy fiddles with the Connelly television; a little girl slaps his hand away. The house is full, all there for Eddie's great show, his new television. The coronation of Eddie's newest purchase. Rita approaches him as he enters the house, and he speaks in a frighteningly quiet tone, staring down. So tall. "You've had your fun with your little Doctor...but now you're left with me, Rita. So you'll behave yourself. And smile." The image of the Connellys, with their subservient wife and a Gran that never existed, and Tommy liking girls, and a brand new television from Magpie's. Rita wipes away her face and puts on a smile, and they enter together, grinning like the Rose and Doctor Show at their front door before. "Here we go, everyone! Here we go! Grub's up, grub's up -- tuck in, take a sandwich!" Eddie squeezes in as the coronation begins on the screen. "Oh, here we go, here we go, it's started! Take your places, sit down, sit down." Everybody follows his instructions to the letter, and they all settle in. And none of them -- not one of them -- asks why Eddie's holding Rita elbow that way, or why she was crying, or what's wrong with Tommy. Auntie Betty, very impressed: "Rita, love! Just look at that tellybox then, eh? Innit marvelous? The picture's so clear!" Clear as crystal. Eddie leans over: "Here, Beth -- I says to Rita, I says -- You didn't need to get your hair done special, love! The Queen won't be able to see you!" Auntie Betty laughs with Eddie; Rita smiles in front of her hidden face, politely. Tommy scowls on his mother's behalf. Aunty Betty asks after Gran, finally, but Rita begs off for her: "Sorry, um...mum can't make it down." Auntie Betty suggests popping up to see her, and Tommy jumps into the breach. "Maybe you could. It's a good idea. What do you think, Dad? Maybe Auntie Betty could go and see Gran later?" Eddie fumes, silently, and laughs it off to Auntie Betty: "Oh, he loves his Gran, this one. Proper little mummy's boy all round!" Auntie Betty smiles. "Oh, you know what they say about them. Eddie, you want to beat that out of him." Eddie throws Tommy a look, laughing with her. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do." Asshole runs in the Connelly family, I see. They should all feed the Wire. If you'd sacrifice your child to the image, feed it yourself. You already did.